Close Quarters [NSFW]
Day Three: Only One Bed Trope
for #daisy's 12 days of tropemas <3 event!
Summary: You suppose this was how you died. This was supposed to just be a fun group trip with your brother and his friends, a trip to celebrate their latest album and an excuse to spoil your little brother (even though he certainly didn’t need it, not with his success). You supposed you should have known something would go wrong, with how much chaos the boys bring with them.
Because what you hadn’t expected was a scheduling mix up, leaving you all one room short for the stay. And you certainly hadn’t expected anyone to agree with a drunk Han Jisung that you should all pull straws to see who has to share a room. And what you most certainly had not expected was for you to end up in a full-sized bed with the boy you’ve been pretending not to make eyes at this whole time, just close enough to each other that your breath starts to swirl together in the darkness.
Yeah, this might be how you die.
Warnings: only one bed trope, sub!bang chan, dom!Jeongin’s sibling!reader, dubcon at the start, accidental somnophilia?, oral (Chan!receiving), pentration (reader!receiving), overstimulation (Chan!receiving), swearing
w.c.: 10.6K
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"Day 3" except it is MANY days late ㅠㅠ This will always be one of my favorite tropes, and it felt very fitting for Channie! I suppose this is also a little bit "best friend's sibling" but I don't dig into that trope hard enough for it to get a mention. I hope, despite the late timing, that you guys still enjoy!
Your brother had called you three weeks ago and told you to clear your schedule two weeks in advance. Something about finally having two weeks off, and something about a vacation…honestly, when he first called, you were only half listening, occupied folding your laundry while it was still warm and pleasant against your skin. You had assumed “vacation” had simply meant a break from work, time for the two of you to spend together in the comfort of your homes, not an actual vacation. Imagine your surprise when the call ends and he’s forwarding you roundtrip plane tickets to Hawaii. You immediately call him back, laundry going cold on your bed.
“Yang Jeongin.”
“Yes?” he says hesitantly.
“Why didn’t you lead with ‘we’re going to Hawaii’?? Also, how much are these tickets?? I have my own money Innie-yah, I can’t let you pay for any of this. You’re my namdongsaeng, not my hyung. I spoil you, not the other way around.”
He just laughs mischievously, that little shit. “Everything’s already paid for~ You can’t do anything about it.”
You can picture the stupid grin he has plastered across his face, eyes crescents and crinkled in a way that never bodes well for you.
“You don’t pay for a single thing while we’re there then,” you respond, “Adn don’t tell me you already paid for the hotel…”
His giggle in response is enough to make you groan. “Jeongin.”
“Ooooh, full name,” he says, voice full of trouble, “Am I in trouble??”
“Whatever. Whatever! What is this for, anyways?”
“They finally gave us a holiday,” is his only response, “We just had to compose and produce a whole song about it to get one. Light work, really.”
You snort, rolling your eyes. “Naturally. And I’m coming because…? Shouldn’t this be about you and the boys?”
“There’s no me without you,” he says firmly, like it’s a fact of the universe, “I wouldn’t have been able to be where I am without you in my life; I would’ve quit a long time ago. So you get to come on the vacations. They all love you anyways. Pluuuuus, Chan-hyung definitely has a crush on you.”
“Are we in high school?” you retort, though it’s weak, and your cheeks are heating up, “Shut up. And for the record, he definitely doesn’t.”
“Well you have a crush on him.”
You splutter, grateful you didn’t facetime him, because you’re pretty sure the flush is spreading down your neck, “I do not. Shut up, bro. Leave me be.”
He just makes a noncommittal sound in his throat, a knowing one. You yelp back, and then there’s two seconds of tense silence, before the both of you are bursting out in a fit of giggles.
And now, two weeks later, you’re here. In Hawaii. The flight had been too expensive for your tastes, the kind of private jet experience that you thought people only got if they were in the movies or Taylor Swift. Having borderline personal flight attendants and full course meals on the flight wasn’t something you had anticipated, and wasn’t something you were looking forward too on the way back. The attention was a liiiittle too much at times, the two poor girls hovering at the front unless needed for basically the whole flight. The rest of them might be used to this kind of treatment, but you were not.
“Didn’t bring the rest of the family?” Hyunjin jabbed at Jeongin, grinning. “What’s so special about that one?”
“You did not just call me ‘that one,’” you squawked back, indignant, “Take that back right now. Hey. Jinnie. Hey. Take that back!”
You fake lunge at him and watch him yelp, scurrying off to hide behind Changbin, who puffs up at you.
“Unfair.” You say, right as Chan pipes up. “Two seconds of peace, that’s all I ask for,” he says, groaning, “Why did I sign up for this?”
“Appa, appa, we want ice cream!” Han jokes, pitching his voice up an octave to sound like a little kid.
“Appa, appa, are we there yet?” Felix mimics, stomping his feet, “I wanna be theeere already!” Chan just groans louder and starts to walk into the hotel. The drive from the airport to the hotel had been quiet, people still rubbing the hint of sleep from their eyes and voices, but now that you’re all out of the car and moving, the normal chaos has been restored.
The clock in the lobby of the hotel reads “12:49pm”, and the jet lag is already making your body a little sluggish. You know there’s plans tonight - someone wants to see the sun set over the water, and there’s some fancy dinner place reserved for afterwards - but your bones are aching a bit, calling for you to fall into your hotel bed and nap for a while. Depending on when sunset is, you might just do that.
“Hi there, we’re checking in for Christopher? Christopher Bang?” Chan’s at the desk already, idol voice on as he talks to the receptionist.
She clicks through a couple buttons on the computer, and then reaches out her hand. “ID?”
He passes it over, and she inspects it, nodding like it’s shown her the answers to the universe.
“I’ve got eight rooms, fifth floor, rooms 512-519? Does that sound right?”
Chan freezes, then blinks at her, wide-eyed. “Uhmm, it should be nine rooms, I believe.”
She hums, fiddling with the computer again before nodding. “We had unexpected damage in 520, so we can’t have guests staying in it right now. You should’ve gotten an email? You’ve already been refunded for that room, but I unfortunately don’t have any other openings until…”
She taps a few more buttons, fingers flying across the keyboard. “...four days from now. I can get you that room for the end of your stay?”
“No, no, that’s not necessary,” Jeongin chimes in, like he’s the group spokesperson, “We’ll make it work. Thank you!”
She nods, relieved that someone stepped in before Chan’s heavy stare burned a hole through her head. She pulls the keys out from a drawer under the desk and nods at all of you, sliding them across the cool marble.
“You’re all set then! Enjoy your stay.”
Jeongin swipes the keys before Chan can grab them, and he gets an exasperated look in response.
“You little shit,” Chan says, in English, and you laugh, “Ayen-ah. Give those back.”
“No, that’s okay,” Jeongin says, already rolling his luggage towards the elevator, “I’ve got it, hyung.”
The rest of them follow Jeongin like sheep, unaware of you and Chan hovering at the desk still.
“I don’t know how I’m related to him,” you say with a sigh, though it’s tinged with laughter, “Sorry about him.”
“Yah, we spoil him too much,” Chan says, starting to move towards the elevator after them, “He’s getting a complex.”
“We? You mean you all,” you huff, following after him, “Don’t lump me in with you freaks.”
“You agreed to be here with us freaks, doesn’t that make you a freak, too?” Chan says, tone teasing.
Everyone decides that it’s best to just throw all of the luggage in one room and figure out the rooming situation later. No one wants to deal with it now, not after the long, long flight, and Han is already bouncing off the walls, yammering on and on about going out to see the sights. Despite everyone pointing out to him that you all have all week, Jisung doesn’t care, and he insists that you have a “group adventure” (his words, not yours).
“It’ll be fun!” He repeats for the fifth time in the last two minutes (a new record), “We’re in Hawaii. Let’s not waste our time!”
You all follow along, and admittedly, even with that dull edge of tired energy in your body, you do have fun. The nine of you are chaos, too jacked up by finally being free from schedules (and you from work) to care that the locals give you all strange looks. You suppose a gaggle of what are clearly Korean tourists aren’t abnormal, but a group like you guys is probably an oddity. Hyunjin’s already speaking in rapid Korean with some lady at the “underground market” Jisung found (on a tourism page, so how “underground” can it really be?) and Minho is bartering with a very ruddy white man over some silly cat trinket that he’s set his eyes on.
“Do any of us even have USD?” you murmur, and Chan laughs.
He’s close - too close - and it’s driving you a little crazy. His knuckles brush the back of your hands more than once in the tight aisles of the outdoor market, once, twice, thrice. Too many times for heat to be spiking through your body every damn time, but it does without fail. It’s loud, and he leans down to your ear every time he’s talking to you so that you can hear him clearly. The brush of his warm air against the shell of your ear makes you shiver, but you stifle it, unwilling to admit to the effect he’s having on you.
“I made everyone convert a bunch of money at the airport,” he responds, voice low and warm and right against your ear, “Someone had to be responsible.”
“You didn’t make me,” you say back, tilting your head back to make eye contact, “Wow. I should’ve known you hated me.”
He genuinely snorts, nose crinkling in a way that makes you want to bite him. “I knew you didn’t need reminding. You probably got it before we even went to the airport.”
You huff, a little mad that he’s right, focusing back on the stall of knick knacks that you’re drifting by. The two of you have lost the group, though you don’t remember that happening, and a comfortable silence falls between the two of you.
It’s always like this with Chan - a quiet calm that feels both safe and domestic always washes over you, and you find that you can’t help but be yourself when he’s in your space. A cheesy part of you thinks something along the lines of “he brings out the best in me” or “I’m better because of him”, but you shake that away, embarrassed that you’re feeling anything for your namdongsaeng’s leader in the first place.
The crowd thickens, and the nine of you get split up a bit. You catch the bob of Hyunjin’s head near the far end, where there’s a miniature paint exhibit set up, and you think you see your brother with him (unlike Hyunjin, Jeongin is not tall enough to stick out in a crowd). You can hear Han, but you don’t know where his voice is echoing from. What you do hear is Chan sigh, already pulling out his phone to text the group chat.
He’s got the little “A” at the front of everyone’s names in the groupchat, and a tiny little sneaky glance at his phone reveals that your name has it, too. You try not to let it affect you.
It’s probably just for the trip, you tell yourself, taking a deep breath, he’s not interested. Don’t be delusional.
“We’ll all meet at five at the beach near the restaurant,” Chan says, leaning low to your ear again, “So if you want to wander off-”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you huff, cutting him off, “Unless you want to wander off, you’re stuck with me. I don’t want to be alone in a foreign country where I barely speak the language, thank you very much.”
“Your English isn’t that bad.” he responds, though there’s mirth in his eyes.
“Whenever I try to make the ‘L’ sound,” you start, though your tongue can’t quite wrap around the letter right, “I literally can’t. You just heard me.”
“There’s ‘L’ sounds in Korean, too,” he says, furrowing his brows, “Which you make just fine, mind you.”
“The Korean ‘L’ is different,” you insist, “It’s soft. Kind. The English one is evil and out to get me.”
He snorts, rolling his eyes. You don’t know where in the market you really are now, your legs just carrying you to follow Chan wherever he goes. A quick glance lets you know that you’re in a clump of jewelers, the sun sparkling off the gems. It’s really crowded over here, and someone bumps into you, making you stumble. Chan’s hands reach out instinctively, warm and strong, to steady you.
“Careful,” he says, squeezing your arms where his hands rest, “You okay?”
You nod, flustered, heat spreading through your body from where his hands are holding you. A selfish part of you wants to lean into him, but you guide his hands off of you weakly.
“I’m okay,” you respond, and then in English, “I’m okay.”
He smiles, something softening in his eyes that you don’t want to place, “Good. And see? I should be having you tutor me in English. That was clean.”
You roll your eyes and try to push forward in the crowd, but you almost immediately are getting split up from Chan. You steady yourself and reach for his hand, lacing your fingers through his, squeezing once. His fingers instinctively close around yours, holding on, though his expression is unreadable.
You use your hold on him to force him to lean down, pressing yourself close so you’re talking into his ear. “So we don’t get lost!”
“Makes sense,” he says, and a flurry of emotions flies across his face that you can’t decipher, “Make sure to hold on tight then.”
He’s got more bulk to him - all those years of training really has made him into a fine man - and he presses forward into the crowd for the two of you, guiding you out of the biggest clump of people. When you can finally breathe without bumping into the person next to you, you relax, tension bleeding out of your shoulders.
“Look at you two, so cute!” you hear a voice call out in Korean, and your head snaps up.
The lady speaking is an older woman at the back of a stall, though she presses forward to continue speaking to you.
“Pretty rings for the pretty couple?” she calls, knowing she has your attention now. “So rare that I get to sell to Korean family out here, you know? I give you a special discount if you get them! Special Korean discount, family discount for you.” You’re about to call her out for the obvious scam tactic and drag Chan off when Chan moves forward, coming to inspect the table of wares the lady has laid out. Still attached by the hand, you can’t help but follow along after him.
He leans forward to inspect the rings in her hand, and shakes his head.
“Do you have any other rings? I want something unique.”
Her eyes light up, delighted that some stupid idiot fell for her tactics. You try not to roll your eyes to save Chan the trouble. She rushes back to the far side of her stall, rummaging frantically.
“You know this is a scam, right?” you murmur lowly at Chan, but he’s not paying attention, “Chan. Christopher. Christopher Bang.”
He stiffens, looking over at you. “Full name? C’mon, let me do this. I want something to remember these moments with you-I mean-remember the moments in, uhm, in Hawaii! So let’s just go along with it, yeah?”
You watch the tips of his ears turn a bright red, and your heart thumps heavy in your chest. You, for a moment, let yourself believe that maybe, maybe Chan might feel that same pull that you do, that draws him to you so easily. The clasp of your hands suddenly feels so much more dangerous, even more so than before.
“These here are the only versions I will ever make of these rings,” the lady chirps, snapping you out of your stupor, “Very rare. One of a kind.”
She’s wearing plastic gloves now, very gently handing a jewelry box. It’s a soft velvet, dark blue in color, and she handles it extremely carefully. When the lid lifts, you almost gasp. Because inside are the prettiest set of rings you’ve ever seen. There’s a thicker band on the left, words engraved on the inside that you can’t make out. There’s a thin band of a beautiful green gem that cuts through the middle, framed on either side by silver. The band on the left is thinner, the ring a little smaller in size, but it’s of the same style. There’s words carved into the inside there, too, and it’s very simple, but so pretty you can’t pretend you aren’t a little captivated.
“What’s it say on the inside?” you ask, because damn it, you’re invested now, too.
“This one-” she points to the larger of the two “-says ‘Until the Mother Earth’ and this one says-” she points to the thinner band “‘-Consumes Us Whole’. Very poetic, no? It’s made from peridot, which is made from the crystal layer of magma. Very fitting, right?”
“Can we try them on?” Chan says, and she thinks for a moment before nodding.
“Normally no, but for my new favorite customers, of course!” she says, carefully placing the box down and lifting the larger band from the box. Your hands unlink for a moment when she motions for Chan’s right hand. She slips the ring on, and you would be stupid to pretend that the ring wasn’t a perfect fit. Your right hand lifts almost on instinct, and the cool metal band holds onto your finger just right. You wonder if she eyeballed your ring sizes before she grabbed this box specifically, but the way she blinks as she glances between your two hands with thinly veiled surprise makes you think that perhaps this wasn’t on purpose, after all.
“We’ll take them,” Chan says quietly, like he doesn’t want to break the moment, “But do you have a chain I could wear it on, too? I uhm…Work with my hands? I don’t want to damage it, but-”
“You want to always have it on, I get it,” she cuts him off, eyes sparkling, “Young love is so sweet. I don’t usually do this, but the chain is on the house. Let me get you one. Could you put the rings back in box, so I can ring them up?”
You slide it back into the box carefully, and your fingers brush Chan’s again as he leans in to put his back, too. The air between the two of you feels thick, something palpable in the air that you’re too scared to grasp at. You feels his eyes on you for a moment, but you don’t look. Can’t look, because you don’t know what you would do if you saw how he was looking at you right now. The lady fumbles around in front of you, oblivious, pulling out a paper bag and slipping a chain in, as well as the box, and then starts clicking away at the register.
Chan’s hands come to cup at either side of your head, blocking out your hearing as the lady tells him the price. You go to look yourself but he pulls you into him without hesitation, and you end up face-to-face with his chest, so close that you’re sure he can feel your breath on him. He pulls out his wallet and pays, all while keeping you where you can’t see the price.
“We don’t need the receipt,” he says easily, like he hasn’t just ruined any other man for you, ever, “I don’t want them knowing how much it was.”
“Chan.” You say, exasperated, into his chest. “Let me pay you back.”
“Nope!” He says in English, popping the ‘p’.
You groan, poking at his side to watch him squirm. “Uncool. I let you stay and look and then you won’t even let me help pay.”
“If the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t let me help pay and you know it.”
You can’t even retort, because he’s definitely right. So you just poke at him again, a little mad at how easily he read you.
He grabs the bag from the lady and he finally lets you go. You spin around and thank the lady with Chan, who just smiles at you sweetly. As you turn to go, she stops just you, a glint in her eyes.
“He’s a keeper, sweetheart,” she says, “Don’t ever let that one go.”
“I won’t.” you answer, and it feels sincere on your tongue.
Chan’s hand reaches for yours again, and you’re off into the crowd once more, the weight of something new settling over the two of you like a blanket. The feel of his hand in yours is now a familiar feeling, a comforting one, and you let yourself get used to it, if only for today. If these moments slip away, if you wake up tomorrow and everything is back to how it felt before, then you think it must be best to treasure these moments with Chan while you still have them,
“Any more shopping you want to do?” he calls back to you, the crowd a little too thick for him to do anything but yell back to you.
You shake your head and he nods once, solemn, before dragging you off to god knows where. You trust him, though, so you let him guide you away, out of the crowded marketplace, out to the salty air. You aren’t right on the beach, but you can smell it in the air and feel it in the way the sun beats down on your skin, the air humid in a way that makes the wind feel sticky. The crowd is a little thinner outside of the square, the space more open for people to spread out. Still, Chan doesn’t let go of your hand, even though there’s no threat of getting lost anymore, not really. If anything, his grip tightens a bit, unwilling to let you go when your fingers twitch to open. If he knows the effect he’s having on you right now, he doesn’t mention it.
You pause for a moment for Chan to fumble with his phone, tongue peeking out in concentration. It draws your eyes to his lips - his perfect, kissable lips - and it takes everything in your power not to lean forward and press your lips to his. Suddenly there’s nothing you want more than to taste the salt on his skin, to feel his lips press against yours and find out what flavor his lip balm is. The answer is probably something lame, like sunscreen, but you’d like to imagine he tastes like something sweet.
“Alright, let’s go!” Chan says, the last phrase in English.
He’s moving before you can even ask where you’re going in the first place. You take a peek at a clock as you’re dragged away, noticing that it’s only 3:30pm - you’ve got an hour and a half before you’re meeting back up with everyone.
“Where are we going?” you ask, and he just shakes his head in response.
“It’s a surprise!” he sing-songs, taking a sharp right, “You’ll see when we get there.”
“Oh, suddenly you’re the Hawaii expert? One Google search and now you know all the spots?” you tease, and he shakes his head again.
“I did my research before, thank you very much,” he says, grinning so big back at you that your stomach feels like it’s in knots, “I just had to figure out the directions. It won’t take too long now.”
He was right, as always, and soon a winding, grassy path up a hill lies in front of you. It’s a little steep, and Chan walks slowly to keep pace with you. The smell of salt in the air gets stronger the higher you get, and you feel the air get knocked out of your lungs when you reach the top.
The hillside overlooks the beach, which stretches as far as your eyes can see in either direction. The water is so blue, shockingly so, and the view from the plane didn’t do it any justice. There’s other people here, spread out with picnic blankets or just their beach towels, watching over the land too. You can see the market you were in before from here, and it looks a lot smaller when you’re not inside of it.
“Woah.” you say, because all other words seem to elude you.
Chan looks very pleased with himself, that pretty smile of his stretching across his face until his eyes are crescents on his face. He squeezes your hand again and brings you forward to an unclaimed patch of land, and then plops down. His arms wrap around your middle as he drops, and he brings you down with him. You yelp, kicking out, but he’s stronger than you, and he pulls you down into him. You land in his lap, and he quickly lifts you to place you next to him. You glare at him, cheeks warm, and he just sends you a sheepish grin.
“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” is the only excuse he offers, and then he reaches for the paper bag.
He carefully opens the box and slips out the smaller band, eyes glancing over at you nervously. You don’t say a word, simply offer him your right hand the same way you did for the lady at the stall. His hand finds yours, and he slips the ring onto the ring finger on your right hand. It glints in the sunlight, making the green band in the middle look like it was glowing. You try not to react, but your breath gets caught in your throat anyways.
He’s slipping the chain out of the bag and gently sliding the ring onto it when you dare a look over at him. He moves to fumble with the clasp around his neck himself, but you stop him, gently grabbing the chain from him and maneuvering until you’re behind him.
“I’ve got you.” you say, carefully closing the clasp behind his neck. You guide it slowly to rest on his neck, your fingers brushing the skin there just to watch goosebumps spread across the expanse of his neck.
The two of you just sit there for a while, the silence comfortable and warm. You feel yourself almost drifting a bit, the sun on your skin making you drowsy. You let yourself fall back on the grass, vision full of blue and white now as the sky stretches above you, the ring still cool around your finger despite the heat. You raise your hand to look at it, letting it catch the sun.
The grass dips next to you, Chan letting out an oomph! as he lands next to you, and you snort. He just giggles back, shoulder brushing against you. You let your hand fall back to your stomach, and Chan reaches his left hand to hold your right one, fiddling with the ring on your finger.
“It looks good on you,” he murmurs, “Looks right.”
You don’t say anything, and you let that warm feeling sink over you again. Everything is a little fuzzy, and your eyes get a little heavy, the jetlag catching up with you again. If it was anyone else, you would be embarrassed to be falling asleep on the grass in a foreign country, but you know Chan will keep you safe, so you drift away, dreaming of the sea and the boy next to you.
Voices are what wake you up. You blink the weariness out of your eyes as your brother’s voice fills the space, yelling your name and Chan’s. His hand slips from yours as he slides off the ground to greet them, and a little sound escapes your throat before you can help it.
“Sorry.” He whispers to you, before striding over to whoever’s behind you.
A look behind you indicates that everyone but Han and Minho are here, which is unsurprising - Han is always late to things, even when they’re things that he wanted to do in the first place. The sun is dipping below the horizon yet, but it’s lower than you remember it being, and you wonder how long Chan let you sleep there, in the grass.
You sit up, stretching your arms above your head. The ground was comfortable, but not that comfortable, and your back cracks in two places as you move. You wince, and that’s when your brother comes bounding over, an unfortunately very knowing grin on his face.
“So, are you in love yet? Got secretly married behind our backs yet? Had three grandbabies for eomma?” He teases, offering his hands to help you up.
You take them and let him help you up, but the second you’re on your feet, you’re shoving at him, groaning.
“It’s not like that!” You say, though the ring feels heavy on your finger when you say that.
Is it like that? You don’t even know yourself anymore.
“Mhm. That’s why the two of you were having a romantic moment on a hilltop. Alone. What is this, a K-drama? He’s so clearly into you it’s not funny,” he prods at you, something genuine drifting across his face, “And anyways, I approve of him. You deserve someone like him, and he deserves someone like you.”
Your face scrunches up, and you squint at him, looking for a hint of humor on his face, but it’s nowhere to be found. “You’re being serious.”
“Deadass,” he says in English, making you roll your eyes, “But seriously. If the two of you aren’t together by the end of this trip and I have to hear either of you complain about it, I will be locking you in a room with him until something happens.”
“Gross, Innie!” you say, though you’re smiling. “Thanks, I suppose. You’re a good namdongsaeng, or whatever.”
He just gives you that close-eyed grin, and then Han is bouncing up the hill, a weary Minho trailing behind him, and you’re absorbed back into the group, and you have to pretend like you’re not drawn to Chan the entire time.
The sunset is beautiful, and dinner is really good, and somehow you manage to beat Chan to the check (much to everyone’s chagrin), and things settle into something easy. There’s a small outdoor bar that sits right on the edge of the sand, and that’s where the nine of you settle. The drinks are overpriced and the bar food can’t possibly be good enough to warrant spending twenty USD on fries, but you order one drink and nurse it, glad to get a little buzz under your skin after today. Maybe it would loosen you up enough to talk to Chan (you doubt it, but it’s worth a shot).
It only takes thirty minutes for chaos to settle in. Someone got Han too many drinks (your bets are on Minho, who likes to dote on a drunk Han) and now he’s slurring his speech and giggling a little too hard to be good news for anyone.
“About the rooming…uuhhhh…thing,” he decides, tone very confident for a man who almost just spilled half of his very pink drink, “I have an idea.”
“If that idea is you and Minho sharing a room, the answer is no - I don’t want to hear you two all night,” Hyunjin says, wrinkling his nose, “You’re so noisy.”
Well. You had your assumptions about Han and Minho’s not-so-subtle relationship, and you suppose you should’ve known you were right. You think Minho’s ears go red, but the smirk on his face makes you think it’s just a trick of the light.
“Stop listening then.” Minho says smoothly, steadying Jisung as he trips on air.
“Shhhh, I’m talking,” Jisung says, eyes big and glassy as he looks up at Minho, “Woah. Hey, handsome. Come here often?”
“The rooming.” Minho prompts, but you don’t miss the fondness settling into his eyes.
“Right!” Jisung exclaims, sloshing his drink as he rocks on his heels, “I have a genius idea. Want to hear it?”
Chan says “no” right as Jeongin says “sure, hyung”, and Jisung ignores Chan, much more excited that someone is willing to listen to his madness other than Minho.
“I think,” he starts, hiccuping once, “I think we should draw straws. We put one through eight in a cup, and then we have one of the numbers be doubled, and if someone gets the double number then they uhhh…”
“They room together,” Minho finishes, slinging his arm over Jisung’s shoulder, “I like this idea.”
“I don’t,” you pipe up, “What if you two get the same number?”
“They’re going to share a room no matter what,” Changbin says, “So really, we just just give up and give them the shared room.”
“Noooo!” Han wails, “It has to be fate. We have to draw straws. C’moooon, it’ll be fun!”
“Sure, why not?” Felix says, “It’ll be more fun that way.”
A few more people agree - Hyunjin and Jeongin, to your surprise - leaving only you, Chan, and Seungmin in dissent. Changbin seems amused by the idea enough to shrug, and the bartender, who’s listening to your very loud conversation, offers some popsicle sticks from behind the bar. Jisung lights up and snatches them before Chan can turn it down, and now you’re watching Jisung “write” (read: make Minho do it) the numbers on the straws.
“I’m not telling anyone what the double number is, you’ll know when you draw it,” Minho says, mischief in his voice, “Good luck, everyone.”
The “straws” are dropped into Jisung’s empty cup (who let him finish another one?) with their numbers down, and everyone leans forward to grab one. You sigh, but grab one anyways, certain that if you get the double room it’ll be fine. Someone will trade with you, or you’ll end up with someone who you could room without much fanfare. Your eyes find Chan for just a second, but you shake the thought.
Everyone peers at their numbers, and leans over to show the person next to them. Jeongin, who’s on your left, got five, and Felix, who’s to your right, got three. You’ve got a one scrawled on the top of your straw, and you peer around nervously. You go around the circle, starting from Minho. Everyone reads out their number, and when it gets to you and you say “one”, you watch Chan stiffen, freezing.
“You said one?” He said, and you nod, confused.
“Yeah? That’s what my stick says?” You respond, tilting your head.
He flips his popsicle stick around, and right there at the top, in black marker, in the number one. The table whoops, and Jisung is grinning something wicked.
“Fate has decided!” He yells, a couple of heads turning to look at your group wearily as he yells, “The two of you will be staying together. It’s destiny.”
“It’s destiny,” Jeongin mimics, elbowing you under the table, “I think Hannie-hyung might be on to something.”
You and Chan hold eye contact across the table, and you hope that you look completely nonchalant and cool with this decision. You hope your nerves aren’t painted across your face, or the flush of your cheeks can be blamed on the alcohol coursing through your veins. His face is unreadable, jaw clenched in a way that shows he’s controlling his expression. You look away, let the conversation fall into something else, because clearly neither of you are going to address the elephant in the room now.
The drive back to the hotel is quiet, the drunkest people (read: Han Jisung) falling asleep on their feet as the car is arriving. You’ve only had half of some fruity thing that the bartender recommended, but the straw-drawing incident left a weird taste in your mouth, and you couldn’t finish it. Jeongin is a little tipsy next to you, his smile more open and his laugh a little giggly, and you help him into the car, unable to resist doting on your little brother. You know he doesn’t need it, but he’s less hesitant to let you coo at him when he’s drunk, a little more honest about how much he loves the attention, so you take advantage of that. He slides into the seat next to you and promptly falls asleep, heading dipping to lean on your shoulder. You pretend to be annoyed, but then Hyunjin starts being dramatic, groaning about how he wants to be the one that Jeongin falls asleep on.
“He’s my namdongsaeng too!” He wails, and you stick out your tongue.
“He was my namdongsaeng first.” you say, and outrage erupts, Jisung suddenly wide awake and arguing that he’s the favorite because of the cheek kisses he got this year, and Hyunjin talking about the 2kr episode.
“Shut up.” Jeongin whines into your shoulder, awoken by the noise. “Sleeping…”
The rest of the ride is when the silence settles in, no one wanting to disturb the maknae, and you make a very deliberate attempt to avoid eye contact with Chan the whole time. Looking at him meant acknowledging the issue at hand, after all. Ignorance is bliss, you suppose, and you were going to live in it for as long as possible.
You have to spend the whole elevator ride to the fifth floor telling Jisung to be quiet, because Minho convinced him that if he yells loud enough in the elevator it would echo, and he watches with joy as you struggle to support Jeongin and get Jisung to kindly shut the fuck up. Chan watches with amusement, glad for a moment to not have to be the responsible one, though his value about their image makes him step in before the elevator opens, reminding Jisung that people are trying to sleep.
“Ooooh, sleep sounds so good right now,” Jisung says, leaning hard into Minho. “Jagi, can we go to bed? ‘m tired.”
Jeongin, who for some reason still has the room keys, distributes them. He winks when he hands you the key to room 519, and you just send him a look back. “What room are we in?” Chan says, the first one to acknowledge the fact that you’re sharing a room, “519? Good, right at the start. Easy access.”
“Right, easy access,” you echo, head swimming with the idea of sharing a room with Chan, “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” “Okay with what?” He says, playing dumb.
“Sharing a room. With me,” you start, avoiding eye contact, “I’m sure it’s not ideal. We can just give the room to Jisung and Minho, or I can room with Innie.”
“No no no, I uhhh…I don’t mind,” he says, voice cracking, “I seriously don’t mind. I’m honestly a little glad it’s you.”
“Yeah?” you say, a little breathless, “Well, I’m glad it’s you, too.”
Your luggage is already in the room, since it’s the one that everyone piled all of their stuff into earlier, and you help people grab their luggage and get out.
The worst part about the rooming situation comes crashing down when you turn around the corner to the bedroom area and realize that there, pressed against the center of the back wall, is the bed. That’s right, not beds: bed, singular. One whole bed, not even a queen size. It’s a full at most, a twin on steroids at worst, and your throat goes dry. There’s no living space, so there’s no couch for you to crash on, and you guess the stiff-looking armchair in the corner is calling your name.
“Hey, what’re you standing here for-” Chan’s breath catches as he sees the same issue as you, the one bed glaring at the two of you from the middle of the room. “Oh. I can, er…I can take the floor. You have the bed.”
“Absolutely not,” you respond, before you can stop yourself, words tumbling out of your mouth like a waterfall, “We’re adults. We can share a bed, it’ll be fine. It’s not like it’s a twin bed. Two people can comfortably fit on there.”
You don’t mention that the two people would have to be a breath away from being shoulder-to-shoulder, but Chan agrees, though his voice shakes as he does.
“Okay. Okay. Sure, as long as you’re not uncomfortable. I uh-I usually don’t sleep with a shirt on, do you care?”
“Do whatever you need,” you respond, partially because you’re a people pleaser and partially because a greedy part of you wants to see Chan shirtless, “If you’re comfortable, I’m comfortable.”
The two of you get ready in thick silence, every step taking you one step closer to sharing a bed with the guy that you might just be in love with.
The first night is fine. You’re tired enough from the jetlag and the bar that you slip into sleep fairly easily, curled up on your side of the bed. You can hear Chan’s quiet snoring when you wake up, so you know that he fell asleep just fine, too.
Night two and three are much the same, though you’re hyperaware of him next to you, more so than you were before. You can hear your heartbeat in your head, and you can hear Chan’s steady breathing next to you. Each night you’ve been inching closer together, and the morning of the third day you woke up with your face pressed into Chan’s shoulder. The morning of day four, you wake up with an arm thrown over your middle and your face buried in Chan’s chest. You slip out from under his arm, careful not to wake him up, and don’t breathe a word of it to Chan. If he knew it happened, he never mentioned it to you.
Night four is when things come to a head. Chan and you have been pressed together all night, that magnetic pull you feel that drags you towards him stronger than before. His shirt is tight against his chest, and the sleeves bulge around his arms in a way that makes you drool. You don’t know how much more you can take of this trip before you just jump him in public in front of everyone.
At this point, you’re pretty sure everyone knows about whatever’s happening between you and Chan except for Chan himself. Changbin has made some teasing comments, Seungmin gagged earlier when the two of you smiled at each other, Jisung and Minho have been whispering and obnoxiously pointing at the two of you, and Felix murmured, in that low voice of his, that the two of you “looked good together.” Jeongin is still Jeongin, and tonight was the night that he noticed the matching rings.
“There’s no way,” he said, mouth agape, “There’s. No. Way.”
“What is it this time?” you had responded, tired of his bullshit.
“You and Channie-hyung have matching rings!”
He says it loud enough for Hyunjin to overhear, and he trips over himself as he runs over to inspect the ring on your finger. You let him have your hand, giving up on trying to hide it anymore. Hyunjin inspects the ring, watches the way it catches light.
“Wow. So it’s finally official?” Hyunjin says, hopeful.
You shake your head, yanking your hand away. “Babo. We’ve had these since the first day here. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Right…you just have matching RINGS…for no reason…” Hyunjin says, squinting his eyes at you. “Have you two been in a secret relationship this whole time?? Have you been laughing about this behind our backs??”
“No??” you respond, dragging a hand down your face, “You guys. We just thought they were pretty. Nothing more than that.”
You don’t tell them about the way the lady thought you were a couple, or the way every touch that day, accidental or not, made your heart explode out of your chest. You don’t mention the way that Chan has been looking at you, or the way you catch him staring at your hand where the ring sat, or the way you find yourself staring back, too. You don’t have to, because Jeongin and Hyunjin are already throwing a fit.
“You’re joking, right??” Hyunjin blurts out, right as Jeongin speaks.
“Are you two babos??”
Their voices overlap as they tell you off, and you wave them off and tell them you’re done with their bullshit, which just leads to more protesting from them. You’re rescued by an unknowing Felix, who comes over to ask Hyunjin for an opinion on something, and it completely derails the conversation.
And now, it’s bedtime. Chan’s freshly showered, in only a pair of loose-fitting shorts, the waistband of his boxers peeking out. His hair is damp as he climbs into bed next to you, and you don’t even pretend to not be staring at him, not when you’re fighting the urge to drool over how good he looks.
“Good for me to turn off the light?” He hums, reaching for the lamp.
“Yeah.” You respond, though your voice is breathless, your eyes still raking over his skin, still damp from the shower.
You watch a rivulet of water drip down the plane of his abs, which ripple as he moves. You only turn away when he catches you staring, right before he clicks off the lamp. You’re on your side, back facing him, before he can blink. You miss the way he smirks at the back of your head as the room goes dark.
“Good night.” he says, breath hitting the back of your head.
He’s close, too close, but you don’t say anything, letting the bed dip dangerously close to you without a word. “Good night.”
You wake up, what feels like hours later, to a movement against your back. Chan’s arm is thrown over you, but this time, the hold is tight, pressing him back against you, hard. At first, you think he’s just shifting in his sleep, but as the sleepiness leaves your body, you realize with a dropping stomach that the movements are sharp, deliberate. He’s breathing heavy above your head, ragged little pants and quiet whimpers filling the space, and there’s something pressing against your ass that you can’t excuse away. It throbs against you, the thin material of your shorts doing nothing to hide the pulse of what you can only assume is his erection against your ass.
His hips roll a little harder against you, and the sound he lets out is sinful. It has your body setting alight with desire, a heat flushing down, down, down until you can feel your arousal dripping through your shorts, dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets.
He’s moaning now, though it’s not loud, a mix of low grunts and breathy sounds that make your eyes roll back. Your thighs clench as you seek friction for yourself, but you can’t get any, not when Chan’s holding you so close and using you to get himself off.
You have to stop this. You have to tell him you’re awake, that you know what he’s doing. That’s what you keep telling yourself, but the press of him against you is so addicting you can’t bring yourself to stop it. His rolling is getting inconsistent now, and you know he’s probably close, arms clenching even tighter around you. You have to speak up now, so you do, tentative at first.
“Chan?” you whisper, the sound feeling too loud against the chorus of his sounds.
No response. You try again.
“Hey, Chan?” you’re louder this time, but the pit in your stomach grows, because it’s dawning on you that, perhaps, Chan might not even be awake at all.
“Chan. Chan.”
You try to spin out of his hold, to press away from him, but it just forces your ass back against his cock, and a louder sound rips out of his throat when you do. Heat is crawling under your skin, like hot magma in your veins, but you know you have to stop him, especially if he’s asleep. You don’t want him to do something he’d regret.
“Chan, wake up. Hey, hey! Get off, Chan, wake up!” You say, voice getting progressively louder.
He stiffens against you as you squirm, and you feel the way his whole body shakes as he comes against you. He’s just whimpering now, little sounds, riding out his high as he tries to keep dragging you against his sensitive cock. Even asleep, Chan is greedy, body shaking with what you assume is overstimulation but still trying to chase that delicious pull of friction against you.
“Chan, please.” You groan, and now that he’s weaker from his orgasm, you can press yourself out of his arms.
That’s what wakes him up - the loss of your warmth against him. You finally manage to wiggle out of his grasp, rolling forward to your side of the bed, breathing heavy. You can still feel the wet spot between your legs and the wet spot on your ass. And you can tell by the way his breath is less controlled and stable that he’s waking up now, the sound shallower and more conscious.
“Mhmm…” he groans, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, before they snap open.
You can’t make him out very well in the darkness, but you can tell that he knows he came everywhere, because he starts quietly swearing in English. He doesn’t even really look at you until you shift again, his head snapping up to try and make you out in the dark.
“You awake now?” you say, voice a little tense with emotions you don’t want to place, not right now.
“Did I…?” He asks, though you both know he already knows the answer.
“...yeah,” you say, biting your lower lip, “Yeah uhm. You did.”
“Shit, I’m so sorry!” he says, embarrassment strong in his tone. “Oh my god. This is so…I’m really, really sorry. I’m going to - I’m going to clean up, yeah? You can uh-do whatever you need actually! I’m going to clean up, yeah, goodbye now!”
You snatch his wrist as he moves to stand before you can stop yourself. You want to blame your boldness on the weariness still shaking out of your bones, but you know it’s just because you’re so worked up now, body aching for more. Now that you’ve had Chan in some capacity, you’re not sure you can go back.
“Chan. Stop me if you don’t want this.”
It’s the only warning he gets before your leg comes over his to straddle him and your mouth is pressing to his. He groans in the back of his throat, a deep sound that rumbles through both of you, and then presses into you, kissing back. His hands hesitantly come to grasp at your hips, and the sound you make is enough for them to start exploring, fingers slipping underneath your sleep shirt to knead at the skin there.
Your hips press down in a circular motion, guiding his length against your heat. It’s desperate, the rhythm a little unsteady, but he makes an appreciative sound nonetheless. When you pull back to breath, you can make out the way he blinks up at you, almost reverently.
“Am I still dreaming?” he says, voice laced with disbelief.
“Was this-hah-what you were dreaming about?” you pant out, pace picking up as your own pleasure builds.
“All my dreams include you,” he responds, so sincere it makes another gush of arousal slip out of you, “But fuck, yeah. Dreamin’ that you were-shit-w-were fuckin’ against me, that I slipped everything to the side and just slipped right in-”
“If we’re doing this, I need to-shiiiiit-I need to get one thing straight with you. If we’re doing this, I’m-hrk! ‘m the one in charge, ‘kay? You just need to sit here and take. Wanna show you what you’ve been doin’ to be since-ooooh-since the first day of this god damn trip. Can you do that? Can you be-haaah-be good? Be good for me?”
He nods, eyes wide, mouth falling open. You shake your head, hips slowing down, leaning so that your mouth is dangerously close to his.
“Words, baby.” You say, the petname in English, loving the way it makes him tense up underneath you.
“Please!” he sobs, words like molasses on his tongue. “Please, want that. Want that so bad. Use me, do whatever you want, please, I’ll be good, I swear.”
He loses his train of thought when you lean forward to bite at his neck, one hand coming to rest on his throat. You don’t squeeze, don’t joke - just leave it there. It’s possessive, a claim, a reminder of who he’s supposed to listen to. Chan almost comes in his pants.
“You’re lucky I’m feeling impatient today,” you say between bites, teeth sinking in deep enough to leave a mark, “Or else I would make you beg to be inside of me. You already got to come, you know? You’re so selfish, but I am, too. Wanna feel you fill me up.”
He groans, head falling back. “Yeah? You like that?” you continue, though you’re slipping out of his lap to pull off your underwear and shorts. “Like the idea of filling me up? Painting my insides with come, instead of just my sleepshorts like you did last time?”
He’s sliding his underwear and shorts down just far enough for his cock to pop out. It hits his abdomen with wet plap!, and you think you might just be drooling. Because he’s big, the kind of big that you didn’t think was actually possible. There’s a thick vein that traces a path up from his balls to the fat mushroom head, which is leaking and so red it’s almost purple. You can’t help but reach a hand out, tracing your pointer finger up the prominent vein. Your touch is featherlight, and it makes his hips buck off the bed, wanting more. You bring your hand back to spit on it, right in the center of your palm, then you bring your hand back down to stroke at his length, revelling in how hot and thick it feels against your hand. Your hand barely fits around it, and the idea of this monster going into you has you clenching and dripping.
“Fuck, Channie, you’re so big,” you coo, sliding down so that your mouth is hovering right near his length, “I’m not even sure you’re going to fit.”
That makes him choke on a moan, a hand coming up to cover his face. “Y-you can’t just-hnnngh! You can’t jus’ say that, jagi.”
You just hum in response, leaning forward to press quick pecks up the side of his length around your moving hand. You swipe your tongue out right where the pearly precum is leaking from his tip, and the taste of him is so good - a bit salty, but not bitter like you were expecting - that you can’t help but drop your jaw and swallow around him. You only bring the tip into your mouth, suckling gently, but it makes him wail, eyes rolling back and fists white-knuckling the sheets.
“Feels so good,” he sobs, hips twitching from holding back from bucking into the heat of your mouth, “Fuck fuck fuck, jagi, I can’t-”
He cuts himself off with a sob as you open your mouth wider and take more of him. The stretch of your mouth is good, and you can only take him about halfway before he’s kissing the back of your throat, making you gag. Your free hand comes to fondle his balls, the other one forming a ring with your pointer finger and thumb, jerking off the length of him you can’t get into your mouth. He can’t take it, everything just feels so good, and he’s already so sensitive. He tries to warn you, he really does, but he can’t get any words out that aren’t your name or ‘please’ right now.
He comes down your throat with a cry of your name, so loud you’re sure whoever’s on the other side of the wall definitely heard, but you don’t care, not when he’s painting your throat white. You suck around him until he goes soft, and then keep going, even as his hands come to pull at your hair weakly and his thighs twitch underneath you.
“It’s too much, fuck, jagi, please?”
You don’t stop, not until you’ve nursed him back to full hardness with your mouth and your hands. Only then do you pop off and give him a proper look.
He’s a mess, hair dishelved, cheeks a bright red, chest heaving as he tries to get himself under control. You feel the same, the raw need for Chan to fill you overriding every function in your body. You slide yourself back up to line your leaking entrance up with his length, reaching a hand back to guide his tip to rub against the rim of it. Your juices mix together on his cock - your spit and both of your arousals dripping down his length - and it makes you groan, twitching against him.
“Please.” Chan whines, and that’s all it takes for your hips to drop, taking half of him in one go.
He’s too big and you’re too tight, so you can’t take him in all at once. The stretch is delicious, but you’re not dumb enough to hurt yourself, not now, not when you’re about to ride the boy of your dreams into oblivion. You slide up and down, riding the length of him that you can take, slipping just a little more of him into you each time your hips drop. When your ass meets his thighs you let your head loll forward, your body barely able to accommodate his full length inside of you. He’s a perfect fit, so fucking big that you’re sure your guts are rearranging to fit him inside of you, but the stretch burns so good, the pain bleeding into red hot pleasure and making your head spin.
You press one of your hands to his chest to stabilize yourself, and the other hand reaches for his, lacing your fingers together next to his head on the sheets. He squeezes your hand so tight you think he’s cutting off bloodflow, but you don’t stop him, not when you feel so full that you’re pretty sure a couple moves might have you coming all over him. “Fuck Channie, I can feel you in my throat,” you moan, and it makes him twitch inside of you, “Feel so good-ahn! Soooo good baby, that’s it. Might need your help to-hah-move. Can you help me, baby?”
His free hand comes to grip at your hip, fingers digging so deep you know that there will be fingerprint-shaped bruises splattering the skin there. When your shaky legs slam you down on his length, his hips buck up, meeting you in the middle.
The sound of skin on skin is obscene, a wet pap pap pap! filling up the room. You apologize to your neighbors in your head, but right now, all that matters is the way that Chan is filling you up, and the cute sounds he’s making as he does. A particular good buck of his hips up into you has you falling forward, and you press your lips against his to muffle the sound clawing at your throat when he presses against your sweet spot.
“Th-that’s it, good boy, Channie,” you moan, voice shaking as you try and choke down your sounds, “Come inside of me. Please. Need to feel you fill me up, need you to mark me, please, Chan!”
You clench around him, walls pulsing around his length as you come, drenching his cock with your release. He’s babbling now, hand slipping from your grasp to grip at your hip, both hands now guiding you up and down his length. You know he’s close - in the desperation in his movements, in how he uses you like a cocksleeve to get himself off - and when you clench around him tight and don’t loosen, it pushes him over the edge. He screams something that sounds like your name and ‘thank you’ all at once, body going limp underneath you as he paints your walls white.
Silence settles over the room as you both come down from your highs. You don’t want to move, but you know you have to, carefully slipping out of Chan’s lap on jello legs to wobble to the bathroom. You don’t turn on the light - you don’t want to see how sloppy you look in 4K right now - and instead focus on fumbling for a washcloth and wetting it. Only once the water from the sink warms up do you dip the washcloth into the sink, getting it sufficiently damp before making the long trek back to the bed.
You carefully clean Chan up, heart fluttering when he hums as you clean him. You’re careful around his sensitive cock, though you do have to do one sweep of it to clean off the remnants of your mixed juices before it dries, making him hiss. You take the washcloth and haphazardly wipe yourself off and call it a day, tossing it off vaguely towards the armchair. You hear it hit the floor and shake your head, giving up. Not worth the effort right now, not when Chan is making lazy grabby hands at you. You don’t say a word, just let yourself be guided to bed, let him hold you from behind, the way he was holding you that started this whole mess. He drags the blanket over the both of you and tugs you impossibly closer, kissing the crown of your head.
“I don’t want this to be a one time thing,” he says, once the silence had finally settled into something breakable, “I want you. This. Forever, if you’ll have me.”
“I want that too,” you admit, voice hoarse from your earlier activities but still honest, “I’ve wanted you for so long, Channie. Jeongin’s been making fun of me forever.”
“Funny,” he says, shifting behind you to tangle your legs, “He’s been doing the same to me for just as long.”
And that’s that. There’s no dramatics, no ‘can I be your boyfriend?’s, because both of you already know that this is exclusive. You’re his, and he’s yours. Nothing more has to be said because you’ve been saying it with your actions, with your eyes, for so long that you’re pretty sure that you and Chan had already been official. This was just the icing on the cake, the admittance to each other of the truth you’ve been living all week.
When you wake up, there’s a banging on your door, and Changbin’s voice ringing out.
“I’m happy for the two of you, I really am, but please keep it down next time? Hotel walls are thin, and I don’t want to hear how Chan whimpers ever again, please and thank you! Breakfast’s in ten, we’ll see you down there.”
“Thanks, Bin-ah!” You croak, voice heavy with sleep.
“You should be apologizing to me, actually, but I suppose I’ll take it,” he yells back, “The whole floor definitely heard you. I hope you’re ready for a very awkward breakfast.”
The two of you make no effort to make yourselves look clean, and if your disheveled appearances didn’t give it away, the deep purple marks littering Chan’s neck and the splatter of purple on your hips when your shirt rode were very big indicators of what the two of you were up to last night.
“I told you so!” Jeongin sings, poking at the bruise on your hip just to watch you jump, “Wooow, he did a number, huh? Freaks. Sounded like you were filming a porno down the hall. But…”
He pauses, then shakes his head. “I’m happy for you. The two of you deserve the best.”
And if you and Chan link hands under the table, basking in the glow of the morning after and the warmth of your feelings being out in the open, no one’s the wiser.
Perhaps you’re grateful for the schedule mix up, after all.
I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated ♡
