summary: one day, you’re buying a soft, brown fur coat from the thrift store. the next, you have a man on your doorstep claiming he’s your husband.
word count: 6.8k
warnings: selkie!dino, human!reader, references to scottish folklore but a very loose interpretation, swearing, reader is bitter, mildly depressed and very tired of life, chan is the cutest sweetest boy ever, questionable self preservation instincts, smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, kinda sub!chan, oral (fem!receiving), riding, slight nipple play.
a/n: so this was loosely based on an ask i got about selkie!dino, and i really did a lot of research on selkies and came up with a plot to go w it. im sure this isn’t what anon originally wanted, but i loved the idea of selkies and i went with it ㅠ
SELKIE (n.) — from icelandic, irish and scottish lore
⦾ shapeshifters. they live as seals or otters in the sea, but shed their skin or fur to change into beautiful humans on land.
⦾ a selkie must hide their skin carefully when they walk on land, because if their skin is lost, they cannot return to the sea.
⦾ whichever human finds and keeps the skin/fur of a selkie is considered as the selkie’s spouse.
These last few weeks have been the most impressive run of insanely crappy weeks you’ve ever had.
Everything just keeps going wrong. With work, with bills, and even a petty fight with one of your closest friends. To top it all off, your last phone call with your mother went awry too, with her complaining about your schedule and you getting a little too harsh on the phone. You regretted it immediately, but now she’s a little icy with you, which only dampens your mood further.
It has just been bad overall, so this shopping trip with Seungkwan is really something you need, even if you don’t have a whole lot of money to spend.
“Oh, I like this one.”
You hold the large coat up to your chest and turn to Seungkwan so he can take a look. It’s huge, falling all the way to your knees, and the fur is dark brown, a neutral and earthy color that looks shiny and smooth. It’s very soft to touch, and you have to wonder how it ended up in a thrift store. It looks and feels so high quality.
Seungkwan tilts his head as he appraises it. “Put it on.”
You do, standing in front of the full-length mirror for a better look. You turn to assess some angles, but you’re quickly being distracted from the way it looks, focusing more on the way it feels. It’s comforting as hell, and very warm. You’re still in awe that you managed to dig up something so good from this store.
“I’m getting it.” You announce before Seungkwan can even give his opinion. You don’t know why, but you really feel drawn to this coat. Something tells you that you need to own it. And after the shit week you’re having (it’s not even Wednesday), you think you deserve this. You haven’t bought anything new in ages. If this can give you a little boost of happiness when you feel like you’re drowning, then you won’t pass that opportunity up.
It doesn’t cost a lot, considering how wonderful it feels on your skin and the fact that you’re getting your next paycheck after the weekend. You feel a positive sensation jump in your chest as you walk out of the store, listening to Seungkwan whine about something work related. You’re quickly swept up in his emotions, augmenting his words and losing yourself in the conversation. You really do need to vent, and Seungkwan is the perfect person for something like that. He matches your energy, understands your struggle since he himself is afflicted with a terrible case of jerk-boss. You feel like you are shedding off pounds and pounds of negative build-up, which you are so thankful for.
Two more workdays follow your trip with Seungkwan, and they weigh heavily on you. By the time the weekend rolls around, you are so grateful you could cry. You need this, the relief of two whole days of no work. You get home on limbs that weigh like lead. With nothing but rotting in bed in your mind, you quickly change into something more comfortable, a loose shirt and leggings. You go through your streaming services to find something to watch as you cook. Just when you’re settling on the couch to start eating your freshly cooked meal, you hear a knock on your door.
Your eyebrows furrow, confused. For one, you aren’t expecting anyone. And for another, you have a doorbell, so the fact that someone is knocking makes even more questions arise. Before you can think further, there’s another knock, more insistent this time, and you’re quickly placing your bowl on the coffee table and scrambling to the door before you can wonder about who it might be. You curse the fact that front doors in your apartment building don’t have peepholes. You carefully unlock and open the door a tiny smidge, peering outside. You blink, confused at the sight.
It’s a man. He looks young, around your age, and has a head of thick, shaggy brown hair that is falling into his equally dark eyes. You look down, and you pause at what you’re seeing. He’s wearing a sweater vest over what looks like another sweater, both terribly mismatched. And he’s wearing…. a skirt?
Yes, it’s a plaid skirt. Deep maroon. Layered over dark denim jeans. And right below them, leather sandals.
You don’t even know what to say. You look back up at the man, and this time, he’s wearing a wide smile. His eyes are wide and bright, and you’re caught off guard by how cheerful he looks.
“Hi.” His voice is fresh, chirpy. You nod your head uncertainly.
“Hello.” Your own is uncertain and damp. You hold the edge of the door tightly, bracing yourself.
“My name is Chan.” He says.
You nod slowly. “Okay.” There’s no way in hell you are telling this stranger your name.
“May I come in?”
Your jaw drops at the question. Who is this man? Why is he dressed so strangely?
“Who are you?” You can’t help but scowl. You don’t have time for this. If this is some strange sales call or something, you are not interested.
The man blinks, as if confused by the question. “I’m Chan.”
Is he stupid? You stare at him for a moment. “Look, I don’t know you and whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”
As you go to close the door, the man rushes forward, knocking his palm on the wood and stopping it in place. You freeze, feeling slightly scared now. He immediately pulls his hand away, now fiddling with his fingers and looking incredibly nervous.
“I’m your husband.”
You blink once. Twice. He doesn’t say anything more, just stares like he has told you nothing more than a fact about the weather.
“Excuse me?”
He looks just as nervous, but he nods slowly. “You took my fur. You bought it. So I’m your husband.”
You are so confused and shocked that you don’t even realise you’ve opened the door properly. You’re just holding the doorframe now, jaw dropped, an incredulous look on your face as you eye him. He shifts a little uncomfortably, swaying back and forth as he wrings his hands.
“I’m a selkie.” He babbles. “You bought my fur. I’ve been looking everywhere for it. I lost it near the pier a few weeks ago. I can’t go back without it. But I’ve found it now. It belongs to you. Which means I belong to you now. I’m your husband.”
You don’t understand more than two words out of his mouth. Briefly, you think of drugs, and you edge the door slowly closed again.
“Listen,” you say, trying to keep annoyance and confusion out of your tone to make it more soft. Maybe he will listen to you that way. “There’s a shelter just a few blocks down. I promise you will find help there. I’m sure if you ask someone, they will tell you exactly where it is.”
You wave your arm to the left in a vague gesture for direction. He just stares at you. You fidget.
“I can’t leave.” He says. “You have my fur. I belong to you.”
You are starting to get a little scared, so you shake your head vaguely as you keep pushing the door closed. “Sorry. I can’t help you.”
You close the door before he can say anything else, immediately locking it. You stare at it for a second, listening. You can’t hear shuffling, or footsteps. You wonder if he has left.
You double check the locks before moving back inside, wondering what you should do. The whole interaction has left you a little shaken. You eye your now cold food, and the paused movie on your television screen. It only makes you grit your jaw and huff, feeling annoyed again. You have enough on your plate without worrying about some weirdo at your door. You can’t let this weigh on you. It’s probably a one-off, someone who just got confused. And you did try to help him, so hopefully he takes your advice.
But you can’t focus. Even as you sink onto your couch and finish absentmindedly eating, your stare blank as you watch the screen. You can’t help but think of the gibberish he spoke. Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching for your laptop, pulling it towards you and opening the search bar. Quickly, you type ‘selkies’.
There’s so much you find. Page after page of what looks like old, Scottish lore. Sketches and paintings, as well as written text. They are sea creatures, like seals or otters, that can transform into humans by shedding their skins or furs. You remember the man’s words.
‘You have my fur. You bought it.’
As you keep reading, you learn that taking a selkie’s fur means having ownership of them. It symbolises an intimate, lifetime bond. Like mates, or spouses. You recall him calling himself your husband, making an uneasy feeling settle in your stomach. Everything he said somehow makes sense. It’s fantastical, and outlandish to think it might be real, but in the context of it all, it really isn’t random words strung together. Maybe he was confusing you with someone else. Maybe they are doing some weird role play thing. You’ve seen stuff like that on the internet.
Your phone dings. You absentmindedly look at the text. It’s from the lady who lives across from you.
[minyoung apt 34]: hey. theres a man sitting outside your door. should i call someone? are u home?
You stare at the text, confusion and a small bit of realisation dawning on you. You throw your phone on the couch and stand up, quickly beelining to the door and unlocking it, pulling it open.
He is sitting beside the door, back against the wall just to your right. He looks up when you appear, blinking at you. You gape at him.
“You’re still here.” It’s more of a statement than a question.
He nods. “I can’t leave.”
The cheery, bright tone seems to have drained out of him. He sounds….. sad, almost. Unsure. Like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. His silly skirt is bunched up to his thighs, and the jeans are maybe two sizes too big for him. You hesitate, and then you make a very stupid decision. You brace yourself.
“Get up. Come on.”
He seems surprised, and honestly, so are you. You pull the door open more and step aside, watching him quickly scramble up. His face seems to have lightened, but he still looks apprehensive. Slowly, he walks in. You sigh deeply and shut the door behind him.
He’s looking around like he has never seen a house before. Or a living room. Four walls, pictures, a couch. His eyes are wide and beady as he stares at the television. You watch him carefully. In complete honesty, you don’t know why you invited him in. But there’s something in his voice that doesn’t ring any warning bells in your head. You’re sure your parents would have a heart attack if they heard of this, cursing at themselves and you for not instilling ‘stranger danger’ as well as they should have. But he doesn’t give you that vibe at all. When he turns to look at you again, there’s something earnest about it. Sincere.
You shift uncomfortably. “Chan, was it?”
He nods.
“And you’re… a selkie?”
His nod is even more vigorous this time.
“Okay.” You don’t know what to do with your hands. He keeps staring. “And you came here because…”
You prompt him to continue, and he does. “I’m your husband.”
You feel a flicker of irritation. “Yeah, you said that already. But I don’t know what that means.”
He frowns a little, lower lip jutting out. It’s almost cute. You shake the thought away.
“You bought my fur.”
You huff. “Yeah, I don’t know what exactly that is, but I don’t have anything of yours, buddy.”
He tilts his head, as if thinking hard. You start to regret inviting him in.
“I-it’s brown.” He says. “Dark brown. And very soft. A little heavy. And it smells like the sea.”
Your face smoothens in realisation. Wait, does he mean….?
The coat. Your newly bought fur coat. You haven’t worn it yet, since it’s a little too warm for the current weather. You’ve been waiting for a particularly cloudy and chilly day to put it on. Realisation dawns on you.
You leave Chan in your living room, taking less than a few seconds to find the thing and carry it back out. The way Chan’s face lights up at the sight of it has your heart racing. Again, you are hit with the reality of how sincere and pure he feels. No one can be this good an actor.
“You can have it.” You hold it out. “This is what you’re here for, right?”
While he looks happy to see the coat, he shakes his head, turning his bright eyes back to you. “I’m here for you.”
You feel your face heat a little, remembering the spouse and mate stuff you just looked up. You fidget where you stand, considering him.
God, your run of insanely crappy weeks just won’t end. And you really feel like you can’t deal with this right now. So you just huff and nod, feeling drained.
“Fine. But you will sleep on the couch until I know what to do with you.”
His resulting smile is so blinding, you wonder if there truly is something mythical about him.
…………………………………….
You don’t tell Seungkwan about Chan. Frankly, you’re still not sure what you will do about this whole situation, since you know that even if Chan leaves, he will just go back to sitting outside your door. He tells you as much himself. You also don’t know how supportive Seungkwan will be when he finds out that you have an unknown man living on your couch, claiming to be a supernatural creature of the sea. You honestly don’t have the energy for that lecture, or to convince Seungkwan that something deep in your chest is telling you that Chan is harmless. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, a strange reverence in his eyes, like he has never seen something more fascinating in his life. Or maybe it’s the fact that he genuinely doesn’t know anything.
You find some of Seungkwan’s and your brother’s clothes in your stuff, telling him to change into a sweatshirt and pants and to take off whatever ridiculous clothing he is wearing. He looks much better that way, more normal, but he claims to feel weird.
“Are you sure this is enough clothes?” He looks uncertain. You can’t help but feel amused.
“Yes, because you’re indoors. You can put something else on top when you go outside.”
He nods, albeit a little hesitant. But he seems to trust your judgment.
When you offer him a meal, he accepts it carefully, eyeing the bowl of noodle soup like he has never seen it before. He picks at it, and makes a face when he eats it. He tries to quickly hide it, but he can’t fake anything to save his life, so you spot it immediately, and when you ask him what he usually eats, he lists varieties of fish and shellfish you have never heard of before. You do end up buying some for him, and conveniently, you don’t even have to cook it. He eats it raw.
“You would love sushi.” You quip as you watch him eat. When he gives you a confused look, you just shake your head and wave it off, mentally making a note to take him to a sushi place sometime.
Chan tells you he has never left the water before. His pack never trusted him enough to do it, and apparently they had been right. He lost his fur very quickly, without even realising, and he has been trying to track it for weeks, claiming he can’t go back without it.
“So now that you’ve found it, you can go back.” You say, but he shakes his head.
“I can’t leave you. You’re my wife.”
Right. He keeps saying that, always in the softest tone, looking at you like you hung the moon and stars. It lights your face on fire, makes you fidget where you sit, but he is never fazed by it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
It’s not like you’ve never had anyone’s romantic attention before. You have had boyfriends. Granted, most of them ended terribly. You’re still not sure if you’re completely over your ex cheating on you. But Chan is different. Hell, he’s not even human, so it’s not like you can compare him to anything from your past. Dating has always been difficult for you, and you kind of gave up on it when you moved and got hit by the shitstorm that is now your life. It was put so effectively on the back burner that you had forgotten what this felt like. Having someone like you like this.
With Chan, it’s hard to figure out how to act. You don’t know what to do with all his…… positivity. Chan feels like something untouched, untainted. He reminds you of how you were when you just moved to this town. Hopeful and ready to start your adult life. And then the universe decided to start beating the crap out of you, until you felt like you were just surviving, going through the motions.
Chan isn’t like that. Chan is….. luminous. He randomly compliments you, talking about how nice and colorful your apartment is (you don’t think it’s anything special). Or saying he likes something you’re wearing, or that your hair is pretty and shiny. Simple compliments, nothing too poetic, but he says them all with so much earnestness. He especially gets giddy when you wear his coat, saying you look best in it, patting you down before you go to work. It always leaves you hot and fidgety. You really don’t know how to handle him, or his easy affection.
Your life changes as the weeks go by.
Work is just as hectic as always. You get the mountain load of two or three people, enough to have you ready to pull your hair out. You slave away all day, dragging your feet as you finally get home, but this time, it is not to an empty house. Because Chan is there. Chan and his bright smile and his endlessly curious but simple questions. Chan with his many, many stories about life under the sea. He always notices that you’re tired, and he offers to cook for you. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he is good at following instructions. So if whatever he is cooking comes from a packet with directions on the back, he ends up making something very hearty and nice. Usually, you are so tired that you don’t mind anything he makes. You will eat it as long as you aren’t the one who has to cook it after working all day.
You complain to him that your legs get cramped up from sitting on your desk chair for so many hours. He pulls your legs towards him before you can protest, plonking them down on his lap and kneading the calf muscles. All your rejections die in your throat as soon as you feel the glorious pressure of his hands. You moan appreciatively, not noticing how Chan positively perks up at the sound, doubling down on his efforts to lessen your fatigue.
That becomes a daily occurrence.
A few weeks of Chan living with you has made you much more comfortable with him. You watch the screen with tired, bleary eyes as he runs his fingers over the soles of your feet from where he has them in his lap. It feels wonderful, as always. While you watch the TV, he watches you. He does that often, just openly staring. It used to make you uncomfortable, and you got very close to scolding him a few times. But the look on his face always makes you stop. A look of awe that you’ve never felt directed at you before. There’s nothing creepy about it, only pure, unfiltered marvel. So you just let him do what he wants.
A voice deep inside you says you don’t actually mind, you might even enjoy it, but you try not to think about that voice.
You let out a weary sigh and shift a bit, rolling your shoulders to adjust the ache in them. Chan notices, because he always notices, and he pauses his movements on your feet.
“I can rub your shoulders.” He offers.
You blink, considering it. You already know how good it will feel, but you don’t know if you want to cross that boundary. This is different, having your feet in his lap. But you don’t know how you feel about Chan’s hands all over your back and shoulders. It would feel too much like testing dangerous waters.
The truth is, you like him. He has become a breath of fresh air in your bitter and depressing days. Every day, you come home while looking forward to his company. He is so different, light, cheerful, effervescent. He talks and talks and talks, about any and everything. And it doesn’t annoy you. Never. He injects something warm in your cold, silent evenings.
You don’t have to worry with him. There’s no agenda here. He doesn’t want anything from you except your company. He takes care of you like no one has for a really long time.
Sometimes, he feels like a dream. And you perpetually carry the fear that one day, he will go away.
He’s still watching you, anticipating your reply. His hands slowly work on the arch of your foot. His eyes, that deep warm brown, pores into yours. For the first time in a long time, you can’t bring yourself to care about consequences. You just nod.
“Okay.”
He ends up seating himself beside you, coaxing you to turn your back to him on the couch. You can feel him touch your sweater before speaking again.
“Would it be better without this?”
You flush but nod, reaching down to tug the sweater off, so you’re left with a long sleeved shirt instead. You feel his touch right in between your shoulder blades. Slowly, he starts pressing into the skin over your shirt.
Chan is way too good with his hands for a creature that didn’t even have hands until a few weeks ago. He digs his thumbs into the lines of your shoulder blades, making your eyes roll as he breaks knot after knot of tension in your muscles. He purses his lips and frowns as he gets a feel of it. You hear a soft huff of breath.
“Your muscles are so tense.” He murmurs. “This only happens to me when I swim for a very, very long time. Hours and hours. With no breaks.”
You crack a little smile at the comparison.
“It feels like that sometimes.” You mumble, staring at the opposite wall while lost in thought. “Like I’m just swimming and swimming. No breaks. No end in sight.”
His touch slows, but doesn’t lose its strength. His fingers coil around your shoulders, kneading. Your eyelids flutter.
“Human lives are difficult.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but you hear him in the silence of the muted television screen. “I feel like none of you are happy.”
You purse your lips. “What makes you say that?”
Another exhale, this time almost like a defeat. “You never smile. You never laugh.”
You blink, processing. You don’t know why that is unexpected, but it catches you off guard. Your mind whirs. You think on it.
When was the last time you were truly happy?
When you try to look back on the last few months, you can’t pinpoint anything. Then, a memory floats to the surface, from just a couple of weeks ago. Chan had tried to bake something, and while he succeeded, he left the kitchen in such a mess that he was almost reduced to tears by the end. He had pouted and whined about it, saying it is ’way too difficult’ to make a cheesecake. You couldn’t help but muffle your laughter at his flour caked face.
It still makes you smile.
“You make me happy.” You say.
His hands pause. Not a falter, a complete halt. You wonder if you’ve crossed a line.
“I do?” There’s something shaky in his voice, like he can’t believe it. You just nod.
With the hold Chan has on your shoulders, he maneuvers you to turn around. You do, finally able to see him face to face. Your breath hitches at the hope in his eyes, the unadulterated happiness.
“I make you happy?” He asks again, like he just can’t bring himself to accept it.
You can’t help the lift of your lips. You nod again. “You do.”
You don’t expect him to kiss you, but you don’t stop him either. His lips are endlessly soft, and so, so eager. When you don’t push him away, he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. You are hit with the very faint scent of sea salt, and it feels like you’re on the coast. Your heart squeezes. Your hands reach up, cupping his face, and you push harder into him.
Chan whines, whines, lapping at your lips like he needs them to breathe. His tongue licks into your mouth. His enthusiasm is almost too much for you. It should be a surprise, but it’s not, because it’s Chan, and he has always been like this. He hangs on to your every word like it’s law. He looks at you like you’re the mythical creature, not him. You feel his hands now, on your knees before they slide up, gripping your hips tightly. He inhales your every sigh, and something warm and electric coils in the pit of your stomach. Your hand winds in his hair. It’s soft, just the same texture as your (his) coat, and you can’t help but grip it tight. He moans openly into your mouth. It’s too much. You break away for air with a loud gasp.
It doesn’t seem to deter him, because he smooches over your cheek, your jaw, further down your neck. Your eyelids flutter, tilting your head back, your hand still in his hair. You encourage his movements. His tongue licks over your skin. He moans again.
“I want to taste every part of you.” His voice is breathless, desperate. You feel yourself clench. He pulls away so he can look at you, his eyes pleading, brighter than you’ve ever seen them. This close, you can see that his pupils are completely blown.
“Please? Can I?” His tone is shaky.
God, he needs to stop doing that. It’s making wetness pool at an alarming rate between your legs. You so desperately want him down here, it makes your hips buck up involuntarily. You don’t even think about it, all inhibitions thrown out the window. You nod.
He doesn’t let you undress yourself, gently brushing your hands away because he claims he wants to do it himself. He lays you down on the couch, hovers over you on his knees as he peels your clothes off, until you’re left completely naked under him. He watches you with so much hunger in your eyes that your face flames, and it takes everything in your power not to shrink into yourself. Truthfully, you love it, love seeing the sincere lust in his face, the way he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes lingering over every inch of you, like he wants all of you.
Something about being so deeply desired has your head spinning.
He is true to his word. His lips trail over every inch of you. He runs them over your shoulders, your arms, even holding your hands gently to kiss the pulse point on your wrist. Every few inches, he lays a soft kiss, before going back to running his lips and tongue over the skin. He licks down the valley of your breasts, burying his face in them for a few seconds. He spends extra time on your nipples, sucking and flicking his tongue over them until they are stiff and peaked. By the time he is anywhere close to your core, you’re already gasping and trembling under him in anticipation.
Finally, finally, he spreads your legs. He stares for a long time, thumbing at your outer lips, opening your slit to the cold air, peering at your little nub, swollen and ready, neglected.
“Pretty.” He whispers. “You’re pretty all over. Every inch of you.”
You feel a pressure build behind your eyes. Fuck. You can’t be this lame. You can’t be the one crying during sex. But Chan isn’t touching you, he is worshipping you. In his hold, under his hands, you feel like something precious, something worthy of this kind of reverence. It’s an unprecedented feeling. You don’t think anyone has ever wanted you this much. Not before him.
He leans closer, and you feel his breath on your pussy as he speaks.
“This is it, right? This is where I can pleasure you the most?”
You suddenly remember that Chan isn’t really familiar with human anatomy. So far, you haven’t felt his lack of experience at all, mostly because you think his enthusiasm is so intense that it masks the inexperience completely. You nod at him, swallowing tightly.
“Yeah.”
He licks his lips. “Can I taste it?”
The words are way sexier than you thought they would be. You throw your head back. “God, yes. Please.”
Something about the ‘please’ does it for him, because he licks a long, thick stripe all the way from your clenched hole to your clit, dragging slowly over it. He hums when his tongue withdraws, just for a second, just to taste, and then he’s digging in again, flattening his tongue over and over on your slit, like he approves of the taste, like he wants more.
He’s sloppy, not bothered by the filthy wet noises your sopping cunt makes, lips and tongue running over every nook and cranny. But there’s one spot where you need him the most, and you can’t help it. You wind a hand through his hair, tugging his head up until his tongue runs just over your clit. Your hips jerk.
“There,” you gasp, “right there.”
He’s a quick learner, just like he learned to cook after just a few tries, and how to work the television and your Netflix account, and how he figured out which clothes go together. His tongue flicks eagerly over your clit, like he’s hanging on to every cry and moan that falls from your lips. He must register how the noises amp up when he pays attention to your clit, because he pushes your legs further apart, buries his face deeper into your cunt, wraps his lips around it and sucks hard. Your back arches right off the couch, gripping his hair tightly. He groans into your pussy.
It’s a cycle. His lips and tongue make you feel good, you tug at his hair in encouragement, he hums into you, and the vibrations feel even better, sending chills up your whole body. Your high builds a little too quick, and you wish this could just go on for hours and hours. You have no doubt in your head that if you asked him, he would do exactly that. And very happily too. But your need for release is more pressing than that, so you hold him close, you babble about how you’re almost there, and when your orgasm hits, you go cross eyed with it, wave after wave of pleasure cresting inside you as you shake and cry through it. Chan doesn’t slow for a single second, letting you writhe and twist under him, chasing your hips wherever they go. It’s only when you tug his hair hard enough to pull his head away that he finally stops, looking up at you with dazed, teary eyes. His whole face is sweaty, wet, and blotched pink over his pale cheeks.
He’s a vision.
You pull hard at his sweatshirt until he’s scrambling up your body, and you kiss him hard. He moans appreciatively, immediately licking into your mouth like he needs it to breathe. Your own taste invades your tongue.
“Let me do that again.” He whines. “Please. Wanna make you feel good. Let me lick you again.”
You moan and feel yourself clench hard, head spinning with how badly he’s turning you on. But you feel so empty, and you need him in other ways too, or you feel like you might combust.
“Later.” You promise him. “Need your cock right now.”
“My what?” He pulls back, still looking unfocused as he frowns down at you. You blink a little, clearing the fog in your head a little. Oh.
Your hand travels down until you palm the bulge in his pants. He jerks violently and gasps.
“This,” you whisper, biting your lip. Chan’s eyes shoot down to where it is trapped between your teeth. “Need this inside me.”
“Inside….?”
It’s better to do than to explain, so you push yourself up, arranging him under you until you're straddling his lap where he sits, undoing the drawstring of his sweatpants and pushing them down enough to free his cock. Your mouth waters at the sight. He’s girthy, way more than you’ve ever taken before, and he curves just at the tip in a way that you know is going to make you see stars when he fucks you right. You run your hand over him, and he gasps again, hips bucking into your touch.
“Feel good?” You ask. Chan nods furiously.
“Wanna make you feel good.” His voice sounds wrecked. You can’t help your giddy smile at his laser focus on making this pleasurable for you.
“You will.” You adjust yourself until you’re hovering over him, running his tip through your slit. You feel him grip your thighs tightly.
The first slide in is glorious. He’s so thick that he stretches your poor pussy out enough to make your legs tremble violently. He runs his hands over them, watching your face scrunch up in pleasure and pain. If you had more control of your mental faculties, if you weren’t so busy taking his massive cock in, you would try to placate the worry on his face, but you have other things to concern yourself with right now.
The deeper he slides in, the farther up his eyes roll. His jaw goes slack, and you watch with a tinge of amusement as the feeling makes his own face go through a million emotions in the span of a few seconds. It makes you brave, more daring, and it makes you feel so sexy to have the power to make him feel all this for the first time. His grip on your thighs is near bruising, which you don’t think he realises, too lost in how warm and tight your cunt feels. Finally, you are fully seated on him, all the way up to the very base.
“Good?” You manage to gasp out. It seems he chokes on his own words, because he just pulls your body close and jerks his head down in a nod.
“What about you?” He looks up at you, blinking furiously. He looks like he might cry if you say that it doesn’t feel good, not that you would lie like that. You giggle breathlessly.
“It’s so good, Channie.” You coo, running a hand through his hair. “You fill me up perfectly, like you were made for me.”
He whines, so loud and thick with want that you think he might cum right there. He holds you tight against him.
“Yes.” He gasps. “Made for you. My wife. Wanna be with you forever.”
It’s incoherent babbling. Uninhibited because of the lust. You shouldn’t take him seriously. Except you know Chan. You know he doesn’t lie. You know he means this with every fiber in him. Your heart stutters, your exhale shaky. You hug his body tight to you, unable to respond. You want him impossibly closer. You tug at his sweatshirt.
“Off.”
He doesn’t waste a single second, revealing wide expanses of built muscle. You run your eyes over him, hungry for the sight, for the feel of him. Once more, emotion builds inside your chest, filling you up from the inside out.
Finally, when you feel like you’ve adjusted to his size, you rock your hips on him, testing. He gasps immediately, hands running everywhere he can reach you and feel you. You let him, basking under the attention now that your hesitation has melted away and the lust has left you wanting. You slowly build up a rhythm, bouncing on him with less and less care until you feel his cock properly fuck into you the way you wanted. Little gasps and moans leave your lips as well as his. Your body warms under the exertion, the deep penetration making your core clamp up slowly and steadily, pleasure building inside you. Skin against skin makes wet plopping noises, a dirty sound that only adds to what you’re already feeling. It seems Chan just can’t stand to have his mouth unoccupied, because he quickly finds your nipple and starts sucking, making you cry out at the feeling.
Exhaustion starts pulling at your limbs after a while, and you squeeze your eyes shut in frustration. You’re so close, you can feel it. You just need a little more, his cock really ramming into you, just a few well aimed thrusts and you know you would topple over.
“Chan.” You pull his head up with a tug on his hair, a habit you’ve created by now. “I’m- I’m tired-”
He doesn’t even wait to hear more, gripping your hips tightly and pistoning up hard into you. You gasp, arching into him.
“Like this?” His voice is raspy, rough. You nod vigorously, unable to form words as he keeps going, fucking up hard into you until you feel nothing but the intense stimulation on your sweet spot, his tip rubbing insistently over it again and again. His pelvis grazes your clit just right with every thrust. You don’t even have time to warn him, clamping tight around him as your orgasm racks through your core. Your whole body winds up with the release, toes curling and eyes rolling. Your lips release a mantra of ‘oh god, oh god, oh god’ as you weep through it, nearly blacking out with how intense it is.
Chan groans loudly then, and you feel something warm coat your insides. Beneath you, you can feel his body jerk and shake, and you hold him tight against you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He moans into your chest as he comes down from his high.
He leans up, kisses you slowly, softly, a welcome feeling after the harsh pounding you just took. You hum into his lips, savouring the feeling of it. Your head is fuzzy, like someone just cleaned it out, leaving nothing behind. Chan nudges his nose against yours, and you blink your eyes open. His smile is dopey, giddy, and you can’t help your giggle.
“I like you like this,” he whispers, “you look so relaxed.”
“All thanks to you.” You brush his hair away from his sweaty face, scratching his scalp a little. He visibly shivers. You can’t help but smile.
You kiss him again, still light and soft. You feel his cock twitch inside you.
“Can I lick you again now? Please?”
You are a little caught off guard, huffing in amusement. “I don’t think I have it in me, Channie.”
“I’ll be gentle.” He runs his hands carefully up your bare back, as if to make a point. “Please. Wanna make you feel good.”
Something stirs in your core again. God, this man will be the death of you. Well, not really a man. A selkie. Your selkie. And his blinding smile when you give in to his begging is enough to tell you that there’s no coming back from this.
Not that you would want to. Like Chan said, you want him to be here with you forever.
SYNOPSIS. Chan has had a massive crush on you since the day he first saw you. He never thought he’d have a chance with you, since you were so obviously out of his league. But it turns out life has a way of writing the right things with crooked lines.
PARING. Lee Chan x F!Reader
GENRE | TAGS. Oneshot, non idol!au, comedy, fluff, pinning, down bad!chan, acquaintances to lovers, smut.
WC. 20k (sorry)
RATING. Explicit adult content (MINORS DNI).
WARNINGS. Explicit language, alcohol consumption, allusion to use of weed, mentions of cheating, Chan is down bad to the point he is doubting himself, reader has an unspoken noona kink, switch!chan, switch!reader, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), fingering, face sitting, pussy eating, cum eating, teasing, unprotected sex, creampie.
AN. Officially my first Chan fic and I’m SO happy I finally get to post it... hope you love it as much as I loved writing it! Also, since I forgot to say it earlier: this whole fic is based on End Up Here by 5SOS.
🎧 SOUNDTRACK. end up here – 5 seconds of summer; i would – one direction; obviously – mcfly; loverboy – a-wall; best friend – rex orange county; espresso – sabrina carpenter; out of my limit – 5 seconds of summer; shup and dance – walk the moon; heart out – the 1975; intoxicated – the cab; wait – dino.
He knew the exact moment you walked into the apartment. At this point, it was as if he had a sixth sense for your presence, a Y/N sense, if he had to name it.
Not that it was hard to tell when you did, since every face in the room turned the moment you walked in. Most people already knew who you were, and those who didn’t? Well, their expressions made it very clear: they were dying to find out.
There was this energy about you that demanded attention, even when you weren’t trying. It wasn’t just the way you carried yourself—though that certainly played a part—it was the way people gravitated toward you, their eyes lingering, their conversations subtly shifting as if they were waiting for you to say something, to do something.
And he, well, he had always been attuned to it. To you. Even before he truly understood why.
Tonight, when you walked through the doors of his apartment looking absolutely breathtaking, Chan felt his head spin. It could have been the ten shots of tequila he’d been forced to drink after losing some random game against Yeonjun a couple of minutes ago, but he knew it wasn’t.
That was simply the effect you’d had on him since the day he first laid eyes on you during orientation day, two years ago. You had been in charge of welcoming the freshmen to their dorm building, and when you smiled at him like he was the most important guy there, he was a goner.
Of course, he knew you were probably just doing your job as a sophomore, but still, your smile had been stuck in his mind ever since.
“Pathetic,” he heard Seungkwan’s voice, followed by a slap on the back of his head.
Chan barely flinched, too busy pressed against the wall watching you every move as you wave through the crowded room like you owned the place. For him, in a way, you did. You weren’t loud about it, didn’t strut around making a scene, but there was an undeniable pull to you, one that made people shift to make space, one that had them leaning in, hoping for even a sliver of your attention.
And him? He was no better than the rest of them.
He tore his gaze away just long enough to shoot Seungkwan — who was looking at him like he was the saddest excuse for a man to ever exist — a glare. Vernon was right beside him, looking high enough to be in another dimension, and yet, was still wearing the same expression as the eldest of the three.
“What?”
Seungkwan sighed dramatically, crossing his arms. “You look like a lovesick puppy. Again.”
It was no secret to anyone that Lee Chan had a huge, enormous and gigantic crush on you. If he was being honest, by this point, it was a surprise you didn’t know—which he had some doubts—, since he wasn’t exactly very skilled at hiding it.
Not that he was openly hitting on you whenever he had the chance, because that was far from his reality. Very far, really. He had never done so and whenever he had a chance to be near you or participate in the same conversation as you, he would turn just as red as the lipstick you were wearing tonight, not to mention the stuttering he didn’t even know he had.
It was a mess. He was a mess.
Not that he would admit that to Seungkwan, anyway.
Chan scoffed, forcing himself to straighten up. “I do not look like a lovesick puppy.”
Seungkwan snorted. “Yeah, and I’m a backing vocal for Beyoncé.”
“You do,” Vernon stated, deadpanned. “Mingi just asked me if you were okay because, and I quote, ‘Chan looks like he just got hit by a truck.’”
Yeah, he was that obvious.
He watched as Seungkwan tilted his head to the side, nudging him with his elbow. “Chan-ah, are you seriously gonna spend the rest of your college years pining after this girl?”
His face flushed, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration tugging at him. Chan opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Because what was he supposed to say? That he wasn’t pining? That he wasn’t completely, utterly, hopelessly gone for you? Even he wasn’t delusional enough to deny it.
Seungkwan, apparently sensing his internal struggle, let out a long-suffering sigh. “That’s what I thought.”
Chan scowled, lifting his drink to his lips only to hide his face and Vernon chuckled, clearly enjoying the way his younger friend was unraveling under the pressure of their teasing.
“Just go talk to her,” he said, voice slow and lazy. “She doesn’t bite, dude.”
“Easy for you to say,” Chan muttered, his eyes flickering back to you, who were now chatting with your friends in the corner. “She’s your friend.”
Oh yeah, there was also this little detail: you were Vernon’s classmate.
Not only were you both seniors, you were also majoring in the same program, meaning you shared the vast majority of your classes. Chan knew you were in the same study group and that you were paired up for most of the projects, which had led to a friendship that he very much envied.
You might think that having a mutual friend would make things easier for him, but you’d be completely wrong. Soon he discovered that Vernon wasn’t willing to help. Not because he didn’t believe Chan had a chance with you, but because he insisted that Chan should grow a pair and talk to you himself.
Which of course, he had already shown incapability of doing so thousands of times.
Seungkwan clicked his tongue. “You really are pathetic.”
“Hyung—” Chan groaned.
“I mean, come on,” his eldest friend cut him off, trying to finish his point. “You can deadlift three plates but you can’t say one sentence to a girl you like?”
Chan glared at him again. “That is not the same thing.”
“Yeah, one requires actual effort,” Vernon added, scoffing.
By now, he was used to all the teasing from his friends. It didn’t keep him from wanting to strangle them any less though.
Either way, there wasn’t much he could do. It wasn’t just about the amount of courage he had or how much effort he put into it; crushing on you for the last two years had felt like playing a game he was destined to lose. Even though in the deepest desires of his mind he was your boyfriend, that role was already filled by someone much older than him.
A Marine dude, apparently. His name? Chan didn’t care.
Not only was he the luckiest dude on the planet by having you as his girl, he was also tall, strong and a walking definition of everything Chan wasn’t: confident, assertive, and the complete opposite of the shy mess he’d been around you since day one. He would probably kill Chan if he could peek into his brain and see all the dreams he had about you over the years.
The guy also irritated the fuck out of him. Something about his attitude, his hundred tattoos, the fact that he was probably three times his height and the way he marked his territory by walking you to every class, every day. Like, damn, dude, we get it, she’s yours. At least let the rest of us appreciate the divine gift the universe sent us by looking at her.
Every time Chan saw him, he felt like he was suffocating under the weight of the competition. The worst part? You didn’t seem happy with him and everyone knew it. And even though it was clear from every word and every look that you were completely unaware of Chan’s feelings, the thought of you with someone else — someone like him — made his insides twist in ways he didn’t know he could feel.
“She has a boyfriend,” Chan finally said, feeling the bitter taste on the tip of his tongue as he did.
“So?” Seungkwan arched an eyebrow. “I don’t see him here. Do you?”
He directed his last question to Vernon, who just shrugged and shook his head. “Nope.”
Chan swallowed hard, eyes darting toward you again. Sure enough, there was no sign of your boyfriend. Not that he was about to get his hopes up. He had enough self-awareness to know he was probably just grasping at straws, because even if he never existed at all, Chan still wasn’t sure he’d have the guts to walk up to you.
“Look, man,” Seungkwan stared again, breaking through his dark thoughts. “You’ve gotta stop comparing yourself to him. You’re Lee Chan. You have a million things going for you, and besides…” He paused for effect. “You’re way better looking.”
“Thanks for the support,” Chan replied dryly, rolling his eyes.
“Seriously, dude,” Vernon chimed in. “You’re smart, funny, and way more likable than that guy. You just need to show her that.”
Chan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “It's not that simple, guys.”
“It is that simple,” Seungkwan shot back. “You’re making it complicated.”
Before Chan could argue, the music shifted, the bass thrumming through the floorboards, and a new wave of partygoers stumbled in, laughing and chattering loudly. His attention snapped back to you, just in time to see you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, your lips curling into a soft smile at something one of your friends said. The sight alone made his pulse quicken.
Then, as if you could feel his eyes on you, your gaze flickered up and locked onto his.
He froze.
It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t just a glance that skimmed over the room, landing on him by chance. No, this was intentional. You looked at him like you had known he was there all along, like you’d expected to find him in that exact spot, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand and his friends at his side.
And then, as if to send him straight into cardiac arrest, your lips — marked by the most beautiful shade of red he had ever seen — curved into a smile.
For a split second, it felt like the entire world blurred, muffled voices fading into static. Your eyes lingered, holding his in a way that sent a rush of heat down his spine. Then—just as quickly as it happened—, you turned back to your friends, your fingers wrapping around the red cup in your hand and leaving him to wonder if he’d imagined the whole thing.
He was sure he had just checked off a box on the list of clichés where the lovestruck fool forgets how to breathe. His fingers tightened around the cup in his hand, his heartbeat hammering so loudly he was certain Seungkwan and Vernon could hear it.
Chan looked away just a second before he heard, “She’s coming over,” announced Vernon, and for once, his voice didn’t sound amused. It sounded almost surprised.
He blinked, breaking free from whatever trance he had fallen into. “What?”
Seungkwan’s hand landed on his shoulder, shaking him once. “She. Is. Coming. Over.”
He barely had a second to react before you started making your way through the crowd, weaving between bodies with practiced ease, heading straight toward them. The air in the room seemed to thicken with every step you took in his direction, and though he told himself to stay cool, to not let it show, he knew the battle was already lost. His grip tightened, his pulse a frantic rhythm beneath his skin.
Seungkwan shifted beside him. “Oh, this is gonna be good,” he muttered, half under his breath.
“Act normal,” he whispered to himself. Or at least he thought so.
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Vernon mumbled.
Chan shot him a glare, but before he could tell his friend to shut the hell up, you were there, standing right in front of him, close enough that he caught the faint scent of your perfume, something so sweet and heady that made his head spin.
“Hello, boys,” you greeted them, your voice light but with a touch of something so soft and delicate that made his breath catch.
Trying to play it cool, Chan swallowed hard as he forced himself to meet your gaze. Up close, you were even more mesmerizing, your eyes alight with something he couldn’t quite place, the corners of your lips curving into the kind of smile that made his stomach flip.
“Hey,” he managed to say collectively with the other two, his voice steadier than he felt.
Beside him, Seungkwan looked like he was barely restraining himself from narrating the entire interaction like he was watching some kind of reality TV show on Netflix: Lee Chan’s Inferno, the live show.
Your eyes flickered between the three of them briefly before settling back on Chan.
“Nice party,” you said, flashing them a smile as you nodded towards the crowd of people scattered around their apartment. “Full house, I’ve been told.”
It was the first party the three of them had thrown since Vernon and Seungkwan became seniors and he a junior. They hadn’t expected it to be a great success, but judging by the number of people in their apartment right at that moment, it seemed they had been wrong.
“Thanks,” they chorused in perfect unison. You let out a small laugh, raising your eyebrows in curiosity.
“Are you guys okay? What are you drinking?” He knew you weren’t just talking to him, but Chan was pretty sure his soul was leaving his body slowly but surely. “I know for a fact Hansol is just as high as Namsan Tower.”
It wasn’t just that you were standing in front of him, looking every bit like you walked straight out of his dream, it was the way you were looking at him. Like you were actually interested in what he had to say, like he wasn’t just another person in this house, and like you weren’t effortlessly stealing the air from his lungs.
Meanwhile, his brain? Completely fried.
Your laugh—soft, amused and way too pretty—sent something dangerously warm through his chest. You tilted your head to the side, as if you were analyzing his face.
“What’s your name?”
His world seemed to stop for a second.
Even though the two of you weren’t close, or even friends, he was sure you knew his name. I mean, Vernon was one of his best friends. You were Vernon’s friend. You knew his name… right?
This was the worst possible scenario. The girl he had a crush on bigger than the entire Asian continent didn’t know his name? Yeah. The ground could open up and swallow him whole right now, and he wouldn’t even fight it.
This couldn’t be happening.
“You don’t know my name?” He didn’t even know he could finish a whole sentence around you, let alone a question, his voice somehow steady despite the absolute horror pooling in his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Seungkwan and Vernon exchanging a surprised and amused look, definitely holding back laughter.
“Oh, I know your name, Channie.” Your lips twitched, like you were trying not to laugh. “Just making sure you're still sober enough to remember it.”
Chan felt his face heat up instantly, a mix of relief and embarrassment washing over him all at once, brain barely registering the sweet way you said his name. Seungkwan outright cackled, slapping his knee, while Vernon just shook his head with a knowing smirk.
“Oh.” Was all Chan managed to say at first, his brain short-circuiting at the way you looked at him, teasing, confident, completely in control of the situation. “Chan. Lee Chan.”
You tilted your head, clearly enjoying his reaction. “Good.”
Suddenly, Chan was painfully aware of how close you were. Close enough that he could count the faint shimmer of highlight on your cheekbone, see the way your lashes fluttered when your gaze briefly flickered down to his mouth? No. He had to be imagining that. Maybe he had had a little too much tequila. Maybe it was time to put his cup down, go to his bedroom and sleep.
He blinked. Then, realized he had been silent for far too long.
“I—uh—” he started, then immediately hated himself for it. He could already feel the tips of his ears getting hot from how red they possibly were.
“He’s fine,” Seungkwan answered for him. “We’re all fine.”
You just smiled again, that knowing, unreadable smile that sent Chan’s pulse into overdrive. “If you say so.”
Vernon cleared his throat. “So, uh…” he was clearly trying to fill the awkward silence that Chan had created. “Are you having fun?”
“I just got here, actually,” you said, taking a slow sip from your cup. They already knew that, yet they nodded anyway. “But everyone else seems to be having a lot of fun.”
The four of you glanced around the packed apartment, noting also the constant flow of guests coming and going through the front door. Some faces were familiar to Chan, ones he had seen somewhere on campus, while others were completely new. The living room was almost unrecognizable with the couch pushed aside to make room for a dance floor. A mini bar had been set up in one corner with beer and even more booze filled the kitchen for those who wanted specific things.
Everywhere he looked, people were jumping, grinding, kissing, chatting animatedly, smoking and drinking, while plastic cups littered the floor alongside crushed cigarette butts, joints, and scattered snacks trampled underfoot. Chan was so absorbed in your presence that he didn’t even think about the mess he’d eventually have to clean up after the party was over.
The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat and perfume, and honestly, Chan was surprised none of the neighbors had called the police yet. Sure, the homecoming parties that were happening around campus this time of year were always packed, but this one was on another level, and he felt very proud of it.
The music thumped steadily, neon lights casting shifting colors over the crowd. Then Seungkwan threw out another question for you, so casually that Chan almost missed his intention. “Did you come alone?”
“Well, I came with Nayoung and Dahyun,” you replied, shrugging. “But I lost them somewhere by coming here to talk to you guys.”
Seungkwan shot Chan a look—one that screamed don’t mess this up—before turning back to you with a knowing smile. “Ah, so you chose to be here with us instead of running off to find them?”
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I guess I did.”
Chan, who had been determinedly sipping his drink to avoid making a fool of himself, nearly choked. His mind latched onto your words like they meant something far deeper than casual conversation.
Seungkwan smirked. “Makes sense. We’re a great company.”
You grinned. “Exactly.”
“So your boyfriend’s…” Vernon trailed off.
“Not here.”
The words slipped out of your mouth like a subtle declaration, and just like that, Chan felt the weight of it. Your boyfriend wasn’t here. For some reason, the confirmation made him feel a little lighter, though he knew that was dangerous territory.
He had no right to feel relieved. You weren’t his, after all.
Seungkwan raised his eyebrows, clearly intrigued. “Really? No boyfriend? That’s new.”
You shrugged nonchalantly, unfazed by his teasing tone. “He’s busy with something, I guess.”
You glanced down briefly, scratching behind your ear before your eyes flicked over to Chan again, catching his gaze for a fraction of a second before he quickly looked away, embarrassed by the sudden spike in his heartbeat.
“Ohhh,” Seungkwan dragged out, exchanging another look with Vernon. “So you’re free to enjoy the night however you want.”
You let out a hum, tilting your head slightly as if considering his words. “I suppose so.”
Chan took another sip of his drink, trying to play it cool once again, but his grip was a little too tight around the cup. His mind was running a mile per minute, filled with thoughts he probably shouldn’t be having.
“You seem awfully interested in that drink.” You pointed to his cup, raising a curious eyebrow and shifting your weight to one leg, one hand resting on your hip. “What are you drinking?”
Chan glanced down at the red cup in his hand like he’d never seen it before. In truth, he had no idea what was in it, he’d grabbed it off the counter earlier when someone shoved it at him, too distracted by your presence to care.
“Uh…” He swirled the liquid inside, like that would magically tell him what it was. “Something… alcoholic?”
Seungkwan groaned beside him. “Wow. Smooth.”
You chuckled, the corner of your lips quirking up. “That’s very specific, Channie.”
Chan nearly choked. The way you said his name so casually, so effortlessly, made his brain short-circuit again.
Everything he wished for — right after you, of course — was that he had scientific explanations for the way his body and brain reacted to your actions and words. And even then, maybe it wouldn’t be enough for him.
I mean, Chan was a popular guy. A lot of people knew him around the campus. Hell, he was the current best dancer on the program since Xu Minghao had graduated, packing the school theater every time he performed, and he also wasn’t exactly unknown among girls; he wasn’t particularly proud of it, but he had a reputation.
So why was it that, whenever he was around you, he acted like a complete loser?
It was a case to be studied closely and for days, perhaps years.
Seungkwan, probably sensing that Chan was never going to get a full sentence out at this rate, answered for him. “Tequila. Too much tequila. Yeonjun was bullying him a little.”
At the mention of Yeonjun, you hummed in amusement, your lips pressing together like you were holding back a laugh. Then, without warning, you reached forward and plucked the cup from his hands, bringing it to your lips for a sip. You pulled a slight face at the taste, but to Chan’s absolute horror (and delight), you took another small sip before handing the cup back to him.
“Sounds about right,” you mused, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb. “And how’s that going for you?”
Chan blinked.
“Oh, you know…” he forced out, voice slightly rougher than intended, “just trying to stay upright.”
It was a miracle. He had managed to form a coherent sentence.
You laughed, and Chan felt like he had just been hit with a wave of relief. The sound was like music to his ears. “Well, that’s an important skill to have.”
Seungkwan muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like pathetic, but Chan was too busy trying to figure out if you were just being nice or if there was something more behind your words.
“So…” you mused, drawing out the word as if weighing it in your mind. “You having fun?”
Fun. Right. That was why he was here. “Uh. Yeah. It’s a party, so… yeah.”
You raised an eyebrow. “That convincing, huh?”
Chan cleared his throat, trying to wrest away the heat creeping up his neck. “I mean, yeah. I’m having fun.” He nodded a little too enthusiastically as if trying to convince both of you.
You just hummed, unconvinced, tilting your head just slightly. The way your eyes scanned his face sent his brain into overdrive. Was he being obvious? Did you know?
But before he could embarrass himself further, the speakers erupted with the unmistakable intro of Livin’ On A Prayer by Bon Jovi, and the entire room burst into excited screams. Just like you, who threw your head back and let out a moan of happiness.
Chan was certain he felt his entire body shiver at the sound, his mind drifting to places it definitely shouldn’t. He was pretty sure he was already halfway to living on a prayer.
“I love this song,” you said, eyes lighting up and a smile so radiant it nearly knocked him off his feet.
Two seconds later, and before any of them could say anything, Dahyun called your name from across the room. “Come dance with us.”
You turned your head slightly, offering her a small nod of acknowledgment before looking back at them.
“I have to go.” You pointed with your thumb over your shoulder at your friend like they haven’t seen her there, shattering Chan’s dream of spending more than ten minutes near you. “See you guys around.”
His heart sank a little at your departure, the moment slipping away faster than he could grasp it. He opened his mouth, almost as if to protest, but the words never made it past his lips. He was still fumbling, unsure of what to say or do in this kind of situation.
But then you gave him one last smile—quick, but enough to leave him breathless—and started to turn away. You took a few steps forward, then stopped, turning around and staring directly at him; not at him, Vernon and Seungkwan, just him.
“I love your shirt, by the way.”
And just like that, you were gone, moving through the crowd again, leaving him standing there with his heart pounding and his mind reeling, staring in astonishment at the Kurt Cobain shirt he was wearing.
Seungkwan snorted beside him, pulling him out of his daze. “You’re hopeless.”
Chan, still staring after you, muttered, “I know.”
You had disappeared from the party half an hour ago, using the excuse of heading to the bathroom, only to end up on the balcony of one of the bedrooms with an unlocked door.
To be honest, you weren’t really in the mood for partying tonight, but after Nayoung and Dahyun insisted so much on getting you out of your room, despite your repeated insistence that you weren’t affected at all by the recent events in your life, you eventually agreed to join them.
So far, it had been a lot of fun; you’d danced with your friends, played beer pong and pool with people you didn’t even know and a couple of people you did know. But when everyone decided it was time to start a game of seven minutes in heaven, you knew it was time to get away, especially since the only person you wanted to kiss wasn’t in the circle and was clearly avoiding you, as he always did.
That person was currently somewhere in the living room, probably laughing at something his friends said, or even kissing someone in the coat closet, completely unaware of how much space he took up in your thoughts.
With a sigh, you sat down at the railing, the cool night air a relief against your flushed skin. The music from the party thumped through the walls, muffled but still loud enough to remind you of the chaos inside. You were fine with missing the game, better than sitting there, pretending you wouldn’t feel a pang of jealousy if someone else pulled his name.
That last one, of course, was a scenario you created in your own head where he decided to show up and play just because the universe hated you that much.
You weren’t even sure when it had started, this thing. The way your eyes always searched for him in a crowd, the way your heart did that stupid little skip whenever he smiled at you, especially at times when he didn't seem to realize he was smiling. Maybe it had always been there, waiting for the right moment to make itself known and now was the perfect opportunity for it, considering all circumstances.
Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed the door creak open behind you until the warmth of another presence filled the space.
“I was wondering where you disappeared to.”
It was nearly two in the morning when Chan finally decided he’d had enough of the party. You had disappeared a while ago to God-knows-where, and even though your friends were still in the living room playing seven minutes in heaven, he was pretty sure you’d gone home without them. Your boyfriend had probably swung by to pick you up at some point—like he always did—and Chan miraculously hadn't noticed.
All night long, he had watched you from afar, dancing and playing games with his friends. You were laughing with Vernon, teasing Seungkwan, and even giving Yeonjun a hard time. You looked completely at ease, like you belonged there somehow. But every time his gaze lingered on you, he felt that familiar twist in his stomach. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly, but the kind of longing that made his chest tighten in a way that hurt.
You were surrounded by his friends, sure, but in his mind, you were still just very much out of reach.
Now, Chan was exhausted, tired of feeling like a failure for not having the courage to approach you, even just to start a conversation. He hadn’t taken Vernon’s advice, hadn’t shown you how much better he could be than your boyfriend. So, instead of dwelling on it any longer, he simply said goodbye to everyone and headed to his bedroom.
After cursing himself for forgetting to lock the door, Chan headed inside, silently thanking the universe that no one was there. Everything was in place, neat and undisturbed, clearly showing it hadn’t been used as a place for a couple to make out, or worse. After finally locking the door behind him, he sat on the edge of the bed, calmly taking off his shoes as he recapped the night in his head.
He sighed, lying back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Seungkwan was right: this was getting pathetic, really. He had talked to people all night, joked around, even had a decent time despite the chaos around the apartment. But when it came to you, his heart always raced in a way that made him second-guess every single move.
He was such a big fool.
A fool for you, apparently.
For a brief moment, Chan watched as the long curtains that divided the room from the balcony swayed in the wind, revealing a figure sitting on the railing.
When the fabric shifted again, his breath caught in his throat. It was unmistakably you perched on the balcony railing with your legs dangling over the edge, one hand resting casually against your knee. Even under the dim glow from the city lights below, he knew that silhouette by heart. He didn’t know how long you had been out there, but seeing you, calm and distant and seemingly lost in thought, entirely unaware of him, rooted him to the spot.
He hesitated. Again.
The cool night air slipped into the room, sweeping the curtains aside and making them billow like they were inviting him forward. For a brief moment, Chan considered staying put, convincing himself that you probably just needed some space, some quiet time away from the party. But the thought of you sitting out there by yourself pulled at him, tightening something deep in his chest. It felt like the universe was placing a second chance right in front of him, daring him not to waste it this time.
Before he could overthink, before doubt could drag him back down, Chan pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room toward the balcony.
He reached the balcony door quietly, not wanting to startle you. The breeze hit his face as he stepped outside, the sound of music and laughter from the party still faintly echoing in the distance. Chan took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, but it was hard when you were so close, when all it took was one glance to unravel him completely.
You looked like an angel sitting there, and his brain nearly short-circuited when he noticed you were wearing the hoodie he had left on the chair earlier that day.
Chan never really liked people invading his space — especially his room — and even less so when they were uninvited. If it had been anyone else, he probably would have kicked them out on the spot. But this was you. Not only did it not bother him, but he found himself loving the sight of you in his clothes.
“I was wondering where you disappeared to.”
You turned your head at the sound of his voice, blinking in surprise at his appearance. “Chan?”
The way your voice sounded when you said his name — disbelieving — made it seem like you were the one wondering if he was real, not the other way around. And he couldn’t help but smile at that.
“Hey,” Chan managed to say, words just loud enough to be heard over the distant music. “Are you alright?”
You nodded, offering a small smile. “Yeah. Just needed a break. Parties aren’t really my thing.”
Chan hesitated for a beat before leaning against the railing beside you. His posture was a little stiff, like even though it was his bedroom, he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to be there, intruding on your moment alone. Yet, somehow, your presence made him and the space feel calmer.
“I get it,” he said quietly, his gaze shifting down to the street below. “I kind of feel the same way sometimes. All the noise, all the people, it’s a lot.”
You chuckled softly, turning slightly toward him. “You? A dance major?”
He really wanted to use this opportunity with you to make a good impression and follow his friends’ advice. But when he looked at you again, his brain went into a tailspin trying to process the way his hoodie looked on you, as if they’d been made for you just as much as for him.
Still, Chan forced himself to get the words out.
“Yeah. Well, dancing is… different,” he admitted, glancing at you with a small, almost sheepish smile. “It’s loud, sure, but it makes sense, you know? It’s the kind of noise I can control.”
You hummed in understanding, swinging your legs slightly. “And parties?”
“Not so much.”
A comfortable silence settled between you, the distant music from the party below blending with the rustling trees. The longer Chan stood beside you, the more his nerves settled, though that didn’t stop his heart from hammering in his chest. He had spent so long watching you from a distance, convinced that any moment spent too close would give him away. And yet here you were, wrapped in his hoodie, on his bedroom balcony, as if you belonged there.
Chan opened his mouth, but nothing came out, as usual. He was already surprised that he had managed to form other sentences before, since his brain was still trying to catch up with everything that’s happening.
God, you were standing in his bedroom—his bedroom—at two in the morning.
He couldn’t help but wonder if you had any idea what you did to him with just a small action.
You shifted a bit, looking at him out of the corner of your eye, the breeze tugging at your hair while you analyzed his well-defined profile.
You’d known Chan and his friends long enough to recognize their signature chaos. They moved like a unit, very loud, unfiltered, and unapologetically themselves. Each one matching and amplifying the other’s quirks without a single trace of embarrassment. It was refreshing. Maybe that was why you liked being around them so much; they weren’t like the typical guys you met on this campus.
Every now and then, you’d end up hanging out with one of them. Sometimes it was Vernon, your friend, your classmate, basically unavoidable. Other times it was Seungkwan, who somehow knew everyone and always drifted into whatever group you were in.
Lee Chan, however, was the one you barely ever heard speak. You could never tell if he was always that quiet… or if he just became that way around you. You suspected it was the last one.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” The question left you in a light tone, trying to keep the mood casual, though there was an underlying curiosity in your voice.
Chan laughed under his breath, running a hand through his hair, a little embarrassed but still amused by it. He scrambled for words, anything to not look like a complete idiot. “I—uh. No, I mean, I do. Sometimes. I talk.”
Brilliant! Just brilliant.
For someone who was usually a yapper, he had become an expert at being at a loss for words around you. Before this moment, Chan hoped you wouldn’t notice, but your question showed him that was clearly not the case.
Your lips twitched, like you were trying not to laugh. But it wasn’t in a cruel way, not like you were laughing at him. “That’s good to know,” you replied, nodding like you were filing the information away for later.
He couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips, even with the awkwardness hanging in the air. Only this time, it wasn’t heavy. You didn’t make him feel self-conscious. If anything, you made him feel noticed, and something about that sent a slow warmth spreading through him.
“I promise I can carry a conversation most of the time,” he defended himself, shoulders lifting in a small shrug, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Just… not always the best at small talk.”
You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow at him, teasing. “Small talk is overrated anyway.”
Silence settled between you, strangely comfortable. From where you stood, the cheers of the crowd faded into the background with each new pair being chosen, distant enough to feel like the two of you were sealed off from the rest of the world. Right here, it was just you and him, standing at the edge of something Chan couldn’t quite name.
He shifted slightly, his fingers grazing the concrete railing as he debated whether he should say more, whether he should push this moment just a little further or not, since you seemed to be enjoying your own company until a few minutes ago, even if it was in his room.
The only thing he didn’t want to do was let it slip away.
So instead, he asked the question that had been circling in his mind the moment he spotted you through the curtains. “So, uh… how did you find my room?”
Chan watched as you suddenly froze, eyes widening as his question sank in. Your gaze followed his, tracing down to the hoodie hanging loosely on your frame, and the realization hit you. A soft laugh slipped past your lips and it sent his pulse straight into overdrive.
“Oh shit.” You blinked rapidly, the disbelief written all over your face. You seemed to realize the absurdity of the situation at the exact same moment the words slipped past your lips, your gaze flickering between him and the hoodie. “Wait, no—” you rushed out, clearly flustered. “I wasn’t snooping or anything, I swear. I didn’t even realize this was your room. I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t come in here to—”
“You just… what?” he asked, the words slipping out before he could catch them.
He was still trying to process all of it. you, standing in front of him, frustration and embarrassment coloring your face, and wearing his hoodie of all things — did he stress that enough?
Chan had spent the entire night convinced he’d already ruined every chance he might’ve had with you, and now here you were, undoing every conclusion he’d drawn.
You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. There was no way this could be less embarrassing. “I was looking for a quiet place to hide from the whole seven minutes in heaven thing. I found an unlocked door, thought it was an empty guest room, and uh… turns out, it wasn’t.”
He stared at you, his heartbeat loud in his ears. “And the hoodie?”
A sheepish smile tugged at your lips. “It was on the chair. It was cold. Thought it looked comfy.”
It was comfy. But that wasn’t the point.
He swallowed, trying not to let the warmth spreading through his chest take over his whole body. This—you—was the last thing he expected tonight. And yet, here you were, standing in his room at two in the morning, looking impossibly good in his clothes. Maybe the universe was on his side after all.
You stayed seated there, looking at him like you weren’t sure if you should stay or go. And maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the way you were looking at him, but for the first time all night, Chan didn’t feel like running away.
Instead, he exhaled, leaning back as he met your gaze. “Well,” he murmured, forcing a small smirk. “It looks better on you anyway.”
He had no idea where this sudden courage was coming from. Maybe it was the alcohol still lingering in his system, even though hours had passed since his last drink. Maybe it was the cool night air. Whatever it was, he was just glad he had found the nerve to flirt with you. Even if just a little bit.
Your lips twitched, and for a second, he thought you might say something. But then you just shook your head, voice quieter now, almost shy. “I’m sorry for invading your space. Do you want me to leave?”
Chan swallowed hard. He knew what the right answer was. Knew what Vernon and Seungkwan would tell him to do. Knew that you still had a boyfriend. But with you standing there, wearing his clothes, looking at him like that. Yeah. He was completely screwed.
“No, stay,” he blurted out, a little too eagerly. Then, realizing how desperate he must’ve sounded, he cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “I mean… if you want to.”
You tilted your head, watching him in that way that made his stomach flip. “You sure?”
Chan let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. Still, he wanted to make sure. “Yeah. Unless you want to go back?”
You glanced toward the door, as if weighing your options, before exhaling a small laugh. “Not really.”
He tried not to read too much into it. He tried not to let the fact that you were still standing there, apparently in no rush to leave, get to his head. “Then stay,” he said again, softer this time.
You held his gaze for a moment, something unreadable flickering in your eyes.
“Okay,” you said at last. Then your lips curved into a teasing smile. “But only if I get to keep the hoodie.”
Chan huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. Like he could ever say no to you. “Fine. You can keep it.”
You grinned. “Thanks, Chan.”
“I mean… I might have to fight you for it later.”
“Oh, I’d win,” you shot back without hesitation, a smug little smirk playing at your lips.
And god, Chan believed you. Because you would only need to say the words and that hoodie would be yours forever.
There was a comfortable silence between you after that again, just the weight of the night settling in. The distant cheers from downstairs had died down a little, and the music had shifted to something slower, more subdued. It felt like the whole world had softened around the edges just for you and him.
You tilted your head slightly, studying him, studying him like you were trying to figure out a puzzle, and Chan felt his pulse jump all over again. He didn’t know what it was about you that made him so nervous. Maybe it was the way you carried yourself or the way your eyes were holding an amused curiosity whenever you looked at him.
Or maybe — just maybe — it was simpler than that. Maybe it was because he wanted to be on the receiving end of the softness you reserved for your boyfriend.
At the thought of him, Chan’s expression faltered slightly, and he turned away, gripping the railing a little tighter than necessary. He had no right to feel the way he did, no right to want things he couldn’t have. But he was here now, alone with you in the quiet of the night, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to imagine that things were different.
Chan turned to you again, watching as you stared out at the horizon now. He didn’t know what he was expecting when he spoke next, but the words left his mouth before he could stop them. “So where’s your boyfriend?”
If you were surprised by the question, you didn’t let it show. He saw you lowering your head and letting out a not very happy laugh through your nose.
The truth was, you were surprised by his question, but at the same time, you weren’t. Jongin wasn’t exactly known for being non-territorial; he was always where you were, and when he couldn’t be, he made sure to show up at some point. But the way Chan’s question slipped out so easily, so curious, paralyzed all your instincts—the ones that told you to take it slow, to breathe between the end of your relationship with Jongin and the leap you were considering to take when you agreed to come here tonight.
And then, the confession slipped out of your lips before your brain could stop it. “He’s...not my boyfriend anymore.”
Chan’s eyes widened slightly at your words. His stomach churned with an uncomfortable mix of relief and confusion, and he blinked a few times, processing your words.
Would he go to hell for feeling immensely happy with that confession you had just made? Probably. And he would slow dance with the devil, grinning from ear to ear nonetheless.
“Not your boyfriend anymore?” he repeated after you. “Why not?”
You shrugged, a casual motion that didn’t match the weight of your words, finally looking up to meet his gaze again. “Didn’t want to be, I guess.”
That was only half true, and you knew it. It wasn’t like you wanted to be his girlfriend either. But still, you weren’t the one who ended things by cheating on him with his step sister. You’d probably still be with him if he hadn’t decided to put an end to it in the worst way possible, even if your heart was beating for someone completely different already.
Was it weird that you felt relieved to be cheated on, because it finally gave you a reason to leave?
“Then he’s an idiot,” Chan muttered with no hesitation. Like it was a fact, not a judgment.
When you looked at him, his eyes were filled with genuine empathy. You smiled gratefully, appreciating his compassion. Not wanting to weigh the moment, you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”
Chan frowned slightly. “I doubt it,” he said, before adding, “But why?”
You shrugged again. “It wasn’t like I was dying to stay in that relationship, you know.”
The way you said it, almost too calmly, threw him off. I mean, he knew you weren’t very happy in your relationship; it was evident in your body language around Jongin. But he didn’t expect it to go as far as you wishing you weren’t actually in it.
He wanted to ask more, to understand what had happened, but a part of him feared that prying would make him sound even more pathetic. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from pressing on, his voice low and a little uncertain. “Wait, so you didn’t want to be with him either?”
You didn’t hesitate, your expression not betraying any emotion, but your voice was a little more sharper when you replied. “Not really. I didn’t even like him in the end. I guess I just stayed longer than I should have because it was… comfortable.”
“That doesn’t sound like a great reason to stay.”
Chan bit his lip, trying to digest your words. Part of him wanted to reach out, to comfort you somehow, but he didn’t know where to start. The realization that you were no longer with him, the guy who seemed to have always been in the picture, stirred something in him, like a sense of hope he wasn’t prepared to feel tonight. But he kept it buried, not wanting to come off too eager, too quick to assume.
“It wasn’t,” you admitted. “But it’s hard to walk away from something when you don’t have a reason big enough to leave.”
“And what finally made you leave? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“You’re funny.” You smiled, head tilted to the side as you locked gazes with him. “I’ve never really got to actually talk to you before. Yet, here we are,” you gestured to the space between you with your hands. “I like this side of you. Curious and talkative Chan.”
“Yeah?”
He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, even though a smile tugged at his lips. He was happy that being alone with you had finally awakened that side of him: more talkative, made him braver, lighter, more him.
You nodded, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, I do.” Then you sighed, before saying, “To answer your question: he cheated on me with my step sister.”
His eyes widened and suddenly he was back to not knowing what to say, so he stayed quiet for a moment.
Chan’s brain raced, his heart pounding. Was it bad that the idea of you being available—of there being a chance for something, whatever it might be—be the only thing that appeared in flashing neon signs in his head?
Either way, he was glad you had gotten out of a relationship that clearly wasn’t good for you. He was happy that you had gotten rid of the asshole who was known for only dating girls ten years younger than him, the asshole who never let you breathe.
“Why did you date him anyway? Guy’s a jerk.” The words escaped his mouth before he could even control them.
“He gave me just the right amount of attention, at the right time,” you answered without hesitation, shrugging again. “Have you ever heard ‘We accept the love we think we deserve’?”
Chan frowned, processing your words. Well, that was sad. The way you spoke about it, almost like you were talking about a lesson learned the hard way, made him feel a pang of sympathy for you.
“I’ve heard of it,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” you continued, eyes searching his face. “I didn't realize I deserved more until the moment I woke up from the trance I’d been stuck in for two years.”
Listening to you confess to him all of this without thinking twice and sounding so sincere, made his stomach twisted with something like a mixture of frustration and admiration. He could see how hard it must’ve been for you, but at the same time, something in him wanted to protect you, to offer the kind of attention and care that wasn’t half-hearted, something real and full of understanding.
Something you truly deserved.
“You do deserve more,” he finally said, voice quiet but firm. “Everyone does. And if you want it, you can have it. No one should make you feel like you don’t.”
Chan hoped you understood the undertone of his words. Though he was genuine in what he said, he wanted to be everything you deserved—the more you could and should have. God knew how much he wanted it, and how far he would go to show you that. But in that moment, he also wanted to offer words of comfort, to be the shoulder you might need.
You didn’t say anything for a while, just standing there, letting the noise of the party hum around you both. Finally, you exhaled.
“It’s hard to let go of what you’ve known, even when it’s not good for you,” you admitted, almost like you were talking to yourself more than him. “But sometimes, I guess you need to make space for something better, even if it’s scary.”
His heart beat faster at your words. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew one thing: this conversation, this moment between you, felt different than anything he had experienced with you before.
“Do you think…” he started, and then stopped, unsure of what to ask. He was afraid that anything he said might ruin the moment.
“Maybe,” you murmured quietly, though your voice didn’t waver, eyes locked on his. “Maybe I need to stop accepting what I think I deserve and start going after what I actually deserve.”
Chan swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. The air between you felt charged now, heavier than it should have been. He felt as if he were teetering on the brink of something, something he was not afraid to jump into and also couldn’t stop himself from wanting, hoping you wished the same, even if he was too crazy or delusional to consider that possibility.
Just as he was about to say something, he suddenly felt light raindrops hitting the spot where the two of you were standing on the balcony. The first few drops were light, barely noticeable, but within seconds, the drizzle grew heavier, the scent of rain taking over the air.
Chan watched you look up, your eyes tracing the sky as it darkened, the city below shimmering through the mist. When you turned back to him, he was staring at you, not at the rain, not at the sky, but at you. You met his gaze, and for a split second, everything else faded; the sound of the rain, the distant hum of the city below, even the pounding of his own heart.
He blinked, breaking the spell, his gaze flickering toward the curtain of rain before inevitably returning to you. “Maybe we should go inside,” he suggested, the hesitance in his voice sounding less like uncertainty and more like an offering. Chan was trying to give you an escape, if you wanted it.
You nodded slowly, and without saying a word, you jumped off the balcony railing, following him inside. You looked around the dark room for a second, before saying, “Maybe I should go. I don't want to hold the party host down with me.”
Chan turned to face you, his eyes softening as he took in your words. There was something about the way you spoke, in the tiny pause, the quiet wobble of your voice, that made him want to step closer, to reassure you that you weren’t an inconvenience. If anything, you were the one person he wanted there, more than anything, more than anyone.
“You’re not holding anyone down,” he said, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “If anything, it’s me who should be worried about keeping you from having fun.”
“Never,” you replied, sounding casual, though something in your voice slipped past his understanding. Particularly when you added, “Besides, the person I wanted to kiss isn't even downstairs.”
He stopped dead in his tracks, his heart giving a sharp, startled kick. At this point, a heart attack felt like a valid possibility. He blinked, not quite sure if he had heard you correctly, but the way your gaze held his, steady and unflinching, told him that he hadn’t misheard.
Chan cleared his throat, his voice coming out a little too thick for his liking. “Oh? And, uh… who exactly were you hoping to kiss, if not...?” He trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence, not sure if he even wanted to know the answer.
As the curtain moved in the wind, bringing the streetlight into the room, he saw a mischievous smile grow on your lips.
What the hell was happening? Was his brain betraying him? Was he imagining this moment? Had he passed out on the bed when he went to his bedroom and was now in a dream, after spending ninety percent of his energy thinking about you at the party he should have been enjoying with his friends?
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you answered, and turned your back to him, eyes immediately darting to the shelf of his trophies from dance competitions and photographs.
Yes, I do! I want to know! Chan wanted to shout, but contained himself.
Instead, he stood there for a moment, unsure whether to follow up with another question, or to let the silence stretch on. The way you spoke, so casually and yet with that playful glint in your eye, made everything feel… electric.
So he simply watched you there, in his room, moving without hesitation, slowly walking over to his shelf, running your finger along the wood and observing each one of his trophies, medals and pictures with meticulous care.
He couldn’t help but think—and wish too—that he could get used to this scene.
The golden plaques gleamed under the dim light, each one marking a victory of his. Some were polished to perfection, while others bore the faintest scratches, proof of the years Chan had spent chasing dreams in the dance field. Your gaze drifted to the framed photographs beside them, each snapshot telling a different story of his life.
There were several photos of him as a little kid, beaming as ever, dressed in performance clothes, on stage, with a medal around his neck. In another, he stood beside his previous performance group, whom you recognized as Kwon Soonyoung, Wen Junhui, and Xu Minghao, their grins wide and carefree. There were also photos with his parents and grandmother, and some with what looked like his younger brother.
Chan was probably the cutest kid you had ever seen, and that realization made you smile genuinely.
“Lee Jung Chan?” you read aloud, curiosity threading through your voice as your eyes went back to his children’s dance trophies. Your fingers brushed over the small golden plaque, the engraving slightly worn from time.
Behind you, he let out a soft chuckle. “It’s my name on my family tree. The government name is just Lee Chan.”
“You went by your full name back then?”
He shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Only because my mom insisted. She said it sounded more professional, like I was already a star or something.”
“It’s cute,” you remarked, throwing him a look over your shoulder. “You were so cute.”
“Yes, well, the kids used to call me Jimmy Neutron.”
You laughed, turning fully to face him. Neither of you had noticed how close you were until you did. If you reached out your arms, you’d only be able to touch each other slightly. But even though both of you thought about it, neither of you made any move to change your positions, continuing your conversation.
“What? Jimmy Neutron?”
He groaned, running a hand through his hair as if reliving the embarrassment. “Yeah. They said my head was too big for my body. And, you know, the spiky hair didn’t help.”
You bit your lip, trying to suppress another laugh. Chan holded his breath at your movement, forcing himself to look elsewhere, forcing himself not to think about your lips or else his blood would rush south.
“I can totally see it now,” you teased, releasing your lip from your teeth and looking between him and the photo on the shelf.
He narrowed his eyes at you playfully. “Wow, okay. I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”
“I am!” You held up your hands in defense. “I just think it’s adorable. And look at you now. You certainly grew into it beautifully.”
Chan smirked, tilting his head and crossing his arms. “So you're saying I look beautiful now?”
You rolled your eyes, turning back to the trophies. “Don't get ahead of yourself, Jimmy Neutron.”
He laughed, stepping up beside you as his eyes skimmed over the shelf briefly, before turning back to you. “Yeah, but I kinda see it. My head was huge.”
You tilted your head, studying one of the photos of him mid-dance, his tiny frame caught in motion. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and black fingerless gloves, hair is slightly messy and spiky, adding to the fun and carefree to his edgy look. His bright smile revealed a gap between his teeth, and you thought to yourself that you’ve probably never seen anything so lovely before.
“Well, I think you were adorable,” you said under your breath, your finger tracing the edge of the frame. “And talented, obviously. All these trophies…”
He shrugged, a little bashful. “My grandmother was really proud of them. She used to polish them every weekend.”
Your smile softened. “She sounds sweet.”
“She is,” he replied, voice tinged with fondness. “She used to call me ‘our little star.’”
Something about the way Chan said it made warmth bloom in your chest. You turned toward him, and he was looking at you again, his expression unreadable but undeniably intense. The streetlights made his features look even more defined, shadows deepening along his strong jawline.
If there was one thing you knew about Lee Chan, it was that he was a star. Every performance he was part of filled the university theater, without failure. Not to mention the countless admirers he had on campus, and with good reason.
Watching him do what he loved was a pleasure simply because he was that good. Confident and unwavering, he dominated the stage effortlessly, as if wrapped in a bubble no one could pierce. It was mesmerizing to witness.
“You still are, you know,” you said gently. “A star.”
His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Just studied you like he was trying to figure something out. Finally, a small, shy smile tugged at his lips. “I think I prefer when you call me cute.”
“Duly noted.”
Chan exhaled a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the desk beside the shelf. “You know, I don’t usually let people snoop around my room like this.”
You glanced at him over your shoulder again, your fingers still lightly tracing over the edge of a picture framed. “Oh? Am I special, Channie?”
You didn’t need to say his name that way, or shape the word with your lips like that. His eyes dipped to your mouth, and a flicker crossed his expression. His eyes met yours.
“Yes,” he murmured. “Yes, you are.”
To mask the fact that your breath hitched slightly, you offered him a playful smirk. “Good to know.”
As Chan moved to sit on the edge of his bed, you continued the exploration of his shelf, eyes stopping at a picture frame in the middle where he was standing between what seemed to be his parents, both of them kissing his cheek sweetly.
“Is your father a dancer too?” you asked, running your fingers over his face on the picture.
“Yeah. My dad and my mom,” he explained. “They kind of stopped after I was born.”
“Wow. It’s in your blood, then.”
Chan nodded, a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. My dad always says I got his footwork, but my mom says I got her rhythm.”
You leaned against the table by the shelf, watching him as he spoke. “So they gave it up for you?”
He paused, considering, then nodded. “Yeah. My dad started teaching instead, and my mom focused on raising me. They never made me feel like I took anything away from them, though.”
“That’s love.”
“Yeah, it is.”
Another comfortable silence settled between you as you turned back to the photos, your fingers absently tracing the edges of the other frames. One photo in particular caught your eye. It was from the exact same day you first noticed him, during the university’s annual arts week in your sophomore year.
He was dressed in a white button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone, black dress pants, and his hair dyed a faded dark blue. You knew he had worn a tie too because he had taken it off during the performance.
Out of the four members in the unit, he immediately stood out to you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why, but it was as if no one else existed on that stage besides him. Your eyes were locked on him and no one else, watching in awe as he moved across the stage, completely captivated.
“I was there that day, you know?” you pointed out, showing him over the shoulder the photo you were referring to.
Chan’s eyes widened as he stared at it. It was one of the images from his first big performance at the university’s annual arts week back in his freshman year, a moment that had felt like a turning point for him, when everything had clicked. He hadn’t realized anyone had been paying attention back then, least of all you.
“You were?” His voice held a note of surprise. There was something so disarming about the way you were looking at the photo, and then at him.
You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze before turning back. “Yeah. I was in the back, by the side stage,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You were… mesmerizing.”
He felt a warmth spread through him at your words. Chan hadn’t expected to hear something like that, especially not from you.
“Really?” He couldn’t hide the shock in his voice. His brows lifted slightly, as if he was trying to picture it. “How come I didn’t see you?”
“I don’t think you noticed anyone that night,” you teased. “You were in your own world up there.”
He hummed, eyes flickering back to the photo. “Maybe,” he mused, then glanced at you again, a slow smile crept onto his lips. “So, you’ve been watching me all this time, noona?”
There was a teasing edge to his voice and you exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”
“No?” He titled his head. “Then how would you put it?”
He saw you hesitate for a second, fingers still resting on the shelf. Then, meeting his eyes, you admitted, “I noticed you. That night, and every time after that.”
Chan felt his breath catch in his throat.
There was something about the way you said it—so simple, so honest—that made his heart stutter.
You noticed him.
Not just that night, but every time after.
He had spent years analyzing every interaction you two had ever had. Every glance, every small word, every time you did so much as acknowledged his existence. And now? Now you were standing here, saying things that made his heart race like it was the easiest thing to do.
How did he end up here?
Chan felt lightheaded.
He wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t rare for him to be speechless around you, so there he was again, standing in front of you, feeling like the floor beneath him wasn’t quite solid anymore.
“You noticed me,” he echoed, more to himself than to you.
You nodded, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the photo before you finally pulled your hand away. “Yeah,” you confirmed, laughing softly. “I did, Channie.”
Chan swallowed. Hard. He wanted to ask why. What was it about him that had caught your attention? Was it his performance? His presence? Something else entirely different?
But instead, he found himself saying, “I wish I’d noticed you in the crowd.”
Your lips parted slightly, but instead of speaking, you simply smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.
His fingers twitched at his sides. God, he wished he could go back in time to that night so he could scan every face in the crowd to find you standing by the side stage, maybe watching him with that same look you had now. You weren’t even dating Jongin at the time, and if your words were any indication of what he was imagining, maybe he had missed an opportunity by acting as though you were unattainable. Maybe he had lost precious time.
Chan watched as moved away from the shelf, turning to him entirely. His breath hitched slightly as you stepped closer, each movement deliberate, unhurried. You didn’t hesitate as you sank down beside him on the bed, the space between you shrinking just enough to make his pulse quicken.
The room suddenly felt smaller, quieter, like the world outside had dulled, leaving only the two of you in this charged silence.
He forced himself to breathe, to act natural, even as every fiber of his being buzzed with awareness of your presence beside him. You were close enough that he could catch the faintest trace of the sweetness of your perfume again, making his head spin in the best way.
His eyes stayed fixed on you as you pressed your hands into the mattress and stared at the wall ahead, as if you were deliberately avoiding his gaze for reasons he couldn’t name.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Mhmm.”
You wet your lips, a brief hesitation before finally voicing the thought that had lingered in your mind all night. “Were you avoiding me tonight?”
Chan felt his heart slam against his ribs. “I wasn’t—” he started, then stopped himself because, well… yeah, he had been avoiding you. But only because every time he looked at you, he felt like his brain melted, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to not make a fool of himself.
You smirked, clearly amused by his silence. The question seemed to be answered to you. “That’s what I thought.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “I wasn’t avoiding you, I just—” He paused, eyes lifting to the ceiling and then settling on you again. Halfway through, Chan decided that it was no longer the time to second guess things, so he simply admitted, “You make me very nervous, noona.”
You wished you had an explanation for the way you shivered slightly when he called you noona. But instead, you chose to ignore the feeling, letting the sensation fade into something softer, something more curious.
“I make you nervous?” you repeated, tilting your head slightly as your eyes widened. “That’s a first.”
Chan huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You say that like it’s impossible. I bet–I know I’m not the only one.”
You shrugged. “I don’t know… you’ve always seemed so confident. Especially on stage.”
“That is just an act,” he confessed. “On stage, I could pretend to be someone else for a little while. But you?” He turned to you. “You’re real. You’re right here.”
And he still couldn’t believe it, the words leaving his lips as if he were pinching himself to prove that this was really happening and not just a fever dream.
Hearing him, you wondered what Chan would think if he knew how your stomach was doing backflips because of the way he was looking at you like you were something impossible and unreal all at once.
You hadn’t expected this and most certainly didn't expect him to say something so… vulnerable. Something that made your heart race so fast with all the implications of his words.
“I didn’t mean to make you nervous, Channie,” you whispered, your voice softer now, sounding like you were trying to defend yourself. You had never looked so cute as you did now.
“I don’t think you can help it,” Chan tried to explain, letting out a breathless chuckle. “You know, you probably didn’t know this, but I had a, um… a crush on you.”
Okay, he knew he was straying from the truth. But there was a limit to his courage, and even though he had sensed a bit of flirting between you, he wasn’t about to risk rejection after the nice conversation you’d had tonight, because maybe he was just imagining things.
And he wanted you to walk away from here at least as friends rather than leave an awkward situation for the two of you. He’d rather have you like this than not have you at all. That was why he decided to test the waters with that small lie.
Your lips parted slightly at his confession, your mind racing to process what he had just admitted. “You… had a crush on me?” you repeated, almost like you were trying to make sure you’d heard him right.
Chan nodded, his expression somewhere between amused and nervous. “Yeah. A major one,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Something inside you fluttered at the thought. It seemed like every word that came out of Chan’s mouth was meant to surprise you, even if you didn’t believe he was doing it on purpose. You hadn’t expected this at all, not from him, least of all, not tonight.
“You’re bullshiting me, aren’t you?” you accused, narrowing your eyes playfully.
He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “Nope. Dead serious.”
“But you never said anything!”
“Didn’t think you’d be interested.” He shrugged. Then he nudged you with his elbow, playfully. “Plus you had a boyfriend.”
You blinked at him, momentarily stunned into silence.
Didn’t think you’d be interested?
It was absurd to hear those words coming from him, the same person who had commanded every room he walked into without even trying, the same person who had owned the stage so effortlessly that you couldn’t take your eyes off him.
What would he say if you opened your mouth to confess that you’d realized you weren’t happy in your old relationship the moment you started noticing him everywhere? Noticing his smile, the way he blushed when you talked to him, the way he seemed so unreachable, like he wasn’t the least bit interested in getting to know you, always running away when you were around.
Maybe that should’ve been your first clue that he had a crush on you too. But perhaps you were too caught up in your own melancholia to notice.
So, instead of spilling out, you decided to test something. “Is it just in the past?”
Chan’s brows lifted slightly, caught off guard by your question. “What?”
“Your crush.”
“Uhh..”
“Because it would be so sad if it was” you said before you could stop yourself, eyes searching for his.
“Really?”
You let out a quiet breath, shaking your head with a small smile. “Mhmm.”
He swallowed hard, his brain short-circuiting at your response. Of all the ways this conversation could have gone, this was not what Chan had expected. Maybe he was in a dream. A very lived one, but still, a dream.
“You—” He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling like he had forgotten how to speak. “You think it would be sad?”
You hummed. “Yeah. I think it would be a shame if something like that just… faded away.”
Chan's heart was doing something ridiculous in his chest, and he wasn't sure if it was panic or hope or a chaotic mix of both. He should say something. He should joke about it, keep it light, make sure this moment didn’t carry more weight than it should. But he couldn’t because the way you were looking at him right now felt dangerous.
“Would it?” he managed, clearing his throat in the process.
Your smile again, nodding.
He let out a breathless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really know how to mess with a guy’s head, huh?”
“Maybe,” You grinned, leaning in just a little. “But only when it’s fun. Besides who says you’re not messing with mine too?”
“I am?”
“Yes.”
You didn’t say anything else and Chan stared at you for a long moment, his mind racing with a million things he wanted to say, a million things he wanted to do. But instead, he smiled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were real. That this moment was real.
He was messing with your head? That’s a first.
“Noted,” he simply murmured.
“What about now?” You looked at him expectantly, not letting silence settle between you.
Chan inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides. “Now?” he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. You nodded once more. Chan’s smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second before he recovered. “Are you asking if I still have a crush on you, noona?”
You rolled your eyes, trying to mask the way your heart had started hammering. “Forget it,” you muttered, getting up from the bed.
He reached out, closing his hand around your wrist, and gently pulled you back to sit on the bed again. For a second, it felt like the world had stopped moving. It all faded into nothing. It was just you and him, standing there in this uncertain space that he used to call his bedroom.
Chan’s throat went dry, and he swallowed hard. His first instinct was to joke, to brush it off, to act nonchalant, as he always did. But the look in your eyes—quiet, expectant, tinged with something dangerously close to hope—left him no room to lie.
And before you could escape the moment, Chan leaned in ever so slightly, just enough that you felt the warmth of him beside you. “For the record,” he started, voice lower now, just for you. “Some things don’t change that easily.”
You turned to look at him, and for the first time that night, you weren’t sure who was more nervous: you or him.
You held his gaze for a long moment, your expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a small smile curled at the corners of your lips. “Good.”
Chan blinked. You were going to give him a whiplash.
“Good?”
You nodded, shifting just a little closer, the space between you growing small. “Like I said: it would be really sad if it had faded away.”
A few seconds passed, he just stared at you, his heart pounding, his pulse roaring in his ears. He could barely think, could barely breathe. “Are you messing with me?” he asked, a nervous chuckle slipping out.
“What do you think?” you asked, biting your lip, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“I think,” he said slowly, “you’re trouble.”
You grinned. “Only when it's fun, remember?”
“Noted.”
Chan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. This time, there was something different in his voice, something lighter, something hopeful.
You kept your lip under your teeth for a second, analyzing him carefully. For the first time, Chan didn’t feel intimidated by your gaze. He didn’t feel exposed. Quite the opposite, his skin felt like it was on fire, but for a very good reason.
Your eyes flickered down to his lips for a fraction of a second. If he hadn’t been watching you so closely, he would’ve missed it.
You were too close. Or maybe not close enough.
“Chan.”
“Yes, noona?”
“Do you wanna kiss me?”
He felt every neuron in his brain misfire at once, completely abandoning him at the worst possible moment.
Did he hear you right?
Did you—did you really just ask him that?
But the way you were looking at him—head bent to the side, eyes locked onto his with quiet amusement—made it clear that he hadn’t.
His fingers twitched against his knee, his pulse hammering in his ears so hard he was sure you could hear it. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. Suddenly, every single response he could think of felt either too much or not enough.
He could feel the warmth radiating off of you, the way your gaze never left his, searching, waiting.
“Uh…” He cleared his throat again, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “I—um—”
“Because you keep looking at me like you do,” you continued, “and if you don’t want to, that’s fine. But I just thought I’d ask.”
He was absolutely, utterly doomed.
He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Noona, you can’t just ask me that.”
“Why not?”
“You’re gonna be the death of me.” Chan let out a nervous laugh, shaking his head.
You grinned. “Is that a yes or a no?”
You were still watching him, waiting, and damn it if he didn’t want to kiss you more than anything. He always had. But now? With you looking at him like that, teasing, testing, daring him? It was like he was malfunctioning.
Yeah, he was probably overthinking this. Hell, scratch that, he was definitely overthinking this. But the truth was, this wasn’t just some random moment to him, with a random person. It was you. And you weren’t just anybody to him.
He didn’t want to screw this up.
But at the same time…
God, he wanted to kiss you. More than he would like to see the sun rise again.
So, he took a breath, gathering every ounce of courage he had left, and finally, finally, he answered.
“Yes,” he admitted, voice quiet but steady. “I really, really want to kiss you.”
Your smile turned softer, less teasing now. “Then what are you waiting for?”
That’s all it took.
Chan closed the space between you, his hesitation melting away the second his lips brushed against yours. It was slow, tentative at first. He wanted to memorize the feeling of your lips, engrave it into his memory in case he never got the chance to do it again. But when you responded to him, when your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him in just a little closer, something inside him snapped completely.
He exhaled sharply against your lips before deepening the kiss, his hand moving to the back of your neck as he tilted his head, molding himself to you like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life, and not just two years of it.
If the party outside still carried on, now it felt absolutely muted. The only thing that existed was your lips against his, the way they fit together, your fingers threading through his hair, the soft sound you let out when he nipped your bottom lip.
Chan was dizzy. Overwhelmed.
And completely, absolutely ruined for anyone else.
Your fingers dung into his tight, searching for support, and you felt him groan against your lips. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a reaction deep within you. His hand slipped from the back of your neck into your hair, fingers threading through the strands as he tilted your head to the side, and that was it. You were lost too.
When a soft gasp left your lips at the feeling of him pulling your hair slightly, Chan saw the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue past your parted lips, teasingly, deliberately, claiming the space with an intoxicating slowness. They way kissed you left you breathless, lightheaded, as if he’d stolen the very air from your lungs.
Your knees bumped against his as you tried to move closer, and instead of pulling away, Chan only tightened his grip on you, his arm slipping from your hair to your waist. In one smooth motion, he guided you into his lap, pulling you over his legs until you were straddling him.
A surprised giggle bubbled from your lips at the sudden shift, but he didn’t falter, if anything, the sound only seemed to spur him on. His hands settled firmly on your hips, fingers pressing into your skin as if committing your shape to his memory.
One kiss bled into the next, and then another, and another, until the only force pulling you apart was the desperate need for air. Your forehead rested against his for a fleeting moment, both of you panting, neither willing to let go.
Then, with a boldness that sent heat surging through you, you leaned in, taking his bottom lip between yours, sucking gently as your hips rolled forward in an instinctive motion. A groan tore from both of you at the same time at the feeling of you core meeting his half hardened cock for the first time.
Chan’s head tipped back, his throat exposed to you, a silent invitation too tempting to ignore. You pressed an open-mouthed kiss just below his perfect jaw, feeling the way his pulse leapt beneath your lips. His hands traveled slowly and torturously from your hips to your thighs, hovering just above the hem of your skirt, while you traced your tongue over the skin of his neck, giving it a playful nip with your teeth.
His breath hitched at the feeling, gripping on your tights for dear life as his heart raced like crazy. The fire in his veins was undeniable, every inch of him consumed by you. Your touch, the way your lips moved, was driving him to the edge of something he wasn’t sure he could come back from.
As Chan looked at you, his eyes begging to close in pleasure, he was sure his pupils were dilated at the scene before him and the fact that you looked like a goddess on top of him.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispered, a rasp of desire that sent a thrill racing through you.
Your response to his words was to rock your hips against his, feeling his full hardness now pressing your folds through his pants and listening to him whine, breathy and desperate. At the sound of it, you couldn’t help but sink your teeth into his neck, sucking to ensure you left a mark, to ensure everyone saw what you had done to him.
Chan’s breath came in uneven, his body shuddering beneath you as your lips lingered over the mark you’d left on his skin. His hands tightened around your tights, fingers twitching like he was resisting the urge to take things further, to let his restraint unravel completely.
“Fuck,” Chan rasped, his head tilting forward until his forehead rested against yours, his eyes squeezed shut. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
You hummed against him, dragging your lips up toward his ear, reveling in the way he shivered beneath you. “What do you want, Channie?” you teased, nipping at his earlobe.
Your hands slid beneath his shirt, fingertips tracing along the defined ridges of his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch, his hands now gripping your thighs like they were the only things keeping him grounded, like he was afraid you’d slip away.
His eyes fluttered open, dark and desperate as they locked onto yours.
“You,” he admitted, breathless, “I just want you.”
The raw honesty in his words sent another shiver down your spine. “Then take me, baby,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his jaw, the ghost of a challenge in your voice.
Chan groaned, his hands sliding up from your thighs, gripping your waist with a reverence that made your pulse stutter. His thumbs traced slow, teasing circles against your skin, his restraint evident in the way his fingers flexed but didn’t pull you closer.
“You really are on a mission to kill me, aren’t you?” he whispered, his breath deliciously warm against your lips.
You smirked, tilting your head just slightly, an exhalation away from his mouth. “What gave it away?”
He exhaled sharply, his patience snapping like a thread. One moment, you were teasing him, savoring the slow burn, and the next, he was kissing you like he’d been starving for you his entire life. His lips crashed against yours, desperate, all-consuming, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you flush against him.
The heat between you flared, intoxicating and undeniable. Your fingers slid up his chest, tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, breathy moan from his lips. The sound sent a thrill through you, your body pressing closer, chasing the feeling of him, the warmth of him, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that existed.
His hands roamed your body, slipping beneath your shirt, his touch searing against the bare skin of your inner thighs. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was savoring, mapping out every inch of you like he had all the time in the world. Like he wanted to memorize it, in case this was the last time he’d ever get to.
Your hips rolled instinctively again, pressing down against him, and Chan groaned into your mouth, his fingers digging into your skin. “Fuck,” he breathed, his head falling back as he sucked in a sharp breath.
You leaned in, pressing another set of kisses to the column of his throat. “Too much?” you teased, your voice sultry, full of mischief.
Chan’s jaw clenched as he let out a breathless chuckle. “Not even close.”
His hands traveled higher up your thighs, and the moment his index finger traced a slow line over the fabric of your already-soaked panties, a moan slipped from your lips into his. He grunted something unintelligible as he tugged your panties to the side, his fingers finally feeling how wet you were beneath them. Then, he dragged his touch torturously up to your stomach before slipping inside the lace, and you instinctively lifted your hips, giving him better access to where you needed him most.
“Are you this wet for me, noona?” he asked, pulling back to meet your gaze. Two of his fingers pushed inside you, while his thumb circled your most sensitive spot and you cried out. “Is this all because of me?”
You nodded desperately, almost missing the disbelief in his eyes that only fueled the intensity between you. It heighted every touch, made you move in sync with him, your teeth sinking into your lip as he worked you over with deliberate precision, taking his time to drive you absolutely crazy with his fingers moving into and out of you.
“I want you to sit on my face.” His voice didn’t waver; it was an order wrapped in certainty, his eyes darkened with something you’d never seen in him before, something you instantly craved. The sheer weight of it dragged a whimper from your lips.
Still, you can’t help but think about his safety.
“Are you sure?” The words slipped out on a shaky exhale, your breathing already unsteady.
Both of his hands returned to your thighs, slowly trailing up to your ass beneath your skirt.
“Never been more sure in my entire life. Please”
“Fuck. Okay.”
You got off him for a moment, quickly slipping off your boots as you stepped out of the bed. You pulled off your skirt and panties, while Chan got up to remove his shirt, tossing it somewhere in the room. Then he returned to the bed, sitting comfortably and leaning back on his elbows, his gaze never leaving you. His eyes burned with desire as he watched you slowly take off his hoodie before taking your sweet time freeing your breasts from the tight black corset, clearly on purpose.
When your breasts finally spilled free, his mouth parted slightly, eyes locked onto your hardened nipples as if it were one of the seven wonders of the world.
“Come here, baby.”
You slowly crawled across the bed toward where he was lying close to the headboard, and Chan helped you position yourself on top of him. Each of your thighs settled on either side of his head as you both adjusted, ensuring the position was comfortable for both of you.
“You have the prettiest pussy,” he whispered against you, followed by a groan, and you felt his breath hit your entrance, making you tremble slightly.
You knew that you were so fucking wet that even in the dim light of the room, you were sure he could see your folds glistening. But instead of feeling embarrassed, a thrill ran through your body when you glanced down and saw Chan licking his lips, his eyes locked onto your core just inches from his face. He stared at you like you were the most delicious meal he was ever going to have in his life.
“You smell delicious, noona.” The way he spoke made you moan softly, your hands instinctively moving to squeeze your breasts. “Bet you taste even better.”
Chan gripped the back of your thighs, pulling you closer until your heat was right in front of his face, his eyes drinking in the sight. His lips found your inner thigh first, sucking a mark into your soft skin, slow and deliberate.
When he finally placed his lips exactly where you needed him, your hands flew straight to grip his hair, holding tightly between your fingers as your legs trembled from the indescribable sensation of his mouth on you. Still, Chan sensed that you were trying to hold back, worried about hurting him, so as soon as you shifted just an inch away from his face, he pushed you back down, holding you tight against him.
The gasp that left your lips was a sound you’d never made before, completely immersed in the pleasure he was giving you. His nose nudged against your clit, his tongue gathering your arousal before his mouth moved over you with deliberate hunger, like a man who had been starving for far too long.
“So good, Channie,” you cried out, body almost falling forward. “Holy fuck!”
The way Chan’s mouth moved on you was pure, unrestrained hunger, and it felt so good that, only for a moment, you entertained your brain with the idea that his mouth was made to do exactly what he was doing: eating your pussy. His lips cupped your clit, his tongue circling the sensitive bud with slow strokes, alternating with long, deep sucks that made you shiver around him.
His tongue circled your entrance, sliding in as more of your slick spilled into his mouth, all for him to savor. The taste of you—god, he never wanted this to end. All day, every day, Chan was sure he could do this for the rest of his fucking life. All he wanted was to drown himself in this, inside the wet dream that was you with your pussy right in his face.
Your hands pulled his hair tightly after one particularly harsh suck on your clit, back arching deliciously. Your moans were the only sound filling the room and Chan was pretty sure this was the soundtrack of paradise and he couldn’t wait to get there.
When his hands moved to your ass, squeezing tightly, it was as if the last shred of self-control in his body had evaporated. You started to rock your hips instinctively, grinding against his face desperately to chase your release while his nose offered you the most earth-shattering sensations.
“Oh my god, Chan,” you choked out, closing your eyes shut.
“Hmm.” His hum sent vibrations through your core and suddenly you had to use his shoulders for balance or you would have fallen forward on the bed.
Chan was certain he had died and gone to heaven the moment you started grinding against his face. He could feel your legs tense around his head, and when he opened his eyes to take in the scene above him—hands traveling up your body until they reached your breasts, squeezing them tightly—the way your face crumpled and the sounds escaping your parted lips, Chan knew he was in love.
He was done. Gone.
There was no one else for him in this world.
Only you.
You.
You.
You.
You bucked your hips against his face with more urgency as his thumbs rolled over your nipples in the most delicious way. His other hand found your neck, wrapping around it and squeezing lightly, and your head fell back, granting him free access to do whatever he wanted with you. At that moment, the familiar, intoxicating tingling built in the pit of your stomach, moans and sighs spilling from your lips more desperately and loud as you tightened your legs around his head.
“Hmm, suffocate me, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick and low.
That was all it took for your orgasm to crash over you in the most intense way, your mind bubbling with euphoria, completely lost in a haze of pleasure.
Chan licked and sucked up every last drop, swallowing your release in loud gulps as if it were the only thing capable of keeping him hydrated. As you let go of his shoulders and collapsed onto the bed beside him, your legs, weak as jelly, trembled uncontrollably, matching the shivers that ran through the rest of your body.
When you looked at him, you saw the dazed, blissed-out expression on his face mirroring your fucked-out one, like he were the one who had just come. His red lips were parted, his chin glistening, and you couldn’t resist the dopey smile on his face. Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his, tasting yourself on him. With a strength you didn’t even know you had, especially right now, you pulled him on top of you, parting your legs so he could fit there.
Chan barely had time to register the movement before letting out a small chuckle. He broke the kiss for a second, brushing your hair from your face to meet your eyes, your pupils blown wide with a desire that was reflecting his own.
He could only be dreaming.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your lips.
Normally, words like that spoken so close would have made you shy. But right now, you could feel his hard length—aching, neglected, and probably leaking—pressing against your inner thigh through the fabric of his pants.
Your hands traveled from his chest to his pants and you fumbled with his belt, struggling for a moment until your fingers remembered how to work. You unfastened his zipper, hands moving with growing urgency each passing second. As you pushed his pants down, your fingers traced the firm and defined lines of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his hips, and the soft hair on the back of his thighs.
The moment you managed to free him from his underwear, Chan’s cock rested on your hip, hard and thick. He groaned at the feeling of your skin against him and you arched into him, desperate to feel more, to press him even more against you, to take him in.
“Wanna ride you, Channie,” you told him, leaning forward to kiss him again. You reached between you, wrapping your fingers around his cock, feeling him thick and burning hot against your palm.
Chan let out a shaky breath at your words, his grip on your waist tightening instinctively. His forehead pressed against yours, eyes flickering between yours and your parted lips, as if trying to ground himself, trying to believe that this was actually his reality and not just another figment of his imagination.
“You don’t have to feel obligated, baby.”
“I want it.” You batted your pretty eyelashes at him, and he was lost. “Please.”
“Okay, noona.”
Your fingers brushed over his jaw, tilting his face up to meet your lips in another deep, searing kiss. Every part of you was incredibly drawn to him, turned on by him, the heat between you almost unbearable now. Slowly, deliberately, you rocked your hips forward, savoring the way his breath stuttered against your lips.
“You were driving me insane,” he groaned, his hands tightening their hold on you.
You smiled, feeling the way his pulse raced beneath your lips. “Good. Now lay back for me, baby.”
Chan didn’t argue. He shifted slightly, scooting back and patting his thighs in invitation for you to hover over his cock. The dim light cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the curve of your back and the way your hair fell around your shoulders. He watched you, his breath catching in his throat as you met his gaze. He lay back and propped himself up on his elbows again, anticipation thrumming through his veins.
You moved with a slow, deliberate grace, straddling him once again, your bare pussy covering his length. The feeling of his cock against your lips sent a shiver down your spine, and you also felt him trembling a little beneath you.
You paused, savoring his gaze locked on you. His eyes were filled with a mixture of desire and adoration. Smiling down at him, you slid your pussy against his cock, feeling his head rub on your clit. A simultaneous moan escaped from both of you. The next second, his lips were on your breasts, sucking and squeezing the flesh with both hands, clearly impressed by how responsive and sensitive you were to his touch.
After a particularly harsh suck, he released your nipple with an audible pop, the sound echoing in the still-charged air. A smile spread across his face as he watched the flush recede from your skin, leaving a rosy imprint in its wake.
“Beautiful.” He licked your nipple one more time, gaze locked on yours, as he said, “There’s a condom on the nightstand.”
He didn’t move, didn’t break eye contact, the intensity in his gaze holding you captive.
“Didn’t you wanna take me raw, Channie?” You pouted, sliding forward again. “I’m on birth control, and I’m clean.”
He swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat working as he fought for control. Your words, so casually spoken, were a potent aphrodisiac, fueling the fire that already burned within him. The feel of you against him, the heat radiating from your core, was intoxicating, clouding his judgment, making it hard to think straight.
The thought of skin on skin, of being completely, utterly connected to you, was a temptation he wasn’t sure he could resist. His gaze drifted up to your lips, then lower, tracing the curve of your neck, the swell of your breasts, the way your hips moved against his. He could feel himself hardening even more, his body betraying his attempts at restraint.
“Fuck, noona,” He breathed. “Don’t say shit like that.”
“So?” you purred, meeting his gaze.
“I’m clean too. Put it in. Please.” The words were a raw plea, a confession of his surrender.
Another soft moan escaped you as you took his cock in your hand, lining him up with your entrance. You lowered yourself onto him inch by inch. The way he fit inside you felt achingly right, as if your bodies had been carved for each other.
Chan groaned as you took his full length in, his hands instinctively reaching for your waist, holding you tight against him. He looked up at you, his eyes darkening with passion, while you pushed him just a little to lay down so you could use his chest for support.
“Fuck,” he cursed out, griping your sides. “You feel so good.”
You began to move, slowly at first, teasing him with each gentle sway of your hips. The rhythm between you built, a slow, sensual dance that sent waves of pleasure crashing through your bodies. Chan’s hands tightened on your waist, guiding you, encouraging you, as he moaned softly, his head falling back against the pillows.
“Yeah, baby,” he groaned, voice rough. “Fuck, yes. Just like that.” He arched his back, pushing himself further into you. His hands moved from your waist to your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he urged you on. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
Another slow smile spread across your face. The power you held over him was intoxicating to you, maybe even a little dangerous to your ego. You leaned down, brushing your lips against his. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
You increased the tempo, your hips moving with a newfound urgency of driving him to the edge. The rhythm between you grew harder, more intense, driven by pure need.
You knew you were already close, that the precipice of orgasm was just within reach. The feeling was overwhelming, a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to consume you entirely. Chan’s eyes fluttered closed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel the tension building within him too, the pressure mounting with each thrust.
You continued to move, faster now, your bodies locked together in a frenzy of desire. The world seemed to fade away, the only thing that mattered was the feeling of him inside you, the heat, the overwhelming pleasure. You were lost in the moment, consumed by the fire that burned between you.
A low moan escaped your lips as he pressed against you, his fingers tracing tight circles around your most sensitive spot.
“Fuck, Chan,” you screamed, your head falling back, eyes closing as the pressure began to feel exquisite.
He peppered kisses across your chest and neck, his touch alternating between quick pinches and slow, tantalizing rolls of his thumb against your clit. Without warning, his hips surged upwards, driving him deeper inside you. You cried out his name again, your nails digging into his shoulders.
“That's it, baby,” he commanded, “scream my name.”
One arm snaked around your waist, bringing you against him, while the other braced him against the mattress. He began to thrust into you, a relentless rhythm that belied the fact that you were supposed to be the one in control. But neither of you cared. His cock felt so incredibly good inside you, your pussy clenching around him in a tight embrace.
“Chan!”
The head of his cock found that sweet spot deep within you, and he immediately noticed your reaction, repeating the movement, again and again, until stars began to burst behind your closed eyelids.
The more Chan rhythmically rubbed your clit, the more you felt yourself tightening around him, your release imminent. His breath hitched as you reached your peak, your body shuddering with release. He cried out your name, his own release following close behind as spilled himself inside you. You collapsed against him, your bodies still trembling, your hearts pounding in unison.
The world dissolved around you, the only thing that existed was the two of you, connected in the most intimate way possible, lost in a sea of pure, unadulterated pleasure. His arms wrapped around you comfortingly, as if he were afraid you’d run away, and you buried your face in his neck, trying to regulate your breathing and savoring the aftershocks, the incredible feeling of your skin melded together.
Still buried inside you, Chan could hardly believe any of this was real. The reality of you, of this, was almost too much to comprehend. He felt the warmth of you surrounding him, the gentle pulse of your muscles contracting around him, a constant reminder of the incredible intimacy you shared. He looked down at you, your face flushed and relaxed, your eyes closed in contentment.
He traced the curve of your cheek with his thumb, marveling at the softness of your skin. It was real. You were real. And you were here, with him, wrapped in the aftermath of a moment that had left both of you breathless.
Chan wanted to stay like this forever, locked in this perfect intimacy, lost in the wonder of you. And he knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that he would do anything to keep it.
He brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead, before confessing, “I wanted this for so long.”
Your eyelids fluttered open, and you met his eyes, a soft smile gracing your lips. “Mmm,” you hummed, snuggling closer to him. “Me too.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, and Chan blinked. “Really?”
Certainly, he hadn’t expected that. He thought he was the only one clinging to this moment, the only one so deeply affected by it, that he was certain he was thoroughly gone for anyone else. The fact that you felt the same way, that you’d wanted this just as much as he had, sent a fresh wave of warmth through him.
You nodded, your smile widening. “Really, really,” you confirmed, fingers tracing the line of his beautiful jaw. “I’ve been wanting this… for longer than I care to admit.”
He felt a blush creeping up his neck, a mixture of pleasure and disbelief swirling within him.
“Wow,” he breathed. “I...I didn’t think…”
“Didn’t think what?” you teased, your eyes sparkling with amusement.
He hesitated, suddenly feeling shy again. “Didn’t think you felt the same way. I thought… I thought you were just a little bit out of my limit, I guess.”
Looking away for a moment, Chan suddenly felt fascinated by a stray thread on the sheet. Saying that out loud sounded ridiculous, he knew. Seungkwan and Vernon would probably laugh at him if they could hear him now. He was a grown ass man; a successful dancer, yet he felt like a nervous teenager confessing his feelings for the first time to the girl he had a silly little crush on.
Except it was no longer silly for him anymore, and he was sure the feeling burning in his chest was much bigger than a crush. Love? He preferred to think about it after the effects of the afterglow had worn off.
His mind was filled with something else. For instance, the fact that, once, he’d been so sure you were out of his reach, so convinced that he was lucky just to be in your orbit. To know that you felt the same way, that you saw him as an equal, was both exhilarating and terrifying.
You gently cupped his face in your hands, turning his gaze back to yours. “Out of your limit?” you echoed. “Channie, I’m so in your limit that is actually embarrassing. I’ve always been in your limit.”
He raised an eyebrow, another flicker of disbelief in his eyes. “Always?”
“From the moment I saw you on that stage, two years ago,” you confessed. “I saw something in you, something special. Something… that made me want to get to know you better.”
Chan chuckled, a self-deprecating sound. “And you weren’t scared off by my… awkwardness around you?”
You laughed, a warm, genuine sound that filled the room. “Your awkwardness is part of your charm,” you teased. “Besides,” you added, leaning in to whisper against his lips, “I can be pretty awkward myself sometimes.”
He grinned, his earlier shyness melting away. “Is that so?”
You nodded, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Absolutely. But you’ll have to stick around to find out just how awkward I can be.”
He chuckled, his arms tightening around you. “I think,” he said, his voice laced with affection. “I’m willing to take that risk.” Then he paused, a shadow crossing his face briefly. “Can I ask you something, tough?”
“Mhmm.”
“Jongin. Why… why did you date him?”
You sighed a hint of weariness in your eyes. You should have seen it coming.
“Honestly?” you began, “Because at the time, I didn’t think you were interested too.” You met his gaze, your eyes filled with honesty. “Like I said earlier, he showed me the kind of attention I thought I needed. He was… persistent. And you,” you paused, choosing your words carefully, “you seemed… distant. You ran away whenever I tried to talk to you. At least now I know why.”
He winced slightly, recognizing the truth in your words. He’d been so afraid of rejection that he’d inadvertently pushed you away. “I… I was an idiot.”
You smiled sadly. “We both were,” you shrugged. “But,” you added, a brighter note entering your voice, “we’re not idiots anymore.” You leaned in, kissing him softly. “And now,” you gave him another peck, “I have exactly what I want.”
Chan cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. “Me too.” He pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair. “Thank you.”
“For what?” you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.
“For giving me a second chance.”
You pulled back slightly, searching for his eyes. “You don’t have to thank me, baby,” you said softly, with a teasing smile playing on your lips. “You just came inside me, I think you earned it.”
A slow grin spread across his face, a mixture of amusement and pure adoration. His eyebrows raised suggestively.
“Oh, is that how it works?” he teased, his eyes sparkling. “So, every time I…you know…”
You laughed, playfully shoving him in the chest.
“Don’t get any ideas, Jimmy Neutron,” you said, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed your words. “I’m a tough negotiator. You’ll have to work a lot harder than that to earn my gratitude.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that. I’m a very hard worker. And, I’m more than happy to put in the overtime for you.”
“We’ll see about that,” you whispered against his lips, though the smile playing on your face suggested you were more than willing to let him try. “You’re incredible, Lee Chan. Don’t ever forget that.”
He smiled, his heart overflowing with love. “I won’t,” he promised. “Not anymore.”
Not even seconds before he fully opened his eyes, Chan already had a smile on his face.
His arm instinctively reached for you, only to find you already curled against him, leg thrown over his, your cheek pressed against his shoulder, your hand sprawled across his bare chest like it had always belonged there. His shirt — the one you’d stolen off the floor around 3 a.m — was hanging loosely on your body, oversized, and entirely too intimate. Your soft breath tickled his chest, and he couldn’t help but smile wilder, fingers lazily tracing circles on your bare shoulder.
He loved that sight. Your sight. It felt like a livid dream.
Except he knew this wasn’t a dream because last night replayed in his mind on repeat. Every whispered word, every touch, every breathless plea. He had thought about it for so long, imagined it in so many ways and scenarios. Yet, nothing compared to the reality of holding you now.
Morning light slipped through the gap in the curtains, bathing the room—and you—in a soft golden glow. Chan swore he’d never seen anything more beautiful than you in that moment: peaceful, warm, and completely wrapped up in him. His heart swelled as he took in the way your lashes fluttered slightly, the way your fingers still clutched at his arm like you never wanted to let him go.
God, only if you knew.
He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, tightening his arm around your for a bit. You only stirred slightly, nuzzling closer to him with a soft sigh. Chan chuckled under his breath, his hand running down your back soothingly. He wanted to stay like this forever, stay with you here forever. But he also wanted you to feel welcomed in his house, to make you never want to leave.
So carefully, Chan slid out from under you, heart pounding as he sat at the edge of the bed. You curled into the warm spot he left behind, sighing softly like his scent comforted you. He had to bury his face in his hand to keep from screaming into them.
With a quick look around his room — the clothes on the floor, shoes scattered as if they had been thrown off their feet, the hoodie you’d worn discarded on his desk chair — and exhaled a shaky, lovesick breath.
Yeah, he was a total lovesick puppy, and honestly? He didn’t mind admitting it one bit.
Taking just one more look at you sleeping in his bed, dressed in his clothes, looking very much like an angel sent from up above, Chan smiled. He took a mental picture of the sight, hoping it would be the first of many, then slipped out of the bedroom, closing the door without a sound.
The first thing he saw when he entered the kitchen was Vernon pouring cereal like a man who hadn’t slept in three days and was on the verge of starvation. Seungkwan was slumped over the counter, half-dead, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Both looked up when Chan walked in wearing nothing but sweats and a very evident bruised neck.
Seungkwan squinted. “Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?” Chan asked, voice definitely not and octave higher. The look on their faces said it all; they already knew he had something to say. He was terrible at pretending to be nonchalant.
“Like you’re thrilled to be alive,” Vernon added, spoon frozen halfway to his mouth. “Did you see god or something?”
Very close.
Chan opened the fridge just to have something to hide behind. “I didn’t see God. I just… had a very good night.”
Seungkwan snorted loudly. “You? A good night? With who? Your pillow?”
“Actually…” Chan closed the fridge door, trying his absolute hardest to be casual. “Y/N and I—”
They both rolled their eyes as if to say, ‘here we go again with this subject,’ and Chan did his best to hide the smile threatening to appear on his lips, along with the urge to shout to the four corners of the apartment about what had happened last night. Of course, he held back, because you were sleeping like an angel in his sheets, and he would never risk disturbing you.
“Chan, seriously,” Seungkwan said, exhausted. “It’s time to let it go. You couldn’t even speak in front of her last night.”
Vernon nodded. “Pretty sure her boyfriend came to pick her up anyway.”
“Could you let me finish?” Chan huffed, arms crossing over his bare chest. “As I was saying, Y/N and I… we kinda talked. A lot. And then we… uhm… we—”
“Are you high right now?” Seungkwan cut in.
He blinked. “What?”
“Why are you referring to you and Y/N as ‘we’?”
“Because… last night we finally…”
Vernon stared at him, monotone as always. “You didn’t.”
“I DID!” Chan whisper-yelled, pointing vaguely toward his bedroom. “She was wearing my hoodie and then we talked and the she kissed me and—”
Seungkwan burst into laughter so loud it echoed. “Okay, sweetheart. I love you, but you dreamed that. No way Y/N was in your room last night.”
“I didn’t dream it!”
“You definitely did,” Vernon said, crunching cereal like this was a court trial. “You were drunk. Did you use that thing I bought Wednesday? Seungyoun said the trip was insane—”
Chan groaned. “Guys, I’m serious.”
Seungkawn patted his shoulder sympathetically, shooting his voice like he was speaking to a child. “It’s okay, buddy. One day you’ll kiss her for real. Just maybe not in your dreams next time. Okay?
He opened his mouth to argue, but footsteps echoed down the hallway, making Vernon and Seungkwan look over and watch intently. It didn’t take long for Chan to notice their eyes growing wide in their socket, almost popping out. Vernon dropped the cereal bowl, while Seungkwan looked like his soul had been yanked straight out of his body and shoved back in, choking violently on his iced coffee.
And there you were.
Smiling shyly. Sleepy-messy hair. Bare legs. Chan’s oversized t-shirt slipping off one shoulder like it was made for you. Blinking in the sunlight and looking way too soft and way too pretty for this hour, and for anyone else’s eyes; he should be the only one allowed to see you like this from now on.
You walked over to Chan like it was the most normal thing in the world, wrapped your arms around his neck, and stood on your toes to peck his lips.
“Morning,” you murmured against his lips.
He smiled into the kiss. Vernon and Seungkwan were nothing but white noise now. “Good morning, beautiful. Sleep okay?”
“Like a baby.” Then you finally noticed the two frozen men staring at you. “Oh—hi. Good morning. Do you guys have coffee?”
Seungkwan made a noise so high-pitched only dogs could hear it.
Vernon blinked slowly. “Bro.”
Chan shrugged at them with a smug little smile, arm slipping around your waist. From now on, it was the one place it belonged.
“Told you.”
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Every ask & comment gives me life 💗 If you’re enjoying it, don’t forget to reblog, helps so much and gets the fic out there!!
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.”
Synopsis✨ You were never meant to fall for the boy in the band. But when he starts trying to show you that he isn't the typical rockstar, can you trust that this isn't all just a tour romance?
Genre✨ rock band au, mild angst, fluff, smut
Warnings✨ lots of making out, lots of drunken making out, multiple smut scenes, dry humping, finger sucking, nipple play, she's had a drink but everything is totally consensual/ she's not totally drunk, he fingers her in front of a mirror, spanking (ass and pussy), edging, possessive Chan, possessive OC, oral f recieving, p in v sex, protected sex, switch Chan, switch reader, marking, Chan has his tongue pierced
Plot warnings✨ Chan is literally the cutest person but also the biggest menace when it comes to the bedroom, he is YEARNING, Wonwoo and Vernon might be the most unhelpful people on the planet, Seungcheol and Soonyoung are only there to play in the band and party, it's inferred that Soonyoung is bi but it doesn't really feature in the story, mentions of subby Mingyu but it's nothing to do with the plot (I just have a problem), OC is in her down bad era but very much keeping her head in the sand, they're the biggest pair of idiots in love
Word count✨19k
a/n✨ This was going to be a drabble about a one night stand after a show but then rock star Chan started living in my mind rent free and here we are. Thank you for reading 🖤
“Fuck we went into the wrong side of this industry _____,”
You glance at Vernon but ignore him, the boom of the base making the stadium shake as you lean against a pillar watching the second to last song of the set.
You know what he’s referring to. Vernon didn’t just happen to regret his life choices as yet another thong lands on Soonyoung’s guitar headstock.
“Fuck, every night they get their pick of groupies. Dude, imagine that!”
“You literally fuck a different girl every night, you’re not suffering on that front Vernon.”
“Yeah, but none of them throw their panties at me.”
“Just their drinks,” you smirk, knowing he’s still sensitive about the “love of his life” he met in Osaka. Who threw a drink over him when she found him flirting with another “love of his life”.
Vernon meets a lot of women who he proclaims are the love of his life. It isn’t even necessarily a bad thing. In that moment, they’re the only thing in his world, they hold his undivided attention and he wants nothing more than to please them.
But the second that’s over? He’s onto the next one.
This whole tour you’ve both been working with Shadow, the world’s biggest rock band, helping them write and produce their new album whilst they finish up their world tour. It’s been an incredible experience, you’ve travelled to every city in the world you could’ve dreamed of.
You saw the Taj Mahal in India, walked across the Sydney Harbour Bridge on a rest day on the Australian leg of the tour and even went to a rodeo during the US concerts. It was incredible, but one thing that wasn’t? The fact that the lead singer of the biggest rock band in the world, had slowly stolen a little of your heart in every city you visited.
It was silly. He flirted with everyone but it didn’t stop you thinking that you might be special to him. He certainly made you feel that way, always holding back to ask how you thought the show went, or running a new riff by you and wanting your opinion on how it would fit in the song you were working on.
But then you’d see the tens of thousands of women screaming at him, flirting with him at meet and greets and you saw the twinkle in his eyes when they did that. You never saw him take anyone back to his hotel room, but then you didn’t watch him closely enough to know that he definitely wasn’t doing that.
You’d come close to kissing a couple of times but Vernon always stumbled into the bar drunk or Mingyu would throw up in something and the moment was lost. You’re certain it’s just a convenience thing, he enjoys flirting and you’re one of the few women on the tour. It’s a needs must sort of thing. But then he does have millions of fans he could flirt with, and yet he still chooses to do so with you.
The final chord rings around the stadium, signalling that the show is done and the Asia segment of the tour is over, as the band members make their final bows. The screams and cries from the fans piercing your ear drums just like they do every night when the show ends.
Four sweaty men come running towards you, handing their instruments to the roadies as they high five everyone they come into contact with, everybody trying to dodge Mingyu’s sweaty towel as he throws it in the trash. Its long past being saved by a washing machine, how the man isn’t constantly dehydrated is a mystery to you considering how much water he loses during each show.
And just like always, as you turn to follow the triumphant musicians in the revelry from their latest show, Dino holds back to speak to you.
His smile is broad, eyes shining much like the flood lights that lit up the stadium only a few seconds ago and his sleeveless t-shirt clings to his chiselled body in a scrumptious way that you actively try to avoid.
“What did you think?” His hopeful smile sends butterflies swarming through your tummy.
“Dino, every night is incredible. You know that”
“Yeah, but I think my voice sounded a bit tired in the last quarter of the show. I think I need to ask Jeonghan to get one of those steamers, it’ll help my skin too.” He jokes.
“You’ve got perfect skin already, it’s so pretty.”
You clamp your mouth shut, eyes wide in horror. Pretty skin?! What the fuck were you thinking?! How fucking embarrassing. You try not look at him, cringing at your slip up as you walk side by side along the corridor to the changing rooms.
“You think I’ve got pretty skin?”
His smile isn’t even cocky, it’s hopeful again if anything.
“Of course. You all do.”
His smile falters a little, eyebrows scrunching in disappointment but he shakes it off, his arm brushing against yours as you dodge a rogue guitar case being flung around.
“Dino! Hurry the fuck up, there’s fans in here that want autographs!!”
“Woozi, I’m stood literally three feet away, you don’t have to shout.”
“Just,” he glances between the pair of you, “hurry up. We can’t keep the fans waiting.”
“Sorry about him,” he turns to you.
“Chan....I mean Dino,”
“I’ve told you a thousand times to call me Chan, _____.” He says kindly.
“Chan,” you both grin at each other, “I’ve been on this tour long enough to know that both your managers live on their nerves. Go! Your fans will be missing you!” you shew him away.
“I’ll see you at the bar?”
“Errrr, I’m not sure I’m feeling it tonight.”
You hate how much his face slumps when you say you won’t be at the after drinks. But you just can’t face it tonight. You’ve got an important date with your own self-pity and whatever rom-com is showing on the TV when you throw yourself onto your bed.
“You good? I could get you something if you’re not feeling great?”
“Just a little tired. Go!” you shew him off again, faking your best smile, “I’m not getting shouted at by Jeonghan and Woozi when your fans are missing you!”
He looks like he doesn’t want to leave you but an irate looking Woozi storms out clutching his hair, and Chan knows he can’t avoid the meet and greet any longer.
“See you tomorrow then?”
“Sure,” you smile, watching as he runs off to their dressing room, sparing you a couple of final glances before he disappears into the room.
“Can I get you another?”
“What’s your name?” Chan asks sadly, finger running round the rim of his whiskey glass.
“Seokmin. Can I get you another?”
“Seokmin,” Chan sighs sadly, lips pouting as he looks at the bartender in front of him, “have you ever loved someone so much it hurts your heart?”
“Yes.”
“Really?!” he asks excitedly, sitting up on his bar stool, “what happened?!”
“She ate my crayons and so I never spoke to her again.”
Chan frowns at the bar man. He knows the bar is busy and he’s holding him up, but this is important life knowledge he’s trying to gather. Surely, he can spare him a few minutes without making this a joke.
“She ate your crayons?”
“We were six. Do you want another drink?”
“I guess.” He pouts, handing the sullen bar tender his glass and frowning as he walks off.
“Why don’t you just tell _____ how you feel?”
“Fuck Cheol do you have to creep up on people?!”
“I’ve been sat here the whole time, idiot. Why can’t you just tell her?”
“Because I don’t know if she feels the same. I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”
“You’re the lead singer of the biggest band in the world. I swear you’re the only person on earth that doesn’t see you could have whoever you want.”
“I don’t want whoever. I want ____!”
“Then show her you want her! You clearly won’t tell her so try and show her that you like her.”
“How would I do that?”
He tries to keep Seungcheol’s attention but his drummer’s eyes are more preoccupied with following a dark-haired beauty that’s passing by.
“Hello?” he waves in his face, “crisis of the heart over here?”
“What?” Seungcheol glances at him but his eyes quickly move back to the woman who’s now smirking at him across the hotel bar. “I don’t know man, just be nice to her. Give her stuff, I don’t know. I’ll see you later, someone looks like she wants to see just how great a drummer’s rhythm is.”
Chan watches Cheol leave in disbelief that everyone is so fucking unhelpful when he’s suffering so much.
“He’s right, you know,” the bartender, Seokmin, says as he places a fresh drink in front of Chan, “just show her you like her.”
Chan thinks for a few moments, you did look peaky earlier. And he saw that you skipped lunch because you were helping Soonyoung with recording something. Maybe you were hungry, that’s why you didn’t want to come to drinks tonight. You’re hungry!
“How would someone acquire a room service cart?”
“You’d be a room service waiter.”
“How would I acquire a room service cart? And your finest steak and fries. And a cake?”
“You’d buy them and also be a room service waiter.”
Chan narrows his eyes at his unhelpful man.
“I’ll pay you.”
“How much?”
“However much you want. But I want a cart, two steaks, two fries and the biggest chocolate cake you’ve got.”
“Two thousand.”
“WHAT?!”
“Take it or leave it.”
“Fine.” He sighs, standing up to get his wallet, “do you take card?”
“Bank transfer. Or it’s an extra 500.”
Wonwoo: Pretty skin?!!!! 😂😂
You: fuck off Wonwoo, it just slipped out
Wonwoo: I’m sorry but in all the bullshit things you’ve done on that tour. This is my favourite. It’s even better than when he caught you staring at his ass and you choked in front of the whole group
You: why do you hate me? Why can’t you be supportive like a normal best friend?
Wonwoo: because your life is far too entertaining
You: what do I do?
Wonwoo: the same thing I’ve been telling you to do all the time. Fuck his brains out
You: how you found a girlfriend is beyond me. You disgust me. Give her the phone, she’ll help me
Wonwoo: she’s laughing as much as me
You: fuck off. Both of you.
You throw your phone on the bed, vowing to never speak to your best friend ever again, as you walk over to door after someone knocking on it. It’s not unusual for a member of staff to drop something off or check a schedule with you before your flight in the morning, so you don’t really question it.
The door is swung open and all you find is a guy with room service that you definitely didn’t order.
“Sorry, wrong room!” you’re pleasant but not really paying attention, more interested in trying to get back to your den of embarrassment under your duvet.
But that can’t be right.
The man with the room service looked suspiciously like......
“Chan?” you peer round the door.
“Hey!” fuck his smile is so perfect, how can one man be so fucking cute?
“You know you’re a millionaire, right? Why are you picking up shifts at the hotel?”
His smile falters as he glances down at the room service cart. Maybe asking for the fancy gold cloches was overkill? Seokmin did say that silver would work perfectly well to keep the steaks warm and that the gold were just for showing off.
“I brought you food! Can I?” he looks around you, hoping you’ll let him in.
You stare at the cart, has he stolen it from someone?! You’ve heard wild stories about rock stars, but you thought the usual deal was that they threw TVs out of windows or snort lines of powder off scantily clad women. Who’ve never read anything about abducting people’s food or joyriding food service carts round hotel corridors.
“Why have you got that?”
You’re more than happy to let him in the room but you want to make sure you’re not harbouring a criminal or some heiresses’ caviar or something.
“I just said,” he frowns, fingers tightening on the cart in nerves, “I’ve brought you food.”
“Did you steal that?”
“No!”
His scandalised look makes you chuckle, his nerves finally breaking so he starts chuckling along with you.
“Come in,” you smile, opening the door wider for him and his cart, “you know, I think it’s customary to order the food and they bring it to you. I’ve never known a hotel make the guests do all the work, perhaps we should complain.”
“Oh no!” he spins around, almost bumping into you. “Please don’t complain to them! This was my idea!”
Fuck he’s so cute.
“I know Chan, I was joking.” You touch his arm to comfort him but that turns out to be a mistake.
His eyes follow the movement, your fingers suddenly burning when you realise, you’re more or less caressing his bicep.
“Sorry!” your eyes broaden when you panic a little and walk away from him further into the room.
Chan doesn’t care that you touched him, in fact his skin tingles where your fingers had just lay. He only wishes you’d kept it there longer, having you close to him is something he’s been craving your weeks. If not months.
He wheels his cart into the room, and you try to ignore the way he has a precious little pout when he concentrates on not banging into things. Or the way it makes your heart swell more by the second.
“Why have you brought me food?”
“Well. You didn’t come to drinks, and I saw you didn’t eat lunch.... You know you really should set boundaries with Soonyoung, he thinks because his creative juices are flowing, it means everyone’s are,” he rambles on and you don’t even care, you could listen to him all day if he’d let you, “and so I thought I’d bring you this!”
“But why didn’t you just order it?”
He stares at you, mouth hanging open, glancing at the cart.
“Er.... Well because.... Because I er, I always wanted to try out one of these!” He wiggles the handle a little, “It’s just an excuse to live out a childhood dream!”
Your heart sinks. You love that he’s chosen you to live out this childhood dream with, no matter how odd it is. But you just wish he’d done this to make it a grand gesture to show you that all of his flirting was genuine, that he’d done it because he wanted you to be wowed by him.
But you will take literally any excuse to be near him and if this is it? Then you’ll grab it with both hands.
“What did you bring then, to fulfil this childhood dream?”
You wander over to him, resisting your sudden urge to wrap your arms around his back and peek over his shoulder.
“Ta-da!!” He whips the cloches off the two rather large plates.
Is that? It can’t be.
“You brought a whole chocolate cake?!”
“Well,” he scratches his neck, eyes looking anywhere but at you or the cake, “you did skip lunch.”
Your eyes land of the plate beside it though, stomach rumbling.
“Fuck is that steak,” Your mouth waters, you did miss lunch. And Chan is right, you do need to tell Soonyoung that life doesn’t revolve around his lyrics, which he’ll hate tomorrow anyway.
“You like steak?”
There’s that hopeful smile again and eyes that are so kind you almost wonder how he shouts down a microphone every night about “fucking this shit up”.
“I do”
“Great,” he lunges forward and takes the plate off the cart, “shall we eat on the bed? No. Not the bed, my mom always said it was rude to eat in bed. The sofa?” He spins around, trying to find the optimum eating place.
Your mind is like a broken record. All you can think of is that he’s so fucking cute.
“Sofa sounds good, us producers only get a room, not a suite like you fancy shmancy rockstars. So, I’ve no dining table.”
“I could get them to get you a suite! Do you want a suite? I’ll get you one! Let me put this down and get my phone!”
“I was joking Chan,” you hold your hand up to stop his panic, “this room is beautiful! Seriously the last band me and Vernon worked with only got us a twin room to share. He kept bringing girls back, it was fucking horrendous.”
He sits next to you, close enough that your thighs are touching.
“Has anything ever happened with you two?”
“Oh god no! He’s like my brother!”
“Great. I mean.... I get it, disgusting. Let’s eat!” he brushes off his little mistake.
The steak is perfect, just like you’d expect from a five-star hotel. And you eat so many fries that you struggle to even contemplate eating the chocolate cake.
“Just one piece, we could share! My grandma always told me that you can always fit in dessert. We have an extra compartment for it in our stomachs you know.” He nods like what he’s just told you is an anatomical fact.
You can’t eat a piece of cake. You think you might throw up if you eat anything else. But you can’t say no to him, not when he waffles on about his family with so much love in his voice. He’s even a family man? He just gets more and more like the most perfect eligible bachelor.
“Fine,” you sigh, trying to mask your smile, “we can share a piece.”
“Perfect,” he stands up rubbing his hands together like he’s planning on cutting the most perfect piece of cake that’s ever been cut. And little do you know, that’s exactly what he’s planning.
“Should we have something from the mini bar?”
“No need!” he reaches down onto the lower shelf of the cart and spins round whipping a napkin off an ice bucket, “voila!”
How did you not notice the bucket with a bottle of champagne?!
“You really went all out for this childhood dream!” you giggle, loving how excited he is about this little hotel waiter role play thing he’s got going on.
“I wanted you to like it,”
“I do! It’s great Chan, seriously I don’t know why you chose me to eat with, but I’m really pleased you did.”
“Well. Everyone else was at the after party.”
Fuck.
Of course that’s the only reason. What an idiot.
He rushes around, gathering champagne glasses and a plate for the slice of cake whilst you stare at the window, wondering if you could feasibly jump out from the second floor and still survive. Anything is better than the embarrassment of thinking you were someone more special to him than a friend/ producer.
If you could read Chan’s mind, you’d know he’s absolutely kicking himself for that comment. He just panicked. He thought he was coming on too strong but now he’s probably made you think that you were his last resort.
You brush off the awkwardness when he settles back onto the sofa. The bottle of champagne is finished, and the slice of cake is polished off, and somehow you find yourself not wanting this evening to end. The conversation flows freely, just like it always does with Chan whenever you’re with him and you end up so close that you’re sitting cross legged, facing each other on the sofa, both a little past tipsy from the champagne.
“Did that hurt?”
“What, when I fell from heaven?” he cackles drunkenly, head thrown back at his terrible joke.
“No,” you snort, swaying a little with a stupid grin on your face, “your ball in your mouth.”
“______!!”
The way he clutches his chest dramatically only makes you giggle into your glass.
“That’s not what I meant,” you shush him, finger on his lips to silence him, the champagne making you a lot more confident, “I meant your tongue piercing.”
“Wanna touch it?”
Fuck do you. You want to know exactly what it feels like all over you and what a good excuse to finally kiss him.
You lean forward a little. Excitement bubbling in your stomach at finally kissing the man of your dreams. If you’re going to feel his piercing, it’s surely not going to be a simple kiss.
Oh.
You pause, confronted with something you weren’t expecting.
Chan sticks his tongue out, it hangs down from his mouth like a dog desperate for a drink. Of course he meant with your finger! What the hell else would he mean?
“Go on then,” he tries to say, tongue still out.
Your index finger approaches him slowly, eyes fixed in concentration because your drunk ass doesn’t want to poke him in the eye or something if you go rogue. His eyes follow your movements desperately, almost going cross-eyed as he watches your finger approach his tongue.
The metal ball is cool on the pad of your finger. All you can think about is how much you want to feel it against your own tongue. Or fuck. Your nipples, which stiffen at the thought. Or maybe even your cl....
You jump when your finger suddenly feels warm. But when you realise what is happening you can’t help but bite your lip, trying to stop a moan slipping out.
Chan’s lips have wrapped around your finger, tongue running along your digit as he bobs his head a little, sucking on your finger like it’s a lollipop. How you’ve spent many a night thinking about doing to his dick. His eyes never leave yours and you make no attempt to look away from him. How does someone sucking your finger feel so good?! Your pussy tingles at how the metal ball runs along your finger, wondering you how incredible it would feel running along your pussy.
His hand wraps around your wrist to pull your finger away from him and before you can even form the words to complain, he leans forward and connects his lips to yours.
It’s by no means your best work, and if Chan was sober and honest, he’d probably say it’s not his either. It’s messy, tongues vying for supremacy, yours trying to feel the little metal ball in his mouth against your own tongue. Drool is all over your chin and when he bites down hard on your lip you whimper, the pain stinging so nicely as he leans you back on the sofa, more or less lying on top of you as his mouth moves on yours and one of his hands moves up to grope your tits.
You feel something hard against your clothed pussy and your drunken brain doesn’t even think twice, you grind up onto him and giggle into his mouth when he does the same, his hard length bumping into your pussy just right, even between both of your clothes. You hump each other like horny teenagers, tongues halfway down each other’s throats and hips moving like bunnies to try and find enough friction to make yourselves cum.
You’re perilously close to the edge just by humping him but just as quick as that high forms, your world comes crashing down.
“Chan?”
Nothing.
He’s a dead weight on top of you.
You can still feel his dick against you, but you realise nothing is going to fucking happen when he snores against your chin.
Well, you stare at the ceiling. In the long list of embarrassing things that have happened to you, this might just take first prize. The worlds biggest rock star, one of the hottest men in the world, has just fallen asleep whilst you were humping him. How do you even recover from something like this? What makes it worse is, he’s still hard in his pants and it would just be so easy for you to finish yourself off against him, but that snore took away any chance you had of cumming. In fact, you’re pretty certain this embarrassment will run so deep that your poor pussy will be as dry as the Sahara for a very long time.
What are you meant to do in this situation? He’s snoring away on top of you, face nuzzling into your neck as he subconsciously makes himself comfortable like you’re a life size pillow. His dick rubs against you again but this time it’s more annoyance than arousal that takes over you.
You can’t stay like this, his body is feeling heavier and heavier by the second and you’ve no intention of allowing him to suffocate you. What would they write down as cause of death? Embarrassment? Complete mortification that a man has fallen asleep with your tongue literally in his mouth?
No. You need to try and wake him up.
“Chan?” You try to lift him off you but there’s no chance of you managing it.
“For fucks sake get up!”
“You smell like flowers,” he mumbles into your neck, no intention of waking up or moving.
“Asshole.” You grumble.
“She’s got a great ass,” he whispers in his sleep.
You narrow your eyes at him, that had better be you he’s thinking of. You’re not sure you’d cope if all of this was happening and he’s thinking of someone else whilst he’s taking a nap on your poor body.
Ten minutes pass by, you no longer remember what it feels like to breathe freely but thankfully, in his drunken state, Chan tries to roll onto his back and ends up landing on the floor with a thud.
You look down in horror, presuming he’ll have woken himself up but amazingly, he hasn’t. His mouth is open gormlessly as he snores away happily on the floor and you wonder if you should just leave him like that. He’d deserve it. But you can’t. You’ve grown to care for him, no matter how embarrassing everything has just been, and so you quickly rush to the wardrobe to get a spare blanket and pillow.
Could you have been more delicate in the way you placed his head on the pillow? Yes, you could. But after the shit he’s just pulled you don’t see why you should. You yank his head up, shove the pillow under it and let it drop. You throw the blanket on him in a half assed manner and crawl into your own bed. Wrapping yourself in your duvet like it might shield you from the whatever awkwardness is about to come in the morning. Your cheeks are pink in embarrassment and a little anger, and you eventually drift off to sleep, vowing to never tell Wonwoo about this. He would think all his Christmases had come at once.
Rome. 11 days till tour ends.
The heat in Rome is dry. So dry that it’s even made you lose some of your nerves around Chan since that night in Hong Kong. You’re much more focussed on not burning to a crisp rather than avoiding the man who tried to become your own personal weighted blanket.
The morning after Chan’s little room service escapade, he’d woken up just as you’d finished getting dressed. You were just placing the final bits and bobs into your suitcase and zipping it up when he rose from the ground with a deep groan and a baffled look on his face.
“_____?”
“Hey!” you spin around, the biggest false smile on your face you can muster.
“Why am I on the floor?”
He doesn’t remember. You don’t know whether you feel relieved or even more insulted than you did when you heard that first snore against your chin.
“You fell asleep, rolled off the sofa.”
You don’t look at him, you can’t. You’d wanted something to happen for so long and now you’re not even sure if he meant to kiss you or if he’s just a horny drunk and you were the only one there.
“Oh.” He looks around the room, taking in the now cleaned up cart (you having cleaned up when you woke up) and the blanket that’s resting on his legs. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
You can tell he means it, his voice has that genuine gentleness to it that you always find when he’s talking to you.
“Here,” you sigh, handing him a bottle of water.
He doesn’t take it. Just narrows his eyes at your hand like he’s thinking about something. Why is he dragging this out? You’ve got a flight to catch and you’re certain he’s probably not packed.
“Chan!” he jumps, dragging his eyes away from your fingers.
“S-sorry.” He takes the water from you, your finger feeling like it’s been scolded when it brushes his. “Are you ok? Did I do something I shouldn’t?”
Your eyes scan his face, he looks genuinely worried that he’s upset you. And he has upset you. You felt like a fucking idiot when you got into bed last night. But he can’t be blamed for something that happened when he was drunk, that you were both more than willing to let happen.
“I’m fine, just a bit hungover. You should hurry, we’ve got to get to the airport.” Your smile is fake but it seems to appease him.
And you leave it at that. He rushes off to his suite to pack and you make your way down to the foyer to wait for the tour bus to get you the hell out of this hotel.
The café you’d chosen to have lunch in sits on the Piazza Navona, the sun shielded slightly by the parasols that stand over each table and you watch as the guys get swarmed by adoring fans as they take photos by the fountain.
Vernon is busy mixing a new track that Mingyu started on the flight between Hong Kong and Rome. You were thankful for it, having to work with the whole group whilst you and Vernon produced the track meant you didn’t have any time to spend with Chan one on one. But now the track was finished and Vernon was tweaking the final production, it meant you all had some free time before the concert.
You’d been on a private tour through the main attractions. You’d seen the wonders of the Pantheon, heard about the fighting pits of the Colosseum and been thoroughly freaked out by the catacombs. It was private as much as anything can be when you’re with Shadow, they tend to attract fans even when actively trying to hide themselves.
With Vernon busy, you’d decided to spend the afternoon with Jieun, Mingyu’s girlfriend and the only other woman on this tour that wasn’t always busy styling and getting them ready for appearances and shows. Since you met her, you’d always wondered one thing.
“Do you never get sick of this?”
“Of what,” she grins, placing her Aperol Sprtiz back on the table, “lounging around in the afternoon, with good company and a strong drink?”
“No,” you chuckle, “this” you gesture at the thirty or so fans that surround Chan and the others.
“Oh that. It does get tiring. Having to pretend I’m a staff member just to get close to Mingyu in public, but knowing he’s coming back to me each night makes it worth it.”
The way she smiles fondly at Mingyu in the distance would suggest she’s not lying. She’s no reason to anyway, she’s one of the most genuine people you’ve ever met. Not to mention stunningly beautiful. If Mingyu wasn’t dating her you’d probably try and date her yourself, she’s so amazing.
Your eyes travel from Mingyu to Chan. His arm is wrapped around the shoulder of a red-haired beauty that looks at him like he’s some sort of god. You watch how he tries to talk to her, wanting to be kind even though they don’t speak the same language. His smile is genuine but you find a part of you trying to figure out if that’s the same smile he gives you or if the one you’re lucky enough to admire, is reserved only for you.
“Can I ask you something, _____? You don’t have to answer if you’re uncomfortable.”
“Anything” you smile, taking a sip of your drink.
“Do you like Chan?”
Your eyes widen though you hope she doesn’t notice, a slight panic setting in as you swill your drink around the glass a little.
“Of course I do! I like all of the guys!”
She narrows her eyes at you, her lips between a knowing pout and hiding a small smile.
“You know what I mean. Cheol told the guys he saw Chan coming out of your room that last morning in Hong Kong, but Chan won’t tell them anything. Which is not like him, he tells everyone all his darkest secrets no matter what they are.”
Just how many dark secrets does he have to share? Are you one of those secrets? Does he actually remember what’s happened and he’s too embarrassed to tell them? He doesn’t come out of the story well at all and, to be honest, you’re so fucking embarrassed that you’re pleased he’s not told anyone even if he does remember.
“He brought me dinner and fell asleep, that’s all.”
“When did he leave the hotel?” she worries. “They’re not meant to go out without security and all the security guards were at the after party.”
“No,” you giggle at the memory of him arriving at your door, “he brought me dinner. On a room service cart and everything!”
“What? Where the fuck did he get that from?”
“I’ve no idea, I did make sure he hadn’t stolen it. But he said he was fulfilling a childhood dream.” You look over at Chan in the distance, some woman now holding his arm, looking like she’s commenting on the size of it. You swallow down the annoyance as best you can.
“That’s what he told you?” her eyes follow yours, a knowing glint in her eye as she sees you trying to look unbothered by someone touching Chan. “He’s a rock star _____. He dreamed of being a rock star. I doubt he dreamt of being a hotel waiter.”
You drag your eyes away from the woman who’s still touching your man Chan.
“Why would he lie?”
“Has anything ever happened between you two? You spend a lot of time together normally.”
“I’m a producer for his band. I’m paid to spend time with them.”
You both know you’re purposefully dodging her questions, though why, you don’t know.
“I mean outside of the studio”
You’re silent for a moment. You’ve been itching to talk to someone about what happened for days. Vernon is useless. And you’ve no intention of providing Wonwoo with anymore entertainment. At least not at the moment.
“Can I talk to you? Like woman to woman? Without you telling any of them?”
“Of course! It’d be nice to have just a normal girly chat! Spending endless tours surrounded by sweaty men does get tiring.”
You take a deep breath, the embarrassment still lingering somewhere near the surface.
“We got a bit drunk when he came to my room, he’d brought a bottle of champagne....”
“Oh, he went all out!” she adds in proudly.
“There was steak and a whole chocolate cake too. He went over board for this dream of his,” you laugh, not noticing how she looks at you sceptically when you mention the dream again.
“But we got a bit tipsy and I asked him about his tongue piercing. And he asked did I want to feel it,”
“Damn. He’s smoother than I thought!”
“That’s what I thought,” you grumble, “but then he literally stuck his tongue out like a panting dog and wanted me to touch it.”
“Nooo!” Jieun exclaims, leaning back in her seat with her hand on her forehead.
“But this is where I don’t know if it was something more...”
Her eyes widen and she leans forward in her seat excitedly at the prospect of there being more to this.
“He sucked my finger.”
“By accident?”
“No...” you ponder, thinking back to the finger sucking in question, “like sucked my finger.”
“Well shit.” She leans back.
“And then.....”
“There’s more?!”
“There is,” you roll your eyes, “he took my finger out of his mouth and kissed me,” she gets excited but it dies down when she gets the impression this isn’t necessarily a good thing. “Things got a little, you know, intense. And then he fell asleep on me.”
Her Aperol Spritz dribbles down her chin when she chokes a little on her drink.
“He what?!”
“I was about to, you know....finish. We were still fully clothed,” you clarify, “it was nothing more than grinding really, but then he fucking snored against my chin just as I was nearly done and I couldn’t move him! He finally rolled onto the floor and off me and then slept on the floor.”
She just stares at you wide eyed.
“I don’t think he even remembers it. I thought..... I thought it might mean he likes me but I guess he just ate with me because everyone was at the party and I suppose people get horny when they’re drunk,” you shrug, “it was just because I was there. And the finger sucking isn’t sexual really.”
“Oh come on _____, that’s bullshit. Mingyu sucks my fingers all the time and it’s normally when he’s crying under me and begging me to slap his ass again. There’s nothing not sexual about someone sucking on your finger.”
Well. It’s no wonder Mingyu only stays for one drink at the bar normally, you’d be rushing off too if that was awaiting you.
“I didn’t have Mingyu pegged for that.”
“You’d be surprised what Mingyu is pegged for.”
Thank god you decided to speak to Jieun about this, the laughter helps soothe your soul more than worrying in your hotel room ever could.
“Do you think he likes me....”
Before she can answer, Chan and Mingyu appear beside you, taking the spare seats at your table and leaving Seungcheol and Soonyoung to hold court with the fans themselves.
“You managed to tear yourself away then?”
“I can’t help the adoring fans babe,” Mingyu says happily, stealing a swig of Jieun’s drink. “I’ve got a surprise. Jeonghan managed to get a private tour of the Sistine Chapel for just me and you. What do you say?”
Jieun’s face lights up at the prospect of spending quality time with her boyfriend away from the prying eyes of the fans.
“You don’t mind _____?”
“Of course not! Go! Have fun!”
They rush out of their seats, keeping a healthy distance away from each other that you know kills them to do. If it was up to them, they’d be attached at the hip.
So that leaves you with the finger sucker.
“Are you enjoying Rome?”
His smile is almost as bright as the Italian sun and you see no sense in holding anything against him.
“I am! I loved the Colosseum, it’s really great you guys let us come to those things with you. A lot of artists wouldn’t do that.”
“You’re basically part of the team _____, of course you’d come with us. Did Vernon tell you about Woozi’s proposal? You two being in house producers rather than just here for the new album?”
Vernon had mentioned that to you, both of you were stoked because it would finally mean knowing that you had security around your job. Sure, producers get paid a decent amount, you’re more than comfortable in life, but that can all change in a day. Things change, trends change and before you know it, you’re not an in-demand producer anymore.
The contract with Shadow would mean guaranteed job security, producing together when you all get back home but also still having that option to tour with them too. It was more than appealing and Vernon had left the final decision down to you.
And you really wanted to commit. But there was something holding you back that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
“He did, we’re still thinking about it.”
“You don’t like working with us?” the disappointment in his voice makes you feel absolutely horrible.
“It’s not that, this has been the best job I’ve ever had. Vernon too. It’s just a big commitment, you know?”
He just nods, playing with his fingers and looking round the café pretty awkwardly.
“I er.....I got you something?”
“Is it another cake?”
“No. Do you want a cake? I could find a cake! This café must sell cakes. Fuck, I left my phone with Jeonghan, do you know how to ask for cake in Italian?”
“Chan,” you lean forward, hand resting on his forearm, “I was joking, like about the cake you brought the other night?”
“Oh!” he glances down at your hand causing you to pull it back quickly, “fuck I’m so stupid, of course you were joking. You must think I’m so annoying, never getting your jokes.”
“I think you’re incredible.”
No.
WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING THIS?! Once again, your mouth is bigger than your brain and you somehow let your inner most thoughts run wild.
You look away, pretending to take a particular interest in two pigeons fighting over a stray piece of focaccia, not noticing the wide smile on his face as he gazes at you.
His small clearing of his throat captures your attention back though.
“I got you something.” He says it quietly, like he doesn’t want the rest of the world to know your secrets.
In reality he probably just doesn’t want a nosey fan to notice and think this is something that it isn’t.
“You don’t have to keep giving me things, Chan.”
He falters slightly as he reaches into his pocket but he calms slightly when he realises your kind smile is showing you’re not annoyed by the gifts. You’re just being your usual modest self.
“So, there was this stall in one of the side streets. And I saw this. Well these. And I thought they were cute, so I got them.”
From his pocket he pulls a pair of thin woven bracelets, both matching and both with a small charm interwoven into it with a gold heart.
“I thought,” he slides one over to you, keeping the other one safely in his hands, “that I could keep one and you could have one? When I saw them, I remembered you saying that your favourite colour was red and well, mine is blue, and with these being red and blue....I just thought they’d suit us really well.”
You desperately try not to squeal like a school girl who’s just been handed a daisy by her first crush. But he is your crush and he’s just handed you something far more meaningful than a daisy. And he even remembered your favourite colour!
“Really? Chan that’s so sweet of you,” you pick up the bracelet like it’s the most priceless piece of jewellery in the world. But to you, it is. “Could you help me put it on?”
“Sure,” his hands are delicate when he takes the bracelet from you and gently wraps it round your wrist, tying the knot tight enough that it’ll never come off. Something Chan hopes is true.
“Should I?” you point to the other bracelet still in his hand.
“Oh! Please!” he holds out his arm excitedly, eyes following your movements closely as your fingers brush his wrist and you double knot the bracelet.
You both giggle to each other when you pull on the knot, making sure it’s tied tight enough to never leave his wrist.
“Perfect.”
“Yeah.”
You both gaze down out your wrists, silly smiles on your lips and hearts pounding.
“Who are you texting so frantically?” Vernon asks you as he leans against an amp, head bopping to the heavy thud of the song currently being performed.
“Wonwoo.”
“Could you remind him to go and water my plants.”
You lower your phone, eyes narrowing at an unbothered Vernon.
“We’ve been on this tour for three months. This is the first time you’ve mentioned your plants.”
“Yeah,” he dismisses you, playing air guitar along with Chan and Soonyoung, “but I told him before we left home.”
“And have you reminded him?”
“Nah, I’ve only spoken to him once, to tell him about that incredible girl in Brazil who let me fuck her ass.”
This is the problem with having male friends. They’re all men.
He isn’t even paying attention to you, he’s too busy hopping along the side stage whilst he pretends to play the guitar solo. So you go back to your important debating with your best friend.
You: Do you think it’s a friendship bracelet or a something more bracelet?
Wonwoo: I don’t know, why don’t you fly home then we can brush each other’s hair, paint our toenails and discuss this boring fucking bracelet
You: Will you please help me? I’m spiralling here
Wonwoo: 🙄 well I’ve been your best friend since we were four and I’ve never wanted to buy you a bracelet
You: You’ve never bought me anything
Wonwoo: A lie. I bought you dinner four years ago on your birthday
You: You only did that because Chae made you feel bad for never buying me a birthday present
Wonwoo: Whatever. If I was going to buy a bracelet for someone, it’d only be for Chae. And considering she’s the love of my life, I think that answers your question
You stare at your phone. For the first time in your long friendship, Wonwoo has done the impossible. He’s helped.
You: OMG so you think he likes me?!!!!!
Wonwoo: Nah, I’m not going this bullshit. I’ve given you my opinion, do what you will with it
You: Fine😒 Oh! And Vernon wants to know if you’ve watered his plants
Wonwoo: No.
Well that answers that.
Every concert is the same. They rush off stage, discard the panties that have been thrown at them, you all dodge Mingyu’s sweaty towel and then Chan hovers a little so he can walk backstage with you.
But tonight is different. He’s walking slightly ahead of you with one of the stylists, giggling at something she’s just said to him.
You adjust your face, realising you’re glaring at the back of their heads and hope nobody noticed. This is fine. He’s allowed to talk to other people. He didn’t just give her a bracelet that matches the one that he’s wearing. You hate that you make an extra effort to catch sight of his wrist, making sure he is wearing the bracelet. And thankfully, he is.
“Drinks?” Vernon puts his arm over your shoulder, strutting at the side of you.
“Vernon. Do you not get bored of all this drinking and whoring yourself about?”
“It makes me happy. Maybe if you did it a bit more then you’d be happy!”
How rude. He’s such an asshole.
“I am happy!”
“You might want to tell your face dude.”
“Fuck off Vernon. Is it the hotel bar?” you stare at Chan picking a stray hair off the stylist’s shoulder. No doubt he wouldn’t fall asleep on her. Your eyes wander down, her ass isn’t anything to write home about, surely it wasn’t her ass that he was mumbling about in his sleep.
Fuck you need to get a grip.
Maybe Wonwoo was wrong. It is a friendship bracelet. How would Wonwoo even know anything about these things, he’d still be sat at home playing games in his underwear if Chae hadn’t asked him out. Now they sit at home and play games in their underwear together and they’re annoyingly happy. Not like you. You’re going to be a spinster for the rest of your life, destined to only ever befriend men and never be loved by one.
“It is! See you there....or not, party pooper!” your eyes snap away from the stylists ass and back to Vernon.
But he doesn’t wait, he rushes off to catch up with Cheol and Soonyoung, the three them having become wingmen to each other over the tour.
You’re too busy looking anywhere other than Chan and his soon to be wife stylist so you don’t notice when you crash into something. The very somethings you were trying to ignore.
“Oh! Hey......”
“Sorry.” You don’t let him finish, you ignore his not doubt pitying smile and walk around them, marching off towards the tour bus. The band all ride in Bentleys between the venues and hotel so you know you won’t have to see him until the hotel. Hopefully they have a lovely ride together whilst you ride the bus with Vernon and the other muggles.
You’re drunk. Well not drunk. Just jolly? You’re still only seeing one of everything so you’re not drunk drunk. But it’s definitely about the right time to get some air.
The trouble is you’ve no idea where air is. So instead you decide to call it at night and head back to your room. You’d cramped Vernon’s style for long enough and to be honest you were starting to feel a little uncomfortable when his new lady friend started insinuating the three of you should head back to Vernon’s room. You’re not adverse to a threesome you don’t think, but you’d rather perform in front of a stadium naked than see Vernon naked.
You exit the elevator deciding to skip to your room, because why the hell not? You’re young, free and perpetually single, why not enjoy the little joys in life?
“Where are you skipping off to?”
Oh. Fuck why is he on this floor, shouldn’t he be where the suites are?
“Back to my room,” you spin around, feeling pretty proud that you don’t wobble. “Goodnight!”
“Wait!” he reaches for your arm, stopping you from skipping away from him. “Are we ok?” his eyes flick down to your wrist, checking you’ve got your bracelet on.
“Sure! Whose ass do you like?”
Ok, so maybe you are a little drunk considering how loose your lips are.
“Pardon?”
“The other night, when you fell asleep on me. You mumbled someone had a great ass. Whose ass is so great that you’re thinking about it when you’re literally lying on someone else?”
He looks at you in horror. Well. There’s your answer then.
You turn away, deciding you don’t much feel like skipping now. A loud stomp is probably preferable.
“I didn’t think it had happened. I thought it was a dream.”
His soft voice stops you in your tracks.
“You didn’t think you’d fallen asleep on me when we were making out?”
“I’m really sorry _____. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Wow. He doesn’t know what he was thinking making out with you?!
“It’s ok.” You pout, “we don’t have to mention it again. Do you want the friendship bracelet back?” you look down at your wrist wondering how you’re even going to take it off.
“What?! No! It’s not a..... Can we talk?” He sounds desperate and you hate that. Even now, you only want him to be happy.
“My room is somewhere along here,” you squint, trying to read the room numbers in the distance.
“You’re on the wrong floor, my room is along this corridor.”
“Oh.” You stand up straight, looking around, “is this where the royalty stays?” You whisper to him.
“They may do sometimes. At the moment it’s just us and Mingyu and Jieun watching The Notebook. I left when he started crying.”
“She’s very hot. They’re a very hot couple. So are you and the lady with the clothes. The er.......stylist! The stylist.” You nod, very proud with your extensive tipsy vocabulary.
You wander off towards his room but pretty quickly realise you’ve no idea where his room actually is. You presume he’s walking near you but when you turn around, he’s staring at you in disgust, exactly where you left him.
“What stylist?”
“The one you walked with after the concert,” you say with a pout that breaks Chan’s heart, “I had to walk on my own because Wonwoo got it wrong.”
“Who’s Wonwoo?”
“My best friend. And a stupid man. A big old stupid man with a big old stupid girlfriend because everyone has someone and I have someone who snores on my head. Who it turns out isn’t mine but the dress lady,” you ignore a baffled looking Chan, whilst you think about what you’ve just said, “OH MY GOD AM I THE OTHER WOMAN?! DID YOU KISS ME WHEN YOU’RE WITH THE DRESS LADY?! Oh my god!”
You start pacing, hand on your forehead, falling deeper and deeper into a spiral of shame.
You stop and look at him in disgust.
“You just go around sucking people’s fingers when you’re dating a lady with dresses?!”
“I’ve no idea what is currently happening here but I will say, we don’t wear dresses, she generally has leather jeans and ripped t-shirts.”
“WHAT?!”
Chan decides he doesn’t care what’s happening at the moment, he just needs to get you into his room before you start actually having a full-scale breakdown.
“Come on.” He pulls you towards his suite.
“You’re not sucking my fingers.” You say sternly as he pulls you towards his room. “I don’t care how pretty you are. I am not the other woman.”
“I don’t want to suck your fingers.” He mumbles, looking round hoping there’s no stray fans or photographers around who may have snuck into the hotel.
“Why?! What’s wrong with my fingers?!” You pull your arm from his hand.
“You’ll see what’s wrong with my fingers if you don’t stop being such a fucking brat!!!”
If you weren’t so embarrassed at how your pussy tingled at him calling you a brat, you’d notice just how much he’s trying not to smile at your wide-eyed look of horror mixed with the way your thighs rubbed together slightly.
“Move.”
He scans his key card and opens the door for you to walk through.
“Ok, Mr Rockstar,” you grumble sarcastically.
That proves to be a step too far for Chan, the door closes behind him as he follows you into his suite and his palm connects with your ass with a sharp slap.
“Wh....”
You don’t get chance to finish your sentence. He pushes you, albeit gently, against the wall and cages you in with his hands either side of your head.
This Chan is far removed from the one who shyly gave you the bracelet.
“That stylist is a friend. She’s worked with us since we first got signed.”
“You just slapped my ass.” You whisper, almost in wonder that him.
“And I’ll do it again if you don’t start fucking opening your eyes. This whole thing has been so stupid, I’ve been worried about telling you this whole time, too shy to get it wrong. I should’ve just told you.”
“Told me what?”
His eyes search yours, like he’s now wondering if this is the right time but he can’t see any point in holding this back any longer. There’s not much time left on the tour and you’re clearly upset with him because of his mixed signals and lack of clarity.
“I like you.”
Silence. Why aren’t you talking to him? You just glare at him and to be honest, he’s second guessing himself.
“But you snored on my chin.”
He smiles, he can’t help it, you’re too cute with your pretty pout and eyes that try to remain stoic.
“I did. And I was a fucking idiot for doing that, I was drunk and I’d been so worried about trying to tell you. Seungcheol told me to get you stuff to show you, so that’s why I paid that bar man for the cart.”
“You bought that cart? Why didn’t you tell me?! I just left it there, I don’t know how we’d even get it on the plane....”
“No, I paid him to rent it from him.”
“How much?”
“2000.”
“WHAT?!”
“I don’t care how much it was, you’re worth it,” you try to hide your smile at that, “but I was so fucking nervous and then you were literally under me, and my mind was spinning and I just conked out. I’m really sorry. I remembered everything on the plane, and I’ve not been able to forgive myself since.”
“So, it wasn’t a childhood dream?”
“No,” he snorts, “my dream was to play my guitar for screaming fans and then head home and fuck the perfect woman each night.”
“My dream was to marry Legolas.” You grin.
He bites his lips trying desperately not to laugh at you.
“Fuck I really want to kiss you, but I don’t want you to not remember it in the morning.”
“I’m not drunk!” you say it far too quickly, “I sobered up a bit when you spanked me. Oh! And by the way it wasn’t the snoring that pissed me off....Well it did. Do you know how fucking close I was? And you just fall asleep! So fucking annoying”
Ok maybe you are still a little drunk, but you’re definitely in the right head space to know exactly what you want.
“You’re so cute when you ramble on like that. Fuck the other day when you were excitedly telling everyone about how your new microphone is the best on the market for recording live music, I couldn’t take my eyes off you, so fucking annoying that everyone else gets to see you being so fucking cute.”
“It is a really good mic, if you do all decide to record a live album, I’ll let you borrow it if you like. I don’t suppose you’ll be able to buy one if you’re throwing money around like you did on hiring that food cart.”
“Heeey!” he whines, hands still either side of your head, “I was nervous! And Cheol told me to show you!”
You just gaze at him, admiring how his lips move when he talks and how his eyes shine brightly when he looks at you. And now you know he likes you, just how you like him, you can’t hold yourself back anymore.
“So, about that kissing?”
“What about it?” he moves so his face is dangerously close to yours.
“I’m not drunk.”
“Is that so?”
“Oh! Actually! Could I just check one more thing before the kissing?”
“Go on.” He chuckles.
“The bracelet, is it a friendship bracelet? Or is it an ‘I like you’ bracelet? Or a ‘sorry I fell asleep when you were so close to cumming for the first time in weeks’ bracelet?”
“Weeks?”
“I left my toy in Mumbai and fingers just don’t cut it.”
“Is that a challenge?” He pushes himself right up against your body and you swear you’re close to physically swooning for the rock star in front of you.
“It might be. It depends on the bracelet.” You shrug, doing your best nonchalant act.
“It’s an ‘I’m so far gone in my crush for you that I cried in the shower when I thought I’d fucked this all up’ bracelet.”
“Wow. Lucky they had such a specific bracelet in stock!”
“Do you have any other admin?”
You think about it.
“Nope. I think I’m all good for the kissing.”
“Fucking finally.”
He grabs your cheeks in his hand and pulls your lips to his, moving them against your own with so much force you’re a little taken a back. This is the complete opposite from the half assed drooly making out of a few nights ago, now you need to bring your a-game.
Your arms wrap around his neck, lips moving feverishly together, his whole body pinning you the wall as he quickly moves his hands from the wall and onto your waist. His tongue bullies its way into your mouth and finally you feel that little tongue piercing properly. It’s a weird feeling, something so hard when everything else is so soft and wet but fuck does it feel incredible as your tongue swirls around his.
He alternates between long, drawn-out kisses where you feel like you’re barely able to catch your breath and teasing little pecks. Each time he does it you chase his lips, annoyed that he’d remove his tongue from your more than willing mouth, but that only seems to egg him on even more. He chuckles every time you whine but eventually, he gives it up and trails wet, warm kisses down your neck, pulling your t-shirt to the side a little then he can mark your collar bone with a sweet stinging kiss.
Your hands travel down his torso, nails scraping along the fabric of his ripped shirt that shows his biceps so nicely but this seems to be the thing that stops him.
“Wait,” he pulls back, hands stopping yours now they’ve reached his belt buckle, “how drunk are you?”
His eyes check over your features, trying to see if you are actually drunk or just a little tipsy but all he finds are angry eyes and kiss bitten lips that he wants to feel against his for as long as you’ll let him.
“I’m not drunk! I just needed to let loose because I thought I’d read the signals wrong!”
“I just don’t want this to seem like I’m taking advantage!”
“Seriously, are you just really into edging because this is getting fucking ridiculous. Move,” you try to shove past him, “I’ll go find someone at the bar or maybe Seungcheol will take pity on me or something.”
Wrong thing to say. His eyes flash with something dangerous and he pulls you towards the bed, making you sit down on it.
“You want this?”
He stands in front of you, the perfect image of a rock n roll star, biceps bulging as he crosses his arms and waits for whatever smart ass remark you have for him. But to his surprise, you’re so in awe of the man in front of you, that all you can do is nod and almost drool at the sight.
“Words _____.”
“I want this.”
“What are you doing?!”
He ignores you, just makes you stand up and starts taking your clothes off slowly, treating like you’re so delicate you might break. Your t-shirt and jeans are thrown somewhere near the bed, and he pauses for a second to look at you.
“You’re so fucking hot.”
You can’t help it, the way he was moving so slowly, so thoughtfully, you thought it would be a bit more poetic than hot and so you start laughing, which thankfully he joins in with.
“Can we take everything off?”
“We? You seem pretty overdressed.”
“And I’m staying that way. Can we take those fucking silly little panties off? They’re not covering much anyway.”
You glance down at the thong you’re wearing. You don’t normally wear a pink lace thong day to day, but this tour has been going on three months, and you’ve somehow left each city with less underwear and socks than you arrived with.
You’ve no idea what he’s planning or why he’s keeping his clothes on, but you trust him and so you quickly take your panties and bra off and throw them with your other clothes.
His hand finds yours, a kind smile playing on his lips as he sits on the edge of the bed and shuffles back a little.
“What are you doing?”
“You’ll see, come here.” He pats the spot between his legs, making you sit between them so you’re both facing the same way.
That’s when you see it, how you didn’t notice it when he launched you onto the bed the first time, you don’t know.
A mirror. Right at the end of the bed, floor to ceiling and reflecting a very smug looking Chan and a very shy looking you.
“You’re not so chatty now?” He ponders into your ear. “Is this all ok?”
You’re not entirely sure. You’re dripping at the prospect of whatever he’s about to do and it isn’t that you hate your body, you just never considered what it’d be like to see yourself like this. You glance at Chan in the mirror, his eyes full of that same gentleness that you’re used to but you realise you don’t want that gentleness, not right now, you want whatever glint was in his eyes when he had you pinned against the wall a few minutes ago.
“It’s ok.” You make sure you look into his eyes, you don’t want any more questioning from him about whether you truly want this. You’ve spent months dreaming about having him and now you do, you aren’t going to ignore the growing need between your legs.
He kisses your cheek and then reaches round, places a hand on either thigh and slowly opens your legs so they rest either side of his spread legs, your whole pussy presented to him.
“Fuck,” he stares at your dripping pussy. Your legs are spread so wide that he can see ever tiny detail of you, “you’re stunning _____. Such a pretty fucking pussy.” He nibbles your ear a little, making your hips twitch between his thighs.
You want to look at him, to see his handsome features and blown out pupils but you can’t drag your eyes away from your pussy, leaking just for him. His fingers dance up your right thigh, hovering over your needy core.
If you were paying any attention you’d see that he stops for a few seconds, just to make sure that you want this. But all he finds is your eyes transfixed by his fingers, licking your lips and almost struggling not to shift yourself a little closer to his fingers, to finally get some relief.
Chan stares in the mirror, his fingers spreading your open even further, your hole leaking and breathing ragged, the feel of his fingers on you making your heart hammer in your ears.
“So wet for me,” his middle and ring finger apply pressure to your clit making your head lull back onto his shoulder, a breathy moan leaving you from how that simple contact makes your world spin, “its just for me, isn’t _____? All the bullshit about Cheol was just you being dramatic effect wasn’t it?”
You might be wetter than you’ve ever been and you might want this more than anything, but you’re determined to get him back for falling asleep and so you don’t reply. You close your eyes and try to not moan at how fucking incredible his fingers feel on you.
Chan glances at you in the mirror before actually looking at you face to face. And panic sets in.
“______?”
He shakes you a little.
“_____?!”
You can’t help it, you giggle into his ear, eyes snapping open and finding his appalled ones.
“Are you serious?!”
“It isn’t nice is it Mr Rock Star.”
Your hole clenches around nothing when he glares at you, tongue in his cheek like he’s thinking of the best way to get you back.
“Look in the mirror.”
It isn’t a request, it’s an order and you hurry to obey it. You’d literally do anything for him at this point. Within reason, obviously.
He waits for a few seconds, your body shaking a little when his fingers come back down to rub light circles on your clit.
“Look at me.” Your eyes snap to his in the mirror.
SLAP.
“Fuck,” you moan loudly, hips jolting as his hand slaps your pussy, the wetness of it making it sound even harder than it was.
“Lesson learnt?” he rubs your pussy with his hand softly, soothing the stinging.
You smirk at him, his eyes flashing darkly when he realises just how into that you were.
“You like hearing me slap your pretty wet cunt? Like how pathetic it sounds when everyone can hear how wet you are from just my fingers?”
“So much,”
Slap. A pause. Another slap but this time he pinches your nipple too and you throw your head back onto him, the sting on your pussy making your leak even more for him.
This time though he doesn’t soothe the sting by rubbing you, he simply plunges his two fingers into your tight little hole and starts pummelling them in and out of you quickly.
Your wetness rings around the room, his fingers stretching you open whilst you babble away on his shoulder, head spinning too much to even form any thoughts to tell him just how incredible his fingers feel.
“Shit _____, you’re leaking all over my hand. Your pretty pussy trying to show me just how desperate you’ve been for me?”
“Mm-mm” you nod, eyes fixed on his fingers as they fuck in and out of you.
His eye catches yours and the sight of his cocky smile as your lean on him, legs spread, the back of your thighs clinging to the leather jeans makes you clench down on his fingers.
“Are you close?”
“Yeah,” you moan, hole clenching again and again as your high nears.
“What was it you accused me of?” his palm slams down on your clit as his fingers keep their frantic pace, you’re literally seconds away from cumming all over his hand, you’re not even listening to him anymore, your pussy is making enough noise for you, “That I just really like edging people?”
What?
“NO!!” his hand leaves your cunt, both of his hands instead massaging your tits and pinching your nipples as your orgasm sails away from you, your cunt aching and leaking even more, “Chan no please don’t do that please just carry on!!”
“I am, see baby look, I’m playing with your pretty tits”
Your indignant huff only makes him giggle before he nips your earlobe again.
“I’ll do it myself then.”
“I thought your fingers didn’t cut it?”
“You know for someone who was so sorry you’re being a real assh....”
SLAP.
Your whole body shakes, the slap to your clit almost pushing you over the edge.
His fingers slam back into your oozing cunt, your greedy pussy swallowing his fingers gladly as he hits your g spot again and again.
This is it, this is what you need. His nimble fingers are hammering into you, his palm back on your clit applying pressure and moving every time his fingers fuck themselves back into you.
Your orgasm is coming on quick, you swear he must have magic in those fingers. It’s not like you didn’t know, the man is a guitar god but it turns out, he plays your pussy far better than he plays any instrument.
“Fuck,” you clamp down on him when you remember you’re sitting in front of a mirror and look to find his hand literally glistening in your essence.
His other hand gropes your tit, pinching your nipple between his thumb and finger and tugging on it a little. Fuck you’re so close, just a couple more strokes and......
“NOO!! WHY?!” you’re crying at this point, why is he being so fucking mean?!
Your pussy is almost painful, you could feel yourself about to cum, that perfect high just teetering on the edge, why does he keep doing this?!
“Tell me it’s mine. Tell me you’re mine. None of that bullshit about the bar and Cheol.”
“Just do something!” You plead, you’re not even with it enough to understand what he’s saying to you. You just need to cum. Now.
“Whose.” A little slap to your cunt. “Pussy.” Another. “Is this?”
Each small slap makes your whole body jolt, the pressure edging you more and more as it stings so fucking nicely.
“It’s yours,” you sniffle, kissing his cheek hoping being kind to him might make him finally let you cum. “It’s only yours Chan, I promise.”
“Fuck,” he sighs, forehead resting on your shoulder, “I’ve waited so long to hear that.”
His fingers finally enter their new home, hitting your g-spot straight away and palm back on your clit. Your poor pussy is dribbling away, his hands and legs are wet, the bed is wet and it’s all because your cunt can’t control itself around him. His fingers just feel too good against your warm, wet walls.
“Please, fuck that f-feels so good,”
Your nails dig into his arm as you cling onto him. The pressure building is like nothing you’ve ever felt and you feel almost dizzy as you get closer and closer. If he stops again this time you will probably actually faint in his arms.
Your cunt is clenching, you’re leaking everywhere and all you can feel is your body shaking every time his finger tips greet your cervix.
“So g-good.... Fuck, g-gonna cum”
Your whole body shakes in his arms, cunt trying to keep his fingers permanently inside you you’re clenched around him so hard. Tears fall down your cheeks, electricity flowing through you and if you weren’t still digging your nails into him, you’d bet good money that you’re floating right now.
Chan’s fingers are covered in the creamy release you’ve gifted him and he doesn’t even need to keep fingering you. He just watches in the mirror as you fuck yourself on his fingers, riding your high out. It might just be one of the single most beautiful things he’s ever seen in his life.
He decides there and then that you’re it for him. He already knew it. But now he really knows it. You’re a fucking goddess and he’s lucky enough to get to have you like this.
Your hips slow, your body feeling almost numb from your orgasm and Chan wraps his arms around you, keeping you close to him and making sure you know he’s there. You giggle a little when he keeps kissing your neck and cheek, he’s definitely back to sweet, caring Chan.
“You’re really mean, you know that?” You smile at him, head resting on his shoulder as you gaze at him. “I don’t think I’ve got the energy for more.”
“I don’t need more. I didn’t want more. I mean I do,” he rushes to say when he sees the hurt on your face, “but I know you’ve had a bit to drink, I don’t doubt you’re not totally drunk but I wouldn’t have felt right having you do something to me or us having sex. I wanted to make you feel good. That’s why I kept my clothes on, I didn’t want to tempt anything.”
Fuck he’s so perfect.
“But you do want to? Sometime?”
His hard dick against your ass would suggest he does. But it doesn’t hurt to clarify things.
“I do.” He smiles, kissing your lips quickly, “I really like you _____. So, so much.” He kisses you again.
“Can I stay in your room tonight?”
“Like I’d even give you an option.” He snickers, fingers running along your bracelet as you look at him through the mirror.
“I’m sorry I was grumpy with you.”
“In a weird way I’m pleased, you being jealous was the final clue I needed that you liked me too.”
His eyes stay on your bracelet, but you note he’s got a worried look in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“I feel like I didn’t check enough before we, you know.....started. Was it too much, the edging and everything? I didn’t hurt you?”
If you’re honest with yourself, edging has never been something you were interested in. You’re too impatient. But knowing how fucking incredible that orgasm just was, you won’t say no if he wants to do it again.
“It was perfect Chan. Really perfect.”
How can he be so cute after being the complete opposite? He might actually be the most wonderful human being you’ve ever met.
“Come on, let’s get washed and changed, I’ll lend you something to wear. We’ve got important business to get on with.”
“What?”
Why is he smiling? He can’t want to record a song right now?
“I’ve been thinking of going blonde, I need some help with how to do it and ordering some hair dye. Will we need bleach?”
What the fuck is he even talking about?
“Are you seriously thinking about your hair right now?”
“Well. You said you wanted to marry Legolas. I’m not proposing but if elves are your thing I can definitely dye it blonde and grow it out.”
What a fucking idiot.
“Bold of you to think you could compete with Legolas. You’re more of a Gimli.”
You rush off the bed before he realises what you’ve said, cackling when he chases after you, telling you that you’ll pay for that.
Paris. 6 days till tour ends
It came as no shock to anyone when you and Chan turned up to breakfast together, both in his sweats and looking very pleased with yourselves. Well. Except maybe Vernon who seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact that you liked Chan. Or that he liked you. Although to be fair, Vernon is oblivious to most things unless they have strings and he can play them. Or they’re in a skirt and he can play.
Things felt exactly the same and yet entirely different. It wasn’t like you could walk around the airport holding hands or anything, there was no way Chan could be so open about even being around woman, let alone being with them. But knowing that he liked you was enough.
Little smiles were exchanged as you walked past each other when crowds were around. Lingering touches made your working day all the brighter between recordings, when you hoped no one was watching. It was all more incredible than you could’ve imagined.
Chan had spent most of the flight between Rome and Paris planning where you’d eat and when exactly to go to the Eiffel Tower so it was all lit up for your cheesy photo in front of it. He was insistent you had to have this fancy hot chocolate he’d seen online and then you’d go wandering through the less busy streets, hopefully away from over eager fans, and have crêpes by the Seine.
And you did do that. But the crêpes by the Seine were cut short when Chan hadn’t read up about certain habits of French men. And so when one such man freely wandered past the bench you were sitting on and started peeing, Chan covered both of your eyes very dramatically and your crêpes landed on the ground. But other than the peeing man, it was perfect.
Your rest days had been spent in a whirlwind of romance. Flowers were in your room, room service kept bringing you things he’d ordered for you whilst he was at interviews and other schedules and he’d even managed to skip a fashion show he didn’t want to go to so you could go and watch a film at an old retro cinema.
And now you find yourself back stage waiting for them to finish their performance in the penultimate city of the tour. The girls scream and Chan head bangs as he plays his fourth guitar solo of the night. It’s amazing. Just like it always is.
“_____!”
You jump when Jeonghan shouts you over to him but happily wander over. You like Jeonghan, he’s far more chilled about things than Woozi. Woozi had nearly had a heart attack two days ago when he found not one, but three women in Seungcheol’s bed with him and Soonyoung in the bathtub with a couple he’d picked up at one of the local clubs.
“What’s up?”
“I just need you to sign this.”
He places a couple of stapled pieces of paper onto an amp in front of you, along with a pen.
“Oh, we haven’t decided if we’re taking the in-house producer job yet.” You smile at him.
“What?” he frowns at you. “Oh! No this isn’t about the job, although I really hope you take it, the guys seem to be so much more creative with you and Vernon. But no. This is the standard NDA. It’s just basic stuff, no speaking to the press, no social media posts explicitly saying Chan’s name or what may have happened, everything you’d expect.”
That’s where Jeonghan is wrong. This is not what you’d expect. In fact you hadn’t expected this at all. NDA’s are for when you need to make sure the quick fuck you had in the bathroom doesn’t tell the press. They aren’t for relationships where you care about and trust the other person.
“Why do I need to sign this?”
“You and Chan? You’ve slept together right?” He looks confused why you’re even questioning this. “It’s pretty standard, we get through hundreds of them every tour. Normally it’s trickier to make sure they’ve all done them, apart from Mingyu obviously. Jieun would cut his balls off if he ever did anything that warranted an NDA.” He chuckles.
You don’t know why he’s chuckling. None of this is very fucking funny. Hundreds? And it’s for all three of them? You don’t expect Chan to have never been with anyone on tour but “pretty standard”? Is this just what he does? He has a woman on the tour each time to make sure he gets his rocks off. Literally.
Is that all this is? Some tour romance to stop himself getting bored and making sure he gets laid? He’s left it pretty fucking late. Maybe you were the last resort. He’s probably pissed off you haven’t fucked yet. Just having to make do with a quick blow job before he went on stage. Your whole body feels like it’s been hit by a tsunami of shame and embarrassment.
“_____?” Jeonghan looks at you hopefully, now holding the pen out for you. He needs this done, the show will be over soon and they’ve a huge meet and greet to get done.
“Oh. Yeah, sorry.”
You take the pen from him, scribble what you hope looks like your signature, you wouldn’t know you’re not paying attention, and walk off towards the stadium exit.
Jeonghan doesn’t pay attention to where you go or even if you go. He needs to make sure everything is ready for the meet and greet. And Vernon is flirting with one of the make up artists so he isn’t paying attention.
You can’t face the tour bus. And you don’t care about whether Chan will look for you after the show. Hell, if they’ve got so many NDAs, he can get another one signed by some fan from the meet and greet. You just want to get out of here.
You manage to hail a cab and you’re on your way to the hotel before the last song even starts.
So much for Paris being the city of love.
Berlin. Two days till tour ends
Wonwoo: Even Vernon has messaged me saying he’s worried about you, you need to leave your room _____
You: I don’t. The album is done, we’re in the last city and tonight was the second to last show. There’s only one more show in Berlin again and then I can come home and join a conevnt
Wonwoo: You wouldn’t suit the wimple
You: True
Wonwoo: That was a joke _____. Fuck you really are depressed
You: I just thought it meant something. I thought for once I found someone who really liked me
Wonwoo: I try not to pay attention to this shit but from what you told me, he does like you
You: Yeah. Me and the other hundreds of people who have signed NDAs
Wonwoo: Didn’t you say that one of them woke up with multiple people the other day?
You: Yeah Cheol had like three women in his bed and Soonyoung had a married couple
Wonwoo: Well there you go, you’re already up to five NDAs just for one night!
You: But Jeonghan specifically said it was all of them but Mingyu
Wonwoo: Right so you expect Chan to have been a virgin?
You: What?! No!
Wonwoo: If two people are using five NDAs in a night, that doesn’t mean he is. Sure he may have gotten through a few but he’s the biggest rockstar in the world _____, he’s going to have fucked the odd person on tour
You: I guess. I don’t know, I just thought NDAs were for one night stands. I don’t want it to be that. What if that’s all he thinks this is?
Wonwoo: You’re not going to know that unless you talk to him. You need to man the fuck up
You: Says the man who sent his old internet provider a cookie selection when you decided to leave
Wonwoo: Hey!! Seungkwan in the call centre was nearly crying when I told him I wanted to cancel that contract. It’s a very deep rooted relationship between a man and his internet provider. I told him if they couldn’t offer me super fast broadband I’d have to leave and he just couldn’t provide what I needed
Wonwoo: I still think about him sometimes
Wonwoo: The sadness in his voice when we said our final goodbye
Wonwoo: He deserved those cookies
You: Are you done?
Wonwoo: With your avoidance issues? Yes
You: I don’t want to talk to him because I don’t want to hear that this was only ever for the tour. If I don’t hear it, it still means something
Wonwoo: Fucking hell. This isn’t Jane Austen. Just talk to him! And tell Vernon you’re ok. He’s currently experiencing feelings other than indifference and horniness and it’s unsettling him
You: Do you think I’m unlovable?
Wonwoo: You’re fucking dramatic
You: So that’s a yes
Wonwoo: You’re not unlovable _____. You’re my best friend which I think suggests you must be pretty incredible. I would never be friends with a loser
You: That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me
Wonwoo: And yet I’d still trade you if it meant I could make Seungkwan in the call centre happy
You: Fuck off Wonwoo
The knock on the door sounds for your room service. You hadn’t seen anyone since you made it to the hotel and you’d sat on your own on the private jet, pretending to be asleep with your headphones on. The chaos that always comes with being with Shadow at the airport meant you managed to get away from Chan and the others pretty easily without making it too obvious.
Everyone had busy schedules and Jieun had flown home early because she had work, so you’d been pretty unbothered by people trying to check in on you. That is until Vernon realised he hadn’t heard from you in two days and started to panic that he’d forgotten you in Paris. Chan had rung and text you frequently but when he realised you weren’t going to answer him, he stopped.
You know you’re probably being dramatic but you’re just so certain that you’ve got this wrong. That it was just the thrill of the chase allowing him to avoid the boredom of the tour. But then you keep looking down at the bracelet that you can’t bring yourself to take off and you heart hopes that it means something, that he does truly care for you.
You open the door to find a pretty confused looking waitress, holding your food on a tray and looking to the side in a slight panic.
You follow her eyes and almost jump out of your own skin when you see a pissed off looking Chan stood beside your door.
“Danke Schön.” He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he hands the perplexed looking room service waitress a wad of euros.
You watch as he takes the tray off her and she walks off looking completely baffled by what’s just happened.
“Why are you paying her when I ordered that food?”
“You didn’t. I did. I ordered it and told them I wanted to be here when it arrived. Said I’d pay them extra because what I wanted wasn’t on the menu.”
“No.” You frown at him, taking the plastic cloche off your club sandwich, “I ordered this twenty minutes ago.”
Chan stares at the tray in front of him. That’s not the steak and slice of cake he ordered. A club fucking sandwich isn’t going to make your heart flutter when you recall his room service cart from Hong Kong. They only had cheap cuts of steak, he’d asked them to specifically go and buy the fanciest steak they could.
“Well why have I just paid that woman?”
“I don’t fucking know. Can I have my sandwich please?”
“No.”
You gawk at him. He’s seriously going to hold your poor club sandwich hostage?
“I’m hungry. Give me my sandwich.”
You try to take it off him, but he just ends up yanking it away from you and spills your soda all over the sandwich and himself.
“Oh nice one dufus!”
He doesn’t answer you. Just puts the tray down near the door for someone to collect, walks past you and into your room. Throwing his wet t-shirt onto the floor as he goes.
What the hell has just happened? How have you gone from being hungry and upset? To hungry and fucking pissed off in the space of a minute?
“Get out of my room Chan!” You march up to him, desperately trying to not get distracted by his body on full display to you.
“No. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why have you locked yourself in this room?”
“Because I don’t want to see anyone!”
“Was this all just a fling for you? You finally get what you want and then ditch me?!”
Wait. Shouldn’t that be what you say to him? That’s exactly how you’ve been feeling the past few days, why the hell is he insinuating that you’re the one in the wrong here.
“No, it wasn’t just a fling for me! It clearly is for you though! By the sounds of it this is just something you do all the time!”
His hand comes up to ruffle his hair slightly in annoyance, his bicep flexing and abs glistening from where the soda hit him and you will yourself to not get side tracked by just staring at the adonis in front of you.
“What do you mean? What happened between me telling you that I liked you and you becoming a fucking horrible person to me.”
Wow. If you didn’t already feel like shit, you sure do now.
“Jeonghan.”
“YOU FUCKED JEONGHAN?!”
“No I didn’t fuck Jeonghan. He made me sign an NDA.”
You fold your arms and wait for an explanation for this obvious betrayal.
“So?”
“SO?! He said you all get through hundreds of them every tour. I don’t want this to be just another fuck for you Chan. I thought it was more than that!”
“We do get through hundreds of them. Have you met Seungcheol and Soonyoung? Soonyoung has used two today. And yeah, I’ve had to have a couple signed but I won’t apologise for fucking people before I even knew you. Just like I wouldn’t want an explanation for anyone you’ve fucked in the past.”
“But they’re for things you want to forget? For things that mean nothing, that you’d rather people never know about. I don’t want to be that Chan. I want to be something more to you than a piece of paper.”
He stares at you, like everything over the past few days is finally making sense. He shouldn’t have let Jeonghan just blind side you with that NDA, he knows fans always joke about them and the whole idea has developed this bad reputation around them. But they protect you as much as they protect him.
“_____, they’re just standard for any relationship with any of us. Even my Grandma has signed one saying she won’t talk to the press about my life and she’s one of the people I trust most in the world. It’s just the company protecting us, and themselves and the people who sign them.”
Oh. You feel your whole body drop, like regret is physically weighing you down. You just presumed it meant something bad, like he was ashamed anything had happened and wanted to forget about it.
“I didn’t know that,” you mumble, looking at the ground instead of at him, ashamed about the way you’ve behaved towards him for the past few days.
“You not being there after these past two concerts broke me _____. Not even seeing you made me feel so on edge, like I couldn’t settle without knowing you were ok. I wish you’d have told me what had upset you.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I guess it’s just you’re such a big star and all these people literally would fall on their knees and worship you, it’s just hard believing that you want just a normal person. A normal relationship. I think,” you sigh, seeing no reason not to tell him everything, “I think that’s why I’ve been holding off making the decision about the permanent producing contract. It would hurt me so much to see you so often if this was just a tour thing. I really like you Chan, I thought…or I hoped, we’d be something more.”
“Hoped?”
“Well yeah,” you smile sadly, “I’ve fucked it all up now. I’m really sorry, for what it’s worth.”
You’re still looking anywhere but at him so when his tender hands hold your hips and bring you closer to him, it makes your startle.
“You haven’t fucked anything up. I’m hurt you didn’t trust me when I said I liked you. And I’m sad you’ve been feeling that way about the job. But I still want this _____. I still want you.”
“I feel like such an idiot. You did all those nice things for me, and I let a piece of paper ruin everything.”
“Stop saying you’ve ruined everything,” he chuckles, kissing your forehead lightly, “this is a crazy world you’ve stepped into. And if I hadn’t been so nervous, I could’ve shown you more clearly that I liked you. But you’re the one piece of normal in this chaos, being with you I just feel like a normal guy who can be himself and you don’t expect anything from me other than me just being me.”
“Well,” you huff out a laugh, finally wrapping your arms around his neck and looking at him, “I do expect a new sandwich, you’ve just ruined mine.”
“There she is,” he wraps his arms around you and holds you as close as he can, “there’s my overly sarcastic, yet annoyingly hot girlfriend.”
Did he? Did you even hear that right? You pull back to look at the mischievous man who’s holding you.
“Girlfriend?”
“It’s clause 228c in the NDA, ‘____ is hereby lawfully Dino’s, or Chan’s,girlfriend forever and ever as soon as she signs this contract.’. It’s all there baby, you should’ve read the small print.”
“Forever sounds good,” you smile before your lips find his.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK
“Nooooooooo,” He whines, trying to keep you with him but failing.
“It could be important!”
“Fine,” he huffs, moving past you, “I’ll get it, it could be a murderer.”
“And you’re going to fight them off?”
“I’d do anything for you.”
Damn him for knowing how to fluster you. You just awkwardly nod and go to sit on the sofa whilst he confronts whichever murderer has decided to darken your door.
A small bang makes you jump and look over at him as he enters the room again.
“Oh this can’t be happening again?!”
“Hey, they brought the cart to me this time!” He grins as he wheels a room service cart into the room with two cloches on it and a covered ice bucket on the bottom shelf.
You stand up but unlike last time where you only thought about it, this time you wrap your arms around his back and rest your chin on his shoulder, giggling when he turns his head enough to kiss your temple.
“What’ve you got?”
“Steak, fries and chocolate cake.”
Not another fucking cake.
“Chan seriously we wasted so much of that cake!”
“Hold on little miss grumpy, it’s just a slice!” He pulls the cloche off and shows you the singular piece of cake.
“Thought of everything didn’t you?” You smile, kissing his neck and revelling in the goose bumps you see spring up straight away.
“I did,” he turns in your arms and holds you close to him to again, “I even got them to put a bottle of soda in the ice bucket instead of champagne, there’s no way I’m falling asleep tonight.”
You hope Chan never decides what he’s had enough of his tongue piercing. If he does you might cry for days. Your boyfriend’s head is between your thighs, the flat of his tongue running again and again over your clit, the little nub of metal in his mouth sending vibrations all through your body. It’s like the perfect mix of softness from his tongue but that extra thrill and pleasure you get from something hard like a vibrator, it is literally the best of both worlds.
He moans every time you pull his hair, wanting him as close to your pussy as physically possible. His fingers dig into your thighs, and he gladly obliges with your need to have him closer, shoving his face so far between your thighs that you’re sure he’s more or less suffocating. His tongue leaves your clit, twirling down to your hole and you cry out when you feel his tongue prodding your seeping cunt.
“Fuck!” the little ball on his tongue adds a whole new sensation, the roughness of it against your soft, wet pussy creating the perfect juxtaposition to make your head spin.
You grind your pussy up into his mouth, his tongue fucking in and out of you. The taste of you straight from the source making him moan more and more as his tongue gets faster and faster, the little ball on his tongue entering and re-entering you, softly scratching against your entrance whilst his nose rubs your clit.
“I’m so close…. Just. Fuck that’s amazing,” you can’t help it, you throw you head back babbling. After all the bullshit you put him through the past few days, he needs to know how good he’s being, how good he’s making you feel.
And it’s not like Chan doesn’t know, he can literally taste just how much you’re loving this. Your pussy keeps drooling into his eager mouth and he could spend hours between your legs if you let him. Your cunt clenches around his tongue every time his piercing scratches against an undiscovered little spot inside you and he just wants even more of you.
You completely lose your head though when he keeps the tip of his tongue inside you, just enough that the piercing is on your entrance, and starts whirling his tongue around in a circle whilst he leans into you and makes sure his nose is applying just the right amount of pressure on your clit.
Your whole body shakes, heat rising through you as your orgasm washes over you. You still feel the piercing on your clenching hole, if anything, it’s even more noticeable when you clamp down on his tongue. It’s like an itch almost, like that feeling when you finally reach an itch that’s been there for far too. It’s like no orgasm you’ve ever had, you physically need to keep grinding down onto him just to keep scratching that itch that his piercing is soothing.
It may be the longest orgasm you’ve ever had. Once Chan feels like you’re not griding down onto him anymore, he helps you ride out the very end of your high by making sure he tastes every last drop you’ve given him. His tongue kitten licks your pussy all over, your body twitching when the same piercing that just brought you that incredible high, now hurts a little on your clit and that is Chan’s sign that you’ve finally come back down to earth.
“Fucking hell,” you stare at the ceiling, body sweaty and exhausted.
Chan crawls up your body, pausing to take one of your nipples into his mouth. Is there anything that his damn piercing doesn’t improve? The hardness of it sends a thrill through you and yet the softness of his warm mouth around your pebbled nipple is soothing at the same time. He swirls his tongue around, sucking gently on it, until eventually letting it go with a pop and quickly moving onto the next one.
Your fingers scratch his scalp soothingly as he sucks on your nipple lovingly, your body all warm and tingly from how amazing it feels.
When he finally detaches himself, leaving your nipples wet and reddened from his tongue, his eyes find yours and you decide that you think you might actually love him. His eyes hold nothing but care and his smile, you decide, is entirely different from the one he gives to fans. This one is reserved just for you. Just like you always wondered.
“You’re incredible” he smiles down at you.
“So are you,” you return his smile with a big goofy grin, making him laugh and his hard dick to rub against your thigh.
You don’t know what takes over you. You roll him onto his back, straddling his thighs and hold his arms above his head whilst you leave teasing little kisses along his neck and collar bones.
“You’re not tired then?” He asks rather smugly.
You don’t answer him, his skin tastes like his aftershave but with that salty tang of sweat and you just need more of it.
His body jolts a little when you suck on his collar bone, hell bent on leaving a mark so that he can remember this first night together as a couple, whenever he looks in the mirror for the next day or so. So he can go on stage and have a part of you there with him, claiming him as yours.
You pause. That thought at the front of your mind. He must sense what you’re thinking from the way you’re staring at his neck with a look of horny hunger in your eyes. Either that or you’re a vampire and you’ve just hidden it really well.
“Do whatever you want to me baby. I’m yours.”
Your pussy clenches around nothing, a new wave of wetness flooding you at the idea of showing the whole world that Chan is yours. That he’s let you claim and mark his body as yours and nobody else’s.
You leave little kiss up and down his neck, moving so you place your final kiss over his Adam’s apple before moving a little lower and sucking harshly on the salty skin, your tongue soothing it slightly before you suck again. His hands cling to your hips, a little airy moan leaving his lips as his body twitches under you.
When you leave not one, not two, but three more marks on his skin, scattered around his neck and collar bones, Chan is a whining mess beneath you. Dick oozing precum and head thrown back on the pillow with his lip between his teeth and eyes closed.
“Condom?”
“There’s one in my wallet,” he says, whining when you twist his nipple a little.
His jeans are right near the bed, so you lean over, making extra effort to rest your body on his throbbing length that rests against his stomach, as you locate his jeans and get the condom.
Chan has finally opened his eyes, his pupils are blown, cheeks all pink as he watches you open the condom packet and slide it down his hard length. He doesn’t miss the smug look on your face when his dick leaks even more precum just from you touching it as you put the condom on, but he doesn’t care. He isn’t ashamed to want you so much he is actually whining underneath you. And he isn’t ashamed to say that he meant what he said, you can do whatever you want to him, he is completely and utterly yours.
You lift yourself so he’s lined up with your needy pussy, already desperate for more even after your first insane orgasm.
“Please hurry up,” he mumbles, fingers digging into your hips and eyes transfixed by the little drop of wetness that falls onto his tip that’s so close to your pussy.
“Don’t be so bossy.” You tweak his nipple again and he throws his head back, showing all the marks you’ve left on his delicious neck.
You lower yourself onto him, your pussy swallowing his thick length as it drags scrumptiously against your warm, wet walls. You bob a little, mainly to adjust to him but also to annoy him just a little bit. You’ve not intention of edging him like he did to you, but you also haven’t forgotten it either.
Once you’re fully on him, your ass flush with his thighs, you pause for a second to revel in the fact that you’re on top of the man you’ve been crushing over. And that’s he’s so desperate for you, whining and all snotty, just makes you want to wreck him for everyone.
Your hips start slow, his dick gliding against your gummy walls and hitting your g spot so nicely that the slow pace doesn’t last for long. Judging by the moans and whines coming from both of you, neither of you are going to last long.
You glance down at how his abs, how they’re tightening and flexing every time you’re cunt drags along his throbbing length. They’re fucking beautiful but they’re missing one thing that would improve them.
His eyes nearly pop out of their sockets, fingers bruising your hips and dick twitching inside you when you lean down to suck harsh little red marks onto his pecks and top of his stomach. Marking more and more of him as yours and pussy clenching when his hips twitch and he somehow gets even deeper inside you.
“You feel so fucking good baby, your dick feels so amazing,” you moan, finger nails scratching down his abs as you ride him like there’s no tomorrow.
“Mm...” he nods, barely able to form words. He’s desperately trying to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss how gorgeous you look on top of him but the pressure building in his balls and the way your perfect cunt is wrapped around him, he’s really struggling to keep them open.
“Do you wanna cum baby?”
He doesn’t reply. Not verbally. Just nods his head as best he can whilst he clings to you.
“Then ask nicely.”
Your hips don’t slow, they ride his perfect dick, his tip nudging your g spot in way that has you perilously close to the edge too. Your finger nails dig into his stomach almost as much as his fingers dig into your hips and the sound of your wet cunt and ass smacking down onto his thighs fills the room.
“Pl....” he moans when you clench around him. “Please!” He manages to cry out.
You’ve no idea why you asked him, you’ve no way of stopping yourself even if you wanted to. Your hips keep grinding, ass still smacking his thighs and it only takes two more harsh stokes down onto him and he cries out. Body shaking, fingers bruising your hips and mouth hanging open in pure ecstasy.
You keep going, his orgasm tipping you over the edge too as your whole body feels like it’s on fire. He’s hitting your g spot, the little mound of pubes above his dick tickling your clit and the sight of all the marks on him makes it the most perfect orgasm.
His fingers loosen on your hips and they finally low until eventually, you’re just sat on top of him, gazing at him as his breathing is ragged and his body is covered in sweat. He slowly opens his eyes and you’re rewarded with what might be the brightest smile you’ve ever seen.
“Are you ok?” you ask as you lift yourself up, his now soft dick slipping out of you.
“I’m fucking amazing.”
He gets up quickly to tie the condom and throw it in the trash before he rushes back over to you and scoops you into his arms.
You’re both sweaty and in need of a shower but it doesn’t make it any less perfect. To be held by someone who cares for you as much as you care for him.
“Did you think about the producer job?” his fingers run up and down your spine, both of you quite content.
“We haven’t decided yet. I told Jeonghan I’d let him know by the last show.”
“That’s tomorrow.” he chuckles.
“I know,” you have a small smile playing on your lips that he can’t see, you want it to be a surprise. “But we live in the same city, it’s not like we won’t see each other anyway.”
“Oh you’re not getting rid of me now.” His grip tightens on you. “But we all love working with you. And I think Cheol and Soonyoung will have withdrawals if we take Vernon away from them now.”
“Would you be annoyed if we didn’t?” You lift your head to look at him.
“No” the way he says it, you can tell he’s being honest, “but I do love working with you. And Vernon, to be fair. We could make good music in the day and sweet love when we get home.”
Your nose scrunches at the cheesiness of what he’s said but it really is tempting.
“We’ll see” you hum, both of you wrapping yourself in each other and lying in content silence.
The final show wraps up, the four sweaty men running off stage and everyone dodging Mingyu’s towel like always but this time you don’t worry about whether the lead singer of the biggest rock band in the world will hold back and talk to you. Because instead he just takes your hand and pulls you along with him, no more hiding at the back or awkward conversations where neither of you know what the other is thinking. Just you two happily walking hand in hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“We might have no meet and greet but I do need to talk to you all before the end of tour party,” Jeonghan announces as you all make it to the dressing room, “First thing. Cheol, we’re capping the number of women you have in your room at any one time to three. Anymore and we’re putting you in rehab.”
“For what?!” Cheol demands, disgusted he would be limited in such a cruel way, “For being able to please so many ladies in one night?”
“I can’t keep handing out NDAs to them as they exit the room, I’m starting to feel like one of those people who hands out leaflets on the street! It’s starting to look obvious too, do you want some passer by to see them all leaving your room in an orderly line whilst I get them to sign NDAs on each other’s backs?!”
You try to hide your laughter behind Chan but seeing as how everyone in the room is laughing at the ridiculousness of the conversation, in the end you don’t see the point.
“Fucking ridiculous. I bet the Iron Maiden didn’t put up with this shit.”
Jeonghan ignores the pouty man in front of him and turns his attention to the last matter on his small, yet important agenda.
“_____ and Vernon, as of about thirty minutes ago, have officially become in-house producers for Shadow!!” He shouts happily.
The whole room erupts into cheers and Chan turns to look at you in amazement.
“Seriously?!”
“Hm-mm” you nod excitedly, smiling from ear to ear.
“Oh my god!!” He lifts you up and spins you round whilst you laugh and hold him even tighter, falling harder and harder for the man in your arms.
“That’s great news!” Soonyoung beams at you, all of them coming over to congratulate you and Vernon.
You all pause though when Vernon holds his arms out to Chan.
“What?”
“Well,” he huffs, “you’ve just spun _____ round. We’re both equals here, I’m ready for my turn.” Vernon says indignantly.
Chan doesn’t get a chance to answer.
“I’ll spin you round.” Soonyoung smirks, eyes running up and down Vernon’s body.
“Er, come on, lets head to the party.” Chan drags you away from whatever is about to happen between Vernon and Soonyoung.
“So, we’re going to the party? You’ve not managed to get yet another cart?”
“Nah I’m not in the mood to pretend to be anything tonight. I just want to be the thing I know I already am.” He takes your hand and kisses your cheek.
🩶 chan x f!reader
🩶 0.4k
🩶 fluffy chan and his fluffy hair
🩶 requested by @anoirangel <33 for my 100 followers event!
🩶 it's really just fluff and morning cuddles, no warnings. i mean there's a mention of sweaty shirtless chan. but it's really just fluff <3
Chan's hair is fluffy. You like it a lot. Like - a lot.
🩶
“Baby.”
“No.”
“Baby –”
“No!”
“Baby, I need to get up,” Chan sighs, but you shake your head, nuzzling deeper into his chest.
“No. You’re not allowed.”
You tug your hands through his hair again from your place sprawled on top of him, and he just groans, arms slipping around your waist.
“Fine. But only a bit longer, okay? I need to get up soon.”
“Hm.” You lift your head up just enough to press a kiss to Chan’s collarbone, just above the line of his shirt, and then settle back down to play with his hair. His long, soft, fluffy hair.
Chan laughs, his whole chest shaking, and drops a little kiss into your hair. “You’re adorable, you know that?”
You huff and tug at his hair until he winces. “I know. But you’re cuter. Let me play.”
“Alright, alright, geez,” he says. His fingers dip just under the hem of your shirt, brushing against the base of your spine and sending warmth curling beneath your skin. “You can play. Fine.”
You flash him a victorious smile, then scoot yourself further up on his chest, so your nose rests just beneath his chin. “Yippie.”
He sighs again, but it’s fond. You run your fingers through his hair, toying with a few strands, and his palm rests against the small of your back with just enough pressure.
“I love your long hair,” you murmur into the side of his neck. You press a gentle kiss to his skin, then continue, twirling a dark lock around one finger. “It’s just so… soft. And it looks so good on you. Makes you look hot. And cute. Mhm. Hot and cute,” you decide with another little kiss. Chan hums and drums his fingers against your back.
“Hot and cute? At the same time?”
You consider, pulling back to squint up at him. “No. Not at the same time. It depends.”
“Mm. Then which am I now?”
He raises his eyebrows, peering down at you with his morning eyes and his soft skin, and something inside you melts.
“Cute. Definitely cute.”
An adorably amused smile splits his face, and his fingers curl against your spine, the barest tips of his fingernails brushing your skin. “Good to know. And what about… when I’m at the gym?”
“Hmm, all sweaty?” you ask with a giggle. He nods, very seriously, and you rub your thumb just behind his ear. “Yeah, you’re hot then. Very hot.”
“Good to know,” he repeats, settling back into the pillows. He’s fighting a grin, maybe a smirk; you can tell.
You kiss his collarbone.
“Wanna go to the gym with me?” he asks almost immediately, and you snort.
“Is this just a ploy to get me out of bed?”
“Think of it as a ploy for you to get my shirt off.”
— 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."
what happens when a drunk chan wants to cuddle while the group's in italy, except no one knows you're dating...
pairing: dino x 14thmember!reader
genre: fluff, lightly suggestive? (just very detailed making out i guess)
word count: 1.1k
cw: kisses/making out, chan had too much wine, secret relationship, set during nana tour
a/n: i'm finally back! this wasn't what i was originally going to put out, but i've been stuck trying to finish a different fic so here yall go 👀 i will be back on my normal posting schedule now!!! could NOT find a third pic so i guess it's just 2 for now
dividers by @purefantasia
someone lands onto your bed with an "oomph"
assuming it's wonwoo, for the third time, maybe coming to give you another souvenir, you wink an eye open. "you need something, won?" but instead your greeted with a sloppy, suspiciously wine tasting peck on the lips. oh lord.
you widen your eyes at the attack, staring at the culprit who pulls away with a dramatic "mwah!"
"chan? what are you doing? what if there's someone in here?" you ramble, sitting up properly to scan the room, accidentally knocking into chan's head in the process.
"ow! y/n～!," he sulks, "aren't you happy to see your boyfriend? what's with the aggression～"
thankfully, the room is empty, or at least you think so. it's basically pitch black save for the moonlight that peeks in through a sheer curtain. you turn your head back at chan, sighing when you can practically smell the wine coming off of him.
"you're so drunk, aren't you?" you ask, and all he does is nod in response, pushing you down onto your back and laying down next to you. normally, you'd nag him. you'd tell him that you've warned him about the damage he'd probably do to his career if he wouldn't stop downing glasses of wine like it's water, but it's not a normal day, so you hold back this time.
since the group's tour had started, you and chan had not gotten any time to yourselves whatsoever. and as much as you were thankful for the free trip to italy, it'd only prolonged the time till you could even kiss chan, let alone cuddle.
even if sharing the same bed was normal for the members, one of them nuzzling into your neck? yeah, probably not something you could pass off as platonic. and chan? he liked to do a whole lot of that.
speaking of the members, there's a faint sound of laughter and singing that is barely muffled by the closed door- a reminder of just how risky this whole situation is, but you try to ignore it for the sake of being able to enjoy this one moment.
chan shuffles around before rolling over so that half of his body is on yours. he snuggles into your chest, as expected, and closes his eyes.
"that wine was really good, though," he mumbles quietly, as if all the energy he had a minute ago just vanished into the warmth of your bed. you chuckle at his deliberation, pondering a bit yourself. "too bad i never got to try any, think i passed out right after the game." you respond, recalling most of the evening where you were given an hour to do a mission.
you failed (the mission being that you had to carry an egg on a spoon around the entire house without dropping it, but mingyu accidentally bumped into you...), but you were glad to see that chan had passed it (plus, it gave him a chance to give you a hug with no suspicion).
he hums. "well, do you wanna try some?" he asks, lifting his head to look at you. you blink a couple times, confused. "are you really going to go out there and try to lug back a bottle without them noticing you? because i’m not getting dragged into more karaoke.”
shaking his head slightly, he laughs, his voice vibrating against you. “no, i was thinking of something more like this,”
he pulls himself up so that he’s hovering over you. his eyes flicker over every feature of your face. you watch him, almost shuddering at his gaze. suddenly, you’re thankful for the lack of light, because you don’t want to imagine how red your face is; it’s been awhile since you and chan have been doing, well, whatever he’s doing.
before you can really ask about that, he captures your lips in a hungry kiss. you let your eyes flutter shut at the contact. the whole move is pretty cheesy, but the acidic taste of wine on his lips distracts you well enough to ignore the thought.
it’s an addicting flavor, and you swipe your tongue against his lips, greedily taking as much as he’ll give you.
it’s always moments like this where chan lets loose. normally, he’s shy about his love, even when you two are alone, so it’s always a surprise whenever he’s got alcohol in his system. it almost makes you forget that he’s the one who suggested keeping you two a secret.
he parts his lips, letting your tongue roam, sighing when he feels your hand cup the back of his neck and pull it closer to you.
you two don’t really keep track of how long this goes on for, both of you being dazed in some way. but finally, you pull back.
there’s a couple seconds of breathless panting before he grins at you. “taste good?”
you smile back, “eh, would probably be better from a glass”, laughing when he gives you a look of defeat and collapses next to you, quick to pull you back into his embrace.
by now, it’s probably some wild hour in the night, and you know that chan should head out before someone barges in to go to sleep, but he doesn’t seem to want to let go.
“chan,” you warn, looking up at him to find that he’s practically passed out already, eyes closed as he breathes shallowly. “chan, you should go.” you say, even though you don’t really want him to.
“i’ll be out before someone gets here, they’re all bound to just sleep on the ground at this rate,” he yawns, tightening his grip on you.
if you knew any better, you’d push him off the bed, but for right now, you choose to believe him and you fall asleep to the sound of his heart beat.
-
“don’t jeonghan and dokyeom do this all time? it’s not anything abnormal…”
“okay well not like that!”
“just let them be, it’s probably nothing.”
“nah, what the hell.”
“the water isn’t working again!”
you faintly hear a mush of voices overlapping each other, but it’s none of your concern right now. chan has most definitely not left yet, still snuggled up against you.
the smart choice right now is to get up and check what’s on the agenda for today, but you don’t make that choice and decide to rest for a bit more. the warmth of chan’s body is a little too comfortable right now.
he stirs and shuffles a bit before you feel his hair tickle your neck as he seemingly looks up and plants a soft kiss to your jaw.
bad idea.
“HUH?”
“THEY’RE DATING GUYS THEY’RE DATING”
“damn chan i didn’t know you had it in you!”
“eugh”
your eyes fly open as you practically pop up into a sitting position. chan does the same.
you’re both equally as horrified to see that a good amount of the members are standing near the foot of your bed. they’re either shouting or standing with a hand covering their mouths.
chan groans besides you, falling back onto the bed as basically slam your face into a pillow.
looks like you two are never being left alone again.
𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰: skater!chan finally bags the cute boba shop worker he’s had a small crush on since they started working across from him. who knew they were full of surprises?
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: zumiez worker!chan x tii cup worker!reader (reader is written gn, but you do have a more femme leaning aesthetic [you also buy a skirt, but that's less relevant to the plot] and wear false nails [this one is for the plot])
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, strangers/acquaintances to lovers, meet-cute in da mall :D
𝐰𝐜: 8.1k
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: whipped!channie (he's a lil pathetic), mutual pining, mentions and appearances of other members (mostly vernon), skateboard terminology that may not make sense to those who don't skate (but is easy to look up), one comment of hot topic slander, egregious use of commas
𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤: california love - 2pac, roger, dr. dre | replay - iyaz | bang bang - k'naan, adam levine | everybody talks - neon trees | cupid's chokehold/breakfast in america - gym class heroes | classic - mkto | stereo hearts (ft. adam levine) - gym class heroes | troublemaker (ft. flo rida) - olly murs
𝐚/𝐧: this was supposed to be just a cute drabble- i didn't WANT to write a whole fic. sigh. oh well. shoutout to @sparkyy00 for reading all my shit as i go, and the wonderful @gent1es3xy for beta-ing. thank you both so much for keeping me going (and fueling my antics) <3
and special props to @noniesgummysmile; this one's for you babes. mmmwah !! have fun (｡•̀ᴗ-) ✧
Chan was getting pretty sick and tired of organizing stickers.
There’s really no point; considering the display was just going to get rifled through again within the next hour, and all his hard work and adhesive-residue fingers will be for naught.
Some of these stickers’ designs were terrible anyway. The brand logos he can give a pass–and his personal favorite, “The Goose is Loose” wanted poster, that one’s pretty good–but why there’s copious amounts of “i love boobies” he’ll never know.
But, hey, a paycheck’s a paycheck so who’s he to judge.
Despite some of the, albeit weird, setbacks, Chan wouldn’t say he hates his job. Working at Zumiez was chill; the general crowd was full of like-minded people who appreciate good, quality skate clothes and parts that they can just pop in for during their visit to the mall. He’d made some good friends through their regulars, even finding out a few went to his university.
Then there’s always the young teens who either like the aesthetic better than the Hot Topic downstairs (as they should, that place can burn), or who are interested in getting started with their first skateboard and have no idea where to begin. Building their boards and walking them through the process—while giving some of his own tips—is always the highlight of Chan’s day.
And if he’s able to get discounts on said parts for his own boards? Hell, he’ll take it.
Working in the mall itself was interesting. All of the stores were crammed in every which way, yet they still somehow managed to be far bigger than you’d expect; complete with giant entrances that display the vibe of each establishment pretty accurately.
And it’s through this entrance, technically two of them, that Chan looks through now.
He’s finished with the sticker display and presently stands behind the register with his face propped up in his hand. It’s slow right now, just some guys in the back looking at trucks–with Vernon helping them–so there’s no one to give Chan grief for slacking.
Thus, he watches; eyes wandering past the entrance to his workplace and out into the mall’s white interior. His brain has been desensitized to filter out the usual bustle, barely even registering each person that passes by. Instead he opts to focus his gaze into the shop across the way: Tii Cup.
Or, more specifically, to the person working the counter inside the boba shop.
He doesn’t know their name. All he knows is that ever since they started working there three months ago, and he realized that their shifts almost always lined up with his, he hasn’t been able to get them out of his head.
Chan’s seen his fair share of attractive people; everywhere in LA from his uni to this mall is full of them, a beautiful range of styles and personalities as far as the eye can see. But there’s something about them in particular that he can’t seem to look away from.
Everything enticed him; from the hints at their style, white and pink accessories adorning their head and soft frills peaking out from the stark black of their uniform, to the way they carry themselves, confident and friendly, greeting each customer with a smile.
And that smile, that damn smile.
Even from across the mall, he knows that smile radiates enough warmth to rival concrete that’s been baking in the California sun for several hours straight.
And, oh…what he’d give to feel even a drop of its shine directed towards him; and learn how to make it stick around forever.
It’s never obvious when your whole life is going to turn on its head, is it? Chan never thought so at least. Sure, there were surprising moments, but they usually never amounted to much past that.
So there he was, rummaging around in the back for something that a customer requested; a customer that Vernon was helping—so why is he the one having to go box diving like it’s an extreme sport? Whatever, he found what he needed and shut the supply closet door with his foot. A faint clatter rang out behind him, sounding a little too close to one of the bigger boxes on the higher shelves deciding to jump ship.
Chan winces, but opts not to acknowledge whatever damage is behind those doors in favor of leaving it as payback for Vernon later.
He steps out onto the floor again and beelines to where Vernon waits by the case of skateboard wheels. Chan shoots him a small glare, stepping behind the counter and handing the customer their requested item: Slime Balls, in a nice teal color with light up LEDs. A solid set of wheels; they have good taste.
The customer completes their purchase, with the addition of one of the dreaded “i love boobies” stickers–Chan has to resist the urge to strangle himself–and exits the shop.
Chan’s eyes trail after them, casually drifting around the shop again. There’s a few more customers milling about; a mother helping her son try on skate shoes, a couple browsing the wall of jeans, and some poor soul in the back who can’t seem to make up their mind on which deck decals they wanted.
Chan could only chuckle at their struggle before his gaze is drawn back to the front with the arrival of another group.
It was a close knit group of four, all casually chatting with one another as they walked in and immediately turned left towards the bedazzled pink women’s clothing section.
Each of them looked like they were right at home there with the vibe they gave off; it was like they all stepped right out of a pastel rewrite of a 2000s chick flick. Pink tones and neutral patterns were mixed with denim and layered accessories that to some would be considered gaudy, but they made it look effortless.
Their combined laughter bounced off the racks and filled Chan’s ears, causing him to smile. He liked seeing people happy; it was probably the best look anyone could wear, he thought.
One of the figures that had been standing in the back, clad head to toe in varying shades of pink and yellow, turned their head to look around the shop more, landing on Chan.
He met their gaze and his smile dropped.
You.
“I never understood what you saw in him anyways.”
“Oh please, like your taste is any better.”
“Hey–”
“Can y’all shut up for a sec and answer my question. Which belt?”
You grinned at your friend's antics, stepping in between the bickering to aid in Holly’s dilemma, “Go with the bullet belt, it matches your fishnet top.”
Holly’s eyes lit up and she nodded, placing the other belt–a clear plastic one with a heavy buckle–back on its hook.
“It’s nice to know that someone around here actually cares about my date tonight,” she drawled, draping the bullet belt over her arm. “Because unlike some people,” She gestured between the two at your sides. “I can actually keep a man.”
Lang’s shoulders raised to your right as he feigned a gasp. “How dare you- I’ll have you know each of my partners has found me wonderful. A true delight!”
Seojun reached around you to flick him in the forehead. “Uh-huh. Sure, buddy. And that’s why you’ve got a body count long enough to rival Santa’s list. Did you make sure to check it twice?”
“EIGHT IS NOT A LONG LIST–”
Seojun burst out laughing, “Eight-! In two years bro! You can’t look me in the eye and tell me that’s normal.” He trailed off into a fit of giggles, wiping his hand on your shirt like he could rid himself of the potential contamination that was Lang’s terrible boyfriend capabilities. You smacked his arm in return.
Placing both your hands on their backs, you shoved them forwards to follow Holly. “Just be quiet and help her already. That’s the whole reason we even brought you guys in the first place.”
The two of them grumbled but begrudgingly walked after her, leaving you to close the gap and leisurely hang back behind the group.
You snickered, shoving your hands in your pockets and letting your eyes wander around the store.
Zumiez was cool; you liked shopping here–albeit not very often. The floor-to-ceiling stacks of clothes and cramped racks of hoodies and jackets was the exact mix of organized chaos that you thrived in. And while you wouldn’t quite consider yourself drawn to the more loose and dark skater clothes that they did supply, there was a smaller section that had items more your speed. There were plenty of cropped hoodies that layered perfectly over variously colored graphic baby tees, which matched the plethora of bottoms and shoes you already had at home.
But today you’re not here for yourself, so you take it slow.
Your eyes trail over the stickers plastered on the fake graffiti walls. Most of them are ones that they sell, go figure. Once your gaze lands on one too many “i love boobies” stickers (why is there a whole column of them lined up one right after the other-), you switch your sights to the register; where, to your surprise, another pair of eyes was waiting for you.
Oh-
He realizes he’s been caught and quickly ducks his head. Your eyes remain glued to him, and as if he can feel your stare drilling into the back of his head, you watch as his ears start turning pink.
Oh.
Oh, he really is adorable.
Tii Cup was not your first choice when looking at job options; especially when it was located in a mall, of all places.
However, you’re a college student; you need the money—and more options, of which there are none. Alas, beggars can’t be choosers.
And thus is the story of how you got stuck at Tii Cup.
It’s not all bad, though; you’ve actually come to enjoy it the longer you’re here. Your coworkers are incredibly friendly and accommodating to your inexperience, and making drinks is more relaxing than you’d think. Plus, you’re rarely bored with the steady stream of mall goers constantly coming and going, so there’s always a new face to talk to.
But there was one face that caught your eye, cementing itself in your brain even though he never set foot in your place of work.
He was gorgeous; fluffy brown hair falling into his eyes that he would frequently try to blow out of the way, and an adorable toothy smile accompanied by a distinctive laugh that rang all the way across the mall into your ears.
When you heard his laugh, faint as it may have been, for the first time while working, your head whipped in the direction it was coming from. You wanted–no, needed–to know where that sound came from.
And you found it across the mall, in the store facing you: Zumiez.
It seemed he mostly worked the register, not unlike yourself, but you’d sometimes see him restocking products along the walls (and staring at the higher shelves like he was wrestling with his pride on whether or not to grab a ladder).
How you could discern all of that by the tiny pinprick of his figure you could see from behind the drink counter was an unsolved mystery. Not that you were keen on looking away anyways.
Bright. That’s how you’d describe him.
And that description rang true the more you observed him as you followed your friends through the shop.
After he’d broken the little staring contest you had going, he seemed determined to avoid looking at you again–or be caught looking, that is. He thought he was slick, but you could still sense his gaze on you when your attention was elsewhere. It was amusing really.
You weren’t planning on getting anything for yourself today, you were mostly here for support and regulating Lang and Seojun’s antics, but that was before a denim skirt caught your eye. It was sturdy, with deep pockets (or as deep as you can get with a shorter skirt), and perfect for bedazzling.
And if it gave you an excuse to talk directly to the cute boy behind the counter, well, you grinned.
Say no more.
Chan wasn’t panicking.
Certainly not.
He just thought you were cute, that’s all. And he didn’t dare entertain any thoughts about interacting past that.
So, no, he wasn’t actively fighting internal combustion at the sight of your group approaching the register.
Although, to be fair, he should have expected this. It was a fifty-fifty draw as soon as your group stepped in the store on whether you’d walk out with a purchase or not; thus, meaning he’d have to interact with one or all of you. Good thing he’s not a gambling man because he’s currently losing that bet.
He plastered on his best “customer service” smile to hide the torment.
“Hey there! Did we find everything okay today?”
“Absolutely,” Holly responded, placing the belt and a newly acquired pair of jeans on the counter. She snickered. “I hope we weren’t too much of a ruckus on your slow day.”
Chan shook his head, hair flopping in front of his eyes once more, “Not at all. Consider it a welcome distraction.” He flicked the stubborn hairs away, shooting her a boyish grin.
Holly exhaled in mock relief, “Thank goodness, I don’t know what I would’ve done if these jeans were kept from me for even a minute longer. Thanks to some people—“ She shot a glare over her shoulder.
Lang stuck his tongue out, the metal barbell pierced through it reflecting the fluorescent overheads, while Seojun didn’t even look up from the game on his phone.
Holly clicked her own tongue. “And just between you and me,” She leaned over the counter conspiratorally. “Those two numbskulls need to quit it with the romantic tension or I’m gonna smash their heads together myself.”
Chan snorted, his smile turning genuine as his shoulders eased a bit. His peripheral glazed over the rest of the group, before catching your eyes again and immediately shooting back to what he was doing.
Right. A customer is making a purchase.
Work the register, Chan.
His body slipped into autopilot; folding the jeans with enough skill–or required training–to make his mother proud. Placing the items in a tote bag and tearing a receipt from the printer, he handed Holly her items, bid her good day, and resigned himself to watching you all leave and go back to his normal routine of only seeing you from a distance.
At least, that’s how it should go, right?
The drawer to the register clicked shut with finality, which couldn’t be said for Chan’s heart when he looked up and found you standing directly in front of him (on the other side of the counter, obviously).
You grinned, sliding forward the skirt you’d grabbed, and Chan took a deep breath to recenter himself—and remember how to form sentences. “Hello, find everything alright?”
Your eyes crinkled as you nodded, “Yep! Wasn’t really looking for myself, but this caught my eye so I had to indulge.” A shrug. “And I got paid yesterday so it’s fineee.”
“Eugh, don’t I know it,” he groaned. “Any ideas for this item in particular? It’s great on its own, but I can’t imagine someone with such a distinct style like yourself–” he gestured vaguely over your outfit, various charms dangling and sparkling in the dingy shop lighting, “–would just wear it plain.”
Your cheeks ached as your smile widened, a laugh slipping past your teeth. “Yeah, actually. I got this huge bag of pearlescent rhinestones a while back and haven’t found a chance to use them. I’ll probably end up lining the seams with them…or something like that. A gradient up maybe? I’m not quite sure yet.” It wasn’t a complete lie, you really did have a giant bag of sparkles sitting in your closet.
Has it been there for about two years? Yes.
Were you pulling these excuses out of thin air to self-justify your need to talk to this guy? Also yes.
Details, details.
“Well, whatever you come up with I’m sure it’ll be great.” The two of you exchanged a grin, and Chan let out a breezy laugh as he completed your purchase. He pushed forward the card terminal and you absentmindedly swiped, keeping your eyes and smile on him.
They were stunning, he thought, matched your smile. You even had little rhinestones in the inner corners and around your waterline that further accentuated their rich jewel color.
Safe to say, Chan was starstruck.
Warmth exuded from your presence in waves; yet all you were doing was standing there, calmly watching him and looking more gorgeous than Chan could comprehend. Well, maybe that’s a stretch, because clearly he’s of sound enough mind to realize how pathetic he’s being.
Forget your smile being as warm as the sun, should they put you in space you'd give the center of the solar system a run for its money.
Chan dragged a hand down his face, his eyes turning into crescents as he smiled–grimaced? He wasn’t sure. Regardless, he hands you your item and you relieve him of it.
“Thanks! I guess, I’ll see you around…?”
“For sure!”
For sure? What is he talking about—there’s no guarantee he’ll ever see you again from only a foot distance. “You know where to find me. Or uh…I’ll just be…here. Yeah.” Good save.
“Right,” you held his stare, taking in the layered browns of his eyes.
An air of comfort resided in them. You’d meet his eyes and warm vats of chocolate greeted you, gently swirling with a subtle amber hue when the light hit them just right. It was like you could taste the sweetness by proxy just by looking into his gaze.
Hold on, your train of thought came to a screeching halt.
“What’s your name? I totally forgot to ask, I’m so sorry–”
His eyes widened out of their relaxed almond shape. “Oh! No, yea—don’t worry about it!” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair (probably only worsening the bird’s nest it already was). “It’s Chan.”
You mulled it over, rolling the syllable on your tongue, your voice dripping with what Chan could only hope was something akin to fondness.
“Chan…” you mused, a small grin settling on your features. “It suits you.”
He could feel the heat creeping up his neck and rising towards his cheeks, but as soon as he opened his mouth to respond a sharp call rang out behind you.
“Yah! Flirt on your own time, I’ve got a date to get ready for!” Holly groaned.
You rolled your eyes, the rhinestones stuck to your skin shifting with the movement, and waved goodbye as you turned to make your way back to your friends.
Chan watches you go, ruminating on the interaction, however brief.
Everything he had conjured in his mind about what you could be like couldn’t’ve prepared him for actually meeting you in person. Your confidence was exuberant, your style—no longer hampered by the heavy black uniform—was eclectic yet meticulous, and your smile made him feel like the skies had personally opened upon his person to shower him in its light on a gloomy day.
But as he watched you walk away chattering to your friends, it was your eyes that kept coming back to him; bright and curious, sparkling like the jewels that surrounded them. Yes, the eyes of…
Chan yelped, grabbing your attention as you turned around from where you stood at the entrance to the store.
“Wait—I never got your name,” he called, nervously fiddling with the ends of his sleeves.
You met his gaze, smiling as your name fell from your lips.
And just like that, you were gone, dragged out by your impatient posse; leaving Chan in awe of your bedazzled eyes and only one word ringing through his head:
Pretty…
The weekend passes. Chan alternates himself between schoolwork, work, and squaring up with his past self in the mental arena of regrets.
He’d spoken to you, gotten you to laugh, even managed to get your name—which was still bouncing around his head like a screensaver logo.
And he’d forgotten to ask for your number.
The wall would look great with a head-shaped dent, wouldn’t it?
Vernon was no help; as soon as Chan finished relaying the tales of his misfortune, he’d just shrugged.
“Well, you got their name; why don’t you just go up to them at work and ask? You’re already on some level of familiarity. It wouldn't be that weird.”
Chan shut him down immediately. Go up to them at their work? What is he, some desperate creep jumping at the first chance he gets now that he has your name? Nope. No, no, no.
He groans, slumping forward on the register counter and hiding his face in his arms. He hears Vernon sigh, and his receding footsteps as he leaves Chan to man the front.
He just slumps over further, his back curling like he suddenly acquired his own turtle shell to crawl into, practically begging the floor to disappear under him.
Abandoned.
Abandoned in his time of distress by his only companion, how could he.
Chan’s mental cursing of his coworker’s bloodline is interrupted by a soft voice.
“Uhm, Chan? Are you okay-?”
His head whips up fast enough to audibly crack.
You wince at the sound, “Dude–that sounded like it hurt like hell. Are you okay?”
Chan doesn’t even notice the throbbing in his temple (he will later, though; Vernon will reprimand him too), taking in your worried expression and new, equally elaborate outfit for today. Blue seems to be the theme this time around. Nice. Blue is nice. It looks good on you.
Pick up your jaw, Chan, the floor is disgusting.
He clears his throat, straightening up and shifting his weight to shake out the pins and needles from leaning over too long. “Yeah, uh, I'm fine. Perfectly fine. What’re you doing here? Wait, no–that came out wrong. Uhm.” Oh, someone end him. “How can I be of service to you on this fine afternoon?” Sure, that works.
You smile and brandish a bag that he only just now noticed you were carrying. “Turns out, I can’t read,” you sigh dramatically, “ I got the wrong size and need a bigger one. This one couldn’t even make it past my thighs.”
Chan decides to slam shut the door to whatever thoughts that comment entails, and instead responds, like a normal person.
“Hm…well we just changed our floor layout yesterday, and I don’t think I remember seeing that skirt for sale anymore.” He frowns, mouth forming into an adorable pout that makes you want to poke his cheeks.
“But then again,” he notes, “Vernon was the one who did the women’s side this time around, so I could ask him if you’d like? Or even check the back; since it’s so recent we might have a few left over.”
“That’d be great! I don’t mean to make you do more work than this is worth though–sorry about that.”
He waves away the comment, “Nonsense. This is literally my job.” He steps out from the register and scans the store for that familiar face. No luck, must be in the back. “I’ll be back in a jiffy,” he winks.
Jiffy? He can’t walk away fast enough.
Fortunately for Chan, they did have some extras left.
Unfortunately, he forgot to see what size you were returning.
So when he returned with four skirts in tow, he had to ignore the small red tint to his cheeks as he took in your confusion. “I forgot to ask what size you needed…so hopefully, one of these works..?” C’mon ground, open up already.
Thank goodness you laughed.
“Of course, no worries!” You scanned over the skirt’s tags, settling on one that was about two sizes up.
“I think this should do it,” you mused, “it was really only the waist that was a problem, seeing as I couldn't try anything past that. So if I just…” Grabbing the two ends of the skirt along the waistline, you raised it and wrapped it around your neck to measure. The edges met, with a little extra overlap to boot. Perfect.
“Yep! Look, if I have a bib, then it’s perfect.” You did a little twirl to emphasize your point, the denim being held around your neck lifting slightly along with the other loose layers in your outfit. “I think this makes a nice addition, don’tcha think?”
Your combined laughter filled the shop as Chan tucked away the skirts you didn’t need.
The two of you chatted about anything and everything while he processed the exchange. He found out you went to a college not far from his, amidst a story about how inept one of your professors was at navigating basic technology; and in turn, he told you about how two of his upperclassman friends almost got suspended for a prank they pulled during orientation week (how Mingyu could stand to show his face around the art department was still a mystery to him).
Chan finished printing your new receipt just in time for the ending of his harrowing tale about an altercation with another friend of his.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Minghao that speechless, save for when Vernon started shooting him with a water gun while he was meditating on the green.” He chuckled fondly at the memory, handing you your new item with a reluctant smile.
Why must all good things come to an end? It wasn’t everyday that he met someone like you: amicable, easy to talk to, a sense of humor he can get behind, and not to mention an immaculate style to match.
You know what? No.
He already fumbled once, he’s not going to let the opportunity pass again.
“Hey uh, I know we’ve only spoken twice now,” He can’t believe he’s actually doing this.
“But I’d really love to talk and get to know you more—preferably not when I’m on the clock.” A nervous pause. Finish strong Chan, too late to back out now. “Could I maybe get your number so I can take you on a date? Only if you’re comfortable with it of course–” he sputters.
A beat passes.
And another as you shift around the bag on your arm.
Chan opens his mouth to take it all back when you slide your phone to him on the counter; a new contact open on the screen, presumably for him to fill.
He met your gaze—incredulous—as you smiled, all bright and beautiful, “I’ve really enjoyed chatting with you, too. To be honest, I probably would’ve come running back to get your number the first time if Holly hadn’t practically been dragging me by the collar out of here.
“Plus,” You propped your arms on the counter, various charm bracelets clacking on the laminated wood. “I’ve seen you around from before then; and I have to say after meeting you, I’m glad to see that you’re even cuter than I thought.”
Chan’s face should be considered a fire hazard.
“Well,” he gulped, “I’m glad I’ve exceeded expectations…?” His brain is too fried from firing on all cylinders just to remain standing, so he hands you back your phone; his contact still on the screen, now reading: Lee Chan (from zumiez).
Your eyes flick over the screen, then you start typing. Chan feels his phone buzz in his back pocket, a text from you presumably.
“Aish, I should probably get going. I need to track down Lang for his glue gun, and this skirt ain’t gonna bedazzle itself!” Laughing, you turned and walked back out into the mall, but then stopped at the entrance and glanced back to Chan.
“Thanks for your help Chan! Hit me up for that date when you’re free.”
Chan was only able to check your text on his break twenty minutes later.
> heya! its the bedazzled skirt dude :p lemme know when youre free to chat, and for that date you promised hehe ^^
> cya around channie <3
The two of you did end up going on a date not long after. It went swimmingly (and not just because it was at the beach), and you parted ways with the promise of more meetups and dates to follow.
You’d also see each other in the wild from time to time. One such time–much to the dismay of Chan as he looks back on it–was when he was out skating with Vernon along the coast. They usually just cruised when skating here because the sand on the concrete made skating all the more difficult, much less tricks.
So that’s what they did, and what they were doing, when a voice started to call his name.
“Chan!
“Channnnn! Hey, Channie!
“YAH-! LEE JUNG CHAN I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!!”
He jolted at the full legal name, his head cautiously turning in the direction of the perpetrator. Which turned out to be you, sitting criss-crossed on a concrete wall, beads in hand like you were in the middle of crafting (who is he kidding, of course you were), with Seojun next to you eyeing him over the rim of his drink with what looked like amusement.
Chan lit up, his whole face screaming pure, unfiltered joy as he waved back to you.
But—because fate likes to mess with him—while he was preoccupied taking in this chance encounter with you, he failed to notice how much his skateboard had slowed underneath him.
Then came the break in the sidewalk, a caught wheel, and his entire body seizing in surprise as he crashed into the grass.
Has the Earth finally decided it’s his time? Just crack open underneath him and swallow him whole so he doesn’t have to lament in his shame?
He laid there sprawled out on his back for a good twenty seconds, trying to retrieve the air knocked out of him as he stared dazed at the sky, contemplating his position in the universe.
Red coated his ears and neck like the dirt now on his jeans, and he had quickly gotten back up and cast you one last wave before skating away to avoid further ramifications to his ego.
Vernon cast you a sideways glance, shrugging, before waving goodbye himself and taking a running start to catch up to Chan.
You still giggle about it to this day–Chan hides his face in his hands each time you remind him.
Casual encounters increased after the second and third dates. Some more intentional than others, but the one neither of you will ever forget is when Chan visited you at work a few months after the two of you started talking.
It wasn’t the first time he’s come here during your shift; he’d made it a habit after you’d made it past the talking stage to come over every few days on his break. Sometimes he’d get a drink, always asking you to surprise him with whatever your current favorite was, and other times he’d just stand around to chat (your coworkers liked him though, so he never got too much flack for distracting you).
Regardless, you were more than happy to see his fluffy brown head and giddy smile pop into the shop.
And this time was no different, you spotted him approaching and quickly finished up the drink you were working on so you could greet him freely with a smile. He returned it instantly, sliding up to the counter with his usual grace and you set off to prepare a drink for him. You’d decided to keep it simple and give him your favorite: peach milk tea with flavored popping boba to match.
Or at least, you would’ve if you hadn’t turned around only to see your coworker using the last of the peach popping boba. Huffing, you swapped plans and started making a brown sugar milk tea instead. Respect for the classics.
What you’d failed to notice, though, as you focussed on perfecting the drink, was how quiet Chan had gotten.
Usually he’d be filling the space with endless chatter—for your entertainment or just because he liked to yap, either way you loved it. It didn’t matter if he was rambling about how obtuse his professor was, or going into way too much detail about another creepy antique shop Vernon had dragged him to in order to find a present for his partner. You never had to question what was on his mind because he’d come running to you with the latest news.
But now there was none of that. And it was only when you turned around to give him the drink that you saw his apprehensive stance. He was wringing his hands, twisting the two rings on them absentmindedly, and his eyes would flick to yours before looking away just as fast.
You frowned, setting aside the drink. Refreshments could wait.
“You alright there Channie…?”
A visible flinch, like he’d forgotten where he was and had gotten lost in the recesses of his mind. Your frown deepens.
“Chan-”
“I need to tell you something,” he blurts.”Or, rather, ask you something.”
You blinked. “Okay..?” Nodding, you gestured for him to continue.
“Right. Okay. Uh,” He sighed, dragging a hand down his face.
“Uhm…well, first of all, I just wanted to tell you how much I love spending time with you. I know it’s hectic to plan around work and school and whatnot, but you’re easily one of my favorite people to just be around. I don’t think I ever thought that when you first came into Zumiez that day that we’d end up as close as we are. And I wouldn’t change a thing, don’t get me wrong,” A chuckle.
You could see his usual confidence returning as he went on, and it made you smile. He reached for the drink and took a sip, humming when the sweetness hit his tongue.
“Well, that’s a lie. Kind of,” He raised his eyes to meet yours as he chewed, a sheepish smile coating his features. “I suppose there’s one thing I would change.”
He stepped up to the counter, setting aside the drink, and held out his hands. Like he was asking for yours in turn. And maybe he was, you weren’t quite sure; but you slipped your hands in his anyway. He squeezed them once. It was a grounding action, for the both of you.
You cocked your head, amusement tainting your face. “And what would that be, hm?”
He grinned, shooting you that toothy smile that you’ve come to adore (with a bit of tapioca stuck in the corner that made you stifle a laugh).
“I don’t want to be your friend anymore.”
What.
Your face fell in an instant, brows furrowing in confusion.
He doesn’t…what?
After all this time? How long has he thought this, were you that bad a friend? How did you not notice sooner? No, he literally just said he liked your company. “What are you-“
He continued in the midst of your spiral, “I don’t want to be your friend; but,” he sucked in a breath as you held yours, “if you’ll let me, would you allow me to be your boyfriend?”
Oh.
Then he’d looked at you with eyes that emulated the pearls in the drink you made him, and all you could do was lean over the counter and pull him down to meet you as you breathed out a single:
“Yes.”
Chan was going to commit a felony.
Either that, or eat these damn screws.
Whichever comes first.
Everything had started out fine; he’d bought his new set of wheels—complete with longer screws and spacers, then picked you up outside your campus for a little casual hangout time before your shifts started. You’d heard him rave about these wheels for over two weeks, so it was only fitting that you be there when he finally put them on his board.
But now, he’d rather have you be anywhere else than right here watching him try not to blow a gasket over some dumb bolts.
A fight he’s actively losing at this rate.
You’d offered to help, multiple times actually. As much as you loved his little pout and furrow in his brow when he gets frustrated, now you just felt a little bad for trying not to laugh. But Chan refused your assistance each time.
It wasn’t that he was stubborn—okay, he was, but the gentleman in him couldn’t let you ruin the fresh set of nails that your roommate had done for you.
He liked this set, it was a little longer than what you usually had, resulting in sharp clacks as you tapped your fingers on the back of your phone. You’d even sprung for decorative charms and mini pearls to litter the glittery pink surface.
And then there was the smile you’d worn when you opened the door for him (a bit too forcefully maybe, much to the chagrin of your roommate, who yelled at you to be careful), brandishing your bedazzled fingers with barely contained excitement.
Yeah, Chan would rather jump off Santa Monica Pier than have his stupid board ruin such artistry. (Did his refusal also have to do with the fact that he wasn’t sure you even knew the first thing about navigating a skateboard, much less constructing one? …Maybe.. But he’s not going to tell you that-! What kind of boyfriend would he be if he said that to your face?!)
Besides, he’s not going to let himself be bested by bolts of all things. They’re just tiny chunks of metal, and he’s a grown man!
The bolt slips out of his fingers off the screw.
It clatters to the pavement, mockingly bouncing a few times before settling just out of reach.
Chan considers throwing the skate key into the ocean.
“Babe.” You wave a manicured hand in front of his face. He doesn’t register it, just continues to ruminate on how best to reduce this skate key into scrap metal.
A small chuckle escapes your lips as you softly turn his face to look at you. His cheeks flush with a rosy tint, his eyes widening in surprise before softening and melting slightly at the contact. Ah, there we go.
“I admire your effort.” You begin, raising your other hand to brush a lock of hair out of his face. “But I can’t watch you dig yourself deeper into this pit of despair, okay? Can you hand me the skate key, so I can help you?”
Chan sighs, his breath hitting your palm in a short burst. Reluctantly, he hands over the tool; his shoulders sagging in defeat. Bested by nuts and bolts. Right in front of you, who is now taking his board and bracing it between your legs, probably on your way to breaking a nail as you lodge the truck in place and screw on the bolt with ease…
Wait, what.
His eyes locked in on your fingers, watching them nimbly flick the bolt onto the screw. You flipped the skate key to carefully pop the tiny allen wrench out from the top. Maneuvering around your nails, you positioned both the skate key and the small phillips head screwdriver at the other end of the allen wrench on either side of the screw and bolt holding the truck in place. Then you start twisting.
It’s not supposed to look that good is it?
You’re just screwing on a bolt, bracing the screw head at the other side of the board so the bolt actually attaches. One screw finishes with ease, and you pick up another bolt and position it at the next point; diagonal to the first, like you’ve done this a million times.
Chan just stares, watching you attach the other three screws without missing a beat.
Oil and grease smears on your hands as you handle the parts, but stars still glitter both on your nails and in his eyes.
The last bolt is secured with one final tug of the skate key, and you lay the board deck-down across your legs. You wipe your hands on the grass to rid them of the worst grease stains; you’ll clean them later with wet wipes in your bag, but right now you want to check your handiwork.
“I think that should do it!” You flick one of the wheels and watch it spin with ease on the new bearing Chan had installed. The colors of the marbled rubber blend into one blurry circle before slowing down and differentiating themselves again. “Can I try them out?”
Chan blinks, snapping out of his daze as he processes your request.
“I mean, yea? Of course you can.” Like he’d ever refuse you anything.
He stands and dusts his hands off on his jeans. He raises them awkwardly towards you, not unlike how middle schoolers would when dancing with a partner for the first time and don’t know where to put their hands. “Do you want to hold onto me? I can like, walk alongside you as you hold onto my shoulders, or something-”
Please, he doesn’t think he can take you falling off the board. Or getting injured in general.
If you so much as crack one nail, he’ll drop to his knees in remorse, and he was already holding his breath watching you assemble his board like the angel you are (you were even in white with pastel accents today, gorgeous as ever).
He’s mid-shift from one leg to the other when you playfully scoff and place the board on the asphalt, before getting to your feet yourself.
You flash him a grin, your eyes sparkling in addition to the rhinestones once again surrounding them. “Oh, ye of little faith.” You pecked him on the cheek and moved past him to step on the board.
“Watch and learn.”
Chan could only reminisce on the slight breeze that ruffled his hair as you took off.
Then the realization hit him like a ton of bricks:
You could skate.
Sure, Chan had always had an inkling in the back of his head about “What if we skated together?”, and even had offered to teach you at one point. But he’d been interrupted by Mingyu asking who he was on call with–yes, his partner does go to another school, thank you very much–and the conversation never circled back.
Now his eyes just trailed your figure gliding along the concrete and he couldn’t imagine a world where you didn’t know how to skate.
And you could skate well.
Your kickoff was clean, and each additional push off to maintain speed was followed by a smooth re-footing on the board. Weaving through the beach goers was no challenge either. Bending your knees and guiding the board with subtle shifts of your weight, you eased through and around the crowd until you turned around back towards Chan.
Your hair was windswept, various strands falling across your face, and you wobbled a little–your arms shooting out to the sides to maintain balance–as you slowed down before recentering yourself with one last push. Then you raised your head to look at Chan, a bright smile coating your features.
And oh…you were breathtaking.
You rolled to a stop in front of Chan, stepping off the board and propping it on the curb with a breathless laugh as you swiped your hair back into place. “Well, I’d say they’re a solid pair of wheels. They feel great, babe. I can see why you chose them!”
Chan didn’t move.
He was stunlocked; your cheeks were flushed with exertion, your smile radiated happiness, and your eyes were sparkling like the sun on the waves in the ocean behind you.
And then you were cupping his face; looking at him all soft and pleased, your nails resting lightly on his cheeks, and it took everything he had not to melt to the floor in your hands.
“Channie…you alright there, bud? You’ve been kinda spacey today…” Your bottom lip jutted out in a pout, causing Chan’s eyes to dart to your mouth before returning to your eyes. Which were now sparkling with something else, a look he’d become very familiar with in these past weeks since dating you.
He wasn’t going to make it to his shift alive was he?
Your lips curled in a smirk, thumbs brushing the apples of his cheeks, which were now beginning to look like said fruit.
“Has anyone ever told you how cute you are when you’re flustered?” you chided. “Your eyes get all round and you get this whole ‘awestruck’ look on your face. Even your jaw drops slightly, juuuuust like this.”
You punctuated your point by sliding your thumb down to use your nail to tug his bottom lip slightly. Chan had never been more thankful for the longer shape.
He let out a ragged sigh, fogging up some of the jewels glued to the acrylic. “You may have mentioned it in passing, yes…” Hell, you never let him forget it.
His hands moved to rest on your hips, softly fiddling with the fabric of your hoodie that was tied around your waist. He matched your grin with one of his own, turning his head to place a lingering kiss on the palm still cupping his face. “You’ll be happy to hear that you’re the only one who’s actually had the pleasure of saying it to my face.”
You scoffed, “And why would I be happy about that? More people should acknowledge how adorable my boyfriend is.” You squished his cheeks, causing his lips to purse in sync with your own as you scowled at him. He’s just so malleable; makes you want to poke and prod him all the time.
“Is this just your ploy to get people to say you have good taste,” he mumbled, amused. It wasn’t really a question. You both knew it.
Immediately your grumpy demeanor was replaced with an exaggerated smile as you leaned forward into his face.
“Yes.” A kiss to the temple.
“It.” Another on the other side.
“Is.” Tip of his nose.
As much as he tried to stand on his own–and keep his pride intact–Chan loved when you just treated him like a marshmallow. He’d gladly let you tickle and tease him if it meant he got to hold you close and brighten up your day, even just a little bit.
Admittedly, it was a little embarrassing in public; but when you looked at him like he was all that mattered, and you started grumbling about how unfair the world was while littering his face with the sticky residue of your lipgloss, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Deal with it.”
And he would, in a heartbeat. Because now your lips are on his and everything else in the world might as well dissolve in your sweetness.
[𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒:]
Entering Zumiez to drop off your boyfriend wasn’t the big heartbreak you think it’d be.
Hard to miss someone when you can still have mimed conversations from across the mall, much to the dismay of your coworkers (poor Vernon has been smacked in the face one too many times, and has since learned to avoid Chan when his attention is directed outside the store). Plus, the two of you had a date planned for later tonight–the whole reason you’d gotten your nails done in the first place.
That didn’t stop you from keeping your hands together for as long as you could, of course.
You chatted with Vernon behind the register as Chan clocked in. He returned right as a customer walked up to pay, and the two of you stepped aside so Vernon could do his job. Something the customer was purchasing caught your eye, making you snicker and subtly point it out to Chan.
He groaned. “Why do we even have those stickers.”
You laughed, hooking your arms around his neck and resting your head on his shoulder. “They’re just funny at this point, to be honest.”
“Ehhh… debateable. But sure, dear, whatever you say.” He hummed, looping his arms around your waist to give you one last hug before you had to leave.
You’d since put on your hoodie since entering the mall, stating the air conditioning made it too cold. He didn’t mind. Now it just felt like he was hugging a big cozy plushy–that would randomly kiss his cheek with an exaggerated “mmmwah!”
Curse having a job, he’d rather stay here in your embrace.
Your breath hit his ear as you giggled.
“Don’t worry. I love you for more than your boobs, pretty boy.”
