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.”
# NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | TAGLIST
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!!
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.”
# NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | TAGLIST
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!!
(where the ex-boyfriend who broke your heart shows up as your new coworker after 4 years)
pairing: lawyer!chan x lawyer!fem!reader
genre: lovers to exes to coworkers to ?? | angst, fluff, smut
rating: explicit, minors DNI
wc: 20.1k
warnings: aged up chan (he and reader are about 29), this story vaguely uses the american legal system, some flash backs/time jumps (for the lovers to exes part), they were both kinda idiots, poor communication, ambiguous relationships (reader), eating, drinking, soooo much kissing, teasing, fingering, oral sex (f. rec), nipple play, implied/kinda fade-to-black sex, that's it i think
a/n: endless thanks to @haologram for her patience with me because i really don't know why this took me so long. this is part of her amazing don't hate, litigate collab. i love you so much alta! we'll call this a happy birthday month present. thank you to my bby @joshujin for creating this amazing banner (and 6 other options because she's insane).
Your assistant knocks on the frame of your office door and pokes her head in. She’s got a concerning smile on her face that instantly makes you nervous about whatever she’s about to say. You and her had connected the second you hired her and you can read her facial expressions well. Right now, it’s giving news that’s going to make you mad. She, on the other hand, doesn’t look apologetic about the news at all.
“Why do I feel like I’m about to hate whatever you’re about to say to me?” you ask, leaning back in your chair.
“Because you’re good at reading me,” she offers without any apology.
“I swear to god if you tell me that client rescheduled again, I will fling myself from the roof,” you say with a sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.
Taylor lingers in your doorway without losing her smile. Which is a good indicator that whatever she’s about to say isn’t that. “No, but it might be worse. So, the stairs to the roof are down the hall, second door on the left.”
“Funny,” you bite. She comes into your office and closes the door behind her.
“We’ve got a new hire starting on Monday,” she carries on without you asking.
“And that concerns me, why?” you ask, returning to your computer and falsely figuring she got this one wrong. The closed door seems like overkill for a new hire, but what do you know?
“Because he’s going to be in our division. Everyone is whispering about him. About how good he is at closing cases and how attractive he is,” she offers, still keeping at least something to herself.
You fix her with an unimpressed stare. “Don’t tell me you’re already drooling over another attorney that you haven’t even met yet.”
“No, I know we have a no-dating…” she starts and you roll your eyes.
“I could not possibly care any less about that. Date whoever you want,” you say without looking up at her. “But, dating an attorney is exhausting. 0/10, would not recommend.”
“You know, I’m so interested to learn more about why you feel that way,” she says. This, finally, makes you wonder where she’s going and makes you meet her eyes again.
“It’s been a long week, Taylor, I’m going to need you to start connecting some dots,” you relent.
“Oh, you know, I was just thinking you always talk about how you’d never date another attorney and I just think it’s so…interesting that we have someone else from your law school starting at the firm on Monday,” she says.
That’s enough to make your eyes go wide and your blood run cold. “What’s the name of the new hire? The partners never mentioned it.”
“Lee Chan,” she says with a knowingly sympathetic look. For a second, you think you forget how to breathe. And then you’re a million miles away.
What the actual fuck is Lee Chan doing accepting a position with your firm after all these years? What kind of game is he playing? It seems cruel to be doing this now. Or maybe you’re overthinking it. Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with you. After all, isn’t it a bit conceited to think that Chan coming to one of the best firms in the country has anything to do with you? What you do realize is that you have a lot of unresolved emotions to get over. There are probably just as many unanswered questions.
Of course, this would all be a lot easier if the person joining your firm wasn’t the same one you still thought about. Your hypothetical one who got away.
This definitely makes work a lot more complicated.
Offers are starting to come in for all the 3Ls and everyone is nervous. Everyone wants to know that they’re going to have something lined up for after graduation. Everyone wants to get their top choice. It’s competitive, but so is everything else about law school so it doesn’t really feel surprising. You and Chan manage to navigate it as well as two people in a relationship during a stressful time can. Neither one of you really talks about how you both applied to some of the same places. Or how the two of you are competing for your top option. What you do talk about, though, is how you plan to navigate the potential distance.
“What happens if we get jobs that put us on opposite sides of the country?”
The question makes you look up sharply at your boyfriend. You’re lying on the couch with your feet in his lap, reading a book for fun. A welcome change for the law books you’re normally reading. His book sits discarded on the arm of the couch and he’s watching you intently. You mark your own page and sit up so that you can have an actual conversation.
“I thought we were mostly applying in the same areas,” you begin, dipping that toe into the water.
He frowns for a second. Like somehow this is a test and you don’t have the right answer. “Well, we did. But, we both need to take the best options before us, right?”
“I’m not asking you to put me above your career, Chan,” you say with exasperation.
“What does that say about our relationship if you’re not asking that?”
“That we both understand what’s at stake in the next few years of our lives. That we both know how important our placements are in the first year after finishing law school.”
“Or that it’s not built to last,” he says under his breath.
There’s no malice in the statement and you can hear it for what it is. Apprehension. Nerves. He’s worried about your future, both together and individually, as professionals. You’ve watched the way other relationships between law students have played out during your first two years at school. It’s easy to bond over shared experience. But, the reality remains. Everyone in law school is competitive or you wouldn’t be there. Everyone is at least a little bit Type A. In a field that is, theoretically, built on compromise, sometimes compromising in personal relationships is the hardest part.
It’s not time to get quite that serious, though. Not in your eyes. You slide over on the couch so that you can cross your legs and have them press against Chan’s thigh. With one of his hands in yours, you give him a look full of feeling.
“I love you, Chan,” you say and watch the way some of the tension melts away. Like he needs to hear that reassurance. Even though the pressure of the program should feel familiar, it’s still nice to remember that you have each other.
“I love you, too.”
“I know everything is kind of up in the air right now, but we’ll figure it out.”
“But, what if that means that there’s a country’s worth of distance between us?”
The unsaid words are plain as day behind the question. Your law school classes aren’t small, but it’s also not like university. You know everyone. Hear everything. Have too many stories of former classmates in the years ahead of you. The first year after graduating is tough. Important. There’s just over two months between graduation and sitting for the Bar exam. Then, you have to actually figure out how to practice. Depending on your area, that can mean insanely long hours as the lowly first year associate. There’s barely enough time to sleep or eat a balanced meal. Add in long distance and, well, you can see why Chan looks the way he does.
“Can we cross that bridge if we get to it?”
“Yeah, of course,” he says, but you see some of the tension return. You run your thumb along the back of his hand you’re still holding.
“Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out,” you assure him, speaking more to his hand because the emotions are hard. “You’re my best friend. I never thought I would feel this way. It’s like you slid into my life so quietly I didn’t realize. We’ll figure this out because we’re us.”
“I knew you’d fall for me,” he jokes. When you look up, his eyes sparkle in that way you love. In the way that makes the worries slip away, even for just a second.
“You’re persistent,” you concede with an eye roll.
“Come here.”
He pulls you into his body. You settle into his side like you have countless times before. At least for the time being, things feel like they’re going to be okay. Like you really can figure it all out as long as you have each other. The road ahead may be difficult. It may have cost countless relationships before. Maybe it’s naive, but you feel like you’ll be the ones who really can figure it out.
Some of the initial optimism about you and Chan fades once the offers start to trickle out. Everything about your future depends on where you end up after graduating. At least, that’s how it feels when you’re in the thick of it. When you hear from your top choice and it’s the equivalent of being put on the waitlist for a university, it crushes you. It’s competitive, you know that. Yet, you felt so sure. Your summer positions and letters of recommendation are top notch. It’s also in the exact right area that you and Chan think would be perfect for post graduation.
Of course, you have other options. You’ve worked your ass off in classes, sacrificed free time. All the while knowing that the end would justify the means. Now, you have to decide if you should wait to see if you end up getting an offer or just accept another choice. It’s everything you want and part of you thinks that it’s worth waiting. But, you also know that if you wait, you risk losing out on a guaranteed position. It’s hard to talk it out with Chan, too, because he says that he hasn’t heard from your top choice at all. You know he applied. Know that he’s an excellent option for them to hire as well. It feels cruel to talk to him about something that he wanted as well. If the positions had been reversed, you try to wonder what you would tell him. Try to wonder if you could be happy for him getting your dream position. You want to think you could.
Ultimately, you do talk to Chan about it because he’s your best friend and your biggest confidant. You want to know what options he has heard from and he wants to know the same as you. It makes your heart drop to know that one of the best offers he’s gotten really is across the country from your dream firm. Not that you didn’t know he applied, because you did, but he didn’t seem to think he would get it. Things feel even more real when he encourages you to not make any immediate decisions. He knows you can’t wait too long. Just thinks that it’s worth really thinking things through. Surely, people will be making their own decisions soon and maybe it means that your dream spot opens up.
It ends up being eerily prophetic. Two days later you get a call offering you the position. You know that you should tell them you need to consider it. Know that you shouldn’t make it obvious this is what you’re waiting for. Know that you should remember you weren’t the first choice.
You don’t.
Everything goes out the window and you accept the position right then and there. At least the person on the other end of the phone seems friendly. Not overly judgmental at your enthusiasm. It’s probably a good thing, after all. You’ll get your formal offer via email and more information closer to graduation.
Chan has his computer on his lap when you get back to your shared apartment. It’s still a bit of a weird feeling, sharing a space with him for your last year of school. As soon as he hears the front door shut, he looks up. Sees your face and it’s like he knows. Only smiles and asks if you got it. All you have a chance to do is nod enthusiastically before he jumps up and collects you into his arms. Peppers kisses all over your face and declares that the two of you need to celebrate. Everything feels light and easy again. Like you really can take on the world.
There’s another bump in the road when the high of getting your top choice wears off. Chan talks to you about which firms he’s gotten offers from and you realize what post graduation is going to look like. You encourage him to accept the position that puts him a plane ride away from you with a smile. With assurances that you’ll be fine, which you’re not sure either of you really believe. One thing is certain, though. Although he has options that put him closer to you and your firm, he can’t take them. Can’t even think about them. Because if he takes one of them, it’ll only be so he can stay close to you. It might seem fine at first. Maybe it seems fine forever. You just can’t take the chance it ends up causing resentment.
So, you have the conversation you didn’t want to have earlier. Realize just how much better life is with each other than it is separate. It’s going to be tough, but people survive distance in their relationships all the time. There’s FaceTime and you can plan trips. Can even do a lot of work remotely. That’s one thing you can thank the pandemic for. And before you actually start the positions, you can be each other’s support systems while studying. The prep courses all have online options. Who better to watch your mental breakdown over studying than someone else going through the same thing?
It all feels cautiously optimistic. It’s going to be hard, but you’ve already been together since your second semester of your first year. Going on two years already. And you have until the summer to be together every day. To iron out any of the details. To make plans for after graduation. And, most importantly, just enjoy the time where it’s easy to be by each other’s side.
You spend your last weekend before Chan becomes unavoidable wondering how to move forward. Although you don’t work with anyone else you graduated with, the legal community is small. Everyone knows where you went to school and what year you graduated. Even your assistant is able to put it together that you know Chan. Admittedly, she does know you better than most at the firm. At times she’s kind of like a diary. Still. Nobody at the firm knows about your history.
Four years ago, at the end of your final year of law school, Lee Chan took away a future for the two of you that seemed all but certain. That’s why you avoid being anywhere that he is at all costs.
Whoever says that time heals all wounds obviously doesn’t know what they’re talking about. Dulls them, sure. Teaches you how to get on with things. Teaches you what to look for in the next relationship. You’re not sure you’re healed, though.
Proving she knows you far better than she should, your assistant guesses correctly. Chan is the reason you don’t date other attorneys. Yes, it’s an ex relationship from law school before becoming attorneys. Still, the rule applies. After all, school isn’t what caused things to fall apart. You can’t help but think about when things were still good. Full of that cautious optimism that you could face whatever comes next together. It’s funny, in hindsight, how typical it all feels now.
As they say, though, the only way out is through. You try to keep hold of that energy as you prepare for a new week where you’ll get (re) acquainted with a new coworker. Try not to overthink that he’s going to be joining your team. Really, how else could it go? It’s not like the universe could take it easy on you and at least send him to another team. Not like you can fault him for wanting to come to a firm with so much name recognition. A firm, you remind yourself, that he also wanted four years ago.
When you wake up before your alarm, you figure you might as well do something with the nervous energy that won’t leave you alone. You don’t usually put a lot of effort into getting ready on the days you know you’ll just be in the office. It’s also the first Monday of the month, which means that the day starts with a team meeting run by your senior partner. You’ll be seeing Chan first thing in the morning. That’s definitely not the reason you take a little extra time picking out your outfit and doing your makeup, though. And definitely not the reason you woke up early.
Another positive about waking up a little earlier is that you have plenty of time to go to the good coffee shop. It’s not out of the way. It’s just popular. While you’re waiting in line, you fire off a quick text to your assistant telling her that coffee and a treat is on you, but she’ll have to wait to see what it is. You at least bring her coffee frequently, a fact that apparently makes some of the other assistants envious. Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do about the other attorneys beyond encouraging them. Taylor saves your ass on a weekly basis and you would be completely lost without her. Coffee seems like the very least you can do.
(When you actually get to the office and find her desk, you’re regretting your decision a little. Taylor wouldn’t be the best assistant imaginable if she didn’t know you inside and out. Of course it’s too much to ask that she let you live. No. Instead, she’s roasting you for looking so nice for the monthly meeting before she even thanks you for the coffee and pastry. Doesn’t actually thank you until you’re turning around to go into your office.)
Once it’s time for the meeting, you head over to the big conference room with Taylor since the first part is for the full staff before just the attorneys meet to catch up on the month ahead. You can feel Chan’s presence when you walk into the conference room before you see him. Or maybe it’s that you can feel a different energy. Others on the team are interested in meeting the new addition, which makes it easier to just quietly grab your seat. Taylor, thankfully, keeps her face impassive. For all the times she clowns you privately, she never does it when others could be involved. It’s part of why you love her so much.
You can’t stop yourself from glancing over at Chan, though. He looks exactly the same and somehow entirely different. His warm eyes still light up in the same way you remember when he smiles. Older though. Maybe a little bit wiser. But, his eyes still crinkle in the same way when he laughs. He’s still got that smile that makes everyone around him want to smile. His style is still mostly the same, just more expensive. Designer suits replacing something off the rack. Yet, he does it in a subtle way. Something unassuming that makes him seem quietly confident rather than arrogant. His hair isn’t dyed anymore, which makes sense in the situation. You’re just glad to see that he hasn’t cut it too short either.
It takes a moment to clock that he notices you looking at him. You spare him a small smile. One that would only seem forced to someone that knows you. Then, you cast your eyes down at the agenda on the pretense of finding it interesting. Ignore the way Taylor shifts from her position next to you. You can do this. There isn’t a choice. You’re going to get through this meeting and then continue to get through it all one day at a time.
The first part of the meeting is the same as always. Nothing remarkable. Nothing worth noting. Well, except for the senior partner praising Taylor for stepping up to help with a few cases. You had already taken her out to say thank you (on the firm’s dime), so this just feels like a way to boost her confidence even more. The next month doesn’t seem to be out of the ordinary, all things considered, so the first portion of the meeting runs quickly.
The second half is a little more difficult to get through. Once it’s only the attorneys, it’s harder to ignore Chan’s presence. Especially given that a large part of the meeting focuses on him stepping into his new case load. He’s replacing another associate, Henry, that decided to quit the legal field entirely out of the blue. Too burnt out. Not enough work-life balance. Just not his speed. It’s the usual list of reasons. He had, at least, stayed on long enough to tie up loose ends enough for the firm to find a replacement. That’s where Chan gets to come in. If he minds, he doesn’t show it. Only seems eager to prove himself. Your senior partner seems delighted. You wish that you had someone to turn to for support.
By the time the meeting winds down, you think that you might have managed to get out relatively unscathed. You still have to work with your ex. His office is still going to be right next to yours. But, you don’t have to interact with him beyond the niceties. Then, the senior partner calls your name as everyone gathers their things and your heart sinks.
“Yes?”
He turns to Chan with almost a fatherly smile. Of course. There’s always a familial smile when another man joins the team. You almost bite the inside of your cheek to help keep a neutral expression. To turn off the subtitles that your face comes with, as Taylor would put it. It’s a perfect mask when your boss turns back to you.
“I hear you and Chan were in the same class,” he starts and you feel the forced smile slip into place.
“That’s right,” you say in a falsely cheery tone.
“Why don’t you show our new ace around?”
“Oh, I…”
“I wouldn’t want to be a burden,” Chan interjects and throws you an unreadable look. “I’m sure everyone here is busy.”
“Oh, nonsense. Nobody here knows Henry’s case files better than her. Those two were always putting their heads together. My best duo on the team.” the senior partner says. “His assistant will be able to get you to a point, but it’s good to have another set of eyes. What do you say?”
“Of course,” you answer after a moment. “Anything for the team.”
“Great,” he says and claps Chan on the back. “I’ll just leave the two of you to catch up.”
“So,” Chan says as soon as the door closes. Sticks his hands into his pockets and looks down. Like he’s the one who’s got the right to feel anything here.
“Henry kept things really organized and his assistant is actually great if you want to keep her,” you say.
“Oh, yeah. Well, I said I would.”
“Great. Your new office is this way.”
You walk past him without a second glance and trust that he’s following you. A moment later, he falls into step and you point out the different areas he might need. Conference rooms, a room with physical law volumes and past case law if he wants hard copies, one of the break rooms that’s closest. He nods along, but doesn’t say much.
When you reach his office door, you push it open and indicate for him to step in before you. It’s relatively sparse since Henry moved out of it. He left behind the desk, chair, and wooden cabinet that the firm paid for, as well as his own couch and coffee table.
“I’m sure the partners spoke to you about a budget if you’d like to replace anything,” you say, casting your eyes over the space. It feels empty, cold. Henry kept so many personal touches and reminders of life outside the office that you weren’t surprised when he shared that he was leaving. Your boss also hadn’t been lying. It’s hard to make friends at work, but Henry definitely qualified.
“They did,” he confirms as he looks around. His eyebrows knit together and he frowns a little. “I like what’s already here, actually. It feels…”
“Functional?”
“Familiar.”
“Oh.”
He turns to look at you and it’s the first time you realize you’re not the only person struggling in this situation. You take a deep breath before you can meet his eyes again.
“I, uh, I helped him pick it out,” you say and Chan raises his eyebrows. “The furniture.”
“Makes sense why it feels familiar.”
Part of him looks uncomfortable at the conversation and it takes you a minute to realize why. You’re speaking before you can even consider why it matters for him to know you were only friends.
“His partner absolutely vetoed taking it with him when he quit. Said they didn’t need reminders of the office,” you say with a fond laugh. Watching Henry meet his partner and fall in love had been wonderful.
Chan seems a little lighter, yet still unsure. “Sounds like he found what he was looking for.”
Your final year of law school hasn’t been easy, by any stretch. What they say is true, though. Your first year scares you to death. Second year works you to death. And third year bores you to death. So it hasn’t been easy, exactly. But, you feel like you’re sitting well with a job locked in (as long as nothing crazy happens with final grades), classes that feel more manageable, and a boyfriend that you love more than anything by your side. Every once in a while, you get a nagging feeling in the back of your mind. Like there’s something you should know or something you missed. You chalk it up to nerves about the future. As someone who likes a plan and likes to know what’s coming, it’s a little unnerving at times. Even with as prepared as you are. It’s impossible to plan for everything.
That becomes painfully obvious when you’re meeting with your advisor at the end of the year. She’s been a pillar of support for you over your time as a student. It’s been a different relationship to the ones you’ve had with previous advisors. Probably because she knows that you’re about to be an equal and treats you like one. That’s how all three years of school have been.
Just as you’re finishing up lunch, she turns the conversation to post graduation plans. Something you’re expecting, but not quite prepared for.
“Are you getting excited about getting into the legal world?”
“I think so,” you say. “Nervous and I hate that I’m going to be so separated from Chan, but I feel really fortunate to have gotten my top choice firm.”
“It was incredible that he did that for you,” she says and your brow furrows. Chan has been an incredible help throughout school, but you’re not sure what he has to do with you getting an offer. Your confusion must be plain on your face because your advisor continues. “I heard about him turning them down. He found out if he turned it down, then you’d get the call next.”
“He…what? He turned down the position so I could…”
Your brain is spiraling out of control trying to process the information. A million thoughts fight for dominance at the speed of light. Why would he do something like that without even telling you? Did he think that you couldn’t get a good position without his help? Did he think you would try to talk him out of doing it? He would probably have been right about that, at least. There’s no way you could have let him turn it down if it was something he wanted as well just so that you could have it. Not only because it’s not fair to him, but also because now it feels tainted to you. Undeserved. Like something you almost want to turn down even though you can’t this late in the year. Not now when plans are in place and you don’t have a fall back option.
Then, there’s the fact that you feel betrayed by the person you love the most in the world. Maybe that’s not fair. It’s still how you feel. He’s kept this from you for months. Told you that he didn’t get the position at all and focused on a position across the country. Didn’t even discuss what would make the most sense for the both of you as a couple. He decided something that impacted both of you. If he hadn’t turned it down, he could have accepted. Sure, part of you would have been envious. The other part of you knows you had another offer waiting that would have kept you both in the same area. It feels like the walls are collapsing in on you.
“I’m so sorry. I thought you knew…” she begins and you just shake your head. Try to blink back the tears of too much information pouring in at once.
“It’s fine. I have to go.”
The only thought you have is to get back to your apartment to find Chan. He should be home because he’s got the afternoon off from classes and he doesn’t like staying on campus if he doesn’t have to any more than you do. Too much tension. Too much stress.
He clocks that something’s wrong as soon as you come in the door. At first, he assumes it’s just that you’re sad about the end being so close and saying goodbye to your advisor. When he tries to offer a hug as comfort, you shrug out of it. Hurt flashes across his face and it makes your heart constrict. He’s the last person in the world you ever want to hurt. The last person in the world you ever thought would hurt you.
He did, though. Whatever his intentions were, he hurt you and has been keeping a secret for nearly the entire school year. It throws all your trust issues right back into the forefront of your brain. One-sided conversations chase each other around. Each worse than the last. Only one thought breaks through, though. And it’s probably the wrong decision. Yet, you’re going to make it anyway.
“I can’t do this,” you say to him without meeting his eye.
“Can’t do what? Graduate? Study for the bar exam?”
“No, this, Chan. You and me. I can’t do it.”
It’s obviously the last thing he expects. He steps back from you like he’s been slapped. And there’s the downside of knowing someone as well as you know him. You watch as the gears turn in his brain and he cycles through a million thoughts or feelings. Feel everything along with him.
“What?” is all he manages to say.
“I think we’re just fooling ourselves,” you say. A lie. A total and complete lie. You’re a coward. It’s easier for you than the truth, though. Easier than giving him a chance to justify a decision he made for both of you without asking you.
“I don’t understand…”
“We’re going to be so far apart. This first year after school, it’s so important. We’re going to be killing ourselves to make an impression. There’s no way we’re going to be able to figure out once a month weekends and working remote. I don’t even think we’ll be able to commit to regular FaceTime calls with the time difference.”
“Where is this coming from? We’ve talked about…”
“I know what we’ve talked about,” you cut through. It comes out sharper than you intend and you take a breath to steady yourself. “I know. I just also know how this could go. One of us misses a call from the other. Texts get more staggered. It’s harder to hold space for someone who’s not there while trying to make connections in a new position.”
“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but we love each other.”
“Is that enough?”
It’s the second time he pulls back like he’s been slapped. If only you could tell him that you’re hurting yourself just as badly, maybe worse, than you’re hurting him.
“I think it’s enough. We’ll never know until we try though.”
“You took the position across the country.”
“Because you encouraged me to take it!”
“Of course I did!” you shout back, tears spilling over now. Chan goes to wipe them away before pulling his hand back. The tension hangs thick as you gather your thoughts. “I wouldn’t ever ask you to sacrifice your career or mine. I couldn’t.”
You see it. Just for a second. Know he’s wondering about a double meaning to your words. He shakes his head. Clears the look off his face.
“I didn’t see anything as sacrificing my career. We knew this was going to be complicated and I just figured we’d work through it together. If I’d have known the distance would be a deal breaker, I never would have accepted that job.”
“And I never could have lived with myself if you missed that opportunity,” you say softly. It’s an impasse. You’re picking a fight on an issue you know he’ll believe because it’s easier. Cleaner.
“It would have been my choice,” he says, eyes trying to convince you of the things he can’t say.
“I don’t want to end up hating you, Chan. I don’t want to end up resenting you because the distance is too hard.”
“So you’re going to break up with me instead?”
The question is a little derisive and the emotion looks all wrong on his face. That’s not the soft, kind, caring face you know. But, you’re the one that put that look on his face. Maybe it’s your punishment for being too scared to have the real fight.
“I know how it sounds. I still have love in my heart for you. I just think this is what’s best for us so that we can…I don’t know, save some of this.”
“Some of what?”
“This. Us,” you say and he just shakes his head.
“I don’t get you,” he admits and that hurts more than anything else. How could he feel that way after all this time?
“I just think…”
“I heard you,” he says sharply. And then he looks at you with another face you don’t recognize. One that’s hard and cold. “If you don’t think this is going to work, I know better than to try and change your mind. You’re one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met…”
“I’m not stubborn.”
He smiles despite himself at that. So on brand for you. “It’s always been one of the things I loved most about you. But, because I love you as much as I do, I can’t pretend to be less than this with you. I can’t go back to some semblance of a friendship when I know what it’s like to love you and be loved by you.”
Your heart stops for a second. Even though you started this, you’re not sure you want to finish it. Can’t imagine a life that doesn’t contain Chan at all, even though you’re so hurt by him. “Are you saying it’s all or nothing?”
“Yes.”
The simple answer says far more than you expect. You look down so that he can’t read the conflicting emotions on your face. It doesn’t matter. He still closes the distance, finally, and puts a finger under your chin to lift it up. Wipes the tears away from your face so gently. Presses a kiss to your forehead that only makes you hurt more. For a second, you reconsider everything.
“I don’t understand, but if this is what you want. What you really want. Then, okay. I just can’t go back to only being your friend. I need to protect my heart, too.”
There’s nothing left to say. You just wrap your arms around Chan and consider it’ll be the last time you feel his warmth enveloping you. It’s somehow the most dramatic and least dramatic break up that you can imagine. It feels both settled and unsettled. That’s probably what happens when you don’t have the strength to have the real fight. When you pick something that’s still real without being the whole picture.
It’s a little frustrating to watch Chan charm literally everyone in the office so quickly. Especially because his office is right next to yours and you can see the stream of people that pop in and out. Especially your coworkers who go to him to talk through cases now. Instead of you. Which is extra annoying because you’ve been here longer. Worked your ass off to prove yourself from being a junior associate to now. Whereas Chan benefits from a good reputation right off the bat. Granted, it’s not entirely the same thing. He’s new to the firm, but not the practice of law. So, it tracks that he doesn’t need to go through the same things you did joining straight out of school. The rational part of you knows he probably dealt with that at his original firm. Doesn’t make it any less annoying, though.
Everyone just instantly likes him. And that’s not really that surprising, either, is it? In so many ways, he’s still exactly the person you knew and loved in law school. The person that could make anyone feel comfortable. The one that liked to be at the center of things. Always happiest surrounded by people. It’s no different now, which makes it hurt that much more. So much of him still feels so familiar to you years later. It makes the memories harder to keep tucked away in a little box. He’s grown, sure, like you know that you have as well. He’s still inescapably Chan, though. The time since school hasn’t hardened him. Hasn’t made him jaded. Wiser, maybe. A little more cautious in things, sure. Still upbeat despite that. When you put aside all the pain it brings back to the front, you can admit that you understand why people accept him so immediately.
After a day filled with too many meetings and phone calls, you decide to stay late to catch up on some cases. Even though you know you can also work from home, sometimes it just feels easier to stay at the office. You know yourself. Once you settle down on your couch with your laptop and the TV in front of you, you’re far less likely to be productive. Far more likely to scroll or talk to friends or watch something. So, you close your door, put some headphones on, and get to work.
By the time you look up again, it’s just after 8 o’clock and you’re not sure when it got so late. If not for the grumble of your stomach, you may have just kept working. As it is, you consider if there’s anything in the break room that can hold you over. You’re so close to feeling caught up that it feels like a shame to go home and break the flow. You stretch out your limbs and stand to go on what feels like a pointless mission. There’s so rarely anything worthwhile in the breakroom because it gets snatched up immediately. What you’re not expecting, though, is to open the door to your office and nearly run into a very surprised looking Chan.
His eyes go wide and he steps back, hand falling to his side. It seems like he was about to knock on your door. The surprise of not being alone in the office turns into surprise at seeing him outside of your office. There’s a bag in his other hand that looks like some kind of takeout. You pull your headphones off your head and the silence of the office washes over you. That same silence stretches awkwardly between you and your ex.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he starts.
“It’s fine. I didn’t realize anyone else was still here,” you say. Awkward. It’s so awkward and stilted between the two of you now.
“Ah, yeah, I still feel like I’m trying to get a handle on some of these cases,” he says. He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. It’s a stark contrast to the confident Chan you know and see around the office. “I saw your light on under your door.”
“I was just catching up on some cases. It’s always something,” you say and he chuckles a little in agreement.
He holds up the bag of food and you finally realize it’s from a place around the corner that you love. “I figured you probably hadn’t eaten either and there’s nothing good in the break room.”
“That’s where I was headed.”
“I ordered something for you when I was ordering for myself and I was just gonna drop it off so I didn’t bother you…”
You sigh in resignation and step to the side to make room in the doorway. “Come on in. We can eat together.”
“Really? I don’t want to…”
“It’s fine,” you say and cut it off before he can make it more awkward. Can’t fully resist making a joke. “I know how much you hate to eat alone, anyway.”
“Which is very reasonable,” he retorts and you roll your eyes. He sits down at the small table you have and you put your headphones on your desk. Then you settle down at the table with him.
“This place is good.”
That makes him look up from his task of pulling containers out of his bag. Seems to surprise him a little. “You eat here?”
“Not all the time. It’s just close so I’ll order it sometimes for lunch or if I’m staying late.”
“Huh. I’ve only had it once so far, but figures it’s a place you like,” he says and chuckles. It puts you a little on edge, though.
“What does that mean?” you ask, more bite than you intend. He looks like a deer in headlights for a minute and you remember being 1Ls together. Fight the urge to apologize.
“Oh, just, nothing,” he says and quickly regains his composure. “I just meant…never mind.”
“No, sorry,” you say. Let the tension go from your shoulders. “It’s just that this is…”
“Hard?”
“And a bit weird, yeah,”
“We work together now and I get it’s weird. I’m not going to bring personal stuff into work, but I also can’t pretend I didn’t know you better than anyone in the world when it’s after hours like this and we’re the last two here,” he says and you look down into your lap.
“I didn’t realize everyone else had already left,” you say because it’s easier than what’s on your mind.
“Seems like we’re the only hard workers,” he jokes and you roll your eyes. At least it feels like you can look up again to take in the food.
“What did you order, anyway?”
In response, Chan pushes some of the food over to you. Of course, it’s one of your go-to orders on the menu. Something you’re not sure you can admit to the ex sitting across from you. Some things really don’t change.
“If you don’t want that, I also got…”
“No, it’s…exactly what I usually get.”
You pull the food towards you, realizing that you are kind of starving now that you’re sitting down to eat something. Once again, Chan seems to follow your lead. Lets you set the pace and tone. The two of you eat for several minutes in silence that doesn’t feel that comfortable. Once upon a time, it would have felt as natural as breathing. Now, for all the ways he’s the same, he’s also a stranger to you. When you meet his eye, you wonder if he’s thinking all the same things as you. Wonder if he’s thinking about your relationship and when it all fell apart. Wonder why he came to this firm when he probably could have gone anywhere. Wonder how you’re going to get through all of this.
“We can’t keep acting like we don’t know each other,” he says softly. So much for the silence.
“I’m not acting like I don’t know you, Chan,” you say. Tired. This whole thing takes up entirely too much space in your brain.
“No?”
“Of course not. Everyone knows we went to the same school. I’m not pretending we didn’t know each other. I’m just pretending we weren’t…”
“In a relationship?”
Same old Chan, you think. There’s just something about him that always cuts through everything to the point. Which, of course, makes a good lawyer. But, he also manages it in a way that doesn’t sound arrogant. Makes it sound like he just cares about the answer.
“I guess, yeah,” you admit. “I don’t really need the partners clued into my personal life like that.”
“Is that the reason?”
There’s something unreadable on his face. Something you can’t place no matter how hard you try. Maybe it’s a hardness. A sense of the walls going up. It feels foreign when he still looks so much like the person you loved.
“I don’t really want people to know that the person who broke my heart now has the office next to me. So, yeah, I’d say it’s the reason,” you say and watch the shock take over his face. Maybe it’s too honest. Maybe you shouldn’t…
“The person who broke your heart?” he asks and it stops your spiral short.
“Yes?”
“I broke your heart?”
“That’s what I said.”
“That’s some bullshit revisionist history you’ve got going on there.”
That brings you up short as well. Revisionist history? For saying he broke your heart? It occurs to you, then, that you didn’t ever give him the real reason. Surely, though, after all this time he must know. Must have worked it all out. He’s always been one of the smartest people you know.
“I’m not sure how…” you start.
“You broke my heart. That’s how I remember it. And I’m still here trying to follow your lead and bringing dinner because I know you forget to eat when you get too focused,” he says and your eyes widen.
“I am sorry that I broke it off so suddenly back then. I guess I just figured after all this time that you’d…”
“Be over it?”
“Have figured out why I really broke up with you.”
Now it’s his turn to look a little surprised. You hate it though because it makes him look younger. Reminds you of the person you fell in love with. “You could have talked to me about whatever was going on.”
“Funny, I could say the same of you.”
“We talked about everything.”
“Yeah, I thought so too,” you say and hate that it still comes out sounding bitter.
“What are you talking about?”
For his part, he does look confused. Does genuinely seem like he’s not sure what you mean. You’re not sure if that makes it better or worse. Probably worse, you think. Maybe he doesn’t dwell on the relationship the way you do. Or maybe he didn’t know you as well as you thought to be able to work out your thought process. Maybe you just should have had the real fight.
Enough. It’s been long enough. One of you needs to bridge this gap and it’s long past time for a candid conversation. Even if nothing else changes, the two of you need to clear the air. “I thought we talked about everything. I thought things were good.”
“They were,” he insists. “It came totally out of the blue when you…”
“Did you think I would never find out?” you ask suddenly, cutting across him. You look around the office and take in all the signs of your hard work over the past four years. Before he can answer, another thought escapes. “I thought this firm was everything I wanted back then.”
“I know,” he says softly and you look back at him.
“How could you do that without talking to me? How could you think I wouldn’t find out?” you ask and see the realization hit him. Watch the moment that his whole body slackens. Watch the way his mouth opens and closes. The way he frowns in thought. The way he leans back in his chair like he’s buying time to figure out what to say. There was a time, years ago, that he would just say something right away. This new, more thoughtful version of him is a sign that you’re both older now.
“What was I supposed to say? You would have tried to talk me out of doing it,” he says as if that’s a valid reason.
“Of course I would have!”
“See?”
“How is that a ‘see’ moment?”
“Because it was your dream position and you wouldn’t have let me make this decision if you had known.”
You frown. Take a beat to collect your thoughts. If you’re having this conversation, it needs to be right. You need to say the things you should have said back then. It takes you a moment to gather your thoughts, during which Chan is, thankfully, silent.
“I know I wanted it, but you wanted it too. It shouldn’t have been something you decided without me,” you say and hold up your hand when he opens his mouth. He falls silent again. “It was a conversation. If you still decided to give up the offer, then that would be your decision. I still deserved to know, though. I had other options I was nearly as excited about close by. You didn’t.”
Chan waits for a moment. Probably to see if you’re done speaking. Or possibly to weigh his next words. “Are you telling me that you would have let me give this firm up if I had told you?”
“I don’t know,” you say with a shrug. It’s honest, at least. “I just know you can’t make decisions like that on your own. We were supposed to be a team. Then to just get blindsided with the information at the end of the year…”
“Yeah, how did you find out?” he asks and you give him a withering stare. He throws up his hands. “Sorry, I’m just curious.”
“My advisor mentioned it in our meeting and that was another whole level of feeling betrayed because there were all these people who apparently knew. Who thought that I knew.”
“I am sorry for causing you to feel betrayed,” he says after a moment.
“It was just…a lot,” you admit. “Like, I felt like you didn’t trust me. Then, I felt like you thought I couldn’t get in here without a leg up from you. And I felt like our relationship wasn’t that important because by giving up this offer, you took one that took you clear across the country.”
“I don’t think there was a right answer to that, honestly,” he says and you raise your eyebrows. “Even if I had talked to you, I’m not sure if there was any right answer. If I took the position and you took one of your backups, I would worry you resented me for getting it over you. If I still ended up turning it down, I’d worry you wouldn’t feel like you could enjoy deserving it. Or we would still break up because of the distance.”
“I guess that’s a fair point,” you concede.
“I am sorry,” he reiterates. “I didn’t stop to consider how you would feel if you found out. I just wanted you to have everything you deserved.”
“I appreciate that,” you start. Take a deep breath because you know you have something to say as well. “I’m sorry, too. I was so hurt that I never stopped to consider that I was also hurting you by not talking to you.”
“We kind of fucked that one up, huh?” he asks and you chuckle.
“We really did,” you agree.
“So, friends?” he asks, eyes hopeful. You roll your eyes again, though there’s less irritation behind it now.
“Don’t push it.”
Things mostly feel easier after clearing the air with Chan. Outwardly, nothing really seems that different apart from the two of you working together more. Then again, most of the firm doesn’t know you’re also exes. Taylor notices the shift in interaction, of course, but doesn’t comment on it beyond giving you a look when she clocks that you’re being nicer. It’ll probably be one of those things that she keeps in her back pocket until the right time. A complete demon and yet you know there’s nobody better out there.
The following weeks pass in kind of a blur. Work carries on. Cases move forward. It’s actually kind of nice to be on speaking terms with Chan again because he’s an incredible sounding board. One that knows how your brain works. One that can point out the flaws in your thought process without you ever voicing them because he’s seen you work through countless case studies before. And one that’s equally willing to reassure you when you’re already on the right track with handling a case. It’s not that you really question it often. Sometimes, one little detail throws the entire plan off and it can be difficult to tell if that detail actually matters or if it’s just something to downplay.
That’s when other attorneys on the team start to notice what they assume is a growing friendship with you and Chan. Without knowing the history, it looks like the two of you bond quickly. Sure, most reason it away. Assume that you must have at least hung out sometimes going to the same school. A couple wonder if there’s something else going on. Something Taylor assures you that she shuts down quickly. According to her, it comes from a couple of the other assistants and paralegals that find him attractive. Can’t fault them for something that is obvious and, objectively, true. You still have eyes even if you’re trying to navigate a friendship with your ex in very unusual circumstances.
The man in question pops his head into your office one Friday afternoon. You’re expecting the usual case question. Although, sometimes he does switch it up and say something just entirely off the board. Every few days he seems to just come up with something ridiculous to ask you to catch you off guard.
“Are you going to the happy hour after work?” he asks. Apparently, today it isn’t either of the usual suspects. It makes you look up from your computer. “Joshua just asked if I wanted to come and he said you’re usually hit or miss.”
“Of course he did,” you say with a shake of your head. Joshua is the team lead for your group and probably on track to be a partner down the line. Despite that, he’s still incredibly easy to be around. The kind of guy you probably wouldn’t realize is an attorney without knowing. He’s also perpetually trying to get everyone out together to unwind outside of work. Thankfully, he also keeps everything within the team and never repeats it to the partners. Too good for a place like this, you think. “No, I’m not going. Not this time.”
“Oh is it…is it lame?” Chan asks after he steps into your office so he can drop his voice.
“What?” you ask, surprise evident. “No, not at all. I really like Joshua. He just loves to gossip within the team when I don’t show up for the happy hour.”
“Ah,” Chan says and smiles. He looks behind him and then drops his voice again. “So, it’s safe to go, then?”
“Oh, definitely,” you say softly in return. “Honestly, you can trust going whenever he invites you because he’s intentional about it.”
“Good to know,” Chan says and straightens back up. “Why aren’t you going then?”
“Oh, uh,” you say. Hesitate. The actual reason is that you’re going on a date. Is that something you share with your ex, though? Probably, if you’re trying to navigate a friendship. It’s not like he’s waiting for you to give him another chance. You’re coworkers and working back to some kind of friendship. It’s the kind of thing you would share with Joshua if he asks.
“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to pry.”
You shake it off and put on a smile. “No, it’s fine. I just have a date tonight.”
“Ah,” Chan says and it sounds different from the earlier one. That face that was once an open book is unreadable now. Then, a bright smile. “First date?”
“Uh, no, actually. We’ve been out a few times,” you say and Chan nods along. You’re not sure why you carry on. That’s really all he needs to know. “It’s tough with our schedules, though, you know?”
“Yeah, dating is hard. I haven’t been on a date in ages,” he says and then seems to cringe a little. Maybe a little unsure why he’s sharing that with you of all people.
“Maybe you’ll meet someone at happy hour,” you say awkwardly. Chan looks at you for a moment to process the last comment and you want to kick yourself.
“You never know,” he says with a falsely bright smile and a shrug. “Maybe I’ll see you at it next time.”
“Yeah, for sure,” you agree.
Just like that, he’s out of your office and you want to crawl under your desk to die. No such luck when Taylor walks in and shuts the door behind her under the guise of talking through the upcoming schedule. It’s not unusual. In fact, it’s something you do multiple times a week. It’s not her reasoning this time, though. This time, she informs you that she heard the entire conversation with Chan (because she was intentionally eavesdropping outside the door). Naturally, she shares her thoughts after hearing you call her a demon for the hundredth time.
Then, because the universe is fair, Joshua pops his head into your office just after Taylor leaves to mention happy hour. It’s a small comfort that he doesn’t know you have a date because it means that Chan isn’t talking about it. But, you have to share the date news with Joshua as well and deal with all his teasing over it. At least it’s good natured. Joshua seems to accept this excuse for not going without missing a beat. Even wishes you luck and commiserates that dating sucks. It really reinforces why you think he’s such a good guy.
After that interruption, the rest of the day thankfully passes without any other awkward moments. It feels like a small victory that you wrap up your day without falling through a hole in your office waiting to swallow you (and any ensuing embarrassment). Briefly, you consider popping your head into Chan’s office as you’re locking up your own. Can see his door is still open, meaning he probably hasn’t left for the happy hour yet. But, Joshua comes around the corner with his signature smile and you settle for calling out a generic wish for a good weekend. Once he gets a little closer, you jokingly tell him to behave himself at happy hour and not to get the team too drunk. Because things aren’t entirely fair, Chan appears in his doorway during this and gives you another smile. You tell them to have fun again and make as quick a departure as possible without it being more awkward.
Once you leave the office, you know you cannot focus on anything going on there. Cannot consider the happy hour or who’s going to be there. It’s hard enough to date as it is and the last thing you need is to let yourself get distracted from a genuinely good person. Parker’s a nurse in pediatrics and he actually cares about kids. Doesn’t get hung up the way some doctors seem to with some kind of God complex. All he wants is to help kids feel healthy and safe. And more than that, he actually cares about people. Wants everyone to have the same access to basic human rights like food, housing, education, safe conditions, opportunities, etc etc etc. He listens when you speak and actively seeks out your opinion. If this is how he approaches you after only a handful of dates, you wonder what he’ll be like down the line?
Even though Parker’s schedule can be crazy, it feels like he’s intentional when he sees you. Keeps his phone tucked away and gives you his full focus. Only a true work emergency could interrupt your time, something he stresses as a non-negotiable for him. How can you know if it’s something serious if you don’t give it a chance? Each new date shows that he does actually listen and tries to put a little of each of you into the plans. And you love his philosophy of not going out to dinner on the first date because it can force awkward conversations or even worse silences. By the time the second date comes around and he takes you to dinner, it does feel so much easier. Parker seems like he checks off all the boxes on the list you insist doesn’t actually exist.
There’s only one problem. Well, can you call it a problem if you’re not sure what the problem actually is?
Parker is perfect both on paper and seemingly in person. A great match for you. Someone who respects you and everything that you want. Someone who makes you laugh and is considerate and kind and smart and insanely attractive. Yet, despite all the reasons you know that he’s perfect, you still feel like something is missing. There’s something that’s just…not there. He’s not the guy you settle for. Nobody who dates him could ever consider it settling.
So why does that feel like what you’re doing?
By the time you end up back at work on Monday, you’ve mostly put any weirdness from the end of the previous week behind you. It’s amazing what a good therapy session (read: brunch with your closest friends) on a Sunday can do. You’re just feeling a little off having your ex working on the other side of your office wall. It’s to be expected, really. Everything is going to be fine. Your relationship with Parker will keep growing. Seeing Chan will get easier. You repeat it to yourself all the way to work and believe it by the time you get there. You walk into your office and offer smiles on your way.
This is going to be a good week.
Or, is it? You consider a lot of things for the upcoming week. Your team lead coming into your office in the first hour of new week doesn’t make the list. Yet, there he is. Looking as put together as always. Eyes alight with some kind of concealed mischief. The kind he only lets those he actually trusts see. That sight actually makes you relax back into your chair. Which is likely the opposite of a normal reaction. But you know it means that he’s here to gossip. Probably, at least. Definitely not to talk about work.
“You missed a fun happy hour,” he says and you nearly snort. Of course.
When it’s early in the day (and on a Monday, no less), it’s safe enough to chat. People are so worried about getting the week started that they don’t bother with other people’s conversations. Well, people other than Taylor. But, you trust her and so Joshua does, too.
“You say that every time,” you point out. Because he does.
“This was different.”
He says that every time, too. You don’t need to point it out. Instead, you just play along. It feels like the least you can do for a lead you actually like. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why was it different?”
“Chan, obviously. I cannot believe I haven’t invited him out yet! Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks. Gives you a look of mock betrayal and you actually let out a small snort while trying to cover your laugh.
“Tell you what, exactly?”
“That he’s a magnet for attention. He’s so attractive that they just couldn’t stay away.”
It makes your heart constrict for a moment to hear that. You don’t give yourself time to think about why. Not in front of Joshua. You like him a lot, but you’re not ready to talk about that. And he will definitely notice something is up. So you do the only thing that you can think of to disarm him.
“Joshua,” you say, fixing him with a look, “you are an incredibly attractive guy that people can’t stay away from.”
It works. At least enough to cover you for a moment. For all his confidence, he does get shy when you give him compliments. Maybe because he knows you don’t give them out as easily. Or because he knows that you mean it. You’re not prepared for the pout that follows, though you should be.
“Not attractive enough for you to come to happy hour more often, apparently,” he says and you actually roll your eyes.
“I was on a date,” you remind him and he puts a hand to his heart.
“And not with me. You wound me.”
“This is harassment. I’m going to call HR.”
“And say what? Marjorie loves me.”
He’s got you there. She does love him. Everyone loves him, honestly. It’s kind of hard not to with that easy air about him. It’s more impressive knowing how cutthroat he can be on a case.
“You know, Joshua, it kind of sounds like you were just looking for a wingman,” you say and he shrugs, that sparkle back in his eyes.
“Maybe I was,” he admits and leans in. “I don’t think we paid for any drinks after the first one.”
“Do you mean to tell me that you let those poor women buy you drinks?” you ask incredulously.
“Why not?”
“Joshua, I know what you make!”
“Now what kind of a feminist would I be if I told those women how to spend their money?”
“Unbelievable,” you say through a laugh. He laughs along with you before settling down.
“I did actually try to cover it, but they insisted,” he says and you smile along. You know, even without him telling you. That’s just the kind of person he is.
“Maybe I will have to come to the next one. See you in your element,” you say, though the idea fills you with mixed emotions.
“It was nice to get to know Chan, though,” he says after a moment. “I was a little surprised that he didn’t strike up a conversation with anyone. But, I guess we were doing a lot of talking.”
“It’s good for you to get to know a new member of the team,” you say noncommittally.
Joshua looks around and you know that look well. It worries you for a moment. When he determines the coast is, evidently, clear, he leans in and drops his voice. “He actually told me he had a serious girlfriend from law school that took him a long time to get over. That they broke up just before graduating. It seems like he regrets whatever happened. Did you know her?”
At least it’s easy to mask your reaction here because he gives you the perfect out. “Joshua, you are so nosey.”
It doesn’t determine in the slightest. He’s unabashed. “Come on, do you? You were in the same class. You must know who he meant.”
“Sure, I know who he meant,” you say with as much neutrality as you can manage. “The school wasn’t that big. But, I’m not telling you. That’s his business. And it’s been 4 years since we graduated. I’m sure it was just the alcohol talking.”
“I don’t know,” Joshua says, more contemplative for a moment. “It seemed like he’d been thinking about her recently.”
You only hum in response and make a show of looking back at your computer when the ding from Teams lets you know that you have a new message. You roll your eyes. “I swear to god.”
“That looks promising,” he says with an amused chuckle before rising to his feet. He turns back to you at the door. “Were you friends?”
“Hm?” you ask, tearing your eyes away from the screen to look back up at him.
“You and Chan. I know you were in the same graduating class, but were you friends?”
The answer comes quicker than you expect. And comes out sounding neutral, to your surprise. “I’m not sure if friends is quite the right word.”
It’s not a lie. Not exactly. You and Chan were a lot of things to each other, friends certainly being one such thing. But, to say that you were only friends doesn’t feel honest, either.
“Ah, well, glad you seem to be working together now. Don’t forget, we’re doing a team lunch tomorrow so make sure you have your order in before you leave tonight.”
“Got it,” you say and he waves before heading back to his own office.
Another two weeks pass at work. Things don’t feel quite the same as they did with Chan after having that dinner and talking. You’re still getting along well, for the most part. It’s just that he keeps it more professional. Doesn’t act like he knows your mind quite as well. Instead, he gets closer to other members of the team again. It shouldn’t irritate you and yet…
When Joshua tells you that he’s going to kidnap you so you don’t miss the next happy hour, you just agree without issue.
Which is how you end up sitting at a hightop in the bar area with Joshua, watching how some of the other team members interact. It’s actually kind of nice, being out like this. Something you don’t want to admit to Joshua, though he can likely see it on your face. You follow his gaze and see Chan standing at the bar getting another round of drinks with a gorgeous woman trying to get his attention. Try not to let it twist your stomach. Of course, you know that he dates. He should date. But, it’s very different to see someone actively hitting on him.
“See what I mean?” Joshua asks, unnecessarily calling your attention to Chan.
“He’s charismatic,” you say, voice surprisingly even.
“I need him as a wingman.”
“You know what probably isn’t helping you?”
Joshua turns back to you and raises an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
“Sitting here with me. People might get the wrong idea,” you say and smile as he barks out a laugh.
“We both know you’re way out of my league,” he says and you laugh harder. “What? You are?”
“Oh, please,” you say between laughs. “How many times have we gone through this?”
“One more doesn’t hurt,” he says, that demonic twinkle in his eyes.
“You wear me out,” you say.
“I could if you’d let me.”
“Stop!”
“I know, I know,” he says, throwing up his hands. “I know the rule.”
“Oh, yes, that’s the only reason,” you retort sarcastically, but you’re smiling.
Nobody else can get away with saying shit like that to you. At least, nobody else that you work with. Joshua gets special privileges, though. Which, unfortunately, he knows all too well. It’s mostly because you know he doesn’t mean it, not really. Maybe, on some level, you would both consider it in another life. Not this one. The two of you work so well as friends and there just isn’t anything more there. No spark. No interest. An appreciation that you’re both attractive. Because, yes, you have eyes and he’s definitely gorgeous. That’s where it ends.
Chan approaches the table, balancing drinks carefully in his hands, and sets them down before either of you notice. When you do, you give him a smile.
“What did I just walk into?” he asks cautiously. Joshua turns to him with that winning smile.
“Oh, just me teasing her,” he says. “I saw you over there getting hit on and had to point out that this one here is way out of my league.”
Your cheeks flush a little. It’s not that you don’t want Chan to realize the way you and Joshua tease each other. It’s just that, well, you don’t want your ex seeing you interact like that with someone else you both work with. It’s awkward. Chan, for his part, seems to feel more awkward about the first comment. Interesting.
“Ah, she wasn’t…” he starts and Joshua cuts him off.
“Man, I saw her. She would have left with you right then and there,” Joshua says.
Awkward. It’s so awkward. Chan slides back into his seat with the two of you and shrugs.
“I’m not interested,” Chan says.
“I know last time you said…” Joshua starts.
“Well, what about you?” Chan cuts across.
“I was just saying that!” you agree. “He’s never going to get any numbers if he’s just sitting here with me.”
“That’s why I said she was out of my league,” Joshua shares with Chan.
“She’s right, though,” Chan says with a shrug.
“Eh, I don’t really come out looking to get numbers, anyway,” he says and you laugh at the surprise on Chan’s face.
“What do you come out for, then?”
You and Joshua share a look before you both start laughing. You’re the first to regain your composure. “The chaos.”
“Nice,” Chan says with a snort.
“Consider yourself lucky. He doesn’t let everyone in so quickly,” you tease.
“No, that’s true,” Joshua agrees easily and then his eyes catch on something. “Oh, hang on. I’ll be right back!”
And then he’s gone. Just like that. Just like so many other times. It feels a little awkward, even with the help of some liquid courage. You’re not really used to being around Chan yet. Not sure if you ever will be.
“Is he always like that with you?” Chan asks after a moment when it becomes clear that Joshua isn’t going to rush back.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Saying things like you’re out of his league.”
You laugh and then realize Chan is at least partly serious. It makes you pull up a little short. “Yeah, pretty much. He doesn’t mean anything by it, so it doesn’t really bother me.”
“Are you sure he doesn’t mean anything by it?”
You fix your ex with an unimpressed stare that makes him throw up his hands in defense. “Yeah, Chan, I’m sure he doesn’t. We’re just friends, as much as you can be working together like this.”
“That makes sense,” Chan says and takes a sip of his drink. “He does seem like the kind of person that you’d be friends with.”
From anyone else, that might sound a little passive aggressive. Or like it means something else. You know what he means, though. Joshua is exactly your kind of friend. Serious when he needs to be, chaotic all other times. It just flows easily. Never feels like work. And somehow, Chan making that observation, makes things feel a little less awkward. At least for the time being.
The night descends further into chaos, in a way that it doesn’t usually when you go out for happy hour. Maybe that’s because happy hour turns into apps. Which turns into more drinks. Which turns into more apps. It even includes a change of scenery from one place to the next when you realize that you all might need to put a little more food into your stomachs. By then, only Joshua, Chan, and you are left. Which actually feels kind of nice. Somehow having Joshua has an unknowing third wheel makes any remaining awkwardness with Chan melt away. Of course, it could also be the alcohol and the light atmosphere.
Eventually, you do all realize that you need to head home and start the process of paying your bills. When you and Chan both go to pull out your phones to order Ubers, Joshua gives you a quizzical look. One you’re not sure you like. Thankfully, he clarifies immediately.
“Why wouldn’t you both just share one?” he asks and your eyes go cartoon character levels of wide.
“Uh,” Chan says and gives you a look.
“You live in the same building,” Joshua carries on and that only confuses you more.
“No we don’t,” you contradict like it’s the silliest thing in the world.
“Yes, you do,” he insists. “Chan told me where he lived last week when we went to happy hour. Skyline Grove?”
“Oh,” you both say at the same time like it’s brand new information.
“I haven’t run into you around,” you say and Chan shrugs. “Weird.”
“It’s a nice building,” Chan says.
“And massive. I should’ve mentioned it, but I figured you’d realize,” he says. “Anyway. Why waste money when you’re going to the same place?”
It’s such a simple suggestion and yet it sends your stomach lurching all the same. The two of you look at each other for a moment, but this is a crossroads. It doesn’t make any sense at all to say no. You and Chan are going to the same place. Of course, you could lie and say you’re actually going somewhere else. Except happy hour went way longer than expected and it’s clear you don’t have other plans. You’re just…not really sure you wanna be alone in a car with Chan when you’re a little buzzed.
“This one’s on me, then?” Chan asks, giving you a surprisingly nonchalant look.
“What a gentleman,” Joshua says and claps Chan on the shoulder. He pulls out his own phone. “That’s usually my title.”
“Because you gave it to yourself,” you mutter, putting your phone away.
“I heard that.”
“I meant you to.”
Thankfully, the Ubers come quickly. Chan opens the door and lets you slide in before him. Something that Joshua doesn’t seem to notice since he’s getting into his own car. You settle into one side of the car and try not to look over to the side next to you. Don’t realize that Chan is having just as much of an internal struggle as you are.
“I didn’t realize we lived in the same building,” he says after the silence starts to feel too heavy.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s one of the nicest places in the area,” you say.
“And there was one of those corner units available. The views are so nice,” he says and you laugh.
“Up on the 18th floor?” you ask and watch the way his brows furrow.
“Yeah…”
“They offered it to me when the last tenant decided not to renew because I’d mentioned wanting to possibly move to a higher floor. But, I’m all settled now,” you say. Then, like you can’t help yourself, you tell him where you live. “I’m in that same unit but on the 10th floor.”
“Well, we always did have similar taste in apartments,” he says with an ironic laugh.
“Guess so,” you say.
“Thanks,” he says suddenly and you turn to look at him. His face is mostly in shadow with it being so dark outside, but your brain fills in the blanks without even realizing it.
“For what?”
“Not making it weird to just share a car.”
“Oh, well, we’re going to the same place.”
“Does he know?”
“Who?”
Chan sighs and fully turns his head towards you. You can read the look in his eyes even in the low light. Or maybe it’s just another thing you remember. “Joshua. Does he know about…”
“No,” you say immediately. “No, Chan, nobody at the office does. Well, apart from my assistant, but she guessed. Joshua isn’t so cruel that he would do that if he knew.”
“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean…”
“No, I know you didn’t…”
It’s awkward again. Thankfully, you’re nearly at the apartment building now. It’s also nice that the Uber driver doesn’t comment on the situation. He’s probably seen worse in the city on a Friday night, though. Once he pulls over in front of the building, Chan opens the door and slides out. Holds it open for you to do the same so that you don’t have to get out on the side with traffic.
You’re not really sure what to do now. So, you step forward to scan into the building and hold the door for Chan behind you. The two of you make your way to the elevators in silence. It’s a little surprising to find the lobby so quiet on a Friday night. But, people are probably either waiting until it’s a little later to go out or already wherever they plan to be. It’s that weird in between time. That means that it’s just the two of you in the elevator. Chan presses your floor and then his own. When the door opens, you turn to him and try to find the words. He only smiles.
“See you at work on Monday,” he says and you only nod before heading out. Don’t look back to see the way he watches your back down the hallway.
The whole night just feels a little surreal from the safety of your apartment. You toe off your shoes and set your things down on the table by the door. Only grab your phone and head into the kitchen. Even though you know you should just grab a glass of water, you also pour a small glass of wine. A lot of your buzz has worn off and all you can think about is the car ride. Or the way that Chan looked all night. Or the way that women just seemed to flock to him. Not that the last bit should matter when you’re seeing someone.
Parker. You need to think about Parker. Maybe even check to see if you have any messages from him. Not that you owe him a play-by-play of your whereabouts. It’s one of the things you like about him. That and the freedom that he agrees to so easily. You both have the same philosophy when it comes to dating in your late 20s. Don’t put pressure or labels on something when you’re only a few dates in. But, also don’t leave things lingering without an actual conversation. You know you’re probably getting close to that point of needing to talk. Which is fine, he’s great.
So, why is your brain still wandering back to the way Chan looked at the bar? The way his shirt looked a little tight in places or the way his pants fit. He’s always had a good fashion sense, but…
No. You cannot do this to yourself or you’ll drive yourself crazy. This is a door that needs to stay firmly shut. You’re considering if you should pour yourself a bigger glass of wine when there’s a knock at the door. It at least serves to pull you out of whatever dangerous path your brain wants to go down.
You get up, set the wine glass down on the table, and walk slowly to the door. Forget to check who it is through the peephole before just opening the door. A mistake, obviously, because there he is. The man you can’t seem to get off your mind. The one you know you can’t revisit the past with. He’s wearing a t-shirt and sweat pants. Like he couldn’t wait to change after getting home.
“Sorry, I just…” he starts and the rational part of your brain shuts down completely.
No thoughts, just desires, as you reach forward and grab him by the shirt. Pull him over the threshold and against your body. Surprise flashes over his face for the briefest moment before he collects you against his chest and kisses you. Hard. Desperate. Like you can’t remember him ever kissing you before. You nip at his lower lip and he responds by squeezing your ass. Distantly, you register that your door is still open. It seems Chan also realizes it because he crowds further into your space and uses his foot to close the door behind him. Doesn’t break the kiss, though.
It isn’t even really clear which one of the two of you is in control. That, at least, feels normal. Familiar. Even though everything else feels new. He spins the two of you around and backs you up into the door. Claims your mouth as his own over and over. Each kiss more demanding than the last. You slide your hands up under the hem of his shirt and run your hands up his back. Appreciate the way he shivers under your touch. It’s so easy to fall back into this pattern. To remember all the things that drive him crazy.
Seems like it’s just as easy for him to remember. He uses one hand to anchor your hip against the door behind you while he pulls away from your lips. Trails his mouth along your jaw. Tilts your head back with his free hand to give himself better access to your neck. Presses further into you so that he can reach just the right spots there. The ones that make you moan just from the contact. You seek purchase the only place you can: on his body. Digging the tips of your finger into where you hold onto him.
“Chan,” you whine out when he moves down to your collarbone and moves your shirt out of the way.
“Mmmm?” he hums into your skin without stopping.
“This is a terrible idea,” you mumble. Gasp as he reaches for the hem of your shirt.
“Probably,” he agrees, still keeping his lips against your skin. He pulls back to look at you for a moment, pupils dark with desire. His hands are on the hem of your shirt and the question is plain as day in his eyes. “Do you want to stop?”
He’s not asking if you want him to stop. He’s just asking if you want to stop. Because he knows that this is as much on you as on him. Maybe more. You shake your head and move your hands over your head.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” you say softly.
Then, he’s pulling your shirt over your head and unfastening your bra. Casts both to the side without a care. And you know that you should move somewhere else, but you’re not sure you can. Not when Chan dips his head to leave sloppy kisses across your collarbones. Not when he kisses down the valley between your boobs. Not when he swirls his tongue around your nipple. Your entire brain goes a little fuzzy. Some things never change. Chan still seems just as obsessed with your chest now as when you dated in law school. And you’re happy to let him give you all of his attention. He can be so singularly focused. In times like this, you certainly don’t mind.
It gets to be too much. You need something more. Makes you pull him back and appreciate the confusion on his face for approximately 2 seconds before you pull his shirt over his head. Not everything about him looks exactly the same. He’s always been someone who took pride in staying in shape. This new, more mature Chan is something different. When he tries to step back and pick up where he left off, you hold him at arm’s length with a hand gently splayed over his chest. Want to just drink him in.
“You can look at me later. I want you now,” he says, voice low and full of desire.
“Should we go further into my apartment, or…?” you start to ask and he shakes his head before you even finish.
“Later,” he says and reaches for your pants. Unbuttons them while he kisses you again. Slower this time. More deliberate. He’s kissing you with purpose. He pulls your pants and panties down in one motion and you step out. Pull his mouth back to yours so that you don’t have to think.
He pulls back again and you pout at him. Doesn’t he know that you don’t want all this in between time? You give him a look that he doesn’t immediately answer, prompting you to ask. “What?”
“Turn around,” he says.
It’s a familiar dynamic between the two of you. A constant push and pull about who gets to be in control. You would give in and then he would and it went on. This feels like falling back into that old pattern. Yet, you agree without questioning it. Just turn around against your front fucking door, like some desperate, horny college student. Feel him slot his body against your back. Feel that he’s hardening. Definitely not hard yet, but you can feel the way he pokes into your ass. Chan brushes your hair over one shoulder and kisses behind your ear. Works down to your pulse point and sucks your skin between his teeth. Thankfully, you don’t have to tell him to be careful. He just is.
And then you see what he’s doing. Get how desperate he is for you. He pushes your legs apart as he continues kissing down your neck. Presses his fingers into your mouth and you suck on them without thinking. Swirl your tongue around his fingers and earn a satisfied hum in response. It vibrates against your skin. Chan winds his hand down your body and between your legs. Presses his spit slick fingers into your entrance.
“Chan, fuck,” you hiss when he presses his first finger in.
“So wet for me, sweetheart,” he whispers into your skin. “Did you miss my fingers?”
“Mmmm, I…” you start, only to moan when he starts pumping into you. Hooks his fingers just the way he remembers you liking it.
“Did you miss this?” he asks, free hand roaming up your body to take one of your boobs into his hand again. Squeezes it a little roughly as he keeps pumping his finger into you.
“You’re a shit,” you manage to hiss out through a moan.
“I’m not sure I heard you,” he says and presses a second finger into you. Alternates between scissoring his fingers inside you and picking up the pace.
“Fuck,” you moan out. He jerks his hips into your ass and you feel that he’s getting harder. You’re not the only one losing yourself here. “God your fingers!”
“That’s what I thought,” he whispers, right into your ear. Moving his lips from your neck just for a moment. You miss the feel of his lips on your skin.
“Oh my god,” you whine and then he does the worst thing imaginable. He pulls his fingers out. You whip your head around to look at him over the shoulder. “What the fuck?”
“Easy, sweetheart, turn around again for me,” he says. Soft and sweet. Totally at odds with the fire burning in his eyes.
You comply even though you don’t want to. You were so close to coming all over his fingers and you don’t want to lose that. The disappointment is short-lived. He drops to his knees in front of you. Right in your hallway. With your back pressing into your front door. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder and looks up at you. Presses his tongue flat against your core and you might actually cum just from that. Nobody should be allowed to look that good. That sinful. It’s too much. And that’s before he actually licks into your cunt for the first time.
It’s enough to have you throw your head back against your door. Not too hard, though. Chan doesn’t waste his time. Doesn’t tease you anymore. Just focuses on fucking his tongue into your waiting pussy like he’s been waiting for this chance for years. Uses a finger to tease your clit and hums appreciatively in response to each moan. There’s so little for you to anchor yourself to in this position. Not that you really care. It’s impossible to stay standing, but it would be unimaginably worse to have him stop. Not right now. Not when you’re this close. When Chan brings a finger back up, you’re gone.
“Chan, fuck, no, I’m gonna - fuck!” you shout out as you feel that coil about to snap. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. If anything, he picks up the pace. Does everything that he can to push you over the edge. It doesn’t take long before you’re coming all over his face. He laps it all up. Doesn’t waste any of it. Just works you through your high and pushes you just past.
He’s not completely demonic, though. He does pull back. Gently helps you get your leg off his shoulder and back on the floor. Slowly picks himself up to slot against your body again. Grabs at your hips possessively to pull you into him. Kisses you fiercely and you taste yourself on his tongue. It’s not nearly enough. Not by a long shot. You pull back without creating any space.
“Come on,” you say, finally pushing him a little away from you so that you can step away from the door, “let’s go take this to the bed.”
And it’s easy to fall back into these patterns, too. Easy to grab his hand and pull him into your apartment. Easy to push him back onto your bed after stripping off his remaining clothes. Easy to wrap your fingers around his cock and look at him just the way he likes. Easy to remember just how much he loves your mouth wrapped around him. Easy to bring him just to the edge before pulling off. Easy to see the desire mixed with adoration when you climb on top of him to ride him. Hard and fast. Too needy for anything else.
It’s just so easy to carry on until the early hours of the morning, until you’re both spent, in the dark of your apartment.
Things always feel a little different in the light of day. After a late night, a much later one than anticipated, it’s well into the morning before you wake up. You’re kind of groggy and your body is sore. Tentatively, you start to stretch, only to realize there’s an arm around your stomach. It’s then that you register the feel of a body behind you. Of course Chan is still there. And of course you remember everything from the night before. There’s just a part of you that figured he might have left before you woke up. The steady sounds of his breathing bathe over you. It’s such a familiar sound and it almost feels comforting, just for a moment. At least, until you really stop to think about what all of this might mean.
Gently, you pick up his hand and slide out of your bed. Somehow manage to not wake Chan up. Tiptoe over to the door and slide out of the bedroom. You take a moment to lean back against your closed bedroom door to collect your thoughts. It’s fine. This is all fine. You can definitely figure it all out. Not if you keep standing against the door, though. So, you quietly head into the kitchen. Put on a pot of coffee and retrieve your phone from the living room.
You’re in the midst of scrolling, totally lost in your world, when arms wind around your middle. It startles you for a second before you remind yourself it’s just Chan. He presses a kiss to the side of your face when you turn it slightly. Still makes you feel a little tense. Something he doesn’t seem to pick up on given that he doesn’t move his arms.
“Morning,” he says, voice still thick with sleep.
“Morning,” you repeat. He kisses you again and then untangles himself from you so that he can step around you.
“So, should we dive right in, or…?” he asks.
“At least let me have some coffee first,” you say, only a little exasperation.
“Ah, right. I forgot,” he says and then drops his voice with a smirk. “Doesn’t seem like I forgot much else.”
“I will throw you out,” you threaten.
Chan throws up his hands in surrender, but the look on his face tells you that he’s not sorry. Not really, at least. A moment later, the coffee maker beeps. You reach for a couple of mugs and Chan goes into your refrigerator to get milk and creamer. You pour two mugs and he finishes them off, exactly the way each of you likes. Without another word, you both head into the living room and sit down on the couch. He lets you take a couple of sips before broaching the conversation again.
“So, now that we have coffee,” he starts and you sigh.
“I guess I can’t avoid it,” you agree.
“Avoid it?” he asks, brow furrowing. “Do you regret it?”
“Oh, no, Chan,” you say softly and reach out to him. “No, of course I don’t. It’s just…”
“Just?”
“Complicated.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Chan offers and you search his face. For a moment, he’s just the boy you fell in love with in law school. Open and honest and impossibly easy to read. That makes it a little more frightening, though.
“I think the hardest part for me is that you believe that,” you say carefully. Watch the way his face morphs before returning to something more neutral.
“I mean, why wouldn’t I believe it?” he asks.
You’re not even sure how to answer that. There’s so many reasons. You’re exes. You work together. For the most part, nobody you work with knows Chan is your ex. There are still a lot of unresolved feelings, clearly. You’re technically seeing someone, though not exclusively. It is the easiest direction to go in, though.
“I’m still seeing someone,” you point out and his face falls a little.
“Oh, I just kind of thought…”
“I mean don’t get me wrong. It’s casual. We’re not, like, committed. But, still…”
“Well, if it’s not even serious, then I don’t really see the issue.”
“There are a lot of issues, Chan. We’re just…us. I’m only just getting to know you again.”
“I guess I just kinda figured…” he starts and frowns.
“Figured what?”
“I figured that…I don’t know. I figured when you pulled me in and kissed me last night it might mean that you want the same thing as I do,” he says. Your eyes go a little wide at the admission.
“And what is it that you want?” you ask. Chan gives you a look that you’re not quite used to anymore. One that says you’re a step or two behind and he’s just waiting for you to catch up.
“You,” he says simply and then sighs. Runs a hand through his hair. “It’s always been you. It’s always going to be you. It hasn’t worked with anyone else in the last four years because I just can’t get over you. And then this…”
“Chan…”
He shakes his head and stands up. A little sad. Maybe a little defeated. A little resigned. “I’ve said what I need to say. I know you well enough to know that we’re not in the same place. So, I don’t know. I guess figure out where you are and let me know.”
“Chan, please, just give me…” you start and he shakes his head.
“I’m not an idiot. I know we’ve got a lot of things to talk about if we’re going to try again. But, I can’t sit here and act like I don’t love you or last night didn’t mean something different to me. I can’t,” he says, voice wavering ever so slightly.
“Last night meant something to me, too, I’m just…”
“I get it. I’ll see you at work on Monday,” he says and heads off towards your front door without another word. All you can manage to do is sit in the awkward silence that settles around you in his absence. Well, fuck.
You have a lot of things to think about. What to do about Chan. What to do about Parker. That should probably be the first thing that you address, honestly. It’s not serious, but you also don’t want to waste his time. If you can fall back into bed with your ex so easily, then you probably don’t see forever with him. Something you probably already knew, on some level.
It’s all too much and so you do the only thing that any reasonable person can: call your best friend to go out to brunch. At least he can give you so much needed perspective. And from someone whose love life is significantly less messy than yours.
After lunch, and at least partially hearing out your bestie’s advice, you do go ahead and break things off with Parker. Your friend suggests it because, according to him, at least, you’re not over Chan. You decide to go ahead and do it because it seems clear that you and Parker are on different pages. Like the truly great guy that he is, he just accepts it. Appreciates you letting him know and not continuing on if you don’t feel like you’re on the same page. Honestly, he’s the perfect guy for someone, but definitely not for you. All you feel after the conversation is relief. You don’t feel any clearer about Chan, though. Which you point out to your friend, who only seems to think it’s you avoiding it. Whatever.
Your biggest issue is that you’re not sure if Chan is serious. Not sure if you can let your walls down to let him in again. It just all seems kind of sudden to you. After near radio silence for four years, he’s not only back in your life, but at your firm as well. He’s quietly slipping into areas where it’s a little hard to ignore him. Your friend points out that leaving a good job to come to the exact firm you work at doesn’t exactly seem sudden. It doesn’t seem like this is just all on some whim. It also doesn’t seem like it’s driven by you having another relationship, especially given how casual it was. And, sure, it’s scary to take a leap like this. Even scarier when it’s someone you used to know so intimately. Doesn’t that make it kind of worth it, too?
What you don’t admit to your friend, though he can obviously tell, is that you’re scared. Chan is that one person. The one always somewhere in the back of your mind, even when you don’t realize it. Possibly even your one that got away, if you could stop being too stubborn to admit it. In those quiet moments, you also kind of thought of him as your right person at the wrong time. Which is exactly the type of person you should give a second chance to. Things are different now. You’re both older. More established in your careers. Maybe even both able to admit making mistakes.
It’s scary. Giving Chan a chance means risking breaking your heart all over again. And how do you go about picking up the pieces this time?
“Did you and Chan get home okay?” Joshua asks, plopping into his chosen chair across from you in your office on Monday morning. Your brain short circuits for a minute trying to catch up. Does he know what happened? Could he? Thankfully, he mistakes your confusion for being too deep in case prep. “Did you already put the happy hour behind you? I can’t believe you didn’t know you lived in the same building.”
“Oh, yeah,” you say and give a light laugh. Turn back to your computer. “Yeah, it’s crazy. We got home fine, though.”
“Where is he this morning?” he asks and you give him a look.
“How should I know?”
Joshua gives you a kind of knowing look that you definitely do not like. It looks like he’s up to something and you’re not sure you want to know what it is. “You live in the same building. I just figured you’d start carpooling now.”
You roll your eyes, hoping that’s all he’s going for. “You’re annoying.”
“I just like it when my team all gets along.”
“We’re not going to get along if you don’t leave me the fuck alone.”
“Is that any time to talk to your boss?”
“You’re not really my boss.”
“This is a hostile work environment,” he says and stands up, pretending to be serious. He almost pulls it off too.
“This is my office,” you point out.
“Fine, I’ll go bother someone else,” he says and walks towards the door.
“You could also work on your cases,” you call after him.
You know that he’s only like this because it’s a quiet day in the office. The partners are all out, either on vacation or at offsite meetings. It’s that time of year when people try to get little breaks in before things pick up again. It’s also one of your favorite times of year because it’s quieter. Maybe Chan is doing the same thing. Against your better judgment, you click over to the shared calendar and see the first half of his day is blocked off. It makes you panic until you notice that it’s an existing meeting. Something on the schedule from before he even started at the firm.
Then, Joshua sends a text to the team’s group chat (the one without the partners), saying that he hopes Chan feels better soon. It’s clear from the message that they talked privately and that Chan is going to be working from home the rest of the day. Something that Joshua suggests since it is quiet in the office. And, really, there isn’t much that you can’t do at home unless you have in-person client meetings or have to go to court. Everyone sends their well wishes and you include your own so that nothing looks suspicious. Your mind wanders, though. Is he really not feeling well? Or is it because of you? It seems kind of conceited to think that you could have that level of impact on him. Still, you worry. Realize that you care more than you thought.
By the time you leave the office, surprisingly on time, you know what you want to do. At least in part. You swing by a pho place that you love and pick up a couple of bowls to go along with some appetizers. All the things that you remember Chan liking from when you were in school. By the time you make it to his door, you’re questioning if this is really a good idea. Maybe he really doesn’t feel well. Maybe he doesn’t want to see you. Or maybe he’s not even home. Before you can send yourself down another mental spiral, you knock on his door. Almost hope that he’s not home.
Then he opens the door and your heart stutters a little.
He’s not this adorably confused look on his face when he sees you. A mix of disbelief and something else. He’s got his glasses on and his hair is a little messy. Like maybe he might’ve been laying in bed. It should not be doing something to you the way that it is. For all you know, he might really be sick and you’re making it weird. His eyes travel down to the bag in your hand. Finally, he clears his throat.
“What are you doing here?”
You hold up the bag like some kind of peace offering. “I brought pho. Thought you might need something to eat if you’re sick.”
He snorts lightly. Rolls his eyes, yet there isn’t much heat behind it. “I’m not sick. I just didn’t want to come in and see you yet.”
“Oh.”
“Come on in,” he says after a moment. Another sigh. Like he can’t really believe what he’s saying. You have the good sense to look a little sheepish as you slip in behind him. Set the food down for a moment to toe off your shoes and then follow him into the kitchen.
The two of you are quiet as you move around each other to get the food ready. Though he doesn’t say anything about you staying to eat with him, he pulls out utensils and gets you something to drink from the fridge. Warms up your bowl first before doing the same to his own. Helps you set his little table so that the two of you can sit down to eat. Can’t totally help the appreciative look on his face when he opens his bowl and the smell hits him.
“I’m sorry, Chan,” you say when the silence starts to feel like too much.
“That could be about a lot of things,” he says, eyes meeting you hesitantly.
“That’s fair,” you concede. Set down your spoon and give him your full attention. “I’m sorry for Saturday morning. I could have handled that so much differently.”
“I could’ve handled it a lot better, too,” he says after a beat. “Or, you know, not thrown it all on you that way.”
“Did you mean it?” you ask, pushing around the remaining contents of your meal to avoid looking up at him. He pauses long enough that you look up. And it’s just…Chan. Soft smile that makes you want to smile back. Gentle eyes. Open face. The person you remember loving more than anything in the world.
“That it’s always going to be you?” he asks and you nod. “Yes, I did.”
“I’m not sure what to do with that,” you admit.
“Why don’t you just start with how it made you feel?”
“Scared?” you venture and sigh. “Nervous. A little tense. Excited. Homesick.”
That makes him laugh. “Homesick?”
You chew on your bottom lip for a moment. “You always felt like home. And then you said that and it was just…I don’t know. I missed the feeling of you being my home.”
“I’ve missed it too. Every day for the last four years.”
“Chan,” you say and laugh affectionately. “I know you have not been just pining after me for years.”
“And if I have?”
“That might be scarier.”
“Why?”
It takes you a minute to formulate your reasoning. “What if it doesn’t work? What if we’re just risking ending up in the same place again? What if I can’t live up to the version in your head? And now we work together…”
There it is again. Chan. Your Chan. The way he looks at you makes you think you could fly if you tried. “What if it does work? Are you really going to tell me you’re too scared to take the chance and get everything we’ve ever wanted? Where’s the girl I fell in love with in law school? She wasn’t afraid of anything.”
“Of course I was,” you disagree, smiling so fondly.
“It’s okay. I’ll hold your hand if you get scared this time,” he says. Confident. Sure. ready to take the leap yet again.
And it’s not the same. Not really. You’ve both had four years to think about everything that happened then and everything that might happen now. To figure out what you want and what you don’t. To figure out how to have the hardest conversations. To take risks because you’re not students anymore. To take a second chance. How often in life do people really get those? Do you really want to turn it down because you’re scared? Do you really want to wonder?
“I just…” you start and he shakes his head. Rises out of his seat and holds his hand out to you.
“Let’s just try something. Without the happy hour or anything else,” he says and you give him a look. But, you want to trust him too. You nod.
Chan closes the remaining space between you. Runs a finger along your forehead to brush a hair off your face. Meets your eyes and there’s this look of intense vulnerability there. Like he means that he can be brave enough for both of you. At least for now. And then he pulls you into him and kisses you. Sweet. Soft. Searching. The kind of kiss that two friends might share if they’re trying to see if there are deeper feelings there. Or maybe it’s the kind of kiss that tests where each of you is now.
Whatever the case, you feel it. Almost instantly. You wind your arms around his neck and pull yourself tighter against him. Deepen the kiss and take the lead. Let your tongue tangle with his. Grasp at him to erase any space. He hums into your mouth as he holds you close. You break the kiss long enough to guide the two of you back to his couch. Urge him to sit down and immediately straddle his lap. Chan looks a little smug as you settle and he grabs your hips. A little like he’s getting exactly what he wants. You might be too, though. You lean in to kiss him again and he meets you hungrily. Not just letting you set the pace, but actively chasing it with you. Chan’s hands grip your hips tightly as you roll against him. Feel the way he groans at the friction.
Honestly, you kind of want to fuck him right here on the couch and don’t even know if you can wait. Would too, if not for the doorbell suddenly ringing through the apartment. You give him a look and find he’s just as confused as you are. Clearly not expecting anyone.
“Will you…” he starts as you shift to get off him.
“Are you expecting anyone?” you ask and he shakes his head.
“Just give me a minute. I’m going to go into the bathroom,” he says.
It’s your turn to nod. You try and smooth down your clothes. Take a couple breaths. As soon as you see him get to the bathroom, you move towards his front door. Mentally prepare to make some excuse to whoever it is. Nothing prepares you for the person on the other side.
“Oh, hi.”
Your brain immediately short circuits because what the actual fuck is Joshua doing on the other side of the door looking at you like that. Suddenly, you’re wishing that you had checked your appearance in a mirror before answering.
“Joshua.”
“I was coming by to see Chan,” he says and looks at the door. “I’m pretty sure this is his apartment and not yours.”
“No, yeah, it is. I just stopped by to bring him some food since he was sick,” you say and Joshua looks entirely unconvinced.
“Right,” he says, drawing out the word.
“He’s just in the bathroom if you want…”
“I was just bringing by some case files that weren’t scanned yet in case he wanted to work from home again tomorrow,” Joshua says and holds out the folders.
“Did you want to come in?”
“No, why don’t you just give them to him?” Joshua asks. That smug smile makes you want to burrow into the floor and die.
“Look, Joshua,” you start and take a deep breath. “It’s just…well, I said some things after happy hour that I shouldn’t have and I just wanted…”
Joshua holds up a hand. “You don’t owe me an explanation for why you’re here. There’s no rule against hanging out.”
“Right, but…”
“You might owe me an explanation for why you didn’t tell me that you were, you know…”
“Coming over?”
The look he gives you says that he knows a lot more than you realize. Thankfully, a moment later he puts you out of your misery. “That you were the ex he couldn’t get over.”
Your jaw drops open. You’re usually so much better at maintaining composure. Then again, that’s not really true when you’re close to someone, is it?
“I don’t…”
He waves you off. “There’s been a million signs for someone that knows you as well as I do. Be careful and for once in your life, don’t worry about the damn rules.”
“Thanks, Joshua,” you say earnestly. He gives you his real smile. That one that’s soft and kind and reserved for people he also cares about.
“Work from home tomorrow. I’ll see you Wednesday,” he says and turns to leave before you can respond. After a moment, you walk back in to find Chan peeking out from the bathroom.
“Who was it?” he asks and steps towards you.
“Well, I guess that cat’s out of the bag,” you say with an uneasy chuckle.
“What do you…?”
You hold up the files that Joshua brought by. “That was Joshua dropping these off in case you wanted to work from home again tomorrow.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you…upset that he knows?”
You study Chan’s face for a moment. Realize that he is just letting you set the expectations. Set the tone and the speed and everything else. “No.”
“So?”
“If you can forgive me for not responding in the best way the other morning, then I guess we try again?”
The smile that breaks across his face nearly takes your breath away. So soft. Genuine. Full of affection. Like he’s in his first year of law school again. All bright eyed and full of optimism. A second later, he closes the space between you and pulls you into his body. Peppers kisses all over your face, making you laugh in a way you haven’t in years.
“Wait,” he says, pulling back. You frown at him. “You did break it off with that guy, right?”
Of all the things to ask right then, you cannot believe this is what he asks. It pulls another genuine laugh out of you. Makes you swat at his arm. “Yes, you idiot.”
“When?”
“What?”
“When did you do it?”
For some reason, the question makes you hesitate. Do you admit how deep in this you already are? “Saturday.”
That pulls him up short. “Then why…?”
“I was scared, Chan. And I didn’t want to break off whatever it was with him just because of you. If I’m being honest, it’s been a while coming,” you say and sheepishly look away. Take a breath and meet his eyes again. Time to be brave. “I knew it was wrong after that date I went on. The one that I missed happy hour for?”
“So I wasn’t crazy,” he says triumphantly.
“I mean, you are, but not for that reason,” you say and earn your own swat. “I don’t know, I was just on the date and something wasn’t clicking. It wasn’t…”
“Wasn’t so perfect?” Chan asks, a little smug.
“No, he really is perfect. On paper, at least. But, he’s not you. And you’re all my heart seems to want now that you’re back in my life,” you admit. Brave. Keep being brave.
“You could have had me way earlier,” he says. The barest pout makes an appearance.
You shake your head. “I’m not sure it would’ve worked then. I needed to grow. To realize what I wanted and what I didn’t. I think we both needed it.”
“Maybe,” he concedes and then looks over at you again. “Can I go back to kissing you?”
“Oh my god,” you exclaim. It’s so like him to break up a heavier moment with something light. Still, you do want to kiss him.
It’s nothing like a few nights prior. No frenzy, no desperation. The kiss starts straight off being deep and intense. The kind of kiss that makes you wonder why you ever bothered dating anyone else in the world. The kind that claims you, body and soul. The kind that seals promises into your lips. The kind where you could agree to absolutely anything and know it still would be okay.
Maybe it had to fall apart before so that it could work now. Maybe it’s not so scary to try and figure it all out.
*Romance, Contemporary Fiction, Slow Burn, CEO x Baker AU, Emotional Healing, Domestic Fluff, Workplace Romance, Slice of Life, Found Family, Comfort & Hurt, Wholesome Romance, Character-Driven Drama, Mutual Growth, Slice of Life*
The city never slept, but Seungcheol’s office rarely did either. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Seoul skyline like a glittering tapestry, a reminder of everything he had built and everything he still wanted. Rain traced thin rivers down the glass, blurring the neon signs and distant headlights, turning the bustling city into a watercolor painting. He barely noticed.
Seungcheol leaned back in his leather chair, the polished surface of his desk reflecting the faint glow of his laptop screen. Charts, graphs, emails, projections it was all here. Numbers, power, growth. His company had started in a modest office ten years ago and now towered over South Korea’s corporate landscape. Expansions to the USA and Europe were underway, partnerships solidifying, contracts signing themselves with his reputation preceding him. Every move was precise, every decision calculated. He thrived on control.
Yet tonight, the air felt heavier than usual. Perhaps it was the rain. Perhaps it was something else he couldn’t yet name. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, straightened his tie, and tried to focus on the European branch plans. The board had approved a new line of premium cafes to pair with their flagship products luxury, innovation, taste. Everything had to be perfect.
The sound of the elevator broke his concentration. It was late; only a handful of employees remained, mostly interns who dared to stay behind. He glanced at the clock: 11:27 PM.
He stood and walked toward the window, the rain tapping softly against the glass. The city stretched endlessly, neon bleeding into the darkness, a reminder of the empire he had built from nothing. And yet, sometimes, even empires felt… empty.
A soft ping interrupted his thoughts. An email from his assistant: “Mr. Seungcheol, bakery scout report attached. Please review before morning meeting.” He opened the PDF, expecting numbers, locations, potential investments. Instead, his eyes lingered on a small bakery tucked into a quiet street in Seoul, a place with modest signage, warm lighting, and a reputation for pastries that could rival even the most luxurious cafés in Europe.
Something about it caught his attention not the profit margins, not the location, not even the foot traffic. Something about the way the shop seemed to radiate warmth through the photographs.
Seungcheol frowned, a rare crease forming on his forehead. Normally, he would scroll past, mark it as “interesting but low priority,” and move on. But tonight, he found himself staring. The baker, Y/N, was captured mid-motion, flour dusting her hair, hands kneading dough with a kind of effortless elegance that made even the mundane act of baking seem extraordinary.
He closed the laptop with a quiet click and sank back into his chair. For a man used to controlling everything markets, employees, negotiations he had never been so unsettled by something… ordinary.
The next morning, Seungcheol found himself standing outside the bakery. The city was waking up, pedestrians rushing past, umbrellas bobbing in the drizzle. He adjusted his tie, tucked his hands into his pockets, and pushed the door open. The bell chimed softly, and the smell hit him immediately: warm bread, sweet pastries, a hint of vanilla. It was the kind of scent that made the world slow down, if only for a moment.
Y/N looked up, flour on her fingers, a small smile on their lips. “Good morning,” she said, voice gentle but confident. “What can I get for you?”
Seungcheol cleared his throat, suddenly aware of his polished shoes and tailored suit amidst the warm, homey chaos of the bakery. “A chocolate croissant,” he said, keeping his tone casual, though his heart beat slightly faster than usual.
As Y/N handed him the croissant, their fingers brushed—briefly, fleetingly but it was enough. Something unspoken passed between them, something that made Seungcheol aware, for the first time in years, that not all things could be measured, calculated, or acquired. Some things some people were a force of nature, unpredictable and disarming.
Seungcheol took a bite, the layers of chocolate and buttery pastry melting perfectly on his tongue. He looked up to meet Y/N’s eyes, and for a moment, the empire outside didn’t matter. Not the skyscrapers, not the meetings, not the mergers. Just this small bakery, this small human, and the inexplicable pull they had on him.
He straightened, clearing his throat. “I’m… impressed,” he admitted, almost against his own instincts. “Have you ever thought about expanding?”
Y/N laughed softly, a sound that felt like it could disarm armies. “I’m happy here. This is enough for me.”
Seungcheol felt a challenge ignite within him not the type he faced in boardrooms, but one far more intoxicating. He would return. Not because of business. Not because of expansion. But because something about Y/N made him feel like the world could be different and that maybe, just maybe, he could want something more than empires.
The city was alive, a blur of motion, traffic, and neon lights but Seungcheol only saw the quiet little bakery tucked between two larger buildings. He walked past it almost every day on his way to meetings, yet today, something compelled him to stop. Perhaps it was the memory of that first chocolate croissant. Perhaps it was the quiet warmth he had felt inside. Whatever it was, he found himself pushing open the door once again.
The bell chimed softly. Y/N looked up, flour still dusting her hands, hair tucked into a loose bun. “Back again?” she asked, a faint smile tugging at their lips.
Seungcheol adjusted his tie, suddenly feeling conspicuous in his crisp suit. “Yes. Coffee this time,” he said, letting his gaze linger on her hands as they worked the espresso machine with a fluid precision that seemed almost artistic.
Y/N poured the coffee, handing him the cup with a polite nod. “You seem… stressed,” they remarked, as if reading him better than any assistant or boardroom report ever could.
Seungcheol blinked, caught off guard. Usually, he would mask every emotion, every hint of fatigue. But Y/N’s presence made him forget to perform. “Just… busy,” he admitted, taking a slow sip. The bitterness of the espresso contrasted perfectly with the sweetness of the croissant from earlier, and for the first time in months, he allowed himself to simply… exist.
Days turned into weeks. Seungcheol found excuses—small ones, ridiculous ones to return. A croissant here, a coffee there, a brief conversation about pastries or the weather. Y/N never asked about his work, never commented on his status, never treated him as someone extraordinary. And that, more than anything, drew him in.
He learned the rhythm of the bakery: the early morning rush, the quiet lull in the afternoon, the small victories of perfectly baked bread and happy customers. Y/N moved through it all with a calm confidence that fascinated him. They were meticulous, passionate, and unpretentious a stark contrast to the high-stakes, cutthroat world of CEOs and boardrooms he inhabited.
One rainy evening, he lingered as Y/N cleaned up. The golden glow of the lights reflected off the polished counters, casting soft shadows.
“You don’t have to stay late every night,” Seungcheol said, leaning casually against the counter. “It’s not good for you.”
Y/N laughed softly, shaking their head. “I like it. This is my world. Besides, someone has to make sure tomorrow’s bread is perfect.”
Seungcheol smiled, a rare softness in his expression. “I envy you,” he admitted quietly. “You get to work with something real. Something you love. And you’re… not chasing numbers or power or approval. Just… this.” He gestured vaguely to the bakery, to the smell, the warmth, to Y/N.
Y/N tilted their head, eyes curious. “And you? You have… everything. Power, money, influence. Aren’t you happy?”
He hesitated. He had never let anyone see past the polished, confident exterior. But there was something about Y/N’s presence that made the truth safer to admit. “I have everything,” he said slowly, “but sometimes… it feels like I’m missing something I can’t buy.”
There was a long pause. Y/N’s gaze softened, and for the first time, Seungcheol felt seen not as a CEO, not as a public figure, not as someone to admire or fear but as himself.
“I think,” Y/N said softly, “sometimes the things you can’t buy… are the most important.”
Seungcheol’s heart beat faster, an unfamiliar warmth creeping through his chest. He wanted to say more, to explain, to reach for them, but the door chimed again, a reminder that the world outside this little bakery still existed.
He stood, straightened his suit, and took a step back. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt.
And as he walked out into the rain, umbrella shielding him from the drizzle, he realized something both terrifying and exhilarating: he was beginning to want something more than empires. He was beginning to want Y/N.
The morning sun barely reached the small bakery, its light struggling to filter through the narrow street. Inside, Y/N moved methodically, kneading dough as they always did, the repetitive motion normally comforting. But today, the rhythm felt hollow. The bakery’s charmthe warm smell of bread, the soft hum of ovens, the golden sunlight glinting on counters couldn’t mask the tension that had been building for weeks. Bills stacked like small mountains, overdue notices peeked from under order slips, and suppliers’ calls had become sharper, more insistent.
Y/N paused, brushing flour from their hands and wiping their forehead. They had always believed passion alone could sustain them, that hard work and love for baking could protect this little sanctuary. But reality was pressing in, heavy and merciless.
The bell above the door chimed. Y/N looked up, ready to greet a customer with their usual polite smile. Instead, a figure entered that made their stomach tighten. The woman was tall, immaculately dressed, radiating wealth and influence. Every detail of her presence the tailored coat, the expensive heels, the subtle scent of perfume spoke of a life Y/N could only imagine.
“Good morning,” Y/N said carefully, trying to mask their unease.
The woman’s eyes scanned the bakery, lingering on each counter, each display. “Good morning, dear,” she said smoothly. “I’ve come about… business.”
Y/N frowned. “Business?”
The woman approached, placing a thick envelope on the counter. “Your bakery. I wish to purchase it. Entirely. For myself. Consider it… an investment in something exquisite.”
Y/N’s hands trembled as they lifted the envelope. They could feel the weight of the bills inside. The sum was enough to erase every debt, pay every supplier, and still leave them wealthy beyond imagination. But their chest tightened at the thought of selling. “I… I can’t sell it. This is my bakery. I’ve built it with my own hands, my own life.”
The woman’s lips curved into a smile, almost predatory in its perfection. “Ah, but life is rarely fair, dear. Sometimes, the only way to acquire something you desire is to take it legally or otherwise. You could sign, or you could resist. Resistance, however, comes at a price.”
Y/N’s heart raced. “I… I won’t sign. No amount of money can make me give this up.”
The woman’s smile didn’t waver. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a calm whisper. “You misunderstand. This isn’t a negotiation. You cannot stop what I want. I have the power to make this bakery mine. Lawyers, statutes, influence. Everything bends to me.”
Y/N’s jaw tightened. “You… you can’t just take it! It’s mine!”
The woman’s gaze was icy. “I don’t need to break a sweat to claim it. You will sign eventually, or circumstances will make it easier for me to take it without your consent. Either way, the result is the same.” She gestured elegantly toward the envelope. “Consider this a friendly… suggestion.”
Y/N slammed their hands onto the counter, flour dust flying into the air. “I said no! I won’t leave! I built this bakery! Everything in here is mine!”
The woman tilted her head, regarding Y/N like a fascinating insect struggling against a glass jar. “Oh, what charm, what spirit. But charm and spirit won’t save you. Laws, contracts, influence they are far stronger than resolve alone.”
The woman left as elegantly as she had arrived, the echo of her heels a sharp reminder of the power she wielded. Y/N sank into a chair, fingers trembling, eyes fixed on the envelope. It was a weapon, a bribe, a threat all at once.
Over the next few weeks, her presence or the shadow of her influence grew. Letters arrived daily: legal notices, warnings, subtle threats. Representatives came to the bakery, praising the woman’s generosity while implying compliance was the only path to safety. They lingered, eyes watching, smiles polite but insidious.
One afternoon, a man in a tailored suit stepped into the bakery, carrying a clipboard. “She’s very generous, you know,” he said, voice smooth. “You could walk away with everything you need for life. Why fight her?”
Y/N’s hands gripped the counter so tightly their knuckles whitened. “Because this is mine. She can’t just take it.”
The man’s smile was polite but patronizing. “You misunderstand. She can. And she will, in time. People bend. People give in. The only question is how gracefully you’ll do it.”
Y/N shook their head, eyes blazing. “I won’t. I’ll fight. I’ll keep this bakery, even if I have to risk everything.”
The man left, and Y/N sank against the counter, heart hammering. Flour dust clung to their sleeves like a faint armor, their hands shaking but resolute. Their bakery everything they had poured their life into was under siege. And the world outside their doors was proving crueler than they had imagined.
But inside, a stubborn fire burned. Y/N clenched their fists. I will not give this up. Not today. Not ever.
The oven hummed softly, the scent of bread filling the room, and for the first time in weeks, Y/N allowed themselves a small, fierce smile. Their bakery was theirs. They would protect it even if the storm outside grew darker and more dangerous.
The morning light filtered weakly through the bakery’s windows, barely cutting through the tension that had settled like a storm cloud. Y/N moved mechanically, kneading dough, counting ingredients, and wiping counters with more force than necessary. Each task was a reminder that their bakery everything they had built was under siege.
The bell above the door rang again, but this time it wasn’t a customer. A sharply dressed man stepped inside, briefcase in hand, exuding authority and quiet menace. He introduced himself as the lawyer representing the wealthy woman.
“Good morning,” he began smoothly, placing a stack of papers on the counter. “These are legal documents regarding the transfer of your bakery. She wishes to make this as easy as possible for you.”
Y/N’s hands clenched the edge of the counter. “I won’t sign. I don’t care how many lawyers you send, how many statutes or connections she has. This bakery is mine.”
The lawyer’s expression didn’t change. “It’s not just about signing, unfortunately. Suppliers have been instructed to limit deliveries. Staff are being offered incentives to leave. Even the building owner has been contacted. She is thorough. Resistance will only make the process… slower for you.”
Y/N’s stomach sank, the weight of the world pressing down. They had never felt so powerless, yet they refused to give in. “I don’t care. I’ll find a way. I will not let her take this.”
The lawyer’s smile was polite, almost amused. “People often feel that way. Until circumstances force their hand.” He turned and left as quietly as he had arrived, leaving Y/N trembling but defiant.
Over the next few days, the attacks on the bakery escalated. Ingredients were delayed; shipments arrived incomplete or spoiled. A notice from the landlord appeared, claiming a “misunderstanding” about lease terms and threatening eviction unless Y/N signed over the property. Even some loyal staff were tempted with bribes to leave.
Each day felt like a battle. Y/N baked harder, stayed longer, and slept less, their hands raw from constant kneading and their body aching from exhaustion. But every loaf, every pastry, every moment spent in that warm, fragrant space became an act of defiance.
One evening, as Y/N closed the bakery alone, the wealthy woman appeared again, standing in the doorway like a shadow in the golden light. “You are persistent,” she said softly, almost admiringly. “I like that. But persistence is meaningless without power. You can’t protect what you cannot control.”
Y/N straightened, brushing flour from their apron, eyes blazing. “I don’t care about your power. I will protect this bakery, no matter what you do.”
The woman smiled, cold and calculated. “Very well. Let’s see how long that resolve lasts when the world around you bends to me.” She turned, leaving behind an aura of authority so palpable it made the room feel smaller.
Y/N sank into a chair, exhausted but unbroken. The bakery was being squeezed from every angle, yet their determination only grew. They were fighting not just for bread and pastries, but for their identity, their independence, and the place that held their dreams.
Outside, the rain fell, relentless and unyielding. But inside, Y/N’s stubborn fire burned brighter. Flour dusted hands gripped counters, hearts beat fiercely, and eyes, though tired, shone with determination. I will not give this up. I will not.
Even as the storm outside raged, Y/N knew one thing: the bakery was theirs, and no amount of money, lawyers, or power statues could take that away at least, not without a fight.
The bakery had never felt so small. Y/N moved from counter to oven, kneading, rolling, shaping dough with hands that were raw and calloused from days of nonstop work. Every corner of the shop seemed heavier somehow, as if the walls themselves were pressing in, mirroring the weight of the outside world.
It began subtly. Deliveries arrived late, ingredients missing or spoiled. Flour that had always been pristine now came in damp and clumpy, butter curdled, chocolate tempered wrong. The regular suppliers people Y/N had known for years began calling less frequently, apologizing awkwardly, citing “new regulations” or “contracts they couldn’t break.”
Then came the notices. Legal letters arrived almost daily, each one more threatening than the last. The landlord once kind, a neutral party suddenly claimed “lease violations” and hinted that unless Y/N signed the paperwork to transfer ownership, the bakery could be evicted.
Y/N slammed a rolling pin down, frustration and exhaustion battling with their resolve. I built this. I will not give it up. I cannot give it up.
And then she appeared. The wealthy woman herself, always calm, always elegant, always perfectly timed.
“Your bakery is… charming,” she said, her eyes scanning the small space like a predator measuring prey. “A shame it cannot survive without help. But help can be arranged. For a price.”
“I told you,” Y/N said, standing straighter despite the fatigue pressing down on their shoulders. “This bakery is mine. No money, no threats, no lawyers can take it from me.”
She smiled, faintly amused. “Oh, my dear, you underestimate the power of influence. People bend when the right strings are pulled. Suppliers can be persuaded. Staff can be tempted. Even the building itself can be turned against you.”
And she was right. Within days, the bakery was under siege.
Deliveries were canceled. Staff loyal, long-time friends were offered bribes, vacations, and promises of higher salaries elsewhere. Some left quietly, too afraid or too tempted to resist. The oven repairs Y/N had planned were suddenly delayed indefinitely, leaving the bakery at risk of failing to produce enough bread. Even loyal customers began showing hesitation, influenced by rumors and whispers that the bakery might close soon.
Every day, Y/N arrived to face another obstacle: a spoiled batch of ingredients, an angry supplier threatening legal action, a notice that the lease could be terminated. The wealthy woman’s influence was everywhere, invisible but undeniable, a shadow stretching across every corner of their life.
One afternoon, as Y/N struggled to knead dough with shaking hands, the wealthy woman appeared once more, leaning casually against the doorway, her presence like a storm cloud. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Fighting alone against forces far stronger than yourself.”
Y/N met her gaze, determination burning in their tired eyes. “I will not give up. No matter what you do.”
She tilted her head, eyes glinting with quiet menace. “You misunderstand, my dear. You can’t win. Not by yourself. Power, money, influence they bend the world. And you are alone. The bakery will fall. All resistance is temporary.”
Y/N clenched their fists. “Even if it falls, I won’t give it to you. Not willingly. You want it? Take it by force. I’ll still fight for what’s mine.”
The woman’s lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile. “Brave words. We shall see how long they last.” She turned and left, her heels clicking against the floor like a countdown, a reminder that her reach extended far beyond these walls.
Days turned into nights, nights into weeks. Y/N’s body ached, their hands cracked and sore, sleep a distant memory. Yet, they worked tirelessly, refusing to yield. Every loaf baked, every croissant folded, every corner of the bakery cleaned and maintained was an act of defiance. The small space had become a battlefield, the ovens their weapons, the dough their shield.
Even the customers who remained sensed the tension. Some offered help, others offered words of encouragement, but none could stop the relentless siege. The wealthy woman’s influence seeped into every interaction, every phone call, every transaction.
And yet, through it all, Y/N refused to bend. They refused to sell. They refused to surrender. The bakery, though battered and under constant threat, remained theirs.
But deep down, they knew the storm wasn’t over. The woman had power, and power could bend the world. Every day that passed, every obstacle thrown in Y/N’s path, reminded them of a harsh truth: this battle was far from over and the price of victory might be higher than they could bear.
Flour-covered hands gripped the counter tightly, heart hammering with exhaustion and resolve. I will not give this up. I will not.
Outside, the city moved on, oblivious to the siege happening in the small bakery tucked away on a quiet street. Inside, Y/N continued their fight, a lone figure against a world determined to take what they loved most.
Rain poured over Seoul that morning a thin, gray drizzle that blurred the glass windows and painted the city in shades of sorrow. The bakery, once full of warmth and sweet aromas, now stood silent. The usual scent of vanilla and cinnamon had faded, replaced by the faint bitterness of burnt dough and fatigue.
Y/N sat behind the counter, their apron stained, their hair pulled into a loose bun that had long since stopped being neat. Their eyes were tired, hollow from nights spent working until dawn. The oven light flickered weakly, as though even it had lost its will to burn bright.
The last letter lay open on the counter.
FINAL NOTICE.
Lease Termination Effective Immediately.
The words swam in Y/N’s vision, blurring with the tears that had finally, after weeks of restraint, begun to fall. Their hands trembled as they folded the letter, pressing it against their chest as though holding it could somehow make it less real.
The wealthy woman had done it. She had won.
All the bribes, the lawyers, the inspections one after another, they had chipped away at Y/N’s strength. Suppliers had refused to deliver, staff had left, and the final blow came when the bank froze their account after a mysterious “review.” It was a clean, calculated destruction. The woman hadn’t just taken the bakery; she had dismantled Y/N’s world, piece by piece, until there was nothing left to fight with.
The bell over the door chimed. Y/N didn’t look up.
“Closed,” they whispered hoarsely. “We’re closed.”
A pair of expensive heels clicked against the tile floor. That same voice calm, cold, confident echoed through the quiet bakery.
“Not quite yet, dear.”
Y/N lifted their gaze slowly. The wealthy woman stood before them, draped in elegance a designer coat, pearls, and an umbrella that still glistened with raindrops. Her presence filled the room like a storm cloud, suffocating yet eerily composed.
“I told you this would happen,” she said softly, glancing around the bakery. “A shame, really. You had such spirit. But spirit doesn’t pay rent. Passion doesn’t stop progress.”
Y/N stood, clutching the edge of the counter, voice trembling. “You destroyed everything. You didn’t even need this place you just wanted to take it because you could.”
The woman tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “Don’t be so dramatic. I didn’t destroy anything. I simply… reallocated opportunity. This space will thrive under proper management. You, my dear, were in the way.”
Y/N laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and cracked. “You call stealing ‘management’?”
“Call it what you like.” The woman smiled faintly. “The papers are ready. You sign, and this all goes away. No lawsuits, no debt collectors, no ruined reputation. Just peace. You could start over.”
“Start over?” Y/N’s voice broke. “This was my start. This was everything I had.”
The woman sighed, glancing at her watch as though this conversation bored her. “Then you have your answer. Sign, and walk away with dignity. Or don’t and watch them come for you one by one.”
For a long moment, Y/N said nothing. Only the rain outside spoke, tapping softly against the window, a rhythm that matched the ache in their chest.
Their fingers brushed the pen lying next to the papers. The ink shimmered faintly under the warm light of the dying bakery. It felt like betrayal to even touch it betrayal of every sleepless night, every burnt finger, every laugh shared with customers who had once filled this small space with life.
But what choice was left?
Y/N’s hands shook as they reached for the pen. The world blurred exhaustion, grief, and resignation blending into one. The bakery’s silence felt final now, like the end of a story that had once been beautiful.
They signed.
The pen dropped to the floor. Y/N didn’t look at the woman, didn’t want to see the satisfaction in her eyes.
The woman picked up the folder, her tone as soft as silk. “You made the right decision. Sometimes surrender is the only sensible option.”
Then she left, leaving behind only the faint smell of her perfume and the sound of rain.
Y/N sank to the floor, back pressed against the counter, staring blankly at the empty room. The walls seemed larger now, hollow, stripped of life. The neon sign flickered faintly before fading out completely.
Their dream was gone.
For the first time in months, Y/N didn’t move. Didn’t bake. Didn’t fight. The oven stayed cold, and so did their heart.
They had given everything and the world had taken it anyway
Seungcheol’s office in Seoul stretched like a modern fortress. Glass walls framed the city below, skyscrapers piercing the morning haze. The hum of the air conditioner, the faint tapping of keyboards, and the steady drip of espresso from his machine were the only sounds in the room.
He usually thrived in this controlled chaos deals, mergers, expansions every move precise, every outcome calculated. His European offices were now operating at full capacity, and the expansion into the U.S. had begun faster than anticipated.
Yet today, a single news alert pulled him out of his world of spreadsheets and boardroom reports.
Local bakery in Gangnam closes under mysterious circumstances. Owner forced to sell after disputes with wealthy investor.
Seungcheol frowned, leaning back in his chair. Gangnam was home to dozens of bakeries, but one name caught his eye: Y/N’s Bakery.
A slow pulse of recognition hit him. The small bakery he had stumbled upon months ago the one with the chocolate croissants he still remembered, the one with the faint scent of vanilla and cinnamon that lingered in his memory, the one where Y/N had smiled at him with that calm, unassuming kindnes was gone.
He scrolled through the article. The words were cold, businesslike, but the meaning was clear: the bakery had been taken over by a wealthy investor, someone with the influence and connections to leave no room for resistance. Y/N had no choice.
Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. A strange ache twisted in his chest. Frustration, curiosity, and an unexpected sense of guilt collided. He had been so focused on his empire Europe, the U.S., meetings, numbers that he hadn’t thought to check in, hadn’t wondered what had become of the small bakery that had, in some quiet way, touched him.
He leaned forward, fingers drumming against the polished desk. She didn’t deserve this. No one does.
For the first time in months, Seungcheol’s mind wandered not to deals or profit margins, but to Y/N. He remembered their calm determination, the effortless skill with which they handled every tray of pastries, the stubborn fire in their eyes when they had spoken about the bakery.
His thoughts slowed, uncharacteristically unguarded. The way Y/N had held their ground, the way they had carried themselves, had left an impression a faint, lingering pull he couldn’t ignore. And now, knowing that pull was suffocated by someone else’s ruthless power… it left him restless.
Seungcheol pushed back from his desk, standing and gazing out at the sprawling city below. He was a man who controlled empires, yet he felt powerless over something so small, so human.
And yet, perhaps it wasn’t completely out of reach.
A plan, subtle and quiet, began forming in his mind. He didn’t know how or when, but he wanted to see Y/N again. Not as a fleeting memory or a small distraction, but… to understand, to help, or perhaps just to witness the resilience he suspected still burned quietly beneath that exhaustion.
For the first time, Seungcheol admitted something to himself, a thought he rarely allowed to surface: I want to see her succeed. I want to see her rise again.
He sat back down, tapping a finger against the table. The empire could wait. Europe, America, expansions all of it could wait. Right now, there was a story unfolding on the streets of Gangnam, and it involved someone who mattered more than any boardroom victory.
Seungcheol didn’t know what would happen next. He didn’t know if Y/N would trust him or even want help. But one thing was certain: he would not forget. And for the first time in a long while, his focus shifted away from the world and toward one person, one small bakery, and the baker who had captivated him without even trying.
Outside his office, the city moved as it always had. Deals were made, fortunes shifted, and life went on. But for Seungcheol, the world had tilted slightly and all because of a bakery, and the stubborn, indomitable person who ran it.
Y/N’s world had become a muted rhythm of exhaustion and despair. The bakery, once vibrant and fragrant with warmth, now felt like a hollow shell. The ovens still hummed, but the light inside them was dim, reflecting the weight that pressed on every corner of the shop. Supplies arrived late or spoiled, staff had mostly left, and every day was a battle against bureaucracy, debts, and the wealthy woman’s ruthless influence.
And yet, through it all, Y/N persisted though their persistence was now tinged with quiet hopelessness. Each loaf of bread, each pastry, each roll of dough was a whisper of defiance. But some nights, when the doors were locked and the lights dimmed, they allowed themselves to feel the despair they had buried during the day.
Across the city, in his Seoul office, Seungcheol had not forgotten.
He didn’t call. He didn’t send a message. He didn’t even think about stepping in directly yet. But he watched. Subtle movements: a news article here, a supplier’s company report there, the faint mentions of the bakery online. Each update painted a grim picture, and with every new piece of information, a tight knot formed in his chest.
He noticed the slow disappearance of Y/N’s bakery from social media feeds, the dwindling of customers mentioned in local blogs, the letters from lawyers now circulating publicly. And he saw the effects on Y/N rumors of staff leaving, financial strain, exhaustion.
It was frustrating. Infuriating. And something deeper, more personal, stirred in him a pull he didn’t want to name. The baker, so determined, so full of fire even under immense pressure, had captured his attention in a way no deal, no expansion, no victory could.
One evening, he quietly instructed his assistant to discreetly check local suppliers in Gangnam, not to intervene, not yet, but to gather intel: who was willing to deliver to the bakery despite the threats, which shipments had failed, and which contractors had been pressured by the wealthy woman.
No action yet, he told himself. Just watch. Just understand.
And yet, he couldn’t help it. He thought about Y/N constantly: kneading dough with raw hands, working late into the night, standing firm against forces far larger than themselves. There was something magnetic in their stubbornness, a raw strength that fascinated him.
He didn’t reach out. That wasn’t his style not yet. But he allowed himself to imagine it: walking down the quiet street where the bakery stood, seeing Y/N behind the counter, shoulders slumped but hands moving with precision. A fleeting smile. A quiet nod of acknowledgment.
Seungcheol’s world was usually one of control, numbers, and strategy. And yet here, observing someone struggling against impossible odds, he felt something he rarely experienced: genuine concern. A need to understand, to see, to witness not to buy, not to manipulate, but simply to know.
Across the city, Y/N closed the bakery one more night. The ovens were cold, the shelves half-empty, and their heart heavy with exhaustion. And somewhere in Seoul, Seungcheol looked at the same city lights, aware of the same battles being fought on quiet streets, feeling a pull toward someone he didn’t yet know he was ready to save or change his life.
The distance between them was vast, but the connection had already begun.
The rain had stopped, leaving the streets glistening under the soft afternoon sun. Y/N sat in the small, empty apartment they had barely been able to afford, staring at the unpaid bills spread across the table. Their bakery was gone. Their dream, stolen by a woman with more money and power than they could ever hope to compete with. Hopelessness clung to them like a second skin.
The phone buzzed. Y/N hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. The number was unknown, but the voice on the other end was calm, firm, yet unexpectedly gentle.
“Hello, Y/N? It’s Seungcheol.”
Y/N froze. Their chest tightened, a strange mix of disbelief and curiosity twisting in their stomach. “…Seungcheol?”
“Yes,” he said softly. “I’ve been… hearing things. About your bakery. About everything you’ve been through.”
Y/N swallowed, a lump forming in their throat. “I… I don’t want help. There’s nothing left to save.”
There was a pause on the line, quiet but comforting. “Maybe,” Seungcheol admitted, “but maybe that doesn’t mean we can’t start again. Somewhere new. Somewhere it’s yours, truly yours this time.”
Y/N scoffed bitterly. “You… want to help me? You barely know me. Why?”
“Because,” he said, almost quietly, “I know the work it takes to build something from nothing. And I know how it feels when someone takes it all away. And… because you deserve better.”
It wasn’t charity. It wasn’t pity. Something in his voice was steady, unwavering, almost personal. And for the first time in weeks, Y/N felt a flicker of hope.
A few weeks later, Y/N found themselves walking through a construction site on a quiet street in Seoul. It had once been one of Seungcheol’s planned locations for a corporate branch, but he had postponed it, deciding it would be better used for something more meaningful.
The building rose from the ground, skeletal at first, then slowly taking shape under the hands of bricklayers, architects, and painters that Seungcheol had hired personally. Every corner, every beam, every window was chosen with care meant to feel like a bakery, a safe haven, a space for Y/N to thrive.
Seungcheol walked beside them, though mostly silent, letting them take in the space. He had been talking to Y/N daily, sometimes for hours, listening to their venting, their fears, their frustrations. Y/N poured out everything on the phone the collapse of their bakery, the powerlessness, the betrayal, the hopelessness and Seungcheol simply listened, never judging, never interrupting, only asking the occasional quiet question to let them speak more.
“It’s… beautiful,” Y/N whispered, eyes glistening as they watched painters carefully coat the walls in warm, inviting colors. The smell of fresh paint and wood was oddly comforting.
“It’s not done yet,” Seungcheol said, voice calm. “But soon… it will be yours. Truly yours.”
Y/N shook their head, fighting back tears. “I don’t know if I can… if I can trust that it’ll work out this time. That it won’t all fall apart again.”
Seungcheol stopped, looking at them directly, his gaze firm yet soft. “I can’t promise life won’t be hard. But I can promise you this place is yours. That you will have the space to bake, to create, to rebuild. And… you don’t have to do it alone.”
For the first time in months, Y/N felt something they hadn’t allowed themselves: relief. Not just hope, but comfort, safety, and the faint stirrings of trust.
The building slowly transformed over the next few months. Brick by brick, wall by wall, it became more than just a bakery it became a sanctuary. Seungcheol called frequently, sometimes just to hear Y/N’s voice, sometimes to ask what kind of counters or ovens they wanted, sometimes to let them vent about anything at all.
By the time the new bakery opened, Y/N’s hands were raw again from preparation, but this time they were their own hands, working in a space built for them, supported by someone who genuinely cared.
And as the first customers walked in, greeted by the warm scent of freshly baked bread, Y/N looked over at Seungcheol standing slightly behind the counter, quiet, observing, patient and felt something they hadn’t in a long time: a spark of belonging.
This time, they weren’t fighting alone.
Sunday mornings in the new bakery were always quiet. The soft sunlight filtered through the windows, illuminating the pastel-colored walls and the neatly arranged shelves of pastries. The scent of vanilla, caramel, and fresh bread filled the air, a gentle contrast to the bustling chaos of the week.
Y/N had been busy all morning, moving around the kitchen with ease, kneading dough, whisking batters, and carefully decorating a jellycat cake with meticulous precision. It was their pride and joy for today playful, colorful, whimsical, and perfect.
Seungcheol, on the other hand, stood stiffly near the counter, sleeves rolled up reluctantly, his usual air of control slightly frayed. Y/N had insisted no, forced him to leave his piled files at the office and come bake with them.
“Seungcheol,” Y/N said, hands dusted in flour as they glanced over their shoulder, eyes sparkling, “if you don’t start mixing that batter properly, I’m telling everyone you’re useless with your own hands.”
Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure threatening me is the best way to motivate me.”
Y/N smirked, wagging a finger in mock seriousness. “Oh, I’m not joking. I will tell everyone. And if you ruin this cake… you’ll regret it.”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head, but complied, carefully following Y/N’s instructions. The kitchen quickly became a mess flour dusted the counters and floors, spilled sugar clung to the edges of trays, and a small puddle of juice made the tiles slippery. But somehow, even in the chaos, the desserts, cakes, viennoiserie, and juices looked impossibly cute and pretty, as if each item carried a bit of Y/N’s magic.
Seungcheol found himself watching Y/N more than he watched the batter. The way their hands moved, confident and precise; the soft hum they made when focused; the little streak of flour on their cheek that he couldn’t stop staring at.
Y/N was placing finishing touches on the jellycat cake small eyes, floppy ears, pastel frosting arranged with loving care. Seungcheol stepped closer, instinctively, until he was behind them, eyes tracing every movement. Without a word, he slid his arms around their waist, resting his chin gently on their shoulder.
Y/N froze for a moment, flour-covered hands suspended mid-motion. Then they smirked, nudging his chin playfully. “Be careful, Seungcheol, or you’ll ruin the cake… or yourself.”
He leaned closer, voice low, almost a whisper, warm against their ear. “Or maybe I want to ruin both.”
Y/N laughed softly, eyes sparkling, though a faint blush dusted their cheeks. “Careful with your words, CEO. I might… make you clean all this mess yourself.”
He tightened his hold slightly, pulling them just a little closer, his lips brushing the shell of their ear. “Then I’ll take my punishment gladly… if you’re the one giving it.”
Y/N’s hands returned to the cake, shaking slightly as they tried to focus. “I’m warning you,” they said, voice teasing but firm, “one more word like that and I really will make you scrub the floors with your tie still on.”
Seungcheol chuckled, resting his head more comfortably against their shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of vanilla and flour, feeling impossibly warm inside. “I think… I could get used to this,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then, softer, almost shyly, he added: “Be mine?”
Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. Flour-streaked hands paused mid-frosting, eyes wide, cheeks hotter now. They turned slightly in his arms, meeting his gaze. The kitchen around them the mess, the sweet chaos, the sunlight seemed to fade, leaving just the two of them.
“Be… yours?” they repeated, voice soft, teasing, yet tender. A small, playful smirk returned to their lips. “I think… I could survive that.”
Seungcheol smiled, a rare, unguarded smile, before pressing a soft kiss to the top of their head. Y/N leaned into him, hands gently returning to the cake, and the jellycat’s pastel eyes seemed to twinkle with approval.
For the first time in months, the bakery felt complete not just because of pastries or décor, but because of the warmth, laughter, and quiet confession that now lingered in the air like sugar and sunlight.
And for Seungcheol and Y/N, Sunday had become more than just a day off it had become the day everything sweetly, and unexpectedly, fell into place.
SYNOPSIS. You can’t afford to be burnt out, especially during a crucial era of your life: being in medical school. Enter your best friend—a boy with a tough-looking exterior, a skateboard that’s seen better days, and a heart softer than his beat-up converse—Lee Chan, with his backpack full of snacks, and an uncanny ability to show up exactly when you need him most. He may not be a doctor, nor exactly your therapist, but he certainly is a heartthrob, and your heart can’t help but always page him.
PAIRING. skater boy!lee chan x med student!fem!reader (ft. lowkey stoner!vernon, med student!jeonghan, med student!joshua, soonyoung)
GENRE. fluff, childhood best friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, suggestive, slow burn, college au
WARNINGS. heavy swearing, food + drinking mentions/consumption, so much fucking mutual pining!!!, reader experiencing burnout + self-doubt issues, chan has a mullet, piercings, and tattoos yes, (3) shirtless chan scenes, chan is a self-critical perfectionist, mention of scars, descriptions of minor injuries, hospital mentions + visits, mental health topics, drug use (weed & vaping), reader has a panic attack and passes out, kissing, terms of endearment, vernon makes a sex joke at the end lmao
WORD COUNT. 24.2k
notes: hi hi everyone! this fic is part of the @camandemstudios "the lonely heart's cafe" collab! it also takes part in the same universe as my favourite horangdan @etherealyoungk upcoming fic with hoshi HAHA. ty to skye and also @bananabubble + @imujings listen to me ramble abt this too. pls don't forget to show love all the other authors in this collab <3 HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEE CHAN!!! 🫶
You slam your textbook shut. You don’t think you can reread the same page about neurotransmitters and synaptic transmissions any longer without losing your mind for the third time that night.
Your head feels like it’s two seconds away from combusting, and the pressure coming from upcoming exams, assignments that are constantly due the very next day, along with endless clinicals is suffocating. You’ve been staring at this textbook for what feels like hours or even days, but nothing’s sticking. It’s as if your brain has reached its limit for the day, and you’re left grasping for focus that you can’t find.
“Screw it,” You mutter under your breath, closing the textbook and tossing it to the edge of the bed where it threatens to fall off if you don’t catch it in time, but you ignore it, too tired to even care, and it falls onto the floor below with a soft thud.
Running a hand through your hair, you can feel a headache beginning to creep in, a dull throb behind your eyes. Your body feels heavy, as though it’s been holding in all your exhaustion for the past five months. Accepting your fate, you flimsily fall back onto the bed, granting the greenlight for the comfort of the sheets to swallow you whole.
Then a tap hits your window.
You ignore it at first by grabbing your pillow and burying your face in it, too bummed out to scold the freshmen who think that it’s cute to throw pebbles at people’s windows for the hundredth time this semester.
Another tap follows, then another, becoming more insistent after each one. At this point, they may as well blow a missile through your damn window. But then you hear it𑁋the sharp hiss of a psst, before a muffled, yet unmistakable voice holler out your name. A groan escapes your lips as you drag your body off the bed and shuffle towards the window, pulling the curtain aside and sliding the sash up. You’re immediately greeted by a whiff of cold air hitting your face.
The irritation leaves your body within a second once you spot the figure that’s waving up at you from the ground below. There’s a jump to your heart when you catch a glimpse of the scheming grin that runs across their face.
“Chan? What the hell?” You whisper-yell down towards him, glancing around you as if your voice was loud enough to wake up your next-door neighbours. “It’s midnight!”
You wouldn’t be surprised if you somehow mistakened your best friend as a burglar from how the dark hoodie he’s wearing engulfs him. But you watch as he pulls his hood down and adjusts the scratched-up skateboard tucked underneath his armpit, flashing you that boyish grin that never fails to disarm your guarded-up walls. His breath curls in the cold night air, and you catch the glint of his lip piercing when he tilts his head back to look at you.
“Come on, Y/N, I got reinforcements!” He reveals a black plastic bag from somewhere behind his back, waving it up to you like he’s just discovered some kind of treasure.
You squint, trying to make out what’s in the bag, but it’s too dark to see anything clearly from your window. “What is that?”
“Snacks,” he calls back, his grin widening. “And caffeine. Actually, wait𑁋” He reaches a hand inside the bag, shuffling throughout its contents. “No caffeine, because you need to get your insomniac ass to sleep.”
You roll your eyes at that. “You’re actually a goddamn idiot.”
“So I’ve been told many times. Now, are you going to let me in before that stupid security guard comes and tackles me to the ground again?’
Briefly, you can’t help but smile at the memory of that one specific time a few months back where Chan had been caught sneaking around the apartment complex. The poor elderly security guard nearly had a heart attack when he found Chan struggling to climb the side of the building with a skateboard in hand because you jokingly refused to let him inside your messy apartment. You had to spend an hour talking your way out of that one, and even then, you weren’t sure if all your talking and dumb excuses were enough to convince the security guard that Chan wasn’t a robber trying to get to you through your window.
“Ugh, fine. Give me a second,” You relent, pulling away from the window and hurrying to unlock the door. After a minute, you could already hear the recognisable, obnoxious stomps from the stairs that were echoing throughout the quiet hallway of your apartment.
When you see Chan emerge all breathless like he’s run a marathon in that oversized hoodie, skateboard still tucked under his arm, you can’t help but shake your head, crossing your arms together as he gallops down the hallway and to your door.
Then he looks at you, and for some reason, it almost seems like he looks… different. You don’t know why, because in your eyes, he still looks the same. His dark hair had grown longer𑁋pretty much a mullet at this point𑁋and he had recently changed his lip ring to a sleek silver hoop that catches the faint light in your apartment hallway. The hoodie he wore was thrifted from this store in a sketchy part of town that closed up two years ago, its print faded and frayed at the cuffs of the sleeves. His beat-up Converse shoes are practically at the verge of dying. You think he’s definitely worn it more than a million times, but that wasn’t anything new. There wasn’t anything on the surface that was new.
Yet as he stands there, rosy cheeks flushed from the cold, his grin as radiant as always, there’s something about him that makes your heart stutter for just a moment.
“Okay… You’re doing that staring thing again.” Chan snaps his fingers in front of your face, bringing you back from your head. “You gonna let me in or not?”
You snap out of it, quickly stepping aside to let him in. “You’re so annoying, you know that?”
“And yet, you still tolerate me.” He shoots you a wink before brushing past you, and you observe as he leans his skateboard against the wall of your place. Then he flops onto the wobbly chair in front of your desk like its second instinct, like this place is his second home, and in a way, it is, because you’ll always be the first to let him in.
Chan lifts the black plastic bag as if he’s showing it off to you and sets it down on your cluttered desk, which has been overtaken by textbooks, flashcards, and an impressive collection of empty coffee mugs. You feel yourself fall into a pit of embarrassment at the mess, but this is Chan you’re talking about𑁋he’s seen you at your worst, or… the worst he’s seen so far.
“You know, I’ve heard these snacks are scientifically proven to cure stress,” he claims while handing you a plastic bowl of cup ramen.
You snort at that as you grab the cup of ramen from his grasp and place yourself down on the floor right by him. “Oh, really? Did you read that in The Medical Journal of Lee Chan’s Dumbass Theories?”
“Damn right I did.” He flashes you that lopsided grin, popping open a bottle of water and taking a sip before passing it to you. “Drink. You look like you haven’t had anything but coffee for days. Can’t imagine how much shit is in your head right now.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose at the thought. “I know. I’ve got a headache trying to memorise whatever the hell is in these textbooks.”
“And what’s the medical term for a headache again?”
You peer at him with narrowed eyes when you take another sip of water. “Cephalalgia.”
“See, you’ve still got it in you,” he quips wholeheartedly while leaning back in the chair, a leg propped up on his knee, a pleased smirk to his face when he captures the faintest sight of a smile to your features.
You only let out a scoff as you stand up to fill water into your cup of ramen, placing it in the microwave right after. Even then, you swear you can still feel the way his eyes are wandering over you as you move around the small kitchen, the tonnage of his gaze making your skin tingle. You try to shake off the odd sensation, focusing on getting your ramen prepared. You can hear Chan shifting in the chair behind you, the sounds of rustling hitting your ears as he rummages through the snacks.
Silence overtakes the both of you for a few minutes. It’s comfortable. It always is when it’s with him.
It’s a bit scary, too. Even though it shouldn’t be.
“I went to the skatepark earlier,” Chan suddenly pops in.
When the microwave dings, you carefully take out the cup of ramen. “Practicing your 900?”
“What can I say? I’ll be the next Tony Hawk,” he teases amusedly. “I’m just kidding. Could never be on that man’s level.”
“You’re going to hurt yourself one day doing all those… tricks and shit,” You say as you settle on your bed, pushing away pieces of paper of horrendous math calculations, making them fall down to the ground.
Chan shrugs, looking nonchalant as he leans back in his chair, casually stretching his arms behind his head. He was always pushing himself, always looking for the next adrenaline rush, no matter how reckless it seemed. It's a bit worrying sometimes. “Eh, I’ll survive. A little pain is part of the game.”
“Still. Just… be careful, alright?” The softness and genuine concern to your tone isn’t hard to miss as Chan looks over at you, the teasing spark in his eyes dimming for a second.
Chan plops a chip into his mouth, the crunch bouncing off the walls of the room.
“I will, don’t worry.” Then he leans in like some sort of villain in a superhero movie. “So… I’d like to propose an idea.”
You already know what he’s about to propose. “Chan, no𑁋”
“You, me, these snacks I robbed from the store, and a few episodes of Gilmore Girls.”
You pause mid-bite, your spoonful of ramen hovering just inches from your mouth as you stare at him in disbelief. A part of you wonders if the lack of caffeine in the bag had somehow changed his brain chemistry, but then again, this is the Lee Chan you’ve always known since you were fourteen𑁋spontaneous, reckless, and somehow endearing despite it all.
“You’re such a weirdo,” You murmur under your breath, but the smile on your face betrays you as it always does.
“Come on! You know you want to, Y/N,” he says smugly, and as he catches the slight unsureness to your features, he lets out a sigh. “Relax with me, please?”
For a moment, your mind weighs about the mountain of work that’s bound to be dumped on you, the looming exams, the clinical hours you’ve been drowning in… and then you think about the weight lifting off your shoulders every time Chan’s around. Even just for a little while, the world seems to slow down when he’s here.
He’s a goddamn terrible influence on you in the oddly best way possible. Oh, the irony.
“Okay, fine. Just… one or two episodes, alright?” You give in.
The way Chan’s eyes light up from your words sends a flip to your stomach, and he’s quick to leap off the chair to sink himself down right next to you on the bed. His warmth is quick to surround and engulf you, making himself comfortable in a way that feels so familiar it almost makes your heart race. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you shift slightly to make more room for him, attempting to ignore how suddenly hyper aware you are of his closeness to you.
He rolls his sleeves as if he’s prepared to commit his entire being to this mini-marathon of episodes, and you catch a peek of the tattoos that roam up and down his arms. You’ve seen them countless times before, but tonight, they seem to catch your attention more curiously than ever, and your gaze lingers for just a second too long before you snap your attention back to the screen of the laptop being placed between the two of you.
The bed creaks slightly as he adjusts himself, pulling the blankets up over both of your legs and getting comfortable as if he owns the place, before pressing the play button.
Even as the episode rolls in front of you, your mind… wanders to the boy right next to you. To Chan. To your best friend.
He isn’t looking at you when you’re looking at him, too focused on the scene playing before you. And just the single thought of him is enough to fill every part of your mind, every crevice in your heart. It’s overwhelming.
But it’s not just tonight. It’s not just this moment.
It’s every time he’s around.
The warmth of his body against yours feels too comforting to ignore. The way his carefree smile that you’ve seen thousands of times over the years always makes you forget the time, the way his eyes seem to see through you sometimes that you feel almost bare, the way out of the eight billion people walking this planet right now, he’s the only one who knows you better than anything else.
Your heart stutters in your chest.
Is this it? Is this what people talk about when they say it just clicks?
You want to laugh at how oblivious you’ve been, but the thought that keeps echoing through your mind is no, this isn’t new𑁋it’s been there for a while.
But as you steal another glance at him, the realisation hits you like a fucking bulldozer, like a speeding train, like a bullet penetrating through your body, like a punch to the gut you’re sure will leave a bruise. You nearly choke on your ramen.
You’re falling for him. You’re falling for your best friend.
No, scratch that. You’ve already fallen. Hard. For God knows how long. Fuck.
And the worst part? He doesn’t even know. You’re utterly screwed.
You were at the cusp of middle school and high school when you met Lee Chan. Even though you’re only a year ahead of him, the eighth graders at your school seemed to have a superiority complex bigger than their egos could contain. Back then, he was just another scrawny seventh grader running around with wild passions, and you were just trying to survive through these awful years of awkwardness, or just middle school in general.
It was during one of those ridiculous dares that you met. Some eighth grader had dared him to steal a soda can from the teacher’s lounge fridge, and he’d been caught red-handed𑁋by you, unsurprisingly, as you were sent to pick up some paperwork for your office aide duties. And instead of being embarrassed or causing a ruckus in the middle of the hallway, he had grinned at you like he threw the most disastrous prank in history.
“You won’t snitch, right?” he had asked, while holding the can of soda behind his back.
“Well, I’m an office aide after all,” You had responded sarcastically, crossing your arms together. “I could totally report you to the principal.”
But your words hardly phased him. Didn’t phase him at all. In fact, he’d just looked at you like one of those geeky kids confident in winning their Pokémon Go battles.
“Let me give you a reason not to then,” he had said, revealing the soda can from behind his back and offering it to you. You had stared at him in disbelief, and after a short while, you’d finally taken it. He had just shot you a smile and shuffled past you, as if nothing had happened, but not before adding, “Come to the playground after school. I’ll show you something cool.”
By something cool, he showed you something called a kickflip. You had no idea what a kickflip was at the time, but Chan was way too eager to show you as he grabbed hold of a skateboard that was once used by his father. You had watched him try and fail repeatedly, but never once had he looked embarrassed or frustrated. It was that lighthearted attitude of his that drew you in, something you admired even then. And so, you stayed after school, watching him persist until he finally nailed the trick, his smile wide and victorious. Maybe the world felt lighter in those moments too𑁋that maybe going to high school wouldn’t be an absolute shitshow.
That as young and dumb that you were, maybe life had good things for you.
Because it was with him.
You didn’t call it a crush though, because all the eighth graders who were stuck in their heads all mentioned how crushing on seventh graders was disgusting and gross, that going after the hot high schoolers was cooler. Thus, you ignored the small flutter in your chest whenever he made you laugh after nearly face-planting while practicing, turned a blind eye to the way your heart skipped when he gave that ungodly smile after nailing another trick.
You told yourself it was nothing. You were just friends. Best friends, even.
“I think I have a crush on my best friend,” You downright admit in the middle of the cafeteria, unconsciously stabbing your salad in front of you with a plastic fork.
Jeonghan peers at you while slurping up his banana milk. “Eat your ugly salad.”
You glare at him but take a begrudging bite of your salad anyway, chewing slowly as if it might somehow alleviate the embarrassment swirling in your chest. It’s been almost a week since you’ve come to terms with your feelings for your best friend. Jeonghan sets his banana milk down and leans forward, propping his chin on the palm of his hand with the kind of smug expression that tells you he’s about to make this conversation even worse.
“Well, you could𑁋”
“Shut up.”
“I didn’t even say anything!” Jeonghan raises his hands in the air like he’s surrendering, letting out a scoff. “How inconsiderate of you.”
“Just𑁋Don’t you get it, Jeonghan?” You ask after stuffing a piece of cold lettuce in your mouth. “This is medical school. The pressure’s insane, and everything is a goddamn mess. I can’t just throw everything away over a stupid crush. And it’s not like Chan would feel the same way. We’ve been friends for so long… and it’s just stupid to think about anything more. I’m stupid for even falling for him in the first place.”
Jeonghan watches you carefully while mulling over your words, then his lips curl into a slight smirk, yet a hint of softness to his eyes.
“You know,” he starts, leaning back in his chair, swirling the banana milk in his cup. “It’s not stupid to have feelings. It’s natural. What’s stupid is throwing those feelings under the rug and leaving them to the dust mites.”
“But I just…” Your voice trails away as you struggle to find the right words. “I already have a lot on my plate right now, and it almost feels wrong to think of him that way. As someone more than a friend. I feel like a pervert or something𑁋I don’t know.”
“A pervert?” Jeonghan questions with a raised brow. “Aw, do you dream of giving him a little smooch on the lips?”
You choke on the next bite of your salad, coughing and trying to hide your face in your hands as Jeonghan just snickers, completely pleased at your reaction.
“You’re actually the devil’s worst nightmare personified,” You mutter under your breath, but there’s no anger behind it.
“Ah, well, that’s a new one,” Jeonghan remarks amusedly. “Better than the devil’s knight in shining armour, I suppose.”
You sigh, dropping your fork and slouching in your seat. You don’t think you have the energy to think about all of this right now. There’s a certain heaviness that settles in your chest as you reluctantly chew your way through the rest of your salad. You have other things to worry about right now, such as the mountain of schoolwork on your desk, your pathology exam on Friday, and having to impress your grumpy fifty-year-old attending tomorrow.
“Come on, let’s get through pharmacology.” You start to pack up your belongings, sealing off the remains of your unfinished salad and stuffing the container inside your backpack. Jeonghan watches you knowingly with a sigh as he gathers his own things.
“You’re avoiding the conversation,” he points out, standing up and tossing his empty drink into the trash bin.
“I know,” You admit, standing up to join him. “I just don’t have the mental space for it right now. I have so much to do, and thinking about Chan and... whatever this is... it’s not helping.”
Jeonghan doesn’t say anything after that, and you appreciate the quiet while shoving your laptop and notebook inside your backpack before flinging it over your shoulder. He doesn’t want to apply more pressure on the wound than needed.
One day, he thinks, you’ll have to face it, and that it’ll come to bite you in the ass sooner or later.
You could really use a shower right now.
After an entire day of clinicals and back-to-back lectures, all you want to do is melt in your bed and let the world fade away. But instead, you find yourself trudging towards the skatepark, because you promised to meet up with Chan for God knows why. By all means you’re definitely late, and you aren’t even sure if Chan would be at the skatepark as he’d have to wait almost an hour for you to show up, yet the thought of disappointing him somehow hurts more than the aching fatigue in your legs.
You spot him instantly. He’s mid-trick when you approach, his skateboard spinning in the air before he lands effortlessly with a triumphant grin. You see him fan himself, wiping his sweat off with his shirt he retrieves from the ground, catching sight of his exposed form and the tattoos that run up and down his skin. His back is turned towards you as well, and you catch a glimpse of another tattoo that he has: a series of Japanese letters that trail down his spine, spelling out his zodiac sign, Aquarius.
After a mere pause, he turns his head and spots you, his face lighting up like it always does, and you feel that familiar flip in your stomach again.
“You’re late,” he calls out, kicking the skateboard up into his hands and jogging over to meet you.
You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Blame my neuro attending. That man has the stamina of a marathon runner and the patience of a saint. Could rival Derek Shepherd, to be honest. I think I aged ten years today.” You set your bag down on the floor next to a nearby bench. “You didn’t wait long, did you?”
“Nah, not that long. You actually came after Vernon left𑁋idiot left his vape here,” Chan says while fishing the vape out of his pocket and taking a shameless hit from it, a cloud of vapour floating into the air when he exhales, before offering it to you with a teasing grin. “Want a hit?”
You scrunch your nose, shaking your head with a laugh. “Offering me, a med student, that shit is crazy. My lungs are precious thank you, unlike you and Vernon.”
“Tell that to those bozos.” He points to the noisy teenagers at the other side of the park, before sitting right next to you on the bench. “Can’t even roll over there without getting smacked in the face with weed.”
Your smile falters just slightly as you watch him lean back, his face tilting towards the darkening sky. The dim light of the streetlamps catches on the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the relaxed purse of his lips, and highlights the sleek dragon tattoo that snakes up his arm. He looks... peaceful. Content. Like the world isn’t asking too much from him tonight, like there’s no ginormous weight of expectations pressing on his shoulders, unlike you.
“I messed up today during clinicals,” You randomly confess, making Chan turn toward you. “There was this patient today… a girl. Seventeen years old, has a tumour that’s basically about to split her brain in half. I kept arguing with my attending about treatments, and I was so sure I was right𑁋that we could do something more about it𑁋but in the end, I just... made it worse. I felt like such an idiot, because… because there wasn’t anything we could do. She only has one chance with surgery, and she took it, despite her low chances of surviving.”
Chan listens to you, his eyes gentle and thoughtful, understanding but not pitying. It’s the same way he used to listen when you were venting back in high school, always patient, never rushing you to fix yourself or your emotions.
“You’re not an idiot,” he tells you, but his tone is nothing like a scold. “You care. That’s the difference. Not everyone would have fought that hard for her, even if you didn’t win. You’ve got a heart the size of the ocean, dude, you know?”
You smile faintly, chest tightening a little to his words. “The mother-fucking ocean?”
Chan grins at your lightheartedness, nudging you with his elbow. “Yeah, the mother-fucking ocean. You’re stubborn as hell, but you’ve got that heart. And that’s what makes you good at what you do. It’s what makes you you.”
You look down almost in guilt from his words, unconsciously playing with your fingers in your lap. You don’t know why, but it hits harder than usual tonight, and for a second, the rush of everything you’ve been holding back hits you𑁋the exhaustion, the worry, the feeling that you’ve been carrying more than your fair share of burdens these days. They almost threaten to burst out of you, but right now, they don’t. Not yet at least.
“You’re gonna be a good doctor,” Chan continues. “I don’t even have to be a doctor to know that. You just… you get it. You’re going to go out there and do great things. Maybe even better things than me.”
You almost want to laugh at that, almost want to tell Chan just how much shit he’s done that is far greater than what you could ever dream of. You’re not sure if he realises it himself𑁋how great he is, how much you admire him, love him𑁋but you think you could spend more than a lifetime telling him just that if you could.
Maybe you’ve been avoiding these feelings for too long, but the truth is, they’ve been there for as long as you can remember. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment these feelings shifted from friendship, to admiration, to something more𑁋maybe it was when he helped you get through the first few years of high school, or when he held your hand during a school dance, not in some romantic gesture but because you were scared of your anxiety acting up𑁋but it’s always been there. He’s always been there.
“I… Thank you, Chan,” You say softly. Then you tilt your head back, looking at the same sky he is, the heaviness in your chest easing just a little. “You’re kind of annoying, you know that? But you’re also... you’re really great yourself. Like, better-than-I-deserve great.”
Chan just chuckles at that. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, turning his head slightly to look at you. “That’s probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, and I’ve heard a lot of dumb shit from you.”
“Wow, okay. Forget all that I said then,” You retort back playfully, shaking your head and crossing your arms together. “You’re the worst person alive, actually.”
When you’re busy gazing up at the sky above, Chan turns to you. His eyes flit over you, basking how your eyelashes slowly bat together from tiredness, how your lips are slightly curled up in relaxation, how your features glow from the singular street lamp illuminating the skatepark. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and glances away, his thoughts racing faster than he can keep up with.
“You meant it though, right?” he asks.
“What?” You question, turning towards him.
“About me being great or whatever.” You can tell he’s trying to brush off the hesitation, but you sense the uncertainty in his voice. “You meant it?”
Out of all times, you wonder why he’s questioning it right now, at almost midnight in the middle of the skatepark. You’ve told him countless times how great he is, always hyping him up for skate competitions and giving him comfort on the times he’s down himself. Why… is he suddenly asking if you meant it?
“Well, I… Of course, I meant it,” You respond, catching his eye. “Why wouldn’t I?”
For a short period, there’s just silence, comfortable, a pinch of awkward𑁋a word you can pretty much never associate with your interactions together𑁋yet heavy. The way Chan’s features soften on his face from your words seem more important than the stars blinking up in the sky right now.
Then all it takes is a tiny giggle from him, and you can’t help but groan.
“Oh no,” You grumble pesteringly, shooting him an exasperated glance, but your tone is light, teasing. “I fueled your ego now, didn’t I?”
“Yep. I can walk around like I’m the best thing since sliced bread,” Chan jokes, puffing out his chest with pride. “My greatness has been confirmed by a certified medical professional.”
“Whatever, big head,” You sneer back playfully.
Chan stretches out a bit more on the bench, his legs extending and his arms behind his head. You can tell he’s getting more comfortable too, probably ready to call it a night, just like you, and you can’t help but let yourself soften a little.
Without thinking, you shift your body and lean your head down to gently rest it in Chan’s lap. His body stiffens for a few seconds as if he wasn’t expecting it, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he lets you settle, and after a beat, his hand comes to gently rest in your hair, and something tugs at your heartstrings from the feeling. Your eyes slowly flutter to a close.
“You okay?”
Those words almost make you want to cry.
“Yeah,” You reply quietly. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
When you open your eyes back up, Chan is looking down at you, studying you, his thumb tenderly tapping the top of your head as he waits for an answer.
“Alright.” You let out a deep inhale, blinking back up at him. “I’m not.”
Then his hand stops moving, and you nearly regret even telling him that.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks cautiously.
The corners of your lips tug up slightly, another sigh leaving you. All you can do is shake your head.
“Not really.”
Chan just pulls away, not entirely, but enough to give you a little space. His hand stays near, though, and he’s still watching you, his expression soft.
“Okay.”
For now, the two of you let your gazes drift back up to the sky, and you think𑁋maybe falling for your best friend isn’t the worst thing in the world.
The number 87 is scratched at the top of the page of your medical jurisprudence exam.
“Thanks for letting me cheat off you, by the way,” Jeonghan chimes in jokingly over your shoulder, nudging you in the arm before walking past you and out the door.
You roll your eyes at his comment but remain standing right where you are at your seat, and you don’t know why you can’t get yourself to move. Your fellow classmates𑁋all dressed in their finest set of scrubs𑁋brush past you and out of the classroom, but you could only clench your first around the paper in your hand.
An 87 isn’t bad; if anything, it’s great. Hell, it’s probably better than some of the other people in your class. You should be happy about it. But for some reason, you can’t shake the feeling that there’s something off. It’s the fact that you’re standing here, staring at a number that’s supposed to represent your hard work, your achievements, yet it feels empty, hollow, even.
You don’t feel proud of yourself.
All you can think about are the countless nights you’ve spent studying for something that doesn’t even feel fulfilling anymore. Your mind wanders over the sleepless nights, the skipped meals, the times you could hardly breathe because rotations had you stuck in the hospital𑁋what was it all for? A number? A stupid grade on a piece of paper?
You take a deep breath, trying to push the thought away.
“You’re doing fine,” You remind yourself, quietly, under your breath. But somehow, it doesn’t sound as convincing as you need it to. “You did good. You’re fine.”
Yet, there’s a voice that echoes off the walls of your head: you can do better.
You meet Jeonghan and your other mutual friend Joshua in the hallway after managing to finally leave the large lecture hall. The two of them are chatting enthusiastically amongst each other, comparing their exams and the questions they received credit for along with the ones they got wrong.
You force a smile to slip across your face when you approach, though it merely feels like a mask you’re getting tired of wearing.
“If I manage to survive this program, then I better be gifted with twenty years worth of coffee,” Jeonghan says while stuffing the exam paper inside his backpack. On the other hand, Joshua seems to be way more organised than you and Jeonghan combined, slipping his paper into a colour–coordinated folder before holding it under his arm.
“What did you want to go into again? Pediatrics? Can’t imagine you with children for the life of me,” Joshua comments playfully.
“Alright, mister, you’re the one who wanted to go into plastics,” Jeonghan retorts with a smirk, nudging Joshua in the ribs. “I can totally see you standing in front of a mirror practicing how to say, ‘Oh, ma’am, you’ll look amazing after this rhinoplasty.’”
Joshua rolls his eyes but laughs. “At least I’ll make my patients happy. I’m not sure kids would survive under your care without learning sarcasm as their first language.”
“Sarcasm builds character, my friend,” Jeonghan states matter-of-factly, wiggling a finger up in the air as if to emphasise the point. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach those little demons how to get through life in the correct way.”
You give in a chuckle at their banter, clumsily folding your exam paper in half and stuffing it deep inside your bag, hoping you’d probably forget all about it by the end of the day. Though the tension inside you doesn’t seem to want to disappear quite easily. You should feel happy to be surrounded by friends who’ve stuck with you through this hellish journey, but instead, you’re just... floating.
It’s like you’re suspended between reality and expectation, unsure of where you really fit into either world. You try to push it down, but the feeling keeps creeping back, making your chest feel tight.
“Now I think this calls for a celebratory shot of champagne, or Iced Americano, whatever you want to call it,” Jeonghan announces to you and Joshua as all of you are walking outside.
The time has nearly reached evening by this point, the warm hues of the sky painting the sunset that’s illuminating the campus. It’s a sight that would normally give you a sense of peace, an opportunity to relax, but it doesn’t give you that feeling right now. Far from it. You should be happy, you remind yourself again and again. You’ve been working towards this for your entire life, yet here you are, dragging yourself through the motions like a robot programmed to survive but never to live.
And maybe that’s what hurts the most𑁋the thought that you’ve lost yourself somewhere along the way. You can’t remember the last time you felt truly at ease, or when you last let yourself just... breathe.
Your steps don’t fall in rhythm with Jeonghan and Joshua as you trail behind them. All of your energy feels like it’s been drained out of your body, and that you’d much rather be in the comfort of your apartment to study and distract yourself.
“You guys can go ahead,” You say to Jeonghan and Joshua with a soft, yet tired smile. “I think I’m just going to head home and get some rest. Catch up later?”
Joshua frowns, noticing the tension in your voice. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” You reply nimbly with a half-shrug, even though the word feels like a lie when it leaves your lips. “Just… tired. You know how it is. You two deserve to celebrate, though. Go and enjoy yourselves.”
Before you could give Jeonghan or Joshua any chance to respond, you give them a half-hearted wave before hiking off in another direction. You blink away the heat that was threatening to form in your eyes, keeping your gaze focused on the ugly, cracked pavement ahead as you hurriedly make your way back to your apartment. Every step feels heavier than the last, and you swear you feel yourself sinking with each one you take. You tell yourself it’s fine𑁋that you’ll feel better once you’re home, but you can’t tell if you’re just trying to convince yourself that.
By the time you arrive at your apartment building, perhaps more time has gone by than you expected. The sun has nearly set at this time, making way for the moon to take over with its nightly duties, casting its pale glow over the world around you. But it doesn’t seem to paint its glow on you.
When you start trudging your way towards the entrance to your building, a voice freezes you in your path.
“Y/N! Wait up!”
Your heart sinks in your chest at the voice, almost urging you to step inside your place before that particular gnaw of guilt could grab you, but you freeze nonetheless. You reluctantly turn around to none other than Chan jogging up to you, his skateboard nearly falling from his grip as he lands right in front of you. He’s breathing a bit heavier than usual, as if he’d been running to catch up.
“You haven’t texted me all day,” he tells you breathlessly.
You lift a brow at that, a corner of your lip lifting up at his clinginess. “And you ran all the way here to tell me that?”
“Well, duh, I have to make sure you’re alive.” He wipes off some sweat from his forehead. You could tell he just rolled here all the way from the skatepark.
As you let your eyes scan over him, you can’t help but notice how effortlessly cool he looks with his messy fair falling in front of eyes, and the way he still seems to be trying to catch his breath from the exertion of running up to you. There’s a softness in his expression that makes your chest tighten, and it’s enough to make you lose focus on everything else. The exhaustion, the doubt, the ache in your chest𑁋all of it vanishes when you look at him.
Truthfully, you missed him too. You always do.
“You’re such a dork,” You prod, trying to suppress the soft warmth that spreads through your chest. You know he’s only teasing, but his concern still cuts deeper than you expect. “See? I'm alive and breathing.”
Chan eyes you suspiciously, before grabbing ahold of his skateboard from under his arm. “Alright, if you say so…”
Before he could place the skateboard on the ground, you stop him.
“Wait, Chan.”
Chan shoots his attention back to you, and perhaps that’s enough to make your legs feel like jelly and your throat to go dry. You hesitate, biting back the emotions threatening to spill out of your mouth, but something about the softness in Chan’s gaze makes it feel like this is the right time to let it out. Even if it’s just a little bit.
Without thinking, you take a step forward, then another, and another, before leaning in to gently let your head fall on his shoulder. Chan freezes, his body tensing at the sudden contact. For a second, you wonder if you’ve done something wrong, but then he exhales, his warmth radiating against your temple. You don’t notice the way his hand hovers uncertainly over your back, contemplating, before he ultimately brings it back to his side.
“I got my results for an exam today,” You admit quietly.
Chan thinks he knows where this is going, breathing out a defeated, “Oh. Did it… I mean, did you𑁋”
“I passed,” You mutter with a slight chuckle. “With flying colours.”
Chan doesn’t respond immediately, the only sound being the gentle rustling of the evening breeze. You can feel his shoulder shift slightly under your head, not out of discomfort, but then you feel his arm gently slide over your shoulders, pulling you a little closer to him. Maybe you’re close enough to the point he can feel your heartbeat.
“Then why do you sound so down?” he asks. “If you passed, you should… you should be celebrating, right? That’s a big deal.”
“I am celebrating.” You huff out a breath. “Now that you’re here, I-I could celebrate.”
Chan tenses at that, like your words rendered him speechless. “Because… because I’m here?”
You nod lightly against his shoulder. “It’s… easier to breathe when you’re here, I guess.” And then you smile faintly, even Chan can feel it. “Don’t let that get to your head, though.”
But it does. It does go to Chan’s head in more ways than one as he feels that familiar heat crawl up his neck from how those words fall naturally off your lips, like it was such a normal thing to say. And no, it doesn’t fuel the prideful ego he claims he has, doesn’t make him smug or self-assured; no, it goes straight directly to his heart, as your words always do. He’s glad the dim evening light hides the full extent of his reaction, but he knows his heart isn’t probably nearly as subtle.
And when you lift your head off his shoulder and pull away slightly, he can’t help but stare at you. You don’t say anything either, the words sitting in the air between you. But then you smile𑁋tiredly, genuinely, not forced or hiding anything𑁋and the first thought that comes to his head is that… you’re beautiful.
“You reek of sweat,” You suddenly point out teasingly, scrunching your nose. “How many hours did you stay at the damn park?”
“Oh, you know, only a good seven hours,” Chan replies sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Plus I did go to the gym with Soonyoung too…”
“And let me guess, no knee pads or helmet?” You ask with a raised eyebrow.
Chan opens his mouth in defense. “Well, I𑁋”
“Alright, I’ve heard enough,” You cut him off playfully, rolling your eyes dramatically.
Then Chan lightly nudges you with the skateboard. “At least you’ll be there to patch me up, yeah?”
“Nope, sorry, I’m leaving you at the mercy of the cranky ER nurses,” You tell him, wiggling a dismissive finger toward his face.
Chan just steps back up to you, a twinkle of mischief that you capture in his eyes, before he grabs hold of the skateboard under his arm and shoves it in your hold, a low oof escaping out of your mouth. Then you watch with a scoff as he brushes past you and into your apartment building, and you jog to catch up with him.
“What the hell are you doing, Chan?” You call out after him, trying to juggle the weight of the skateboard in your hands. Chan glances over his shoulder with that signature grin of his𑁋half playful, half smug𑁋and it’s enough to make you want to smack him with the board. “And take this thing back, I’m not carrying it! Lee Chan!”
Chan looks back at you with his tongue sticking out, before disappearing around the corner. “Sorry, I’m going to use your shower!”
And for the first time the entire day, the laugh that leaves you is real. A real, genuine laugh that comes from deep in your chest, bubbling up before you can stop it.
“Hey, Lee Dino! You’re up!”
Chan picks his head up from where he sat on the bench, scrunching the empty water bottle and aimlessly tossing it in the trash bin beside him. He stands up, tugging his shirt off that was nearly drenched in sweat and throwing it aside near his belongings. The cool air of the afternoon hits his skin, caressing over the tattoos that paint his skin.
His muscles flex as he stretches his arms above his head, relieving whatever tension was flowing through his body. The key factor to skateboarding is balance, but it’s also about rhythm𑁋finding the flow between body and board, and Chan knows it all too well.
He inhales deeply, eyes scanning the open park in front of him, full of potential for the next challenge.
“Let’s see what you got today, Lee Dino,” Chan mutters to himself, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Dino. A self-proclaimed nickname that was at first given to him by his father when he was just a kid and fascinated by the strength and coolness of dinosaurs in those silly comic books. His dad had joked that he wanted his son to dominate the world like the dinosaurs once did, and that nickname stuck ever since. It felt fitting to Chan, even now.
He strides confidently toward the half-pipe, his worn-out skateboard tucked under his arm. Placing the skateboard on the ground, he pushes it back and forth a few times with his foot, the wheels scraping the pavement below. He eyes the ramp ahead, its steep curve teasing him, almost daring him to take it head-on.
Chan doesn’t hesitate.
In one singular, fluid motion, he plants one foot on the board and pushes forward, flying off with a burst of energy that propels him toward the ramp. The world around him blurs for a split second as his focus narrows entirely on the slope ahead. His heart races, not out of fear but exhilaration. The crowd that had gathered around the park watches, a mix of awe and excitement in their eyes.
He hits the curve of the ramp, leaning into it just the right amount, and in one smooth motion, he launches himself into the air. The adrenaline kicks in, but it’s all muscle memory that fills him𑁋he knows exactly how to control his body.
Time seems to pause and the world around goes on mute as he floats above the ground. The board twists under his feet with the familiar flick of his ankle. His body moves effortlessly, adjusting for the perfect landing, and searching for the right second to take in a deep breath.
He lands back on the pavement with the grace of a dancer, his knees absorbing the shock of the landing, and the cheers of his friends and his fellow skaters power up to full volume right to his ears when the world comes back to him. But as he rolls around the bowl, his focused eyes are already scanning for the next trick he’s about to perform.
One trick after another, he continues, smoothly flowing from one move to the next. A quick Ollie here, a grind on the edge there, his body dancing on the board with a sense of freedom following right after him. He can feel the eyes of the crowd who have curiously gathered around the park to watch, but right now, it’s just him and the board.
One last run, he tells himself. Chan rolls again, more faster this time, building up speed as the seconds of anticipation pass. As he nears the highest point of the ramp, he shifts his weight and takes in one last deep breath. He’s going for a bigger one this time. A heelflip, followed by a 360-degree spin mid-air.
The muscle memory kicks in again as he pushes off for one final time. He feels the rush, the levity to his bones that make him fly, the thrill as the world spins around him. But as he spins, something doesn’t quite feel right, and he could sense it right away. A rush of cold wind catches him off-balance, and for a split second, he hesitates mid-air, yet he’s just a millisecond too late.
It’s a tiny moment𑁋one probably wouldn’t be able to notice it from how fast he was going𑁋but it’s enough to throw him off. His body is barely in the perfect alignment it needs to be. Panic flashes through his eyes.
And his heart sinks as he realises he’s not going to stick the landing.
Chan manages to land the board, but it’s far from the smooth he was expecting, slamming harshly that his body doesn’t fully absorb the shock. His right foot misses the edge of the deck just slightly, and the board wobbles beneath him. He tries to adjust quickly, but the momentum carries him a bit too far, and before he knows it, he’s stumbling off the side and onto the rocky ground, the skateboard shooting out from under him and skidding into one of the nearby flatrails.
“Shit,” he mutters to himself.
Collective gasps ripple through the air as he finds himself laying flat on the ground, his breathing heavy. Chan rolls onto his side, groaning in frustration.
“Man, you good?” Vernon’s voice pops in, the boy picking up Chan’s skateboard and jogging towards him. “That looked like a bad fall.”
Chan pushes himself up from the ground, shaking his head and laughing lightly, wiping his palms against the asphalt and feeling the sting of scraped skin. The fall had been harsh, his body aching slightly from the impact, but the sting is nothing compared to the frustration burning in his chest. He’s taken worse falls before, but this one felt different. This time, he knew he should’ve nailed it.
Maybe he was a bit too cocky. A bit too confident than he needed to be.
“Yeah, I’m good, dude.” He grabs hold of Vernon’s outstretched hand and stands back up on his feet with a grimace. “Guess I miscalculated that a bit, huh?”
“You sure about that?” Vernon asks skeptically, handing Chan back his skateboard. “You look like you’ve taken a hit.”
Chan just chuckles, downplaying himself playfully. “Nah, I’m fine. Maybe just a little bit of a bruised ego.”
But even with that, his mind races, still replaying the trick, analysing the split-second mistakes he made. Why had he hesitated? Was he not focused enough? Was it the wind? Or maybe, was it that nagging feeling of doubt that had crept in when he least expected it?
“You’ve been pushing yourself harder lately,” Vernon says, eyeing him knowingly. “You’re going to burn out if you keep going like this.”
But Chan only shakes his head dismissively.
“It’s just a slip-up.” Then he pats Vernon on the shoulder. “It’s all good, man.”
But deep down, he’s unsettled. He’s used to pushing through challenges, always looking ahead and striving for the next trick. But now, he feels like something’s holding him back, and it’s not just the fall.
He can’t help but think about you. A while ago when you’d reassured him, telling him he was great and making his heart do flips more than it should. Maybe he hadn’t fully processed it then, but now, with the fall still fresh like a wound, the words hold more poundage than ever. The words he told himself about his worth, the words you told him about his greatness… they don’t seem to line up with the failure he feels now. Maybe you were just saying it to make him feel better.
Or maybe he really isn’t as great as everyone thinks.
Because if you𑁋the one person who knew him best𑁋saw something in him, then maybe it was real. Maybe his greatness wasn’t just an illusion he crafted to keep himself from falling apart.
Later that evening, Chan finds himself taking a mindless hit of his vape. The skatepark has cleared away at this point, leaving only him and Vernon sitting on the edge of the half-pipe, the cool night air settling over the empty ramps and rails. The rush of adrenaline from earlier is now long gone, replaced by a quiet hum of exhaustion and contemplation.
Chan exhales slowly, watching the vapour dissipate into the dead of night, the faint flavour of Sour Fucking Fab coating his tongue. The nicotine buzzes in his veins, a distraction𑁋temporary, but enough.
His fingers absentmindedly tap against his skateboard, the frustration from earlier still simmering beneath his skin. Vernon leans back on his elbows, glancing at him with that same knowing look he always has when Chan is overthinking.
“You wanna talk about it now?” Vernon finally asks after exhaling a cloud of vapour of his own, leaning back on his palms.
Chan lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Not really.”
Vernon doesn’t push. He never does, seemingly having the unbotheredness that could rival a rock. The boy just nods, stretching his legs out in front of him, letting the silence do the talking instead. They sit there for a while, watching the overhead lamps flicker across the park, and the occasional car passing by.
Chan lets his legs dangle over the edge of the ramp, his skateboard resting beside him, scuffed and worn from years of practice. He takes another slow drag of his vape and drops his back down on the cool pavement below, sealing his eyes shut.
“You good?” Vernon asks again, his voice cutting through the silence.
Chan blinks, shaking himself out of it. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
“About your fall?”
Chan hums noncommittally. “Among other things.”
Vernon leans back against the rail, watching him closely. “You’ve been weird lately.”
Chan only lets out a breathy chuckle, yet doesn’t respond right away. It’s funny how one fall is enough to mess with his head. He just blankly stares up ahead at the night sky. He doesn’t have an answer. At least, not one he’s ready to say out loud. But Chan knows Vernon, and Vernon knows him, and he’s not going to let this go that easily.
“Do you think I’m actually good at this?” he asks suddenly, voice quieter than before.
Vernon turns his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “At skating?”
“Yeah.” Chan swallows the lump in his throat. “Or at anything, really.”
Vernon frowns puzzledly, sitting up properly. “Dude, what are you talking about? You’re literally one of the best skaters here."
“Yeah, but what if I’m just… I don’t know, pretending?” The words come out before Chan can stop them. “What if I’m just tricking myself into thinking I’m great when I’m really just average?”
Vernon studies him for a long while before letting out a slow breath. “Man, if that were true, you wouldn’t be out here busting your ass every day till the crack of dawn. You wouldn’t get back up after a fall. You wouldn’t care this much.”
Chan doesn’t respond right away, only pushing himself back off the ground. Then his mind drifts again, back to you𑁋your head resting in his lap, the way you looked up at him with something unreadable in your gaze. The impact of your words still lingers. You’re really great yourself. Like, better-than-I-deserve great.
“Have you ever thought that… maybe people see you as something more than you really are?”
Vernon lifts up a brow. “You’re speaking hieroglyphics.”
Chan scoffs annoyedly, running a hand through his messy hair. “Like, they think you’re this… great person, right? Someone who’s got it all figured out or whatever. But then, you screw up. And suddenly, you don’t know if you’re actually that person, or if they just convinced themselves you were.”
Vernon eyes him conspicuously. “Dude. That’s just imposter syndrome.”
A dry laugh leaves Chan. “Well, shit.”
“Okay, so you mess up one fall and suddenly you’re questioning your entire existence?”
Chan snorts, but there’s no real amusement behind it. “Maybe.”
Vernon stares at him a little longer, a little harder, then sighs.
“It isn’t just about the fall, is it?”
Chan hesitates, his fingers tightening around his vape. He wants to say yes𑁋that it’s just about the fall, just about that one pivotal mistake𑁋but he knows it’s not. He knows Vernon is right.
Because if it were just about the fall, he wouldn’t feel this restless. He wouldn’t be sitting here, staring at the cracks in the pavement like they held the answers to all the questions buzzing in his head.
And the thought of you wouldn’t keep creeping into his mind, either.
He smiles faintly at the thought of you, and he swears he could almost feel the warmth of your body when you laid your head on his shoulder the other day.
Maybe falling𑁋on the board, for you, for everything𑁋wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
Maybe he just had to figure out how to land.
“You ever think that maybe no one’s expecting you to be perfect except yourself?” Vernon questions suddenly.
Chan turns to look at him in surprise.
“Think about it.” Then the boy breathes out a cloud of vapour, hitting Chan square in the face, accusingly pointing at him with the mouth of his vape. “And wipe that disgusting lovesick shit off your face.”
Chan chokes from his words.
“Chan?”
“...hm?”
You lightly flick the tip of your pencil on his head, causing him to stir in front of you. The two of you were in the library of your campus, and Chan for some reason voluntarily wanted to come with you, despite it being one of your boring study sessions. He’s sitting in the chair right across from you, hoodie over his face and face buried in his arms on the table, clearly dozing off.
“You’re sleeping,” You say, raising a brow. “Why did you even come if you were just gonna pass out on me?”
Chan slowly lifts his head, eyes heavy with drowsiness. His hair is a mess, sticking up in odd angles, and his face is creased from where he had pressed it against his arms. He blinks sluggishly at you, eyes still heavy with sleep, but there’s something else there𑁋something softer, something warm.
“Mmm… moral support?” Then he shoots a glance towards your opened textbook and computer screen. “I barely understand any of the shit you’re studying anyway.”
You roll your eyes, fighting the smile threatening to spread across your face. “You could’ve just stayed home and slept, you know.”
“That’s boring,” he groans, rubbing his eyes before propping his chin on his palm. He studies your bare face𑁋tired eyes, a bit of breakout to your cheek, the way you chew on your bottom lip when you’re frustrated. “Talk to me.”
“About what?”
“Anything. I don’t know𑁋your shitty commute to school or if that one shitty nurse bothered you today. Just talk to me.”
You sigh, stretching your arms above your head before setting your pencil on top of your textbook. You could feel Chan’s eyes waiting for you as you try to rack your brain for anything to talk about. Anything that didn’t revolve around you practically moping through your coursework the entire day.
And then your face lights up.
“A baby held onto my finger last night,” You say, eyes softening from the memory. “Her name is Nabi, and she was sooo tiny, Chan, you have no idea. She wasn’t even my patient, so I had to sneak inside the nursery to see her, but…” You lean back in the chair, glancing down at your calloused fingertips from all the times you’ve practiced sutures. “I don’t know. She wrapped her tiny hand around my finger, then all I felt… was peace. It was relaxing. I haven’t felt peace like that in a long time.”
Now that’s an image that comes to Chan's head.
For a moment, like a spell, he’s lost in it. His mind wanders, as it always does when he lets himself think about you too much. He can imagine you there, looking down at Nabi with that quiet wonder in your eyes, watching you care for this tiny life. He pictures you cradling a baby of your own with the same peaceful look on your face as you guide them gently through the world.
And the thought hits him like a tidal wave: You’d be an incredible mother.
It’s not something he’s imagined before, not something he’s consciously thought of. But now that you’ve said it, now that you single-handedly planted the concept in his head, he can’t push it away. He’s seen it when you did volunteer work for young children back in high school, seen it when you showed him pictures of you cradling the newborn baby of your cousin with the fondest look on your face. He can see it so clearly.
“You’d be a great mom,” he blurts out suddenly, and he hardly processes the words until after they’ve left his mouth.
You blink at him, dazed. “What?”
Chan clears his throat awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I-I just think you’d be really good at it. You’ve always been great with kids, so…”
You blink at him again, unsure of what to say, and he can’t quite tell what you’re thinking in your head. But in reality, his words seem to hit you more than you expected. Perhaps you’ve been too caught up in your studies that it’s hard to imagine that kind of future for you right now. Yet, if somehow, life gave you that kind of situation, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
Maybe this would all be worth it in the end.
And so, you smile. It’s a small, just barely noticeable quirk of your lips, but it’s soft, and for some reason, it makes Chan’s heart skip.
“Yeah,” You murmur quietly. “Maybe.”
“Nabi was lucky to have you there, though,” Chan adds in. “Maybe she also felt peace too.”
You peer at him with an amused look. “Are you getting a soft spot for babies now?” Then you scoff sarcastically. “I guess the tough-looking skater boy can get soft, after all.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” he jokes, trying to brush off the warmth spreading across his chest. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
You could only roll your eyes. “Sure, I’ll keep your secret, buttercup.”
Chan just chuckles. He doesn’t mind being the soft version of himself with you. He doesn’t have to wear the hard exterior that everyone expects from him: the reckless skater with tough edges who never cracks under pressure. It’s easy, he thinks, to be soft around you. It’s easy for you to make him soft in the first place, with just a single glance, a smile, just you.
The room grows quiet now, other students filing their way out of the library for the night, leaving only the two of you. You glance down at your work, but your thoughts drift, still lingering on the conversation, and on Chan. You notice how his gaze has relaxed, lips curled like he’s trying to hide a smile. You don’t mind it𑁋this side of him. The one that feels less like a skating rebel and more like a person you’re learning to understand more every day.
He watches you as you get back to your work, highlighting parts of your textbook with that quiet concentration that he admires. It’s occasions like these when he finds himself noticing even the smallest details about you.
Yet his mind keeps repeating about the peace you mentioned, and there’s a sudden urge in him to bring it back to you.
“Come on.” He rises from the seat, stretching his arms over his head before grabbing his skateboard from where it rests against the table. “Let’s get out of here for a bit.”
You blink at him, confused. “What?”
“You need a break,” he states simply. “And I need to clear my head too. Let’s go do something𑁋anything but this.” He gestures at your pile of notes and textbooks like they personally offended him.
You stare at him like he’s proposed the most ridiculous thing in the world, hesitation making you stiffen. You glance between your opened textbook and unfinished papers. You still have a lot to study, and it looms over you like a cloud. But then you meet Chan’s eyes, and your heart gets lodged in your throat.
It’s tempting. More tempting than you want to admit. You bite your lip, considering.
“Chan.” You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re on thin ice right now.”
“Oh, come on,” he coaxes, tiling his head amusedly as if he knows he’s getting under your skin. “Just for a little bit, please?”
You groan, throwing your head back dramatically. “You’re a bad influence.”
“I’m a wondrous influence, thank you,” he corrects smugly, already swinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Now come on. Pack all that gross knowledge up.”
“Just so you’re aware, one day all this shit could help me find some revolutionary cure in the future,” You point out while stuffing all your belongings in your backpack. “Catch me on the front page of the New York Times.”
Chan smiles at that. Honestly, with already knowing how smart and studious you are, he wouldn’t even be surprised if that someday were to happen. He’s never once doubted your abilities, never once doubted that you’ll potentially save the world in some way, shape, or form, never once doubted that you’ll accomplish great things.
“Alright, whatever, as long as you don’t forget about me,” Chan says as you pack the last of your belongings.
You hit him gently on the shoulder. “I’d never do that to you.”
Chan’s heart does the familiar jump once again.
The two of you make your way out of the library, the cool night air hitting your skin as soon as you step outside. Campus is quieter at this hour, streetlights casting long shadows over the pavement. Chan hops onto his skateboard with ease, gliding a few feet ahead before spinning back around to face you, rolling backwards.
“Okay, so… what’s the plan?” You ask him.
He pretends to think, tapping his chin dramatically. “We could get ice cream.”
“It’s freezing, idiot.”
“Or we could break into the football field and stare at the sky like we’re in some coming-of-age movie.”
You scoff airily. “We’re not breaking into anything, Chan.”
“Ugh, you’re boringgggg,” he exaggerates teasingly, but there’s no real disappointment in his voice. He kicks off again, rolling beside you as you walk. Then, as if something clicks in his head, his expression shifts and his face brightens up. “I know what we’re doing.”
You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
Chan merely grins, and you know you have to give in. “You’ll love it, trust me.”
That’s exactly what someone who is about to get you in trouble would say.
Chan’s place has always been so… Chan. He shares it with another roommate𑁋a chill guy named Vernon who you’ve interacted a few times when you would visit the skatepark. The apartment is dimly lit, a shelf at the corner of the slightly unkempt living room containing a collection of vinyls and old CDs.
Posters of old rock bands and underground artists fill the walls. There’s another skateboard propped up by the door right next to a disorganised row of shoes and a stand propping up an electric guitar. The living room table is littered with books about sports you aren’t familiar with, loose papers, and a bong sitting casually beside an ashtray that contained some old rolled-up joints.
It’s been a while since you’ve visited his place personally as you’re used to him visiting you instead. It looks a bit different this time, some new furniture and decorations added that you haven’t seen before, but it still oozes the familiar comfort rightfully belonging to Chan.
“Bro, can you turn it down a little?” You hear Chan knocking a few times on Vernon’s door.
A voice is muffled on the other side, then the door swings open, and Vernon’s head pops out from the room. The two of them exchange a few words before Vernon turns his head to shoot you an acknowledgement.
“Yo, Y/N,” he greets you casually.
“Hey, Vernon,” You respond back with a quick smile.
Vernon faces back to Chan, glancing between the two of you, before poking him in the chest and muttering quietly, “Don’t fuck this up with her, man.”
Chan just swats Vernon’s hand away with a scowl, feeling the heat spread up to his ears. “Shut up.”
Vernon just shoots a knowing smirk before heading back into his room. You hear the music from inside lower slightly, yet still audible through the walls. Chan turns back to you, and you catch him fiddling lightly with one of his ears, but you don’t question it.
“Want something to drink?” he asks, slipping past you to head into the small kitchen area.
You give a nod. “Sure.”
You watch as he rummages through the refrigerator, half-expecting for him to pull out two bottles of beer or even just plain water. But instead, he fishes out two small juice boxes, sending you back to old memories of your middle school lunches and lazy summer days at the skatepark, and you bite back a chuckle.
He throws one to you, and you catch it mid-air.
“Seriously?” You question while stabbing the straw through the carton.
Chan only shrugs. “They’re Vernon’s. He bought them in bulk last time he got shit-faced high. Said they were ‘the peak of human invention’ or whatever.”
You roll your eyes, but when you take a sip, Chan watches in amusement as you dive in for more.
“Told you. Peak of human invention,” he muses while taking a sip of his own. “Our middle school has to take notes.”
“For sure,” You agree wistfully, sitting yourself down at the arm of the couch. “Alright, so what’s this grand plan of yours?”
A mischievous glint flickers in Chan’s eyes, and he disappears for a few minutes inside his room. When he comes back out, he has a few blankets hung over his shoulder.
“Rooftop,” he chimes eagerly with a grin.
You lift up a brow, eyeing him with skepticism. “I… Are we even allowed up there?”
Chan merely shakes his head, already walking toward the window where the fire escape is. “Nope.”
You groan but follow him anyway because, despite everything, you trust him. He’s always been the reckless one, the one who always takes risks, the one who hardly thinks before acting, but somehow, whenever you’re with him, you never feel unsafe.
The climb up the fire escape is easy, and soon, the two of you are on the rooftop, looking out over the other unappealing suburban apartment buildings beneath your feet. There’s a slight inkling of fear that you’ll get caught up here, but at this point, would it be the worst thing in the world? The answer is quite easy.
The night air is cool, a minor breeze driving through the air, blending with the soft music Chan plays from his phone. He spreads out the blankets, plopping down with an exaggerated sigh before patting the space next to him.
You settle down beside him, tucking your knees up to your chest. The streetlights ahead cast golden halos to the ground below, and for a few moments, neither of you decide to speak. But it isn’t uncomfortable per se𑁋far from it, honestly. It’s just a simple silence where words aren’t necessary to fill it.
“Junior year, Christmas break,” Chan says after a long pause, glancing toward you with a fixed look. “Senior year for you.”
You take a contemplative sip of your juice box. “The time you gaslighted me into running away with you for a night? Right before that embarrassing Christmas party at my house?”
“I was a pretty bad kid back then, wasn’t I?” Chan chuckles softly at the thought.
“Yeah, dude, what the hell happened to you? You used to be this scrawny little kid who spread rumours about snakes being at the playground so that other classes wouldn’t come.” You lean back on the blanket with him, exhaling a deep sigh. “Now you’re all… responsible and weirdly philosophical.”
Chan eyes you with a raised brow. “You haven’t changed.”
“I haven’t?”
“Nope. You’re still the same stubborn smartass girl who’d rather kill themselves in textbooks than touch grass once in a while.”
“Okay. Rude, first of all.” Then you lift your gaze up towards stars, and something in your chest aches. “But I guess some things never change, yeah?”
Chan stares up towards the sky as well, watching the same stars as you. “Yeah, I guess not.”
The two of you sit in another pit of comfortable silence for a while. You feel his shoulder brush against yours as he adjusts himself on the blanket, and for a brief second, your breath catches. It’s such a small thing𑁋his warmth seeping into your skin, his presence right beside you𑁋but it makes your stomach flutter in a way you don’t want to acknowledge.
You turn your head slightly to catch a glance of him. The sleeves of his hoodie have ridden up, revealing the large tattoo on his arm. You could tell how intricately designed the ink is on his skin, lines and shapes weaving together in patterns you can’t quite decipher but are distinctly, undeniably Chan.
“You ever think about it?”
“Huh?” You utter out.
“The future.”
You blink at him with surprise. Chan isn’t usually the type to dwell on these things. He lives in the moment, takes on whatever the hell life throws at him. If anything, you were usually the one to think about the future. You were always known for having a plan for everything, knowing exactly the kind of path you’ll take. But now, it seems more unclear than ever.
“I… don’t know,” You admit unsurely. “I think about what I want to do, who I want to be. But when I think about it now, with everything going on, I…” You find your voice trailing away, guilt slithering up your spine. “It’s hard to imagine it now.”
The only response you hear from Chan is a low hum, before he clears his throat.
“I think you’d be happy.”
Your breath catches. “What?”
He turns his head to look at you, his eyes soft even under the night sky. “I think that no matter where you end up, no matter what you do… you’ll be happy. You deserve to be.”
Something warm unfurls in your chest, like a flower coming in full bloom. You don’t know what to say to that, and even if you did, you wouldn’t be able to let it out. Your throat suddenly feels dry, your hands clammy, and you force yourself to look away in a flash to blink back some heat in your eyes.
Chan notices the pensive look to your face, but doesn’t push for anything more. He sits himself up on the blanket, taking a quick hit of his vape before exhaling a thin cloud of vapour into the night air. You fix your eyes on him, the dim light casting shadows over his face as he exhales.
His gaze drifts out to the neighbourhood of buildings ahead, but he seems to be lost in thought, withdrawn, like he’s fighting with himself about something he doesn’t know how to voice. The silence stretches again, but this time it’s heavier, different𑁋more intimate than you’re used to.
Then, you clear your throat. “We should probably head back soon.”
Chan doesn’t move from his spot on the blanket. “Yeah. Probably.”
But neither of you make an effort to actually get up. He wordlessly offers you his vape without looking, and you hesitate momentarily before shamelessly taking it from him, inhaling a little too deeply, but not caring enough to stop𑁋just to feel something other than this. The taste is odd at first, unfamiliar, but it quickly becomes something soothing in the cool night air as you breathe it out. You pass it back to him, your fingers brushing over the warm skin of his hand.
“Y/N?”
Your heart stutters when he calls your name. “Yeah?”
Hesitation lingers in the air. Chan sucks in a deep breath.
“You’re my favourite person, you know?”
Your breath gets caught in your throat at that, but you quickly mask it by giving him a playful shove in the arm, probably ruining the sentimental moment.
“I know, idiot,” You retort playfully, hoping it would be enough to hide the way your heart is racing. “You’ve told me that many times already.”
Chan just shakes his head, his expression unreadable. “I mean it.”
Your fingers nervously knead at the fabric of the blanket pooling around you. You can’t get yourself to look at him. You can’t.
Because you know. You know exactly what he’s saying.
And you don’t know what to do about it.
So instead, you swallow hard, keeping your gaze ahead. “You’re mine too, Chan.”
Chan doesn’t respond right away, and you don’t catch the faint smile that was beginning to bloom across his face. There’s a sigh that leaves his lips, almost one of relief, and he leans back on the palm of his hands, his eyes glued to your side profile.
“Yeah,” he mutters softly. “I know.”
Neither of you say anything more.
“Okay, listen, here’s the catch. She’s like… really great. Like… she spoils me and all that. It’s so overwhelming,” Soonyoung huffs out after dropping his deadlift and standing up. “I don’t know how to be a good boyfriend for her! I’ve never dated anyone before! How the hell do I ask her to go to the movies with me?”
Chan is listening. Well, not entirely𑁋Soonyoung’s words seems to be going in one ear and flowing out the other. He’s been listening to the older boy’s rant about this sudden new addition to his dry love life, the best part being that it’s his older sister’s best friend. Chan nods along anyway, keeping his gaze fixed on the gym floor as he absently rolls his water bottle between his palms.
Soonyoung only continues to ramble, pacing a little in front of him with his hands to his hips. “Like, what if I mess it up? What if she realises I have no idea what I’m doing and decides I’m not worth it? Or what if I’m too much?”
Chan hums, taking a long drawl of his water. “If she’s with you, she probably already thinks you’re too much, bro.”
The older boy shoots him a measly glare, popping down on the bench right next to him. “Wow, thanks, genius. You’re sooo encouraging. You’ve never been in love before, anyway.”
When Soonyoung snatches his water bottle, a few beats of silence fills the air. Chan continues to stare down at the gym floor like it contains all the answers in the world, all the answers he’ll never have, and Soonyoung gives him a few curious looks. And then, it clicks in his head.
“Wait a damn minute.” Soonyoung fixes his posture right away as his eyes widen, sitting up straighter. “Chan𑁋”
“Man, you really are blind are you?” Chan retorts with an amused click of his tongue. “No wonder you suck at being a boyfriend.”
“Shut up!” Soonyoung shoves him in the arm, before grabbing him by the shoulders like he’s just made the greatest discovery in history. “No way, is it Y/N? It’s Y/N, right?”
Chan’s reaction is immediate, the sound of your name already sending those familiar flutters to the pit of his stomach. This only makes Soonyoung beam up even more, and Chan already knows that the older boy will take this right into his damn grave.
He tries to pry Soonyoung off him, but he only relents.
Soonyoung is practically vibrating with excitement. “Dude, wow, didn’t you used to tell me you were going to marry her or something?’
“Why the hell do you still remember that?” Chan groans and rubs a defeated, embarrassed hand over his face. “I was, like, fifteen. A dumb, didn’t know their right-from-left kid. She was way out of my league at the time.”
“But not anymore.”
Chan rolls his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
“Come on, look at you! You’re hot, like a total eye-catcher and mouth-drooler material. Of course she’d be into you,” Soonyoung persists, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Literally anybody would swoon over you.”
Chan rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s different now, though. Med school is swallowing her whole, and she barely has time to breathe anymore. Besides, it’s just… complicated, you know?”
“You’re each other’s person,” Soonyoung affirms with confidence. “Don’t forget that.”
Chan’s heart thrums loudly at that. Now, the only thing he could think about was his conversation with you the other night. He can still feel the soft brush of your shoulder against his, the comfort of your presence beside him. You’re my favourite person, he had said; You’re mine too, you had said. It echoes in his mind like a tenacious virus infecting his thoughts. It’s true, he knows it is. You’re his person.
The big question is, though, how the hell does he gain the courage to finally face it?
Chan had never been the one to overthink things. He’s always been the careless kind. But with you, he finds himself replaying every single little memory with you, and it makes him almost want to combust.
Running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, Chan grimaces, tapping his foot out of unease.
“Love really is a piece of shit,” he mutters.
Soonyoung leans back on the bench with a reflective sigh. “Yeah, it really is.”
Chan side-eyes the older boy for a second, nudging him lightly in the shoulder. “Let me give you a piece of advice then.”
Soonyoung turns to face him with a puzzled look.
Chan just smirks, shoving Soonyoung in the forehead with his index finger.
“Stop being a pussy and your girlfriend𑁋do I need to spell it out for you? Your girlfriend𑁋to the damn movies already, you loser.”
No, this is not happening.
A tear squeezes past your eye and lands somewhere by your feet as you stare at the bold, unforgiving letters of the word FAIL written at the very top of an exam you took the other day. You will yourself to blink as if it would miraculously make the words change, for some mistake to have been made. But nothing changes. The numbers don’t rearrange themselves, the percentage doesn’t miraculously rise above the passing threshold. It stays there𑁋permanent, irreversible, mocking like a goddamn clown.
No, no, no, no.
Your throat tightens.
This is the fourth exam you failed in a row. You had studied until your eyes dried up and burned, pushed yourself past the brink of exhaustion, drained every last drop of energy you had left into preparing for this exam, hoping to make up for the list of others you scored below average on. You sacrificed sleep, skipped meals, ignored texts from friends. And for what? For fucking what?
For this shit?
Your vision swims.
Your pulse hammers loudly right to your ears, loud enough you’re sure it could drown out any kind of sound. Your knuckles tighten its grip around the paper until they turn white, nails digging into the palm of your hand.
Your breath hitches, and suddenly, it feels like the walls around you are closing, eager to shut you in. The room suddenly shrinks into a confined space that’s hard to properly breathe, the air too thick, your own skin too suffocating to be in. Your heart pounds painfully against your ribs, and a cold sweat trickles down the back of your neck.
You had been barely holding it together as it was, restrained by the threats of burnout. Long nights, endless studying, the constant weariness sitting heavily on your bones. And now? Now you have proof that none of it was enough. That none of it was worth it. That you weren’t enough.
A ding from your phone startles you out of your thoughts for a split second. You barely manage to catch the notification that jumps at you.
[10:37pm | dumbass 🛹]
y/n?? are you okay?
i don’t know what’s happening,
but your friend jeonghan ran into me
saying about how you ran away crying??
A choked sob escapes you before you’re able to stop it. You can feel the anxiety creeping its way from down your feet and up through your bones. You hardly realise how much you’re trembling from your hardened grip on your phone.
[10:39pm | dumbass 🛹]
y/n answer me please
i know you’re not okay
A cold panic grips your chest achingly𑁋you’re sure there’s a bruise there forming in some disgusting mental form.
What does this mean for you?
Your future?
Your dream?
[10:43pm | dumbass 🛹]
y/n please i’m worried
about you. i care for you
so so much
There’s a tug at your heartstring at his text, but then you feel another tug, one that’s more stronger, more desperate. It’s almost as if the final nail to the coffin had been hammered. You crumple the piece of paper in your hand aggressively before flailing it somewhere across your apartment. There’s a darkness that seems to loom right over you, goosebumps dancing up and down your skin as you sit yourself down at the edge of your bed.
One last ding from your phone.
[10:47pm | dumbass 🛹]
i’m coming over, okay?
stay there for me, y/n
i’ll be there in 5 mins
You stare at the screen of your phone, the words blurry through the tears that won’t stop raging down your face. You can barely process Chan’s messages. You know he’s worried. You know he’s trying to be there for you, but the weight of failure seems to crush your body like a boulder, and you aren’t even sure if you have the willpower to face him.
You can’t let him see you like this. You can’t allow him to see this weak, vulnerable, and ugly part of you. You can’t.
Time seems to tick by slowly as you pace around your room, but at every angle, all you can see is your scattered textbooks, the countless notes you’ve taken that never seemed to stick into your brain like it was meant to. All you see is the so-called effort that kicked you right back to this point. Your mind races with a million thoughts, each one a reminder of how much you’ve failed, how much you’ve fallen short of the finish line. The clock ticks mercilessly, and before you even realise it, Chan is at your door.
You freeze.
The knocks are insistent. Suddenly, the thought of Chan allows you to exhale a deep breath; the first, real one.
“Y/N? Open the door, please,” Chan urges, voice muffled through the door.
You could only stand there, staring at the door as if it could open by itself. Your heart is pounding even faster, your mind screaming at you to do something. You can just yell back that you’re fine𑁋that there’s nothing to worry about, but the truth is that you don’t fucking know what’s wrong with you.
“Y/N, please… I’m not going anywhere. Just… let me in.”
The pure softness to his voice seeps through the door and hits you square in the chest, and something inside your cracks. You know you should let him in, but your failure feels so raw, so final, that it’s hard to imagine someone, especially someone like Chan, still wanting to be around you.
And yet, he’s here, attempting to reach you.
Taking a deep breath, you wipe away your tears, and against every thought in your mind telling you to retreat, you reach out and open the door.
On the other side, Chan stands with an arm leaning against the doorframe, his dark hair tousled and messy from the wind, his breathing rapid and fast like he’s just run from the other side of the world just to get to you. The thought only deepens the cut even farther.
“Y/N…” His voice falters immediately at the sight of your face: puffy, reddened eyes, your body shaking like the world is crumbling right at your feet.
His heart lurches at the sight, jaw tightening slightly as his instincts to protect you, to lash out at whatever did this to you, flare up. He doesn't even hesitate. Without another word, Chan steps forward, his arms wrapping around you in an instant, pulling you against his chest. You don’t do anything but fall right into his grasp, and it’s almost as if you fit perfectly in his hold. Like the space was always meant for you.
You allow yourself to believe it for just a moment.
“Shit, you’re cold and shaking,” Chan mutters under his breath, tightening his hold around you a little bit more, but you already know the chill comes from somewhere else𑁋somewhere deeper that you know he can’t fix just like that.
For the first time in what feels like forever, you exhale a breath that doesn’t feel like it’s cutting you from the inside out, your fingers digging desperately into the fabric of his hoodie. You feel the heat radiating off him, the comfort of being in his arms, but a sinking feeling grows heavier in your chest. You don’t deserve this. Not his warmth, not his care, not his worry. You can’t let him in, not like this.
But for a moment, just for a moment, you do.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his breath hitting the temple of your head. “I’ve got you.”
You swallow a breath at that.
You shouldn’t let him do this. You shouldn’t let yourself melt into him like this, shouldn’t let yourself believe that this is where you belong. Because it isn’t.
Because you know better.
Because you know this warmth is only temporary.
Because you know the second you let yourself rely on him, really rely on him, it’ll all come crashing down.
Slowly, the grip you have on his hoodie loosens, and you start to push yourself off him.
At first, Chan doesn’t notice. His hold on you remains firm, as if he thinks you’re just shifting, adjusting. But then your hands push against his chest𑁋just barely at first; it’s a hesitant, silent plea for distance.
He stiffens.
His hold loosens, just slightly, but his arms don’t drop completely.
“Y/N?” The way he calls out your name comes out in a mere echo, like his presence is far away, even when it isn’t. Even when he’s just right there in front of you.
You don’t answer. You just push a little harder. I can’t let myself love you like this.
And that’s when he lets go. The cold is swift to settle back over your skin, the safety of his warmth disappearing in an instant. Chan looks like he wants to reach for you again, a twitch to his arms that doesn’t go unnoticed, but he doesn’t. He waits.
And that’s somehow worse.
You take a step back, putting more distance where there shouldn’t be any. “You should go.”
Chan flinches like you’ve slapped him, his eyes widening at your words, clearly taken aback, his expression completely faltering. He stays completely still in his spot.
“What?” He croaks out, his voice cracking weakly. “You can’t just𑁋”
“You don’t have to do this,” You say, forcing the words out even as they feel like shards of glass in your throat. “You don’t have to take care of me.”
“Why won’t you just𑁋” He stops himself, exhaling sharply before lowering his voice. “Why won’t you just let me be here for you?”
“Because it’s not fucking fair, Chan.”
“Bullshit,” he hisses out, but his voice is not angry, just desperate, hurt. “I don’t give a damn about fairness, Y/N. What’s not fair? That I care for you? That I want to be here when you need me? That I…”
“I’m not your responsibility!”
“...I’ve loved you for so fucking long it’s physically killing me inside?”
The truth spills from his lips like a flood he can no longer hold back. Silence swallows the room entirely, your feet sinking into the floor like quicksand. Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, the world around you comes to a halt. The tension stirring in the air has enough power to crush you all at once.
You shut your eyes, willing yourself to feel nothing, willing yourself to pretend like his words didn’t just stab you straight through the heart.
But they do.
Because you love him. God, you love him so much.
But you can’t give in.
Because if you do, you’ll shatter. And if you shatter, he’ll be the one trying to pick up the pieces.
“You need to leave,” You deadpan, forcing the words out even if they cut through your throat like a knife.
But Chan only stands his ground, and takes a few steps towards you until he’s close enough that you could feel his familiar warmth again. Your hands twitch at your sides as he stands right before you, and for a singular second, you steal a glance down at his lips.
“Don’t do that,” he urges, leaning in a little more, the edge of your bed from behind pressing into the back of your knees. “Don’t act like this doesn’t mean anything to you.”
Maybe he’s close enough to catch the subtle shakiness to your breath, to see the way your eyelashes imperceptibility flutter, to see the way your lips part ever so slightly. And maybe, just maybe, he’s close enough to make you forget𑁋for a fleeting, dizzying moment𑁋why you’ve spent so long trying to push him away.
If you gave the world one more second, his mouth would be on yours. One more second, and you’d finally know what it feels like to kiss the boy you’ve loved for as long as you can remember.
Yet like a punch to the gut, reality slams into you.
You swallow hard. “It doesn’t.”
The lie tastes like poison on your tongue.
Chan lets out a broken laugh, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe you. “You’re a shitty liar, you know that?” His voice comes out hoarse and rough. “You can tell me whatever the hell you want, but I know you, Y/N. I know… I know that you feel something, too.”
You bite down on your lip so hard you swear you could taste blood. You don’t respond. You can’t.
“So just say it,” he presses on desperately, his hands clenched into fists at his side. “Say it, and I’ll go. Say it, and I’ll stay. Look at me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t love me. God dammit, just give me something, Y/N, please.”
The way his voice becomes soft and pleading breaks something in you. Right now, you’re staring at the boy who has always been there for you, who has always known you better than you know yourself. The boy who is giving you a chance. A singular chance to pull him back. A singular chance to confess that you’ve loved him since before you knew what the hell the word love even meant.
And that same boy is staring at you like you’re his whole world, like you’re the only thing keeping everything from falling apart. You want to tell him the truth. You want to throw yourself into his arms and let him hold you together into eternity when you feel like you’re crumbling apart. But you can’t.
Because one day, he’ll wake up and realise that loving you is exhausting. That being around you is suffocating. That he deserves someone who isn’t this broken, utter mess of a failure.
So you do the only thing you can. You force yourself to break him before he can break you.
“Go home, Chan.”
“No,” he resists firmly, yet a pinch of shakiness to his voice. “Not until you say it… Not until you tell me that you love me too.”
“I don’t love you, Chan.”
Lie.
Lie.
Lie.
Silence.
You see the exact second the words hit. The exact moment his heart breaks.
You catch the way his body visibly deflates, the way the colour drains out of his face. Every fibre of his form tenses, and Chan swears to himself that he can’t breathe, as if your words completely knocked the wind out of him, tearing his heart out of his chest and right down to the ground. He’s still staring at you, searching your rigid face𑁋for hope, for any hint of regret, for something at this fucking point𑁋but he doesn’t find anything. His lips part slightly as if he was about to say something, but nothing comes out.
And then slowly, finally, he gives a nod.
“Right,” Chan says quietly, and his words are barren, empty. “Okay.”
He takes a slow step back, then another. And you almost call out to him, almost take it all back, almost tell him the truth𑁋that you love him more than anything, that you’ve loved him since you were kids, that pushing him away is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.
But you just clench your fists at your side. Chan stands at your doorway.
Then he turns back to look at you, his hand right on your doorknob, and you can’t read his face, yet you feel the way his eyes are piercing right through you. He pauses. He’s waiting.
“Goodnight, Y/N,” is the last thing he tells you before crossing onto the other side.
The second the door clicks shut behind him, your legs give out beneath you. Your entire body trembles as you press a cold hand to your mouth, a loud sob spilling out of you before you could stop the dam from breaking.
Because you love him.
And you just let him go.
The burning sensation of alcohol runs down Chan’s throat, the bitter taste of beer stinging his tongue.
He finds himself out of breath, standing at the very edge of the half-pipe with his skateboard gripped tightly in his hands. He’s been here for what feels like hours, but the night air is still too cold to shake off the sting in his chest. Skating is the only way he could cope with all the pain, the confusion, the longing, with everything that’s been lingering on his mind every night.
“Dude, are you just going to skate until you die?” Vernon’s voice punches through his thoughts, the boy sitting splat on the pavement, an unlit joint at the tip of his mouth.
Chan doesn’t even acknowledge the question at first, his eyes boring holes through the concrete beneath his feet. Then, with a leap of faith, he places a foot on the skateboard and pushes himself down the ramp. The evening breeze catches in his hair as he concentrates on getting to the other side of the half-pipe, the wheels screeching loudly against the pavement as he flies through the air.
Just for a few seconds, he wills himself to not think about you, but when he lands on the other side of the ramp with a hard thud, the feelings all come rushing back. He slows down, rolling in a few mindless circles before strolling back up to where Vernon is. He flicks his skateboard on his foot, letting it rest against his knee as he takes another deep breath.
“Chan𑁋”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Vernon pesters, concern edging his voice. “You can’t just keep skating away from this, man.”
“I’ve been in love with her for years, don’t you get it?” Chan jabs his skateboard into the ground, frustrating coating his words. “She’s everything to me and she just… she just let me go. I left because that’s what she wanted. It fucking sucks.”
Vernon lights the joint between his lips and leans back on his palms, exhaling a trail of smoke into the air that disappears into the dead of night. He watches as Chan swallows another swig of beer and clumsily plops himself down on the ground right next to him, letting his skateboard roll away a few inches before pulling it back with his foot. The only sounds that interrupt the heavy silence are the nearby chirps of crickets and the clicks from Vernon absentmindedly fiddling with the lighter between his fingers.
I don’t love you, Chan, are the words that have been replaying like a broken record in Chan’s mind ever since that night. And now here he is, at the fucking skatepark in the dead of night, trying to outskate a heartbreak that clings to him like a second skin.
Chan’s eyes drift up towards the darkened sky, a contemplative sigh leaving him.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to stop, you know?”
Vernon lifts a brow. “Stop what?”
“Loving her,” Chan finishes, tapping his fingers against the can of beer. “It’s crazy how it’s always been easy to love her. Maybe even easier than breathing sometimes.”
Vernon’s eyes flicker from the glowing tip of his joint to Chan’s solemn face. “Sounds like you’re in deep.”
This earns a bitter laugh from Chan. “You’re not helping, dude.”
“Don’t stop loving her then,” Vernon mutters like it was the most simple thing in the world. “But don’t let it eat you alive either.”
Chan scoffs, shaking his head. “Easier said than done.”
A beat of silence passes.
“Listen, when I first started skating, I used to wipe out all the time. Like, bad. I’d eat shit and bust my ass so hard I thought I’d never get back up again.” Vernon pauses, taking another long-winded drag. “But I did, because that’s just how it works, man. You fall, you get hurt, you get back up.”
Briefly, Chan casts a glance down to his hands, taking note of the fading scars on his knuckles from all the times he’s taken falls throughout his life, all the times he’s hit the pavement and gotten back up again.
And he thinks about you.
And he thinks about you, wondering: how many times have you fallen without anyone there to catch you?
He thinks about the way your hands trembled that night, the way you practically crumbled in his hold, the way your eyes looked so exhausted, so defeated. He thinks about the way your voice cracked when you told him to go, how you looked at him like he was both the thing you wanted most and the thing you couldn’t bear to hold onto.
Chan swirls the can of beer in his hands, taking one last swig before slamming the can on the pavement with a loud clink, the lingering metallic taste mixing in with his bittersweet thoughts.
He should have stayed. Should have fought harder. Should have told you that even if you pushed him away, even if you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t need him, he wasn’t going anywhere, because no matter which direction he goes, the path always leads back to you.
Because that’s what love is, isn’t it? It’s staying even when someone tells you to leave. It’s holding on even when they don’t have the strength to do it themselves.
He thinks about you again. About how you looked at him with that same damn expression you had the night your parents got into this big fight back during your freshman year of high school, the night you broke up with your first boyfriend during junior year who was an absolute dickhead to you, the night you first told him you didn’t believe in happy endings.
“Shit,” Chan breathes out frustratingly. “What the hell do I do now?”
Vernon shrugs, flicking the ash off his joint onto the ground until it dissolves into nothing. “Figure out if you’re willing to fall again.”
Chan lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah? And what if I hit the pavement even harder this time?”
“Then you’ll get back up,” Vernon says casually, with his cool, calm, and collected demeanour that’s almost irritating, even if the younger boy knows that he’s right. “Just like you always do.”
A plastic-wrapped sandwich is placed on the bedside table beside you, but you don't make a move to even acknowledge it. You know you should eat, you know you should do a lot of things, but your limbs feel like lead, and the thought of food makes you want to gag.
“Y/N? You need to eat.”
The worried tone of Jeonghan’s voice rings out from behind you, yet you could only find yourself sprawled atop one of the beds in the on-call room, your back turned towards the door and your eyes staring hazily into the dull, sterile hideous walls of the hospital.
There’s a defeated sigh that you hear come from Jeonghan, the noise of the hospital fading away when the door closes shut. Another presence enters into the room𑁋Joshua𑁋and you could only shut your tired eyes close as you mentally prepare yourself for them to attempt to dig you out of your hole once again.
But you’re beyond caring at this point. You can’t remember the last time you had a full night of sleep or felt anything other than the overwhelming deadweight of exhaustion and isolation pressing down on you. The only thing that seems to matter now is just getting through the damn day, making it to the next hour, then the next, until the cycle starts all over again.
The faint shuffle of footsteps signals Joshua’s approach, and despite how worn out you are, you can’t help but tense up slightly. You don’t want to explain yourself anymore. You don’t have the energy to.
“Y/N, at least drink some water,” Joshua assures, and you hear the snap of a water bottle opening and being placed on the bedside table right next to you.
You don’t reply at first, your gaze still fixed on the blank wall. You’re so tired, but somehow, sleep feels impossible. You feel your chest tighten, the heaviness of everything pressing down on you. The hospital. The clinical hours. The endless patient charts. The constant rush to keep up, to not fall behind. But beneath it all, another thing has been gnawing at you𑁋the night you pushed away the only person who could keep you from completely drowning.
Chan.
Thinking of his name alone is enough to send a wave of guilt crashing over the dam in your mind, and you bury your body even further within the sheets of the bed, willing yourself not to think about the way his face fell that night, the way his hands clenched into fists like he was holding himself back from reaching out to you.
You hurt him. You told him to leave. You told him you didn’t want him. You saw it in his eyes. And perhaps that’s what makes it worse𑁋knowing that you did it on purpose.
For a few minutes, Jeonghan and Joshua don’t say anything else. They’re not leaving; of course, they aren’t. The two of them have been hovering around you like ghosts for the past two weeks just watching, waiting for you to crack open enough to let them in. But some wounds don’t heal with a sandwich and a bottle of water. Some wounds don’t heal at all.
Then finally, a voice cuts through the thick silence.
“This isn’t healthy, Y/N. You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Jeonghan rebukes, sitting himself at the edge of the bed.
Your jaw tightens, flipping your body on the bed to finally face them. “Doing what?”
“This,” Jeonghan points out. “Locking yourself away, pretending like you’re fine when you’re not.”
“I don’t need a lecture,” You mumble flatly.
Joshua exhales sharply, crossing his arms as he leans against the bedside table. “We’re not here to lecture you. We’re here because we care. And you can’t keep wasting yourself away like this. It’s not healthy.”
Something inside you flinches, but you swallow it down, forcing yourself to remain still. You’ve gotten good at that lately. They’re right, of course. You know that they’re right.
A bitter laugh leaves you. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
Joshua’s face softens, and he crouches down so that he’s level with you. “Being here and actually living are two different things.”
His words make you pull the sheets tighter around yourself, as if that will somehow shield you from their concern, from the way they’re looking at you like you’re slipping right through their fingers. You catch a glimpse of the unopened sandwich and water bottle standing on the bedside table, the sight making your stomach twist, and for a brief second, you consider reaching for it𑁋just to ease the worry etched into their faces.
But before you could make any decision, the overhead intercom jolts you to life.
“Code blue, third floor east wing. Code blue, third floor east wing.”
The words send a chill down your spine, and your body reacts before your mind can catch up. In an instant, you’re throwing the sheets off, shoving past Joshua and Jeonghan as you bolt out the door.
A patient is crashing. There’s no room for hesitation. No room for exhaustion.
Your feet pound relentlessly against the linoleum floor as you barrel down the hall, your body moving on autopilot as you dash down the hallway. The rush of adrenaline keeps pushing you forward. A part of you senses that Joshua and Jeonghan are right behind you, but you barely register their presence as you weave past other nurses and patients, making a beeline toward the east wing.
And then𑁋just as you round the corner, just as nurses and doctors rush in from all different directions, the sound of their voices mixing with the frantic beeping of monitors𑁋the world tilts.
Your vision blurs, black spots dancing in the corner of your eyes, parts of your body growing numb.
And then… nothing.
The last thing you hear before the world fades to black is the sound of Jeonghan frantically calling out your name. Your knees buckle, and suddenly, the cold, unforgiving hospital floor is rushing up to meet you.
“Is this like, what, our second time meeting ever?”
Chan shoots his gaze over to Jeonghan, who was still dressed in his scrubs and walking towards him with his arms crossed together. Chan leans his back against the wall behind him, his skateboard tucked securely under his arm. He steals a quick glance at the closed door right in front of him, and his chest aches knowing that you’re right behind it.
Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he tightens his grip on his skateboard when Jeonghan stands right next to him. He barely knows the guy, but there’s something in Jeonghan’s gaze that makes it feel like he’s already sized Chan up.
His jaw tightens at the urge to barge into your room. But what would that accomplish? What would he even say? Would you even want to see him?
“Third,” he mutters, keeping his eyes trained on the door. “If we count the time we had a staring contest last week in the parking lot.”
Jeonghan scoffs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I still haven’t ruled it out.”
Chan exhales sharply through his nose, the faintest hint of a laugh escaping before his expression hardens again. He wants to be angry at Jeonghan, at Joshua, at anyone who’s been standing between him and you these past few weeks. But the hard truth is that he’s not angry at them. He’s angry at himself, specifically. Because while they were there𑁋staying, fighting for you𑁋he wasn’t.
“Did she ever tell you?” he asks Jeonghan.
Jeonghan lets out a contemplative hum. “Tell me what?”
“If she ever wants to see me again.”
Jeonghan stares at the younger boy for a moment. He leans against the wall as well, letting his uncrossed arms fall back to his side, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his scrubs.
“Do you really need her to say it?” Jeonghan asks, the question hanging in the air. “I think you already know the answer.”
And fuck, that stings.
Chan swallows at that. He feels restless, like his body is demanding him to move, to do something, anything𑁋kickflip down the hallway, punch a hole through a wall, slap reality into himself, burst into your room to shake you awake and demand to know why the hell you keep doing this to yourself. But he knows none of those things will change anything.
Minutes later, the door to your room opens, and out comes a disheveled-looking Joshua.
“She’s knocked out,” he says while stepping up to Chan and Jeonghan. “Got a minor concussion from the collapse, but the doctor says she should be okay once she rests for a little while.”
Guilt gnaws at Chan even more. Taking a leap of faith, he takes a step up.
“Can I go in?” he hesitantly asks.
Joshua’s eyes flicker towards Jeonghan, the two of them exchanging a knowing look between one another.
“Make it quick,” Jeonghan tells him. “We’ll cover you.”
Chan doesn’t need any more encouragement than that. He brushes past Jeonghan and Joshua, pushing open the door to your room with a bit too much force, the quiet click of the latch echoing throughout the quietness. His grip tightens around his skateboard, his heart hammering against his ribs as he lays his eyes on you for the first time in weeks.
And God, you look wrecked.
He’s greeted with the steady beep of the heart monitor. The hospital blanket is draped up to your chest, your body curled within like you’re trying to disappear. Even in sleep, you don’t look anywhere close to peaceful. Your brows are furrowed, lips parted like you’re caught in some action-packed dream you can’t escape from.
Chan rests his skateboard down against the wall, silently pulling up a chair beside your bed and sinking into it. He doesn’t reach for your hand, at least not yet, even though he wants to. He doesn’t dare.
Because what right does he have?
His fingers twitch where they rest against his knee, resisting the urge to grab onto your hand. You look so much different from the last time he saw you. Your face looks drained of colour, the hollows beneath your eyes painted dark from exhaustion. Your chest rises and falls steadily, and an IV stands intimidatingly at the side supplying fluids into your body.
For weeks, he’s been running through every possible scenario in his head𑁋what he would say, how he would say it, what he would do if you push him away again. But now that he’s here, staring at the way your fingers weakly clutch at the sheets, all those words fall apart in his throat.
Rubbing a hand over his face, he leans a bit forward, forearms braced against his thigh.
“You really know how to scare the shit out of people, huh?”
A humourless chuckle leaves him, but it’s quick to fade away when he catches sight of your fragile form again.
Silence. You don’t stir or react. But Chan keeps talking anyway, because gosh, he doesn’t know what else to do.
“I wanted to be mad at you,” he admits quietly, gaze flitting down to the floor for a moment before he forces himself to look back up. “I wanted to be so fucking mad because you told me to leave, and I…” His voice falters, shaking slightly as his breath hitches. “I actually listened. I’m so fucking stupid.”
Still no response from you.
“You don’t even know, do you?” he mutters. “How much everyone’s been losing their minds over you. Jeonghan has been glaring at me like he wants to kill me, which, to be fair, he might actually want.” A scoff leaves his mouth, shaking his head. “Your other friend Joshua won’t even look at me half the time. Vernon is probably done with my shit. Soonyoung is having his own existential crisis. And me? I’ve… I’ve just been trying to figure out if you meant it that night. When you told me to leave.”
His hands clench themselves into fists against his lap, the same way they had that very night. Memories hit him like a wave as he remembers the harsh adamancy to your voice, the way you stood there like you had already made peace with hurting him.
But then his eyes drift over to your hand and his breath catches in his throat. Without thinking, he reaches over to brush his hand over yours. His heart skips at the subtle warmth of connection, even through your cold skin. The pulse in his neck quickens at the touch. You still don’t move.
Slowly, he closes his fingers around yours, not expecting much. It’s tentative, almost apologetic, and it hits him at how much he’s wanted to do this𑁋to hold your hand and feel the comfort that came solely from you.
“You’re not invincible,” Chan whispers under his breath. “No one is. It’s not a weakness to let someone love you. To let me love you.”
A small, helpless laugh escapes him at the sudden confession, but it’s not like he could go about his days without telling you at least. He shifts in the chair, but his hand refuses to leave yours; if only, they tighten just a little bit more, his thumb gently caressing over your knuckle.
“Fuck,” he murmurs as his gaze rakes over you once more, the corners of his lips quivering upwards. “I could love you for the rest of my life.”
The room returns to its deathly quietness. Nothing to let him know that you’re hearing him. Nothing that would assure him that he isn’t just speaking into the void. Nothing but the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and the faint hum of the hospital outside your room. Chan simply stays like that, his fingers resting lightly against yours, waiting. Hoping. Promising to stay here for as long as he can.
And then𑁋so slight he almost misses it𑁋your fingers twitch against his.
You find yourself running.
It’s three in the morning, you’re dressed in your sleep clothes and stumbling out of your apartment with a pair of slippers. You were given very specific instructions by Jeonghan, Joshua, and your clinical instructors to rest for a few days after your collapse, but after being spammed with messages from Vernon that Chan had injured himself from an accident while skateboarding, your feet seemed to make the decision before your mind could process it.
So now, here you are, pushing open the door to your building and bolting out into the quiet, empty streets like a woman possessed out of her damn mind. Your frantic breaths fog into the air, the cold nipping at your skin as you dash off in a desperate sprint all the way to Chan’s apartment.
Vernon’s texts had been frustratingly vague𑁋just a series of frantic messages about Chan taking a bad fall at the skatepark, about blood and bruises and the possibility of a broken wrist. The words had been enough to send your already fragile heart spiraling, and now, the only thing driving you forward is the need to see him. Why would Chan do something so reckless?
But deep down, you already know the answer, don’t you? Chan has always been reckless, not because he doesn’t care, but because he does. Too much.
You hardly remember the last time you ran this fast, and your lungs burn as you push forward out of pure desperation, slipper-clad feet slapping against the pavement. Every breath you take feels suffocating, an aching pressure squeezing into your ribs, but you can’t stop. Not until you see him. Not until you know he’s okay.
By the time you reach Chan’s apartment complex, you don’t even hesitate to burst through the doors. For a minute, you contemplate taking the elevator, but that would mean wasting the few extra seconds you could use to head straight to his place.
One flight of stairs. Two flights of stairs. Three flights of stairs. You nearly trip on the last step as you shove open the door to his floor and make a straight beeline toward his place. When you land at the doorstep, you lift a fist and pound a few times on the door.
The seconds pass torturously long before the door swings open, and you’re greeted with Vernon.
“Where is he?” You ask him demandingly, letting out breathless pants.
Vernon appears almost shocked at your presence before he steps aside to let you in. “He’s in his room. I got a first-aid kit on the kitchen count𑁋”
You don’t waste anymore time than that, pushing past Vernon and into the apartment. Stomping all the way to Chan’s door, you raise another fist up and pound against the wood, loud and insistently.
“Chan!”
Silence.
You knock again, harder this time. “Chan, open the door!”
Still nothing.
Frustration and worry boil over all your thoughts, and without thinking, you hectically twist the doorknob. Locked still. Of course.
“Lee Chan, if you don’t open this goddamn door right now, I swear to𑁋”
The lock clicks.
Your breath catches when the door slowly opens, revealing Chan standing under the dim lighting of his room, and your gaze sweeps over him closely. His right wrist is wrapped in some sort of sloppy, rushed, makeshift plaster, a bruise painted at the corner of his jaw, and there’s a nasty scrape running down his forearm. His skateboard sits abandoned against the frame of his bed, and from the looks of it, one of the wheels is barely hanging on.
He looks tired. More than that𑁋he looks completely shocked to see you. Something tightens in your chest.
Chan opens his mouth. “What are you𑁋”
“Are you insane?” The words spill out before you can stop them, your voice shaking. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Chan’s eyes widen at your words, startled. “I-It’s just a sprain, it’s not that bad.”
“Not that bad?” You goad, motioning over his figure. “Vernon made it seem like you broke half your bones!”
Chan shoots a glare over your shoulder to where Vernon was looming idly in the background. The boy only shrugs with his arms hanging in the air innocently.
“I panicked, alright? Sue me,” Vernon admits shamelessly, before disappearing around the corner and back into his room.
You release a heavy sigh, running a frustrated hand through your hair. You head back into the kitchen area to retrieve the first-aid kit before storming past Chan and into his bedroom.
Before Chan could say anything, you point to his bed. “Sit down.”
Chan doesn’t budge.
Your expression darkens. “Chan.”
When he catches sight of the desperate look on your face, he knows that resisting even more would be basically useless. He finally relents, placing himself at the edge of the bed as you quietly begin to rummage through the first-aid kit for antiseptic wipes and bandages.
The silence that follows is thick and heavy, tense in a way neither of you have the courage break and instead just let settle awkwardly. You bend down in front of him, carefully unwrapping his poorly done plaster. The scrape on his forearm is worse than you thought𑁋angry and red, still oozing slightly at the edges.
“You’re an idiot,” You mumble while carefully dabbing the antiseptic wipe against his warm skin, causing him to jerk slightly, a hiss leaving his lips. “Stay still.”
Chan silently watches as you clean his scrape, gazing over the worried lines etched on your features as you lean in closer, his muscles twitching from your gentle touch. For some time, neither of you speak, and you cautiously grab his hand. It’s only when you start wrapping the fresh plaster around his wrist that he finally breaks the silence. You definitely need to take him to the hospital after this to get a proper splint.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” he states quietly. “You literally got a concussion, like, three days ago.”
You purse your lips together into a thin line as you glance over the bandage to make sure it’s secure and firm. “I know.”
When you step back from him slightly, your eyes land on the bruise to the corner of his jaw, and one of your eyebrows shoots up suspiciously. The bruise doesn’t appear that fresh. Chan can tell that you caught onto him.
“Where else are you hurt?” You ask with a pointed look.
At first, Chan hesitates, yet he could only shrink like a snail seeking into its shell under the serious expression painted on your face. His eyes drop down to the floor in guilt, and you watch as he shifts cautiously, reaching with one hand to clutch the ends of his wrinkled shirt before pulling up over his head.
Your heart stutters at the sight, and you can’t help but drink in his bare, topless form. You capture the entirety of the dragon tattoo that’s snaking up his arm and curling over his shoulder, the head of the dragon resting at the base of his neck, beneath the line of his trapezius muscle. The dark and bold lines making up the scales and claws are almost glistening under the faint lighting, contrasting heavily with his pale skin. You’ve never had the chance to appreciate the beauty of the art painted over his skin, at least not this up close. His toned chest and visible lines of his abs causes your throat to dry up and sends heat creeping up your neck.
But your admiration is quick to diminish when his muscles flex under the strain of the movement, and you spot another glimpse of a scrape to his collarbone, as well as a small cut on the superficial skin of his shoulder that’s hidden quite well from his tattoo. Without thinking, you let a finger delicately caress around the area of the one on his shoulder, and Chan visibly tenses up from that.
All you can do is simply stare, your heart clutching inside your chest.
“Chan…” You call his name so softly.
Chan bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
You lightly shove him in the shoulder. “That’s a load of bullshit.”
A wry chuckle leaves him, and it seems to lift a bit of tension in the room. “Yeah, maybe.”
Only giving a shake of your head, you reach out hesitantly, letting your fingers caress over his skin before you can stop yourself. Chan flinches from your touch, but he doesn’t pull away; instead, he traces your every movement as you carefully inspect the minor wounds painted over his body. Anytime your fingertips ghost over his skin, shivers run up and down his spine, but he forces himself to remain still. Just for you.
You’re being impossibly gentle as you grab another antiseptic wipe to clean the scrape to his collarbone, his Adam’s apple bobbing from your tenderness. He has to suck in a breath when you lean in even closer, swearing he could feel your warmth radiating onto him𑁋it’s comforting and terrifying all at once.
There’s something different in the way you look at him, as if you’re trying to commit to memory every new mark on his body, as if you’re desperately searching for more wounds he might be hiding from you. And maybe he is.
“You ran all the way here, didn’t you?” he asks, cutting through the silence.
Your fingers still for a second before you wearily sigh, firmly pressing down a band-aid over the scrape on his collarbone. “Yeah.”
His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something, but then he just laughs softly, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot too, you know that?”
You roll your eyes, snatching another band-aid and routinely moving onto the cut on his shoulder. “Takes one to know one.”
This time, you stand up from the floor and sit down right next to him on the bed, undoing the wrapping from the band-aid and carefully applying it over the cut to his shoulder. You can’t get yourself to look at him as you press a tiny bit of pressure over his skin to ensure the band-aid sticks, but you feel his own gaze lingering on you, burning a hole right through your heart. It’s almost like a touch itself from him.
As you pull away from him, you lift your eyes to meet his, and for a singular millisecond, his focus drops down to your mouth before looking back up to your face again. Then, all he gives you is a faint, almost teasing smile. You nearly give in from just that.
“High school, freshman year. Sophomore year for you,” he suddenly says. “Last week of school. Friday.”
You lift a puzzled brow. “What?”
An almost dreamy look crosses his features. “That’s when I first knew I started having a stupid crush on you.”
Your stomach lurches from his words. Time seems to come to a halt as a wave of memories wash over you from that particular day.
“Remember? It was my very first skateboarding competition, and I was an absolute nervous wreck after fucking up my boardslide. You were there, cheering me on even though you had no idea what you were watching.” He laughs faintly to the memory, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly with his uninjured hand. “But then you smiled at me, and somehow, everything felt okay.”
You do remember. You remember that day very well. You remember being late to his competition because you had to attend the last student council of the year meeting back at school, yet you caught him just in the middle of his performance𑁋a performance that didn’t go entirely well. He had fallen, just like now, and you recall the way his face was flushed with embarrassment when he struggled to stand back up. But then he shot a quick glance your way, and you couldn’t help but loudly cheer him on, despite the pensive looks on other people in the crowd, and his face lit up immediately just from that alone.
Then the thought harshly slams into you. Lee Chan has been in love with you for more than ten years.
Chan shifts awkwardly in his position, his injured hand resting in his lap as he continues to hold a steady gaze on you.
“Kinda embarrassing, right?” he mutters with an uneasy chuckle, shaking his head. “Holding onto something like that for so long. Even when I tried to tell myself that it was all stupid hormonal shit, I could never get you out of my head.”
You still don’t respond, only the pounding of your heart answering for you that you’re sure as hell Chan could hear. For the past many years, you knew that you’ve been holding onto something for him too. But ever since you’ve indebted yourself to the consequences of medical school, with the burnout, the pressure, the exhaustion𑁋it made you feel like you had no right to hold onto love.
So you pushed those feelings away; the same way you had pushed him away.
But now, here he is. Still here. Looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky.
And it breaks you.
You turn away, staring down at the floor, curling your fingers against the sheets of his bed. “I’m a mess, Chan.”
“I don’t care.” His response is immediate, firm.
Your breath stutters. “I pushed you away.”
“I know.”
“I hurt you.”
“I know that, too.”
“So why…” Your voice trails off curtly as you regain your thoughts. “So why are you still here?”
“Because I’m stubborn,” he says with a shameless smirk, a glint of fondness in his eyes, before his face softens once again. “Because you’re my best friend, my favourite person; because I’ve loved you since we were kids; because I’ve always known your heart was the one I wanted to carry, even if it’s heavy. Your pain is mine to hold, too. It doesn’t scare me.”
Your mouth falls open, but the words get stuck in your throat, like they’re too fragile to speak, too big to fit. You don’t even realise how close Chan is to you until you feel his warm breath fan against your cheek, his presence so close you could almost taste it.
His face hovers near yours, and your pulse quickens in response. His gaze flickers down to your lips, just mere inches from yours, the softness of his features tugging at your heartstrings. The world seems to slow down, and your mind races𑁋why is it so hard to just breathe?
And yet, you don’t pull away.
Then, just as he leans in a tiny bit more, his lips barely a breath away from yours, he pauses, and it’s almost as if your beauty punches him in the gut for the very first time again. He sees everything𑁋the weariness that plagues your face, the glassiness to your eyes, the way you sneak a glance down to his mouth as well. He forces himself to swallow a lump in his throat.
You still don’t pull away.
“God,” he mutters softly under his breath, voice full of pure, unadulterated awe. “You’re beautiful.”
Your stomach twists violently at his words, completely knocking the wind out of your lungs.
“Chan?”
He blinks up at you, waiting.
“Have you ever been scared of… crossing that line?”
Chan blinks at your question, and for a minute or two, he doesn’t answer. Instead, he searches over your face, the corners of his mouth tugging upward.
“Terrified out of my goddamn mind, actually,” he corrects with amusement. “But now… I do know that when I cross that line, I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t want to go back.”
Amongst the heaviness in the air, those words almost single-handedly dissolve the barrier between you. Before you can second-guess yourself, before doubt can sink its claws into you again, you shoot one last sure glance down at his lips and lean in to finally close the distance between the two of you.
Chan lets out a groan at the sudden contact, your mouth bumping against his lip ring, but he throws that discomfort out the window.
It’s barely anything at first. Your breath catches against his warm and slightly chapped lips, but it’s enough. Enough for him to take it as permission, enough for him to finally cross that line with you. His lips meet yours softly and tentatively, like he’s afraid you might pull away. But when you don’t𑁋when you press just a little closer, letting your fingers curl against his bare shoulder𑁋he deepens the kiss, exhaling shakily into your mouth, his uninjured hand coming to pull you closer by your waist.
He tastes like something sweet and a little dangerous, like honey laced with fire.
Chan kisses you like he’s been waiting for this opportunity his entire life, and to be fair, he did wait that long. His eyes flutter to a close as he lets nothing but feeling take over, as if he’s memorised the shape of your lips in his head a million times over but only now gets to experience how soft and perfect they really are. How much he wants to kiss you even more.
Your fingertips drag lightly, carefully, over his bare skin, tracing the markings of the large dragon tattoo down his arm. He shivers and his muscles tense under your touch, a quiet, barely audible groan slipping from him, making his grip on your waist tighten. His thumb brushes over the fabric of your shirt, pressing just hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth. He has to fight his restraint to fully consume you, like he wants to brand this moment down into his very bones.
“Fuck,” he curses, voice muffled against your mouth. “I knew it.”
Your body burns at his touch. A second hardly passes as you could breathe out, “Knew what?”
“That if I ever kissed you, I wouldn’t want to stop,” he rasps hoarsely, his breath shallow as his lips brush against yours again like he’s not quite ready to pull away, merely determined to make up for all the lost time and finally taste what he’s been holding back. “I’m so weak for you, baby.”
Chan has waited ten years for this. He isn’t going to waste a single second.
A shudder runs through you from the pet name and the way his voice sounds so low and full of longing. His hands slowly yet delicately drift under the hem of your shirt, and he inhales the little noises you can’t quite hold back. You feel his calloused fingertips from all his years of skateboarding meet the skin of your waist𑁋not pushing, just touching, worshipping. Your hand drifts to caress the contours of his back, drawing over the smooth, defined lines of his muscles beneath the ink of where his Aquarius tattoo is imprinted on his spine.
“I’m addicted to you,” he says in between kisses, his weight pressing down on you as your back falls against the bed. “I should’ve kissed you years ago.”
His lips move against yours sweetly, intoxicatingly. There’s a quiet moan that leaves your mouth, barely audible yet enough for Chan to feel it, and it sends a rush of desire coursing through him. But he doesn’t rush it. He knows how long he’s waited for this moment, how long he’s dreamt of it. And now that it’s finally happening, he’s cherishing every second like it’s his last day on earth, willing himself to memorise every subtle shift of your facial expression, every breathless sound you make, every brief contact of your skin on his.
You.
That’s all his mind is screaming at him.
You, you, you.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers against your lips, but his grip on your waist tightens like he’s begging you won’t.
You don’t.
Your fingers dig desperately into his shoulders, feeling the rising tension in his muscles, and you’re suddenly aware of the effect you have over him, the effect you’ve always had over him. He’s practically losing himself in you. His injured hand twitches at his side, somewhat frustrated at the thought that he can’t hold you in the way he wants to. But his other hand drifts a tiny bit more under your shirt.
You sigh into his mouth, and Chan swears he’s never heard a sound more intoxicating than that.
“You’re not real,” he mumbles, and you feel him smile against you. “You can’t be real.”
The chuckle you let out at that quickly dissipates when you feel his mouth trail to the corner of your jaw. Then his breath meets the pulse point by your ears, and he plants a soft, affectionate kiss at that spot. You melt into the bed just by that.
“For years,” he continues breathlessly, lips slowly ghosting over the shell of your ear. “I’ve been patient. So fucking patient. I swear to God, baby, I’ll give you everything.”
His words make you dizzy, like you’re floating𑁋weightless, like your body has been set ablaze from the inside and out.
When he pulls away after some time, his breathing uneven and heavy, his half-lidded gaze meets yours.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, worriedly, studying over your nervous expression.
You swallow hard against the dryness in your throat, still feeling the tingle at your lips from the kiss or kisses. You sit up in his bed slightly.
“Yeah, I’m…” You lower your eyes in a pit of shyness. “I’m okay. Are you?”
A sheepish grin blooms on his face. “Oh, I’m good. I’m grand. Half-busted clearly still, but…”
You lightly flick him on the head. “You’re supposed to be resting, dummy.”
“And you’re supposed to be resting too, idiot,” he retorts playfully, but then his face falls into nothing but affection. “And kissing me.”
The two of you let out a series of giggles at that. Your hands rests unsurely on bare skin of his chest and shoulder𑁋hardly realising how they got there in the first place. You’re both tangled in this delicate new dynamic, and yet, in a way, it feels so natural. Everything has changed, and now you find yourself standing right at the edge of something beautiful and uncertain, but still worth falling for.
Then, before you could kiss him again, a cough interrupts the two of you. You both look towards the doorway, and there’s Vernon standing there with his arms crossed.
“Alright, not to kill the mood, but before y’all start breaking the bed or whatever, at least close the door first,” he says with an impish smirk.
Chan grumbles annoyingly, burying his head in the crook of your neck. “Seriously, dude?”
“Hey, I just wanted to check if you two needed anything,” Vernon shrugs innocently. “Didn’t mean to walk on y’all eating each other’s faces. But for the record, fucking finally.”
“Whatever, bye, Vernon!” Chan staggers off the bed to shut the door in the boy’s face, groaning something under his breath before plopping down right beside you.
The laugh you’ve been suppressing tumbles out of you all at once, a sense of relief and giddiness taking over. Chan looks over at you with a sheepish grin, chuckling along with you, his fingers gently brushing against the lines of your palm as you both try to calm your laughter.
“Chan?”
“Yeah?” His face lights up when you call his name. Cute.
“I love you.”
The utter vulnerability in the crack of your voice makes his heart lurch. Chan stares at you, as if he’s afraid that you might vanish if he blinks. But when he does blink, you’re still here in front of him. And when you blink, he’s simply smiling at you. It’s the same smile he wore when you were kids, the kind that could outshine all the stars in the sky, the one that made you feel like you could take on the world. Only now, it feels different. It feels like home.
He’s been knocking on this door for years, and you’ve finally let him in.
“I love you too,” he mumbles quietly, leaning back to tenderly press his forehead against yours. “Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.”
That line between friendship and love? Yeah. Erased.
There’s no going back, it seems. But for the first time in a long time, you’re beginning to look forward.
👻 pairing: lee chan x f!reader
👻 theme: fake dating, humor, smut [18+ mdni]
👻 wc: 8.1k
👻 warnings: extremely made up ghost rituals, mild sexism/homophobia because the ghost is a dick, vague references to suicide, alcohol consumption, weed consumption, unprotected piv sex (big no-no), creampie, jun cameo and he’s real weird (/pos)
👻 a/n: this is a silly one folks! but i had so much fun writing this, and finally my first (posted) lee chan fic!! and please excuse all the ridiculous made-up ghost stuff i truly just pulled it out of my ass lmao but we ball. shoutout to @haologram for beta reading ily 🫶
SYNOPSIS: When you agreed to go ghost hunting with friends in a haunted asylum, you didn’t even believe in ghosts. But now that you are being haunted by the spirit of a grade-A douchebag it’s up to you and your pretend-boyfriend to get rid of him – before he figures out your ruse.
"You ready yet, Chan?"
"I was born ready."
You roll your eyes exaggeratedly as you shove a small black device into his chest.
"Here, dipshit, Wonwoo told me to hand this to you."
"She's always so mean to me…" Chan pouts as he takes the device from you, attaching it to his utility belt.
"Are you talking to yourself now?" you raise a brow at him. He points to the GoPro strapped to his chest.
"Cameras are rolling, I told you already," he tells you, annoyed. He told Wonwoo bringing you along was a stupid idea. They didn't really need the extra camera, they could've captured plenty of evidence without getting someone to fill in for Jun.
"It's The Pledisville Sanatorium, Chan," he had insisted. "This is the most haunted location in all of Nebraska. We can't squander this opportunity."
"Why don't we just go some other time?" Chan complained, throwing his hands in the air exasperatedly. "We can wait until Jun's elbow isn't broken anymore and then we don't have to bring a fucking amateur along."
"That's gonna take at least two months, maybe three," Wonwoo reminded him. "And ever since Jeonghan and his idiot crew posted that viral TikTok about it, now every ghost hunter in America is going to want to come here. Do you want to get famous or not?"
"I'm not in this for fame," Chan said, folding his arms. "I'm in this for scientific discovery."
"Right, whatever," Wonwoo replied, waving his hand dismissively. "Well somebody else is going to scientific discover the ghosts at Pledisville if we don't get out there soon. We have to get there first."
"Can't we just do it ourselves?"
"You know that'd be way too much work trying to split all the equipment between just two people," Wonwoo said, shaking his head disapprovingly. "We might miss something. And I don't do sloppy work."
"Don't you have literally any other friends besides y/n that could fill in?" Chan pleaded. "What about Seungkwan?"
"Seungkwan's a scaredy cat. He wouldn't even set one foot on the property."
"How about Soonyoung, then? That man doesn't know any fear."
"No. Soonyoung's an idiot."
"Jihoon?" Chan tried, just throwing names out at this point.
Wonwoo shook his head. "I asked him already. His response was: 'No. This is stupid.'"
"What about… I don't know, Soonyoung's girlfriend?"
"She dumped him last week. On the account of him being an idiot."
"Right," Chan grumbled.
"Come on, y/n isn't so bad. Just because she rejected you one time four years ago doesn't mean you can't work with her for one night."
"It was twice…" Chan mumbled under his breath. Wonwoo heard, but chose to ignore him. Chan's beef with you was a personal problem, and he needed to get over it.
So now here you are, assisting Wonwoo and Chan on their "ghost hunt" at an old abandoned asylum. Not exactly your idea of a thrilling Friday night, but you owed Wonwoo one.
"Sorry, sorry, I forgot we were rolling," you reply in a sarcastic tone. "Though I'm not sure why you need to film if we're not even in the building yet."
"Because the entire grounds are potentially haunted," Chan answers, refraining from adding a rude duh to the end of his sentence. "Spirits can be tied to the land itself rather than a specific building. You act like you don't even know anything about ghosts."
"I don't," you tell him plainly. "Considering that ghosts aren't real."
Chan gives you the most offended look you've ever seen on a human face.
"WHAT?!" he hollers as Wonwoo joins you two, hauling the last of the equipment from the car. Chan turns to him, looking like he's going to bite Wonwoo's head off.
"I think y/n neglected to tell you that she doesn't even believe in ghosts, Wonwoo," he informs him. Wonwoo doesn't react.
"No, she didn't," he replies nonchalantly, adding fresh batteries to his flashlight. "I knew that already."
Chan stares back at him, incredulous.
"Then WHY is she even HERE???"
"Because we needed an extra pair of hands, and because she owed me a favor."
"This is unbelievable," Chan laments, but Wonwoo just picks up his gear and starts walking toward the building's entrance.
"Come on, there's no time to waste."
Chan stares at the back of his partner's head as he walks away in sheer disbelief. He turns to you, shooting you an irritated glare. You shrug apologetically, grabbing your bag and following after Wonwoo. Groaning, he grabs his equipment, shuffling slowly behind. He was here to do a job, and he wasn't about to let you of all people ruin his night — never mind his entire career.
"Alright, that's the last night vision cam."
Chan picks his pack up off the floor, wiping debris off of it before slinging it back over his shoulder. Wonwoo had instructed you to go with Chan to set up the team's numerous tripods around the building, placing them in various rooms and hallways he described as "paranormal hotspots". Normally that was his own job along with Chan, while Jun would start scouring the premise with the EMF meter — but obviously, you don't know how any of these tools work, so your role was to follow Chan around with the main video camera while he did his investigating. Besides, that would annoy Chan, and Wonwoo found that amusing.
"We're all set up up here," Chan radios to his friend.
"Roger," Wonwoo's staticky voice rings through the walkie. "You guys take some EMF readings up there, I'm gonna hop into a ghost box session. Don't radio me unless it's an emergency."
"Wow, he takes this very seriously," you remark as Chan clips the walkie to his utility belt. You're not sure how the belt manages to stay up despite being weighed down with so many nonsense ghost devices, but you keep that thought to yourself.
"So do I," he shoots you a bored glare.
"That's not what I meant. I just mean Wonwoo is very intense."
"Yeah, he definitely can be," Chan agrees. "That's why he's the brains of this operation."
"And what does that make you, the brawn?" you tease.
"'I'm the personality," he huffs. "But for the record I do work out every day, thank you very much."
"Whatever you say, big boy."
"I have to cut so much of this stupid audio already…" he grumbles as he brushes past you, heading off down the dingy hallway. You follow, aiming your flashlight into the darkness, but even though it's fairly bright you still can't see very far ahead. You may not believe in ghosts, but this gross building itself is certainly giving you the creeps.
"What are we doing now, EMFs?" you ask as you catch up to Chan. "What's that?"
He grabs one of the many devices from his belt, showing it to you.
"It detects fluctuations in electromagnetic fields," he explains. "The higher the meter goes, the closer the ghost is. We'll start in the psychiatric ward, where there's apparently a high concentration of spirits."
"Why is that?" you inquire as you follow him down the corridor.
"Well, usually the spirits that stick around are attached to the places they haunt for some reason. The more emotionally charged they are, the more likely we are to pick them up on our equipment."
"Emotionally charged… Do you think these guys are mad because they don't want to take their pills?"
He shrugs. "I dunno, maybe. If we pick up any spirits on the EMF readings we can try to ask them." He stops in front of the next doorway. "This is it."
The door to the psych ward is completely off its hinges, propped up against the wall haphazardly, its frosted glass window shattered. A dead rat lays in the center of the doorway.
"Eww," you whine, stepping over it cautiously. "This place is disgusting. Why can't ghosts ever haunt somewhere nice?"
"Believe it or not, this isn't the worst location I've been to," Chan replies. He shines his light around the room, illuminating an array of dilapidated chairs, medicine charts with yellowed papers chewed at the edges by vermin, dozens of pill bottles strewn across the tables and floor, and one horrible looking rickety wheelchair parked dead in the center of the room.
"I don't care if ghosts are real or not, that wheelchair is definitely haunted," you grimace at it as you walk past. Chan makes his way deeper into the ward, poking around in the nurse's office. Something metallic in the corner of the main room catches your eye; walking over to it, you see a cheap silver wristwatch, the kind that was considered fashionable in the Y2K era, lying tarnished under a thick layer of dust. You know better than to touch it, lest you have to get a tetanus shot after this, but something about it intrigues you. You zoom your camera in on it as you nudge the watch with the end of your flashlight — it scrapes against the table's laminate surface, giving a small unpleasant screech.
"I thought I told you not to touch my fucking shit, bitch."
You nearly jump out of your skin at the booming voice from behind. You whip your head around to see a gangly man, no less than six feet tall, looming behind you. He is clean-shaven except for a goatee, with a backwards cap and baggy, grungy clothes, a scowl etched into his face as he glares at you. He looks like the stereotypical asshole from the early 2000s, and you're about to whack him with your flashlight and make a run for it when you notice something odd about him. Your eyes widen as you realize what it is: he's translucent.
It must be a trick of the light, you think to yourself. But the only light currently in the room is coming from your flashlight, and as you shine it on the scary-looking man its beam penetrates through his shimmering body.
Frozen, you stand there staring at him, not knowing what to do — but then you remember why you're here in the first place. Without looking, you raise the camera in your off-hand, aiming it at the man as you prod at his arm with the flashlight. To your bewilderment, it goes right through him.
"Hey man, that's pretty freakin' rude, you know," he says to you.
"Are you… a ghost?"
The words sound dumb as hell departing your lips. The guy stares at you blankly for a moment, before looking down at his own hands.
"Oh, yeah. I am," he says slowly as it registers. "Sometimes I forget."
"Sorry I called you a bitch," he says as he looks back up at you. "I thought you were Nurse Carter. She's always trying to jack my stuff." He scans you up and down with his eyes, a shifty smirk appearing on his face as he rubs his hands together. "You're way hotter than she is, though."
"Eugh," you grumble as your face contorts into a frown. "How are you dead and still a creep? Pick a fucking struggle."
"You're the one who summoned me, sweet cheeks," he grins, stepping closer to you. "Clearly you want some of this."
You take a slow step back. Surely a ghost wouldn't be able to actually hurt you… right? Even if he is a grade A douchebag?
"Not interested, I promise you," you insist, but he just laughs. "Come on, a pretty chick like you shouldn't be walking around single."
"I have a boyfriend," you lie, narrowing your eyes at him. He definitely seems like the misogynistic type that will only leave you alone if he finds out you "belong" to another man, so it's worth a shot.
"Yeah right, what kind of guy would let his girl go ghost hunting in a shithole like this by herself?"
"I'm not by myself, he's in the other room."
As soon as the words roll off your tongue, you immediately regret it. Implying Chan is your boyfriend? What good is that lie going to do?
Speak of the devil, Chan's flashlight beam reappears in the main room as he returns.
"Y/n, who are you talking to-WHAAAT THE FUCK??"
Chan's face goes pale as the ghost turns around, shimmering iridescently in the flashlight beam.
"I've been ghost hunting for three years, and you catch a full-bodied apparition on your first night?!" he balks at you. "I can't believe this…"
"This is your boyfriend?" the ghost asks you, his tone sarcastic. "What a catch."
"Boyfriend?" Chan pipes up, looking at you in genuine confusion. The ghost still has his back to you, so you stare at Chan furiously, telepathically telling him to just go with it. He seems to get the message.
"Of course, I'm her boyfriend," he tells the ghost with poorly-faked confidence. You roll your eyes, but the ghost doesn't seem to register that he's lying.
"Well, don't go leaving her unattended," the ghost scolds Chan smugly. "A scumbag like me might just come along and steal her away."
"At least he's self-aware," Chan mumbles under his breath.
"What the fuck did you say?" the ghost barks, seemingly growing even taller as he approaches Chan.
"Nothing, nothing," Chan backpedals. He grabs a small audio recording device from his belt, clicking it on. "What's your name?"
The ghost huffs. "What is this, a fucking interview? It's Tyler, what about it?"
"Just wondering, if you… Um. Did you die here?"
"What are you, a moron? Of course I fucking did," Tyler scoffs.
"Sorry, sorry," Chan flounders. "Do you remember when? How did you die? Why are you still here-"
"One question at a time, damn," Tyler the ghost interjects. "It was… 2002. I think. I jumped out the fourth story window. I don't know why I'm still fucking here."
"Oh, um, sorry," Chan apologizes sheepishly. "Did you like it here?"
"Yeah, it was fucking paradise," Tyler rolls his eyes. He turns to you. "Is he always this stupid?"
"Only on weekends," you say cheekily. Chan shoots you an annoyed look, but you ignore him.
"Tyler, can I ask you a few more questions-"
"No, I'm bored," the spirit interrupts him, still eyeing you. "You sure you wanna be with this fucking dork?"
"I'd rather be with a dork than a douchebag," you retort. Tyler glares at you.
"Fine. But I'll be around if you change your mind."
A nervous look washes over Chan. "What exactly do you mean by that?" he hesitantly asks the ghost. Tyler turns around, smirking at Chan as he flips him two middle fingers. Then, he disappears into a ball of light, flying into your chest and knocking you to the floor.
"Y/n!!" Chan screams, running to your side, but by the time he gets to you you are unconscious.
"What the fuck are we gonna do??"
"I can't believe I leave you alone with y/n for fifteen minutes and you go and get her killed by a ghost."
"It's not my fault!!"
The two panicked male voices drift into your ears as you slowly blink your eyes open to a gross moldy ceiling. You realize you're on your back, laying on the filthy floor, a backpack propped under your head for support.
"What happened?" you grumble groggily at the two figures you can see in your peripheral vision. Their blurry faces snap toward you.
"I TOLD YOU she wasn't fucking dead!!" you hear Chan yell as the figures rush over to you.
"I didn't say she was dead," Wonwoo insists, kneeling by your side. "But she definitely passed out on your watch."
Your friends come into focus, an equal mix of concern and relief on their faces.
"Are you okay?" Chan asks, brushing dirt off your jacket as he helps you sit upright. "I thought you were a goner after the spirit entered you."
"Chan insists you both encountered a full-bodied apparition," Wonwoo tells you, handing you a water bottle. You take it, the room temperature water feeling refreshing against your dry lips as you take a sip.
"Believe it or not, he's not wrong. Check the cameras, we both were filming-"
Wonwoo shakes his head. "None of the cameras recorded anything once you entered the psych ward, they all just have a black screen. They only picked up visuals again after you passed out. A classic case of ghost-equipment interference."
"Oh," you respond. "That's unfortunate."
"We're used to it, sadly," Chan says glumly.
"Well, do you think we can capture it again?" you ask, trying to stand up, but your knees give out. Wonwoo catches you before you can plop back to the floor.
"You're in no condition to ghost hunt, y/n," he tells you, helping you to your feet slowly. "You need to rest. We'll head back to the motel we passed on the way here."
"I don't want you guys to miss out on your investigation, though," you tell them. You don't particularly care to be here any longer, but you do feel a little responsible for ruining the trip.
"We can leave some of the cameras and sensors here overnight and come grab them in the morning," Chan tells you. "It's not ideal, obviously, but it's better than nothing."
"Come on," he says, offering you his arm. You grab onto it while Wonwoo picks up the rest of the bags, and he slowly leads you out the door. "Let's get out of here."
"Good news, we just got the last two open rooms," Wonwoo announces as he exits the motel office. He hands you and Chan a plastic key card each. "These are for Room 6, I'll be down in Room 10."
You and Chan glance at each other, and then at Wonwoo.
"Aren't you guys gonna room together?" you inquire, a confused expression on your face. You hear Chan let out a deep sigh.
"Come on, Wonwoo, I can deal with your snoring for one night, it's fine," he pleads, but Wonwoo shakes his head.
"Y/n hit her head, we're not leaving her alone overnight," he insists.
"Then you room with her!"
"And keep her up all night with my — what did you call it, 'dying car engine snores'?" Wonwoo raises his brow at Chan. "That would be rude."
"Fine, whatever," Chan says nonchalantly, trying to hide his annoyance. He's all too familiar with Wonwoo's stubbornness, so he knows there's no point in arguing. Besides, as much as he hates to admit it, Wonwoo is right — this sleeping arrangement does make the most sense. You fully passed out earlier, and though it's not his fault in the slightest he still feels pretty bad about it. Leaving you by yourself could be risky, and he doesn't want anything else to happen to you.
The motel room is nice enough — clean, but tiny. The two full size beds barely both fit, with only enough space for a single small nightstand in between them. Chan lets you shower first, and by the time he's finished showering he finds you tucked under the covers of your bed, fast asleep. You look very cute with half of your face smushed into the pillow as you lay cozily on your side, but he tries his hardest not to think about that. He climbs into his own bed, turning the bedside lamp off with a soft click, and within a few minutes he too is fast asleep.
You wake an hour or so later to a bothersome chewing sound. You raise your head up groggily, glaring over at Chan ready to chastise him for eating loudly at this hour — but he's asleep in his bed.
"Having boyfriend trouble, sweetheart?"
You jump at the sudden gruff voice coming from across the room. Panicked, you reach blindly in the dark for the lamp. As you yank the chain the room becomes illuminated in its soft yellow glow, revealing a man sitting in the room's lone chair across from your bed. It takes you a moment to realize that you recognize him.
"Tyler?" you ask incredulously, your voice hoarse with sleep.
"That's my name, don't wear it out."
He reaches into the bag of sunflower seeds in his hand, popping a few in his mouth, crunching them noisily before spitting the shells onto the floor.
"Ew," you grimace. "Can't you at least use the trash can?"
"It's ghost food," he replies, rolling his eyes. "It'll disappear when I do."
You hear Chan stir under the sheets. Glancing over at him, you see him pop one eye open.
"Why is the light on?" he mumbles sleepily, sitting up slightly. He stares at your unwanted ghost visitor for a good five seconds before he processes what he's seeing.
"What the hell?!" he shouts, bolting upright.
"Yup, me again," Tyler tells him smugly, raising his hands out. "I was just asking your cute little girlfriend here why you guys are sleeping in separate beds. Did she dump your goofy ass yet?"
"Who're you calling goofy??" Chan balks.
"You, bitch," Tyler informs him bluntly. "So what'd you do, break her heart? Leave her for another woman?" He pauses, before snidely adding, "Leave her for a man?"
"I—," Chan starts, still too bewildered by this entire situation to even know what to say. "Hey man, being homophobic is for losers."
"Oh so you are a homo then?"
"Does it fucking matter?" Chan retorts, annoyed. "Why are you even here? Go away."
"Oh I'm sorry, I thought you were a ghost hunter," Tyler mocks him. "I'm trying to help you here, dude."
"You're an asshole," Chan shoots back. "I'd rather never ghost hunt again than have to deal with you."
"You're just jealous that your girl wants me more than you."
"I most certainly do not," you glare at Tyler.
"Then why won't you let him sleep with you, huh?" Tyler taunts.
"For your information, Tyler," Chan sneers. "She passed out and hit her fucking head earlier, all thanks to you!"
"Looks like it knocked some sense into her if she's done with you," he smirks.
"She… We… Our relationship is fine," Chan stammers, hoping neither you nor Tyler notice how his ears are burning red right now. "Y/n just needs to get some rest, and she can't do that with you in here bothering her!"
"Fine," Tyler says, popping another handful of sunflower seeds in his mouth. "But you can't escape your relationship problems forever, man." He crunches with his mouth open, the grotesque sound causing you to make a face, but he doesn't seem to notice.
"I'll be waiting for you, baby," he tells you with a wink. He spits the seed shells onto the floor again, then throws up a peace sign in the most insufferable way imaginable.
"Holla if you need me."
In the blink of an eye, he vanishes again.
Chan stares into the now-empty space the bothersome ghost had previously occupied, trying to wrap his tired brain around everything.
"What the fuck is happening?" he grumbles, rubbing his eyes.
"I think I'm being haunted by a douchebag ghost," you say, not believing the words coming out of your own mouth.
"Sure seems that way," Chan agrees.
"This is nuts. A few hours ago I didn't even believe in ghosts." You flop back onto the bed, pulling the blankets up to your chin.
"Hey, try not to worry about it," Chan tells you calmly. "Try and go back to sleep, you really do need to get some rest."
"Yeah, you're right," you mumble sleepily, rolling over onto your side again. "G'nite."
"Goodnight," Chan says quietly. He flips the lamp off and shuts his eyes, but that jerk's words keep replaying in his mind. He's still not entirely sure why he's pretending to be your boyfriend for a specter, but it does at least seem to be a successful deterrent to the ghost so far. He shakes his head, burying his face in the pillows as he tries to go back to sleep. He can worry about this dumb ghost problem another time.
Chan swears he had an alarm set for 7am, but he doesn't wake up until 9:46 the next morning. By now, Wonwoo had already gone to retrieve the remainder of their ghost gear from the Sanatorium and was eating breakfast at the Denny's down the road from the motel, as a string of texts from his friend with an increasingly-annoyed tone informed him. He peers over to your side of the room, finding you still snoozing peacefully.
"Y/n," he whispers, careful not to startle you, but no response. He tries again a bit louder, but you still don't hear him. He hoists himself out of bed, standing in the small gap between each of your beds as he lightly taps you on the arm.
"Y/n, wake up," he tells you softly. You jolt awake at his touch, looking up frazzledly, but when you see his face you relax.
"Oh, it's you," you sigh with relief. "I was scared the ghost was back."
"Thankfully, no," he replies, sitting back down on his bed. "Anyway, Wonwoo already got the rest of the gear, so once you're ready we can head home."
"Thank god," you reply, swinging your feet to the floor and getting up. "I'm glad I never have to see that awful asylum ever again."
You whisk around the tiny room as you hurriedly pack your things, excited at the prospect of going home and laying in your own bed. Chan notices how your thin pajama pants cling to the curvature of your hips, how your breasts swing underneath your baggy t-shirt; he busies himself with re-folding the already-folded clothes in his bag to distract himself.
You are not doing this again, he tells himself sternly. It took you this long to get over her, don't start catching feelings for y/n all over again.
But deep down, he knows he already has.
Chan is five beers deep and getting his ass kicked in Call of Duty when his phone rings. Your name on his screen throws him for a loop, and his character is killed instantly in his moment of distraction. Shutting the game off, he picks up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hi, sweetie," your voice rings out nervously from the other end of the line. "I'm having a bit of a ghost problem again, can you come over?"
"Um," Chan says, trying to think clearly through his inebriated state. "Yeah? Yeah, for sure. I'm on my way."
"Perfect!" you reply, speaking in a faux cheerful tone. This is the last thing you wanted to do, but you've been trying for over an hour now to rid your home of Tyler to no avail. "See you soon!"
"See you soon," Chan echoes, the call ending with a beep as you hang up. He looks down, observing his unkempt sweatpants and stained white t-shirt. Frowning, he gets up and goes to throw on something at least a little bit more presentable. As he heads out the door, he stares at the keys in his hand, head spinning slightly as he realizes he is definitely too intoxicated to drive right now. With a sigh he opens Uber and types in your address.
Fifteen minutes later, he's standing outside your front door. He knows you literally invited him over, but for some reason he's still anxious. He takes a deep breath and goes to knock, but before his knuckles make contact the door swings open. He looks up, meeting your gaze as you give him a sheepish but grateful smile.
"Oh my god, thank you so much for coming," you mutter quietly. "This dickhead literally won't go away, I've tried everything."
"Of course," Chan replies with a nod, trying not to seem as drunk as he is.
He follows you inside, peering around at your intriguing decor. Your space is colorful and bright, with tasteful touches of whimsy — just like you, he thinks to himself. You suddenly grab his hand as you lead him into your living room. Chan stiffens slightly at the unexpected gesture, but then he sees the familiar specter laying lazily on your couch. Tyler stares at your tv while eating translucent ghost popcorn, seemingly mesmerized by The Force Awakens playing on the screen. A lingering skunky smell fills Chan's nose, and he notices a green glass pipe laying on your coffee table, shimmering just like the ghost himself. Chan clears his throat; Tyler glances up at him with bloodshot red eyes.
"Well well well," he says slowly, words slurring slightly. "Look what the cat dragged in. Have you seen this flick?" he asks, gesturing to the tv. "This shit is crazy, man. I wouldn't have offed myself if I knew how baller technology could get."
"Are you fucking high on ghost weed?" Chan questions, staring at the specter dully.
"Maybe. What about it?"
"You need to leave," Chan tells him sternly, but Tyler just laughs.
"Listen, man. You gotta stop leaving your girlfriend all alone. What am I supposed to do, not show up?"
"Yeah, actually," you reply, annoyed. "That would be ideal."
"Keep acting like you don't want me, babe. I know you're playing hard to get."
"If you had real nuts I would kick them as hard as I could," you shoot back.
"See? She's already trying to get in my pants," he says smugly to Chan. Chan grits his teeth.
"Get the fuck out, NOW!" he yells.
Tyler picks up the ghost pipe and pulls a ghost lighter from his pocket. He lights the bowl and takes a big rip, blowing the large cloud of smoke back at Chan.
"You're-," Tyler starts, but a hacking cough overtakes him. He clears his throat, continuing in a raspy voice. "You're such a fucking buzzkill, I'm out. Later, haters."
With that he disappears, the smoke and odor disappearing as well.
"This is so stupid," you mutter as you drop your head into Chan's shoulder, still holding his hand. Chan isn't sure what to do, but he pats your other arm with his free hand.
"I'm really sorry, y/n. This never should have happened."
"It's not your fault," you sigh, hugging your arms around his waist and leaning into him. Chan freezes, panicking internally, but when you start sobbing quietly into his shoulder he wraps his arms around you.
"Hey, it's gonna be okay," he consoles you. "We'll find a way to get rid of him, I promise."
"How do you even get rid of a ghost?" you ponder through a sniffle. You know you should probably let go of him, but the warmth of Chan's body heat is comforting.
"I'm… not entirely sure," he admits. "I've been trying to just find a ghost in the first place for so long that I never got that far."
"Can you stay?"
Chan's stomach drops, his heart rate accelerating in his chest. He hopes you don't notice, but you do.
"I don't want him to come back."
"Of course," Chan answers quickly. "And if he does I'll kick his ass."
You pull your head up, looking at him with a smile on your face.
"You fighting a ghost? Now that I'd like to see."
Chan grins. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that." He plops down on the couch, kicking his feet up as he lays down. "Well, I hope you can get some sleep now."
"You know, you don't have to sleep on the couch," you tell him casually. "I have a king size bed, there's plenty of room. If you want."
"Oh," Chan replies, trying to play it cool. "Um, yeah, I mean, if you're okay with that."
"Definitely," you nod. The look you give him is almost… flirtatious. Chan smiles back at you nervously.
He follows you at a safe distance as you head to your bedroom.
"I'm gonna take a quick shower," you tell him. "Make yourself comfortable."
"Cool. Sounds good." He gives you a thumbs up, which he instantly regrets. She already thinks you're a dork, you idiot, he says to himself. You disappear into the bathroom, pushing the door closed; it slowly shuts, giving him a brief flash of your nude back as you pull your shirt over your head.
Between that, the multiple beers, and the ghostly contact high, Chan's head is spinning. He pulls back your covers, awkwardly getting into your bed with his jeans on — immediately regretting changing out of his sweats.
"Whatever," he mumbles to himself.
He stares at your ceiling, listening to the sound of running water, trying not to think about you naked in the shower right now — a task that proves itself annoyingly difficult. He flips over to his stomach, burying his face into the pillow, but it smells too much like you. Giving up, he rolls back over and grabs his phone, opening Twitter and aimlessly scrolling for the remainder of your shower. The water shuts off and you emerge from the bathroom about 10 minutes later, wearing a tank top and a pair of boxer-style pajama shorts, hair damp and skin glowing, looking far too beautiful for Chan to handle right now.
"You don't have to sleep in your jeans, you know," you tell him as you pull the covers back, climbing into the other side of the bed. "That can't be comfortable."
"Um, it's fine," Chan lies.
"Alright, suit yourself." You reach for the lamp and switch it off, bathing the room in darkness.
"Goodnight," you say, flopping over to your side, facing away from Chan — to his relief. Within a few minutes he hears you breathing deeply, fast asleep already. He tries not to toss and turn, so as not to wake you, but he can't get comfortable. Eventually, he gives up, carefully slipping out of bed and removing his jeans, folding them neatly and setting them on the floor. He slips back under the covers — much comfier now. Soon, he too is asleep.
Chan wakes the next morning to you clinging to him like a koala.
He lays there, unsure what to do. He doesn't want to wake you, but he already has slight morning wood, and the soft warm skin of your legs entangled in his is threatening to give him a full-on raging boner. A sudden tingling sensation in his arm alerts him to the fact that he's holding you right now, your torso squishing the limb and making it go numb. He carefully tries to retrieve his arm without waking you, but your eyes flutter open.
"Oh," you mutter sleepily, slowly untangling yourself from him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to do that."
"It's okay."
You let out a big yawn, rolling back over to your side of the bed. "Thanks for staying again, I guess it worked to keep that d-bag ghost away."
"I guess so," Chan replies. "That guy is the fucking worst." You grin, amused; just thinking about stupid Tyler is enough to make his dick soft again, thankfully.
"Do you have any ideas on where to start? To get rid of him for good, I mean," you ask. "Tyler's a moron, but I don't think we can keep up this ruse forever."
"Yeah, probably not," Chan agrees, but his heart sinks a little. He hates the ghost as much as you do and wants him gone, but he's gonna miss having a reason to be around you. He tries his best to shake it off.
"Not that I don't enjoy spending time with you," you add. "But this shouldn't have to be your problem."
"I don't mind, really!" he tells you, perhaps with a bit too much enthusiasm. "But I definitely want him gone too. And I think I know just the guy to help us out here…"
"Okay, here's what you gotta do."
You and Chan are sitting in Jun's dim and bizarrely-decorated office, surrounded by strange equipment that you can only assume has to do with ghost hunting, as well as various alien- and cryptid-related paraphernalia. It's the middle of the day, but you wouldn't know it with the blackout curtain over the room's only window. "Reduces the risk of alien abduction by 75%", he had explained matter-of-factly when asked.
"Since the spirit has attached itself to you, y/n, you have to get it to latch on to someone, or something, else."
You and Chan had explained the whole situation to Jun — leaving out the part where you two have been pretending to be dating, of course.
"Now, obviously this guy is a massive tool," Jun continues, adjusting his casted arm in his sling. ("Whatever you do, do NOT ask him how he broke his elbow", Chan had warned you beforehand.) "So we don't want to burden somebody else with his presence — unless you have any enemies."
You wait for him to go on, but he looks at you expectantly.
"Oh, um, no. I don't have any enemies."
"Okay, good. Now, there's a good chance this Trevor guy was tied to a physical object at the asylum. Can you think of anything that might've been a trigger object?"
You were only at Pledisville two nights ago, but your memory of it is already quite fuzzy — you assume from the whole passing out ordeal. You try to mentally retrace your steps up to the point when Tyler appeared.
"The watch!" you exclaim suddenly. "He appeared after I nudged a watch that was laying on a table in the psych ward."
"That's it!" Jun says enthusiastically, snapping as he shoots you finger guns with his one hand that isn't in a cast. "That's your object. Now, all you have to do is go back to the asylum and follow a few simple steps, and then Terry should be gone for good."
"Ugh," you groan, sinking into the chair defeatedly. "I was so excited to never see that horrible place ever again." You sit back up, looking at Jun, but he is furiously scribbling instructions in his notebook. From the looks of it, his broken elbow is on the same arm as his dominant hand, but that doesn't seem to slow him down much. "Any chance we can banish him to another object?"
"You could," Jun replies without looking up. "But it might not keep him away forever. The best way to guarantee he won't come back is to return him to where he came from."
"Well," you say as you look over at Chan. "What are you doing tonight?"
"Kicking a ghost's ass after all, I guess."
That earns him a big grin from you. "We should get going, then," you say, rising from your seat. "If we start driving now we'll get there just after sunset, which I assume is prime ghost time."
"Actually, that would be 3am," Jun pipes up. "It's often erroneously called 'the witching hour', but ghosts and witches hardly exist on the same plane. Due to the tilt of the Earth and the relative alignment of the polar magnetic fields at that hour there is a higher likelihood of converging dimensions, allowing us humans a greater chance to catch a glimpse into the spirit world and potentially encounter an apparitio-" He pauses as he looks up, seeing by the expression on your face that he's lost you. "Never mind, that's not important here." He rips the sheet of paper from his notebook and holds it out. Chan takes it, folding it neatly and putting it in his pocket.
"Follow those steps exactly and you will be rid of- what was his name again, Taylor? But no substitutions."
You have no clue what that could possibly mean, but you don't question it.
"Thanks, Jun. I really appreciate your help," you smile gratefully at Chan's odd but kind friend.
"How did he break his elbow?" you whisper to Chan as you walk out of Jun's house. You see the edges of his lips twitch upwards.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"I'm currently being haunted by a douchebag ghost named Tyler," you remind him. "Try me."
A wide grin spreads across his face.
"You can't make this shit up. He literally slipped on a banana peel."
The asylum is just as disgusting as you remembered it.
You and Chan make your way back up to the psych ward, hauling all the random shit Jun told you to bring with. Turns out he had indeed broken his elbow on his dominant hand, so his handwriting was almost indecipherable, but after the weirdest grocery store trip you've ever taken you're pretty sure you got everything.
You pull out the list again, reading off Jun's instructions.
"'Step 1: Find your trigger object and make a two-inch thick, three-foot diameter salt circle on the ground surrounding it. Use Morton salt, not store brand.'"
Chan grabs the tape measure and the two containers of name-brand salt you purchased and starts constructing the salt ring.
"How does that look?" he asks as he finishes, stepping back to try and get a look at his work. It's not perfect, but good enough.
"That'll do. Okay, 'Step 2: Take eight sprigs of fresh sage and make a six-inch diameter ring directly around the trigger object.'"
Chan pulls a bundle of cilantro out of the grocery bag. There was no fresh sage to be found at the grocery store, and they were conveniently out of dried sage in the herbs section too. "Hopefully this'll work."
Chan makes a cilantro circle on the table around the wrist watch, checking it with the tape measure.
"'Step 3: The haunted individual must stand directly outside the salt circle, facing due East.' Guess that's me." You pull out your phone to find which way is East, positioning yourself on the circle's perimeter.
"'Step 4: The assistant must stand three feet from the circle, directly facing the haunted individual.'"
"Guess that's me," echoes Chan as he measures the ground and takes his place.
"'Step 4: The haunted individual is to call out the name of the spirit (here, "Trevor"), followed by the proceeding words:'"
You clear your throat as you begin. "Tyler," you speak loudly, your voice echoing through the gross, creepy room. "I summon thy presence immediately. Please present thyself."
To your dismay, Tyler appears, standing in the circle facing you, his back to Chan.
"Yo. Why the fuck are you speaking all weird?" he asks you. He then peers around the room, realizing where he is.
"Hey, what the hell are we doing back here?"
"Step 5!" you call to Chan. He pulls the bottle of Holy Water he was hiding behind his back and splashes its contents at Tyler. It appears to do nothing — just going right through him and sprinkling onto the grimy floor.
"Ha!" Tyler laughs haughtily, turning around to face Chan. "You think you're gonna get rid of me that easily, bitch?"
"Step 6!!" Chan yells to you frantically as Tyler begins to drift toward him. You pull a pink BIC lighter from your pocket and hold it to the cilantro. At first it does nothing, the leaves still damp from being misted on the grocery store shelves. You start freaking out as Tyler tries to push Chan over, but Chan holds his ground, swinging at the specter despite not hitting anything. Suddenly, the cilantro ignites, the blazing leaves glowing in the dark dank room. Tyler turns around, looking shocked.
"What the-"
The watch starts to glow, seemingly sucking Tyler's spirit into it.
"Aw, fuck!" Tyler shouts as his figure is magically pulled toward the watch, shrinking until there's nothing left but a ball of light. The orb hovers above the watch for a good five seconds, and then zips into it. The ignited cilantro is suddenly extinguished, the watch ceasing to glow — returning the room to silent darkness.
You and Chan stare at the watch for a moment, then at each other. You both start to grin.
"Did we do it?" you ask hesitantly.
"I… think so," he replies, optimism slowly returning to his face.
"WE DID IT!!!" you finally shout victoriously, prompting him to cheer as well. You run toward him, throwing your arms around him and jumping. He jumps with you, taking you in his embrace, both of you whooping and laughing. As your laughter starts to die down, you lift your head, looking Chan in the eyes. Then, you kiss him.
Chan stands there in shock for a moment as your mouth presses into his, but as he processes what is happening his lips lift into a grin against yours. He kisses you back, holding you squished against him as close as you can physically get, never wanting the moment to end — and for a few minutes, it doesn't. You make out with him, grasping at him desperately as his hands grip your sides tight. Finally, your lips part, both of you breathing deeply as you press your foreheads together.
"You don't know how long I've been wanting to do that," Chan admits sheepishly. You beam back at him, leaning in to kiss him on the nose.
"We can definitely do it some more, as long as we get out of this disgusting place first," you tell him with a laugh.
"Absolutely," he agrees with a nod. "Fuck this place."
You and Chan walk hand in hand out of the decrepit building, flipping it off gleefully as you drive away.
"Only a two hour drive back," Chan says glumly as the GPS pulls up the directions to take him home.
"Well, I do know of a cheap motel nearby where we could spend the night instead…" you posit. Chan looks over at you, a giddy smile spreading across his face.
"That sounds perfect, actually."
Chan flops onto the bed beside you, both of you sweaty and breathing heavily.
"Holy shit," he groans blissfully. "That was fucking amazing."
You roll over, pulling his body back into you, tangling your legs around him like you did the night before — but this time intentionally. There's too much body heat between the both of you to be cuddling right now, but you don't care, and neither does he.
"You're so beautiful," Chan mutters as he kisses your forehead softly.
"Oh, hush," you tell him, but he just wraps his arms around you.
"I mean it. You're perfect."
"You can't just say things like that to me," you say, looking up at him with a smirk. "It makes me horny."
"Oh," he responds, grinning. "Well in that case you're hot and pretty and cute and sexy and-"
You cut him off with a kiss. His tongue dances against yours, tasting you as he squeezes your butt. Suddenly you roll over on top of him; he looks up at you, surprised but eager, as you reach down. You grab his cock, finding it still hard, giving him a few strokes before positioning your entrance against his tip. You let yourself sit on it, his length slipping into your already-drenched cunt.
"Oh my god," he grumbles. "I could really get used to this, you know."
"Good," you say, starting to ride him slowly, dragging your pussy up and down as your walls squeeze his cock. "I'd like that."
"Like, as friends with benefits?"
"Maybe," you answer, starting to bounce on him, causing him to let out a loud moan. "Orrrrr, I dunno," you continue breathily, pumping his cock in and out of you. "We could like, date for real or something."
Chan smiles, his eyes rolling back into his head as you ride him. "Yeah, that sounds good," he says between grunts. "Great, even."
"But," you say, riding him faster still. "I'm not going on any more ghost hunts with you." Your words are turning whiny, and Chan feels like he's gonna bust again already.
"That's literally so okay," he responds. "I think, fuck-" he moans as you take him deeper.
"Cum in me again," you beg.
"Oh my god," he groans. He reaches for your clit, pressing his thumb into it as you ride him. You soon cum again, and with a few more strokes he releases inside you, more cum dripping from your already-cum-filled pussy as you slide up and down his pulsating cock. You collapse onto him, his cock throbbing inside you as you both come down from your highs.
"I think," he finishes his sentence, "that I'm done with ghost hunting for a while anyway."
"I guess you kinda found what you were looking for, huh."
"Yeah," he says, squeezing you tight in his arms as he plants a warm kiss on your cheek. "I really did."
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.”
summary: one night, you and your boyfriend and your best friend are watching a movie, only you didn’t realize this movie would have a sex scene this long. or that they would notice how uncomfortable it made you. when you finally confess to them why, they take their time guiding you through every life experience you’ve always felt too late for, one kiss at a time.
part one; section one | part one; section two | part two
masterlist
note: this was inspired by my 🪻 anon who sent a suggestion about a yunwoo fic centered on loss of virginity. what was supposed to be an ask reply became a full fic. see under the cut for more detailed notes and disclaimers. part two coming soon.
warnings: virginity, late bloomer reader (she’s 26), demisexual!reader, complex relationships to sex, sexuality, and pleasure. fluff, angst, and emotional hurt/comfort, frank conversations about sexual experiences and norms including body hair and preferences, references to disassociation during sex but in the past, brief mention/question about sexual trauma (there is none), bisexual!wooyoung, bicurious!yunho, nervous / inexperienced reader, shy reader, embarrassed reader, slow and i mean SLOW sexual acts, lots of consent, kissing galore, nipple play, body worship, masturbation (f), fingering, oral sex (f receiving), oral sex (m receiving), hand jobs, yunwoo teaching how to and reader learning for basically ever sex act….. lots of soft pet names y'all know me, an extremely earned 'good girl'
pairings: boyfriend!yunho x best friend!wooyoung x fem!reader
genre: smut and more smut
word count: 18.9k
note! this part was too long for tumblr! be sure you read section one first! linked here
You and Yunho both watch him carefully as he guides your hand down between your thighs, his eyes darting back up to yours every few moments to be sure he isn’t crossing a boundary.
“I think you should touch yourself,” Wooyoung prompts softly, pressing your hand lower so that it settles over your sex, “Yunho’s right, you should teach us what you like,”
You swallow nervously, “How do I teach you?”
“Just let us watch,” Wooyoung murmurs, “pretend we’re not here if it helps, just… show us what your body likes,”
The tension is so thick you feel like you could cut it, but somehow their idea seems right. It makes sense, and more than that, it feels safe.
You glance between them, wetting your lips and nodding, “Yeah, yeah, okay,”
Yunho sucks in a breath but stays still.
“Can we,” You adjust in the bed, “can you not touch me for this? Can you just watch?”
Wooyoung’s hand slips off your thigh, “Yeah, we can do that.”
You push away from Yunho and he slides back to give you some room, still lying by your side but this time just propped up on his hand and watching.
With a sigh you settle onto your back in the familiar position you’ve always touched yourself in, flat to the mattress, legs spread open, knees slightly bent as you angle your hips up.
“Alright,” You let out a nervous breath, “I guess… I’ll just, yeah, I’ll just do this,”
With familiar movements, you reach between your legs with your left hand and settle the pads of your fingers over your clit, warm and firm under your touch from arousal.
Their eyes are trained on you, and you swallow again, nervous.
“Baby,” Yunho says softly, “close your eyes.”
You let them flutter shut.
“It’s just you in bed,” He murmurs, “let your mind go to wherever it normally does. Just feel.”
It takes you a moment, awareness thrumming through you as you hear their slow breathing, every shift in the sheets, but you focus. You clear your mind.
Alone, relaxing in bed.
You think of the last thing that turned you on, the book you were reading that tugged at the tight coil inside you, the faceless male lead who’s romantic tenderness to the heroine got you feeling indescribably restless.
You sink into the mattress, you let it all fade.
With a breath, you start to touch. Slow circles of your fingers over your clit, dipping down to gather more wetness from your dripping core, your free hand sliding down over your body from rib to hip.
Warmth pools in your belly, and you let out a soft breath, head relaxing to the side as you keep your eyes closed.
You slide your hand up and over your abdomen again, brushing against your thighs, and the faceless figure in your mind starts to shift.
You feel the ghost of Yunho’s hand on your skin, of Wooyoung’s kiss.
Staggered images filter through, little flashes in your mind’s eye as you start to roll your fingers a little faster.
Yunho’s full lips, parted and pink.
Wooyoung’s eyes, shaggy hair falling across his forehead.
Your mouth makes a soft pop as your tongue unsticks from the roof of your mouth, a gentle sound on your lips, and more floods through your mind.
Long fingers, veined forearms, taut abdomens, the straight cut of Wooyoung’s collarbones and the broad set of Yunho’s shoulders. Arms around you, warmth enveloping you, hands searching your body with soft curiosity, lips on your skin.
You make a tight sound, adjusting your hand, your legs straining a little wider.
Your mind tumbles over the thought of them.
Wooyoung’s smile, Yunho’s laugh. Tanned skin, freckles, their light dusting of body hair. Soft pressure, gentleness, tenderness, whispered breath on your skin.
You suck in a sharp breath, back arching a little, and you slide your other hand down to find your entrance, pushing two fingers deep inside yourself.
The weight of the mattress shifts and you hear a thready inhale that’s not your own, but it doesn’t matter.
Your head starts to rock back, pressing into the mattress as hot pleasure swirls in your gut, and your fingers find the pace that always makes you come. Fast, steady circles on your clit and a matched rhythm for the two fingers that pulse in and out. Your thighs spread wider, knees drawn up, hips rolling down to chase the feeling.
“Ah,” You stammer out, “ah,”
Eyes pressed tightly together, chasing the feeling.
Images continue to flash in your mind, a mix of sensations.
You’re chasing hard now, desperate, but you can’t reach it.
Jerking into the mattress you keep working your clit, but your other hand flies up to your breast, squeezing hard, tweaking your nipple with a tug and then a steady flick, but it’s not enough.
You need it all, suddenly, sharply, and you’ve never needed that before in your life.
A pained whine pulls from your lips, frustration laced in the tone, and your heel slips against the mattress, pushing the blankets down further in the bed.
You need more.
With a desperate sound, you reach out to the side where you know Yunho is, searching for his hand.
He takes it, silently, giving you a squeeze to tell you he’s here, he’s got you, but that’s not what you need.
Eyes still closed, you drag his hand forward with a sharp tug, drawing it to your breast.
His fingers close over your soft flesh, his body shifting closer, and he gives you a tentative squeeze to mimic the sensation of your own hand.
“Yes,” You shudder, “fuck,”
He doesn’t speak, but you hear his breath change, and feel his fingers roll over your painfully hardened nipple.
With a staggered breath you reach down, but instead of touching yourself, you leave your hand open, “W-Woo,” you’re begging, “please,”
“Fuck,” You hear his soft curse, his hand sliding into yours.
You direct it down, pushing it where you need it.
His fingers are thick, thicker than yours to be sure, and when he sinks two inside you the stretch is sinful.
You moan properly this time.
In tandem, they work your body while you rub your clit, your free hand flying up to grip the pillows above your head, your face pressing into the soft skin of your own bicep as you pant.
“God,” You manage, something hot curling in your gut.
Yunho makes a tight sound next to you, his fingers rolling and tugging at your nipples with precision, and Wooyoung curses again between your thighs, the sound of his fingers pulsing in and out of your dripping cunt a filthy wet mess.
It hits you without warning this time. Normally you work yourself up to a quiet, rolling pleasure that leaves you feeling comfortably satisfied, but this orgasm is sudden and intense. A crackle of heat sparks from your clit to your nipples, zinging through every part of you, and it’s like a pressure valve releasing.
Your legs snap shut around your hand and Wooyoung’s, body wrenching up in arched ecstasy, and you cry out against your own skin, body shuddering in fits and starts.
It takes a second for your body to come back online, but you feel it when Wooyoung’s fingers slowly slip out of you, and when Yunho’s hands change from stimulating to soothing.
Still trembling, chest rapidly rising and falling with your shallow breathing, your body finally slackens and your eyes start to open.
They’re quiet, afraid of unsettling the moment, and then the realization hits you.
No one in the world has ever watched you come before, no one’s ever seen you fall apart, but what’s more is that no one has ever been a part of the reason you did before. It’s more intimate than being naked, and more meaningful than any lost virginity.
Emotion builds up in your chest, throat thick with it, and you take an unsteady inhale.
Yunho’s hand on your chest stills.
You reach for him, pulling his arm, “Please,”
He’s unsure, you can feel that in the way he wraps his arms around you, but then you grab onto his shirt like a lifeline and his hand cups the back of your head protectively, tenderly. Wooyoung slides up to your other side, his hand ginger on your bare hip as he watches you recover.
“Are you here?” Yunho asks, his voice a whisper.
You nod, steadying your breathing.
He lets out a shuddering breath, and Wooyoung’s hand tightens on your waist.
“Are you okay?” Wooyoung finally asks, nervous energy in his tone.
You nod again, getting the emotional tidal wave under control, “Just hold me,” you manage, “please,”
“Right here,” Yunho’s hand brushes over your hair, “Woo,”
There’s a shift behind you, and then his body joins you, the three of you pressed tightly together.
Yunho rocks you slowly, lips against your forehead as he murmurs. Your best friend rubs soft circles into your skin, kissing your shoulder slowly, chastely.
You don’t need either of them to say it, you know with perfect clarity that they love you.
Time stretches with them tucked around your bare body, and eventually, your breathing slows and your sudden rush of emotion fades into the background.
You shift back, looking up at Yunho and to the side where Wooyoung leans over, “Hey,” you manage.
“Hey,” Yunho’s fingers brush over your cheek.
“You okay, babe?” Wooyoung asks gently.
You nod, exhaling slowly, “That was a lot for me,”
Wooyoung looks nervous, his expression pinched with concern.
You reach for him, smoothing his worried brow, “It was a lot because it was new,” you explain softly, “I’ve never done that in front of anyone.”
He softens, “How was it?”
“Incredible,” You whisper, “I’ve never… it was so intense,”
Wooyoung nods, kissing your palm, “It looked intense,”
“I fantasized,” You confess with a small smile.
Yunho returns your smile, but there’s a question in his expression, “About?”
“You,” Your smile stretches into a grin, “both of you,”
“Is that new too?” Yunho’s eyes flick over your face.
“I’ve never done that either,” You confess softly, “I’ve never thought about a real person, not like I did,”
“But you thought about us?” Wooyoung asks, his voice hesitant.
“Yeah,” It feels like a victory, and maybe they don’t understand it fully, but they’re smiling with you, “I did,”
“Come here,” Yunho cups your face, pulling you up into a kiss, sighing against your lips as he tenderly holds you.
Sensation stirs in your body again, the thrill of it lighting up your stomach, and you grip his shoulder, “Mm,” you nod, deepening in the kiss, “yes,”
Yunho pulls away, his breath a little ragged, “Wait, wait,”
“W-what is it?” You breathe.
“Are you,” He breathes, shaking his head, “should we-,”
Wooyoung laughs gently, “Do you want more, is what he’s trying to ask”
Yunho blushes, pink darkening in his cheeks.
“Oh,” Wooyoung nudges him, helping break the tension, “you are down so bad for her,”
“Shut up,” Yunho rolls his eyes, but you watch as his ears darken too, a scarlet warmth that tells you everything you need to know.
You interrupt them though, finding their hands and drawing them closer, “Yes, yes I want more.”
Yunho’s head snaps up, “You do,”
“I just needed a minute,” You confess, “but I’m not ready to stop,”
“That’s my girl,” Wooyoung surges up, kissing you hard and fast, and then slides down the bed again.
“Woo, what are you,-”
His fingers slip between your knees, pressing them apart until you’re following his touch and falling open again, “Do you still want slow?”
You nod, your breath fully caught in your throat.
“Okay,” He drops to his stomach again between your spread thighs, kissing the tender skin there just once before looking up at you, “If you want me to stop, say anything. Push me, tug my hair, however you need to tell me, tell me. I’ll stop.”
“Okay,” You whisper.
“Yunho,” Wooyoung directs, “hold her for me, if she gets too quiet, let me know,”
“Got it,” Yunho smiles, blinking at the sudden interaction. You gather that he’s not used to being told what to do by anyone in the bedroom, but when it comes to your comfort, he just nods.
“I’m gonna lift you up a bit,” Wooyoung explains, sliding his hands under your splayed thighs, “just get comfortable, okay? Just like that,”
Your legs settle over his shoulders.
He kisses your cunt and your head falls back with a gasp.
Yunho watches your face, curling close to your body, but all he sees is pleasure.
Wooyoung’s mouth is slow and warm, his lips soft against your center, his tongue firm as he starts to trace your skin. Your hand shoots out instinctively to grab the sheets, to ground yourself, but you find Yunho’s palm instead and he laces your fingers together, giving you a squeeze.
You’re wet, still dripping from your first orgasm, but you can hear it when he inhales, the sound almost pornographic despite the tenderness of his touch.
A soft sound pulls from your lips, your hips jerking, and when Wooyoung groans into your heat, the vibrations roll through you.
He presses into you slowly, working you open with every deliberate stroke of his tongue. There’s nothing frantic in the way he moves, only focus. Your hips twitch, a gentle jerk you can’t fight and he hums low into your skin, a ripple spreading out beneath your navel.
Your breathing changes first, growing shallow, tight, your hand growing more solid in Yunho’s group as the feeling starts to build and crest.
Wooyoung’s tongue circles your clit in patient, repeating spirals, a mimic of the way you rubbed yourself and something inside you starts to gather. It’s not like your orgasm before, the way it snapped suddenly with urgent pressure, this pleasure is quieter, gentler. It builds around you like a rising warm bath, carrying you into its sensations with ease.
Your thighs twitch again, feet flexing against the sheets, and you sigh.
Yunho nuzzles your temple, “Let it happen, baby,” he murmurs, “don’t rush it,”
Wooyoung’s mouth lifts, looking up to check you, “I got you, I promise,”
You exhale shakily, wetting your lips and nodding, and as Wooyoung sinks back down your hips rise to meet his mouth. He shifts with you, one hand pressing up under your thigh to hold you closer to his eager mouth, his other hand reaching around and settling over your lower belly.
This pleasure is new, not because it’s wholly unfamiliar, but because for the first time you’re able to sink into the feeling of someone’s hands on your skin. Someone’s body working to please yours, and you want it, you want to live in it.
Wooyoung gently sucks at your clit, sighing a breath of warm air against your slick skin, and your body warms. A tingling shifting down your fingertips, curling in your toes. A breathy sound catches in your throat.
“Hmm,” Yunho kisses your hair, “you’re doing so well,”
You sigh, a pleasured sound, your fingers pressing into his hand, your head starting to dig back into the mattress.
You’re close now, so close it almost scares you. Pleasure starts to catch again, full and steady, and Wooyoung pushes down more firmly with his mouth, his tongue thrusting into you, lapping up you, flicking steadily against your aching bud.
It’s too much, it’s overwhelming, but in a way that’s starting to make you feel alive.
You gasp, back arching off the mattress, and your free hand flutters like it doesn’t have a place to land.
“There she is,” Yunho says, his voice quiet and warm.
Slow and deep, the rush of pleasure that hits you this time is an undulating wave rocking through every nerve in your body. You fall into it, open to it, trembling against Wooyoung’s mouth as you moan and twitch.
Your voice shifts, not a cry like last time. It’s a long, low release, a bloom.
Your chest rises and falls in shallow breaths as you come down, your body easing back into Yunho’s waiting arms. His hand strokes up and down your side, steady and warm, the lightest pressure of his fingertips along your skin.
Slowly, Wooyoung lifts his head, his lips parted and face flushed, chin slick with your arousal.
You sigh, eyes drifting to the ceiling, “That,” you manage, your voice a bit hoarse, “felt so good,”
Wooyoung breathes out a shaky laugh, resting his forehead on your thigh, grounding himself there like he needs this contact just as much as you do.
Your pulse is still fluttering under your skin, and when you look down at him, he’s watching you with such an unguarded affection it tugs at a deep, quiet longing long dormant in your chest.
Reaching out, you brush your fingers through his damp hair, and Wooyoung leans his cheek into your palm without hesitation, his own eyes softly closing as he feels your warmth.
He cups your hand against his face, turning to kiss your palm, “You okay?”
“Yeah,” You promise him, “I really am,”
Wooyoung kisses your thigh once more, and then slides up your body to rest beside you, face level with yours. You smile as he shifts into your space, and you realize you’ve always been safe with him, comfortable with the way his skin feels on yours, his touch, always so freely given without expectation of anything in return.
It’s only natural you ended up here.
Wooyoung’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, “I’ve never seen you like that,” He comments softly.
“Like what?”
“So relaxed,” He smiles a little, “free,”
You soften, your body tucked into Yunho’s behind you.
Wooyoung smiles, just a little, “I love you,” he says it so simply, “you already know I do, but, God, I do love you,”
Emotion swells behind your ribs again, “I love you too,”
Wooyoung’s eyes flick up over your shoulder, but whatever he finds in Yunho’s expression must soothe his anxiety because he smiles, and dips to your mouth. He kisses you this time with affection, you feel it in the slow pull of his mouth, the way his hand slides up your arm before cupping your cheek.
“You’re so beautiful,” He murmurs as he leans back.
A little laugh escapes you, “You keep saying that,”
“It’s true,” Wooyoung grins.
Yunho’s body curls closer around you, his hand resting on your bare hip, “He’s right,”
Turning your head to find his eyes, something in your chest tugs loose at the sight of him.
Utter affection, the closest thing you’ve ever seen to devotion, heavy in his soft eyes. When you reach for him, he comes willingly, responding to your movements with his own like a dance he knows the steps to by heart.
Your lips meet, a catch of breath in his throat as he holds you close.
This time, you kiss him, your fingers on the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer as your mouths part, tongues connecting between breaths.
“Jagi,” He sighs.
Your lips part so you can look up at him, “Yunho?”
“Yes?” His voice is quiet, looking at you like he can read your every thought.
“Thank you,” You whisper.
His brows lift, expression clearing, “For what?”
“For being patient with me,” Your eyes flick down so you can get the rest of the words out, “for waiting for me, not pushing me. I didn’t know how much I needed that,”
His warm lips connect to your forehead, “You’re worth waiting for,” he murmurs, fingers stroking up and down your spine, “sweetheart, you’re more precious to me than I ever knew someone could be,”
Your eyes close as you let his words sink in, breathing quietly together, and you nod just a little, hopeful that he understands that you mean it too.
He leans back to see you after a beat, “I just want you to feel good, and feel safe,”
“I did,” You assure him, “I still do, which is a miracle,”
Wooyoung kisses your shoulder and nods, “It just means it feels right, babe,”
For a moment, his lips linger at your shoulder while Yunho’s hand cups your waist, his thumb stroking a soothing line into your skin.
The room is quiet again, another breath to let you get your bearings in this new territory, to understand the shape of the intimacy building between you. Your eyes are closed as you breathe in and out, body languid after your back to back orgasms, and you let your mind drift.
After a moment though, your senses shift. Your mind is so attuned to touch, typically preoccupied with the ways that it makes you feel discomfort or on edge, so you’re good at spotting the hidden meanings in people’s hands.
Wooyoung’s arm wrapped around you isn’t relaxed, there’s a subtle tension in his position, and in the sound of his tight exhales, every few breaths one just a bit deeper and laden with something urgent.
Your attention shifts, and you notice the way Yunho’s fingertips aren’t brushing softly, not anymore, there’s a press to it, a restraint of something more.
You blink your eyes open, level with Yunho’s chest, but when you shift backwards, sliding your leg just right, your body slots together with Wooyoung’s and you feel an unmistakable hardness.
He sucks in a soft breath, arching a little to guide his hips away from yours, but no one moves, no one mentions it. You watch as his hand tightens on the mattress, just a little, but enough.
From your position here, you can’t see Yunho’s face, but you study his body language. There’s a faint strain in his jaw, a tense cord of muscle in his neck, his breathing shallow and carefully controlled. When you readjust in the bed, he readjusts too, something clearly aching under his skin.
Glancing down to his hips, you nearly lose your breath when you see that he’s hard too, impossible to conceal in those sweatpants, despite his best efforts and careful positioning.
They’re both hard, and if you’re guessing, they’ve been like this for a while.
Your chest flutters, something quickening in your chest.
They wanted you.
They want you, still.
Your mind flicks through all of it, every touch, every word. Every second since you crossed the threshold of this bedroom has been about you – your comfort, your peace, your pleasure. Never once did they try to turn your attention or coax you into something further or faster.
The contrast of that slices through you.
Every guy you tried with, every single one, picked you for what they could take from you, not what they could give.
The decision is made in your mind before you even verbalize it to yourself, and you find yourself reaching, your hand settling on Yunho’s abdomen, “Yunho?”
He twitches at your touch, you feel his muscles quirk under your fingertips, but he answers you with his softest voice, “Yes?”
Your hand drifts a little lower, “You’re hard,”
His hips turn, trying to conceal that fact, and he leans back to see your expression, “Sorry,” he clears his throat, a flash of embarrassment moving across his face, “yeah,”
“Don’t apologize,” You smile a little, hand sliding back up to a safer spot on his chest, “you’re fine,”
Wooyoung snorts a little breath of air, “I’m pretty sure I’ve been hard since you kissed me,” he admits with a crooked grin.
You nudge him with your elbow, “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Yunho brushes his hand against your jaw, “Baby, this wasn’t about us,”
“Exactly,” Wooyoung nods, “we’re fine, we’re more than fine.”
You study his eyes a moment, and you know he’s being truthful. You know if you said this was over then this would end right here.
You move then, extricating yourself from their arms and sliding up in the bed, the sheet slipping off you until your skin is bared again to them in the soft light. Their eyes track your movements, unsure why you needed to make space, but they wait, they watch.
“You’re both hard,” You say it funny by mistake, like you’re trying to get your facts straight.
Yunho’s eyes flick to Wooyoung, then back to you, “Yes,”
“You both want me?”
“Yes,” Their voices blend together, answering you without hesitation.
“So then,” Your teeth catch on your lip, “let me try and make you feel good too,”
Wooyoung’s brows lift high in surprise and he shakes his head, “You don’t have to do anything for us,”
Yunho’s nodding, opening his mouth to say more, but you get there first.
“Stop,” You shake your head, “I’m okay, I feel good,”
His face softens, but you still see his hesitation.
“This is a part of sex too, isn’t it?” You look to Yunho, “I don’t know what I’m doing, but you said you’d teach me.”
Yunho’s eyes darken with something more, a tense pulse in his jaw, but he nods.
“So, teach me,” You breathe, a smile on your lips.
The silence hangs, none of you breathing, and you look back and forth between them.
“Jesus,” Wooyoung finally cuts the tension, running a hand over his face, “you’re perfect,”
Yunho shifts in the bed, sitting up to meet your eyes, “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” You nod, “I want to try,”
“Try what exactly?” Yunho’s hand against the bedding flexes, trying to keep his obvious need under control.
“Um,” You feel the heat rise again in your cheeks, and then you look too Wooyoung, “your mouth felt… would my mouth feel that good for you?”
Wooyoung groans, falling into the mattress face first, but he nods, “You’re going to kill me,”
“So, that’s a yes?” You grin.
“That’s a big fucking yes,” Wooyoung exhales, pushing himself up to a seat with you both, “if you’re comfortable, we can do that.”
“I want to do that,” You say, and you mean it.
Yunho takes a deep breath and then shifts off the bed, “Alright,” he swallows tightly, and as he stands you see the impressive tent in his sweatpants, “jagi, is it alright if we get undressed?”
“Yes,” You nod, a little too eager and he smiles at you, amused.
Wooyoung slides off the bed too, and you watch as they start to peel off layers.
Yunho starts to talk, but your eyes are locked on the way that his body looks when he shucks off his shirt, the way his fingers move when he pulls at the tie of his sweats. His lean, corded muscle tensing and relaxing as he moves.
“If you start to get uncomfortable,” Yunho says, and your eyes fly up to his, “tell us, I don’t care what we’re doing or what we’re saying to you,”
Wooyoung nods emphatically.
“I don’t care if Woo says he’ll die if you stop,” Yunho says, and it’s funny, but his voice is firm and clear, “if you need to stop, we fucking stop.”
“I got it,” You smile, “stop means stop.”
You take a breath, and realize they’re both almost stark naked in front of you. You take them in all at once, pupils dilating and head going fuzzy.
They’re both lean, the bodies of men who are endlessly active – running, biking, dancing, all movement and cardio and stamina, but every line of their muscles are well defined. Their cocks visibly strain against the cotton of their boxer briefs, and you feel a curl of heat in your belly just like before.
Wooyoung shoots a look at Yunho and rolls his eyes, “She’s okay,” he says as he reaches out a hand to you, “I’ll take very good care of your girl, Yunho-yah.” The teasing emphasis on Yunho’s name pulls a smile from your lips.
Yunho’s jaw tightens, but he exhales through his nose and nods, “I know,”
Taking Wooyoung’s hand, he pulls you forwards, “Come here, babe,”
You end up standing, and you let him guide you as he shifts your positions, sitting down onto the edge of the bed.
“Here?” You check, nodding, moving to get on your knees.
Yunho’s hand on your lower back stills you, and he reaches past both of you to grab one of the thick throw pillows, sliding it onto the floor between Wooyoung’s feet, “Don’t hurt your knees, baby,”
“Right,”
Slowly, you drop down, situating yourself with your hands on Wooyoung’s thighs.
It’s still for a moment, no one moving, but then Wooyoung drops back onto his elbows and lets his legs open wider, “Doing okay?”
“Mhm,” Your eyes are glued to his clothed cock.
Yunho’s hand brushes over the back of your head as he steps from one side of you and Wooyoung to the other, and then he crouches behind you at your side, one of his heavy, warm palms settling on your lower back.
“Okay,” You breathe.
Wooyoung’s eyes look hot, need unapologetic in his gaze, and as you reach for his waistband his hands tighten in the blankets under him.
“So,” You manage, hooking your fingers under his underwear, “I’ve never done this before, obviously,”
“Doing great so far,” Wooyoung exhales.
“This seems like a clear first step to sucking your cock, Woo,” The words roll off your tongue, an easy jab with your best friend.
Yunho laughs at your side, his lips pressing against your temple, “Quick study, baby,”
Wooyoung’s smiling too, but it fades into a completely new expression on his face when you pull his boxers down completely.
Your eyes flick over his cock immediately. He’s rock hard, cock flushed pink and leaking, a string of precum connected from the tip of his velvet head to his belly. It’s thick, that’s the first thing you think, and perfectly proportional for him.
“Jesus, fuck,” Wooyoung breathes, “you look so hot right now, babe,”
Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and he groans.
Yunho gives you a moment, and then his hand flexes on your back, “Start slow,” he urges you softly, “touch his thighs,”
You let your hands slide over his skin, over the dark loops of his thigh tattoo, strong quads rippled under your palms. He’s warm, soft, and his cock twitches the closer you get to his hips.
You catalogue that quietly.
“Just like that,” Yunho nods, “we like being teased too,”
Wooyoung swallows.
“It feels good?” You check with him, your nails gently brushing over his inner thighs, a mirror of how Yunho touched you earlier.
He sucks in a sharp breath, “Yeah,”
“You can press,” Yunho offers, “here,”
You look down, looking at the place he gestures to on his own thigh.
Your fingers travel there, on the tender skin of his inner thigh, close to the heavy weight of Wooyoung’s balls. You hear his breathing change, and when you press he groans.
“Kisses feel good there too,” Yunho murmurs, his voice low and tight as if you were touching him too, “anywhere close that’s not his cock,”
You nod, attentive, sliding closer to him between his splayed knees, and despite the curling nervousness in your gut you press a soft, featherlight kiss to his thigh.
“Ah,” Wooyoung hisses, hands tightening.
“There,” Yunho encourages, “that’s good,”
You kiss again, a little firmer this time, exploring him more, inching closer to his hips. With a flash of heat in your own chest, your tongue licks a slow stripe from the soft juncture of his groin back up to the straining tendon at the base of his cock.
Wooyoung sucks in a sharp breath and jerks, “Oh, fuck,” he pants, “what the fuck,”
“Bad?” You look up at him.
Yunho’s hand tightens on your back and Wooyoung shakes his head.
Wooyoung’s cock twitches by your cheek, and you smile, “This isn’t so hard,”
Wooyoung bites his lip, a laugh caught in his throat, “Yeah, well,” he says, “my cock is,”
You roll your eyes up at him.
“Baby,” Yunho shifts, positioned a little closer to your side, “do it again,”
You nod and repeat the hot line of your tongue.
“Good,” Yunho sounds breathy, and out of the corner of your eye you see his hand rest over his own cock, curling around the thick length through the fabric of his boxers, “same thing, but here,”
Yunho reaches around with his free hand and without touching Wooyoung’s cock, he draws a line from base to tip. His hand settles on Wooyoung’s thigh, and you hear Wooyoung groan.
You lean in, and with hesitant pressure, you lick a line up Wooyoung’s cock from base to tip just like he showed you.
Wooyoung pants, “You can, uh,” he gathers himself, “press more,”
Your eyes flick up at him, but you lean in to try again.
Wooyoung’s cock jerks away from the sensation though and you stop in the middle, a hesitant look in your eyes.
Yunho’s hand on your back gently slides up, cupping the back of your head with the most gentle pressure, and then uses his free hand to press flat to the front of Wooyoung’s cock, bracing it, “Again,” he encourages softly, “the pressure feels good, you’re not hurting him.”
This time, you press, really press, with the firm muscle of your tongue. The wall of Yunho’s hand gives Wooyoung’s cock room to shift away, and for the first time, you hear your best friend moan.
“Oh, Jesus,” Wooyoung sinks into the mattress, flat on his back now.
You repeat the motion, and again, and again.
“Focus here,” Yunho’s fingers curl around your best friend’s cock, softly brushing against the seam at the head of his cock, a heart shaped curve of velvety smooth skin.
You bring your tongue up, and focus your attention there. Kitten licks, heavy presses, doubling down on anything that makes Wooyoung pant, moan, grip the sheets.
“Still good?” Yunho’s fingers brush over your hair.
You almost forgot. For a very real moment, none of the fear existed, none of the nervousness.
“I’m great,” You smile, kissing the head of Wooyoung’s cock.
“Fuck, fuck,” Wooyoung’s hips jerk.
“Alright,” Yunho kisses your temple, “I think we can stop torturing him,”
“Please,” Wooyoung twitches, his body flushed pink with need.
“Come here,” Yunho presses between your shoulders to get you higher up on your knees, and then he stands, sitting on the edge of the bed next to Wooyoung so he can get a better vantage point.
“Baby,” Wooyoung makes a heady whine, and something low swoops in your belly, “please, if you’re good, if you, please, touch me,”
Yunho looks pleased, Wooyoung looks wrecked, and you’re pretty sure the rest of this is self explanatory.
Bracing yourself with one hand on his hip and the other at the base of his cock, you sink down over him, enveloping his cock in the wet heat of your mouth.
Wooyoung moans, deep from his chest as you sink down as far as you can go.
“Easy,” Yunho breathes, his hands gathering up your hair to move it out of your way, “easy, baby, you don’t have to take him all the way,”
You adjust, shifting focus to his cockhead.
“That’s right,” Yunho murmurs, and there’s an edge to his voice that makes your belly tighten.
This part feels instinctive, but you’re still a little fumbling. Getting the right amount of wetness, tightness to your mouth, you try to listen to his sounds as you pass your lips up and down.
“Ah, fuck,” Wooyoung jerks, a little, “use your tongue, press up with your – fuck, just like that,”
Your hand tightens on his thigh as you adjust.
You taste the salt on his skin, the start of his release on your tongue, but you don’t mind it. You think you’d drink him down just like this if he keeps talking to you this way.
“Suck me,” He begs, “just p-pull with your,”
You hum softly, and suck.
“I’m gonna come,” Wooyoung shakes, “I’m not gonna last,”
“Ease off,” Yunho instructs and you lift off.
“Fuck,” Wooyoung physically arches, his chest heaving, “what the f-fuck did you do that for?”
“Feels better if you wait for it,” Yunho explains, looking at you, “it’s the same for you. I’ll show you sometime,”
You don’t know what is shifting in the air between the three of you right now, but for the first time in your life the idea of a next time leaves you with the good kind of ache.
Wooyoung looks down at you both, pushing up on his elbows, “What are you?” Wooyoung says, a shocked smile on his face, “some kind of dom?”
Yunho grins, shaking his head, “No,” he keeps his eyes on Wooyoung, but he strokes the back of your head with his hand, “but she said teach her, I’m thorough,”
They’re flirting.
Something drops in your belly, and your lips part as you watch them.
“Edging is not lesson one material,” Wooyoung pants, “Jesus,”
Yunho shrugs, his hand smoothing over the back of your neck, “You don’t like that?”
“Not what I said,” Wooyoung chuckles, and then he sits up, “take those off,”
Yunho’s lips quirk into a half smile, his eyebrow raising just a tick.
You find your voice all of a sudden, “Take them off,”
Both of their heads snap to you.
“You heard her,” Wooyoung nods, taking in your expression, knowing exactly how much you want this from one look.
Yunho softens for one second, but you cut him off.
“Don’t ask me if I’m sure,” You tell him, hand sliding up his thigh, “I want this, let me want this.”
Yunho peels off his boxers without another word.
“Shit,” Wooyoung says as Yunho settles next to him.
His cock is so much bigger than you thought it would be. It’s the only way to say it, it’s big. Heavy, long and surprisingly straight.
Yunho clears his throat, “Yeah, well,”
You burst out a laugh, slapping a hand over your mouth.
“I wouldn’t recommend laughing the first time you see your boyfriend’s cock, babe,” Wooyoung just grins.
Yunho’s cheeks go pink.
“It’s just,” You shake your head, “I see what you mean about wanting to know I’ve never done this before,”
Yunho’s lips quirk, “Yeah,”
“Jesus,” You breathe, “we’re going back to slow when we get to the sex part,”
His hand slips into yours, “Of course we are,”
You give him a squeeze, silently letting him know you’re fine, and then look up to Wooyoung.
“Good?” He checks.
You nod.
“Alright,” Wooyoung trades a look between you and then reaches out, “edging is lesson one, my ass,”
You watch as Wooyoung’s hand closes around your boyfriend’s cock, and Yunho groans, his head falling back for a second as he lets himself feel it.
“Lesson one,” Wooyoung says, drawing his hand up and down over Yunho’s shaft, “is hand jobs,”
You shift closer on your knees.
“Yunho,” Wooyoung says, pressing a hand over his chest, “relax,”
He sinks back onto his forearms, eyes trained on Wooyoung.
You slide your hand up Yunho’s thigh, sliding closer to him so you can find the spots he showed you.
“Yeah,” Yunho nods, swallowing tightly.
“Watch my hand,” Wooyoung says, “watch my wrist,”
Your eyes flick down from Yunho’s face and you watch with rapt attention. His hand bobs up and down, clear pressure around all sides, his wrist loose and rolling, making sure to connect over the head of Yunho’s cock with each stroke.
You nod.
“Not this,” Wooyoung shifts to a stiffer, less natural looking grip and drags his hand up and down twice.
Yunho hisses, “Alright,”
“Got it?” Wooyoung asks you, his hand lifting off.
“I think so,” You exhale, nerves bubbling inside you as you take Yunho’s heavy length in your hand.
Yunho jerks, his teeth tightening together, jawline tense, “Fuck, baby,”
“Tell me if I do it wrong,” You say to them both, “I want it to be good for you,”
Both of them groan.
With slow movements, you try to mimic Wooyoung’s strokes, keeping your hand tight and your wrist loose.
“Higher,” Wooyoung prompts softly and you comply, “yeah, good,”
You work him more, until he’s panting.
“Babe,” Wooyoung interrupts, “give me your hand,”
Yunho makes a tight sound when you lift your hand off him, but you follow instructions, offering Wooyoung your hand, palm up.
He spits in it, and you gasp, “Woo,”
“Trust me,” He nods, “watch,”
Yunho’s eyes are blown wide, and when you wrap your wet hand back around his cock, his hands turn into tight fists at his side.
“It’s good?” You look up at him.
All he can do is nod.
Wooyoung smiles, “Keep going, you can go a little faster,”
You work your hand, ignoring the start of an ache in your muscles.
When Yunho groans, you look up and watch as Wooyoung lays his hand across your boyfriends abs, “You have a really pretty cock, Yunho,”
“Fuck,” Yunho’s head falls back.
“And a pretty girlfriend,” He adds.
Yunho nods, “So pretty,”
Something stirs in you. You grip his cock a little tighter, working him faster.
“Christ, yes,” Yunho nods, his voice finally needy and breathy, “good girl,”
You suck in a sharp breath, lips parting at his words.
Wooyoung grins like the cat who got the cream, “You’ve got him, keep going,”
“Ah,” Yunho’s eyes roll, “mm,”
You watch as Wooyoung wraps a hand around his own cock and starts to pump it. With a little shake of his head, he silently tells you not to worry.
There’s a promise of next time in his eyes.
Whatever happens tonight, this isn’t the end, that you know for sure.
Yunho’s sharp groan brings you back.
“Want you to come,” You lean on his thigh, the words slipping out like you’ve said them a thousand times before.
Yunho moans, his eyes meeting yours, nodding.
“Please,” You manage.
Wooyoung curses softly next to you.
Yunho’s eyes widen hungrily when he sees the picture of you both, you perched on your knees between his thick thighs jerking him so perfectly, Wooyoung working himself over, too desperate to wait.
“I’m close,” Yunho’s chest starts to go dark red, sweat beading at his forehead, “please, don’t stop,”
“Not stopping,” You promise.
His hips jerk, like he wants to fuck himself into the tight ring of your hand, and Wooyoung’s hand presses him down.
Yunho groans, and then he shifts the energy, his hand wrapping around yours where you grip his cock, fingers slotting together around his length, “Yes, baby,”
You nod, both of your hands syncing in time until he takes over, desperate and needy, using your hand as a cocksleeve as he fucks himself hard and tight.
“Oh fuck,” Wooyoung groans.
“Yunho,” Your voice is close to a whine.
That undoes him.
His mouth drops, breath heavy, and he pumps himself hard until his cock erupts, hot ropes of pearl white cum shooting up onto his chest, covering your combined hands as he milks his pulsing cock.
Wooyoung groans, following him over the edge, his own release painting his abs.
It takes a moment, both of them shaking and recovering, but then Yunho reaches for you and wraps his hands around your arms, hauling you up onto his chest and kissing you breathless.
“You’re so fucking incredible,” He says between heady kisses, your bodies flush together, the mess of his release slick between you.
The bed shifts, Wooyoung falling onto his back next to you both, his hand giving your thigh a squeeze.
Gently, you slide off his chest to lie between them once again, warm bodies draped over soft, damp sheets.
Your breath is the only sound.
Yunho has your hand still wrapped in his, a grip that says he’s not letting go any time soon.
Your free hand settles in Wooyoung’s hair.
Yunho murmurs into the quiet, “Hey,” his voice low, careful, “you okay?”
You nod, a slow smile on your face, “Not okay,” you breathe, “I’m good.”
He gives your hand a squeeze.
“This is the best I’ve ever felt with anyone,” You confess.
Wooyoung kisses your arm, “You deserve that,” he says, “always.”
A warm ache settles inside you, sated, calm.
Yunho’s fingers brush along your skin, Wooyoung’s lips pepper kisses as the three of you stretch into the afterglow.
“Can we…,” You sigh, “can we just pause here for tonight?”
Wooyoung looks up at you, “Too much?”
“No,” You assure them, “but this was perfect, I want to have one perfect night,”
“Whenever you’re ready for more,” Yunho says, kissing your hair, “we’ll make sure it’s perfect too.”
“When you’re ready,” Wooyoung agrees, “whenever that happens.”
“Tomorrow,” You smile, “stay over, let’s keep going tomorrow,”
Yunho grins, “Tomorrow,” he nods.
“Hell yes, tomorrow,” Wooyoung kisses your arm.
“For now,” Yunho says, sitting up, “let’s get you cleaned up,”
Slipping from the bed, your body feels lighter. Your skin is still tingling, every nerve humming with awareness. Yunho guides you to the bathroom, Wooyoung padding softly behind you, and before you know it, you’re wrapped up in the steam of the shower with both of them.
Under the water, your eyes fall closed and you sink into the night, letting your forehead rest against the cool tiles.
They don’t push you, they don’t dig deeper. They give you a moment to breathe.
Yunho’s soft fingers work shampoo into your scalp while Wooyoung laters a loofah with your body wash. Their hands pass over you with equally tender care.
After, Yunho finds you soft clothes to wear and Wooyoung disappears into the kitchen to whip up something more substantial to eat.
You’ll talk later about what this means for your relationship, but for now the way Yunho looks at you tells you everything you need to know about where his head is.
On the couch, all three of you are wrapped up under the blankets just like a few hours ago.
This time though, their hands on you feel essential. Your head rests on Yunho’s chest, your legs stretch out over Wooyoung’s, one of their hands on each of your thighs.
Some game show plays on the television, but you’re focused on the steady, tender beat of Yunho’s heart under your cheek and the soothing stroke of Wooyoung’s hand along your skin.
You laugh, so soft, so content, “So…,” you murmur, “did we… did we just have sex? Did I dream that?”
Yunho smiles wide, his lips pressed to your hair, “Yeah,” he whispers, his voice warm and certain, “we did.”
“Wow,” You breathe.
“How do you feel?” Wooyoung nudges you.
Your hand tangles with his, “Here,” you tell them honestly, “whole.”
As the couch grows quiet again, you sink into them, into the knowledge that this wasn’t one time, one moment of impulse. It was the beginning of something new, of something honest.
Your skin on theirs, you’re right where you belong.
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