Crazy

“fucking hell,”

jisung hissed, the words scraping out of his throat as he stumbled after landing on the rooftop of the university dormitory.

he didn’t stick it. his foot slid on the ledge and for half a second he genuinely thought he was about to become a public stain on the sidewalk below, before instinct kicked in and he caught himself. his vision swam. one of his lenses was smeared with something he really hoped wasn’t blood, and his head felt like it had been rattled around.

he lurched toward the nearest structure and collapsed against it, sliding down until he was sitting, knees bent awkwardly. his hand flew to his side, pressing hard where a mutant he fought earlier had impaled him with a rusted piece of rebar.

lately it seems like he’s had more near-death experiences than ever. somewhere along the way, he’d stopped being the cautious wuss he used to be and started recklessly throwing himself in front of danger without thinking too hard about the aftermath.

hence the rebar.

he squeezed his eyes shut, breathing shallow, then cracked one open to look down at himself. big mistake. 

there was so much blood. so much that it would instantly make you feel sick.

he really should’ve thought this through before throwing himself in this situation, because he currently had zero plan and one very large problem. 

and absolutely, under no circumstances, did he want you to see him like this.

still, he knew you were smart and brave enough to take this on. you’d signed up for a clinical skills course at uni because you wanted to try everything, which was admirable and, frankly, very useful, given how often your boyfriend showed up injured. you’ve helped him with many scrapes and cuts. the worst was that one time his head split open. this was worse than that. by a lot.

he squeezed his eyes shut, forehead tipping forward. he could already picture you going pale, and he’d absolutely cry on the spot.

maybe he could sleep it off and pray his spider healing did a miracle. and if he didn’t wake up, which was alarmingly possible, then this would be a really stupid way to go.

he’d always imagined it being way more badass. finally taking out the asshole who’s putting seoul in danger and making it a shithole. he’d be midair with explosions. dying along with the bastard like the heroes in movies.

who knew his death would be this stupid.

“no,” he whispered to himself. “don’t think like that.”

he knew he was being an idiot. he was just dizzy from losing blood and it let his brain go places it shouldn’t. he was still someone’s son. still someone who had a life outside this suit. his parents were down south. his mum would be inconsolable. and he had you.

he couldn’t bear the thought of you finding out he’d died alone on a rooftop, having given up that easily. he loved you too much to leave without saying goodbye. he loved you too much to stop trying.

his eyes burned. he sucked in a shaky breath and pressed his forehead against his knee, forcing himself to stay present. 

and that was enough to make him move again.

he planted his hand against the vent and forced himself upright before limping towards the edge of the roof and crouching down. for a second he stayed there, breathing through the dizziness, then turned and swung himself over the ledge, hanging by his hands. he slid down and started climbing on the wall of the building. he avoided the open windows, ducking past lit rooms. he’d done this more times than he could count. 

once he reached the window with the pink curtains, he slipped his fingers around the handle and lifted the sash. it was always unlocked.

“jisung!”

your voice came immediately once you heard him, and the curtain shifted as you rolled your chair over. you pulled the curtain aside, and the warm light from your room spilled over him, bright enough that he had to squint.

his eyes landed on you once his vision cleared and he saw you in the university sweatshirt and plaid pajama pants. notes were spread across your desk like you’d been mid-study and dropped everything the second you heard him. 

“baby,” he croaked, trying for a grin as he hauled himself inside. his foot caught on the sill and he stumbled, barely catching himself with one hand.

“i heard about what happened on the radio,” you blurted out, the words tumbling over each other as you took another step toward him. “they said you got badly injured—jisung, i was so scared.”

“breathe, y/n. i’m here. see? very alive.” he said quickly, squinting once he had a wave of fainting trying to stay upright. 

you made a small sound that was halfway between a gasp and a sob, once you saw the state he was in.

“hey, hey,” he spurted, immediately backtracking. “no, don’t do that. please don’t make that face. i’m okay. i promise.”

“sit down. sit down right now.” you said, panic bleeding through every word as you stood up.

he shuffled obediently onto the chair.

“if this is too much for you,” he said, grunting softly as he lowered himself, taking his mask off, “we can go to the hospital. i can take the suit off. pretend i’m just… peter han who fell and accidentally stabbed himself.”

he paused, considering it.

“…which, to be fair, is very on brand for him.”

“jisung,” you said, “people saw this happen to you. if you walk into a hospital like this, they’ll connect the dots in about five seconds and everyone will know who spiderman is.”

he opened his mouth, then thought better of it and shut it again.

you crouched in front of him, careful not to touch yet, eyes tracking the rebar with growing horror.

“and besides,” you went on, voice wobbling despite your best efforts, “this shouldn’t need surgery. your healing factor can handle the tissue damage and blood loss. i just need to pull the rebar out without making things worse.”

he swallowed hard.

he was less scared of that than he probably should’ve been. what scared him was how shiny your eyes were and how you sniffled quietly while holding yourself together by sheer will.

you exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand over your face.

“god, jisung,” you said, voice wobbling despite yourself. “i don’t want to blame you, i really don’t but how could you let it get this bad?” you looked at him again, eyes shining. “i always tell you to be careful. was there any way this could’ve been avoided?”

“i—i wasn’t thinking,” he said quickly, panic bleeding into his voice. “i’m sorry. please don’t cry, if you do, i’m gonna cry and then this is gonna be really unproductive.”

you dropped to your knees in front of him and he watched your hands as you worked.

the kit you pulled out from under the desk was bigger than the one you usually used on him and he noticed that immediately. this one had more compartments and more things inside it than bandages and antiseptic wipes. you took it home after practicals last week at the university hospital.

you spread a sheet over the floor, smoothing it out with your palms before snapping the case open properly. you tugged on a pair of gloves, the snap loud in the room.

“i hate that this keeps happening to you,” you said, voice rough as you laid things out one by one, deliberate and careful. gauze. forceps. “you shouldn’t have to keep paying because some asshole decided the city was expendable.”

his jaw set.

“i know,” he said quietly. “i know.”

you shook your head. “until you find them, it’s never going to stop.”

“i will, baby,” he said. “i’ll find whoever it is, i'm close.”

you searched his face, only finding a reassuring smile that hid how much pain he was in.

“and then?” you asked softly, eyes glassy.

“then you won’t have to wonder if i’ll make it home in one piece. never again.”

a few days later, you’re back in class.

chemistry. you slide into your seat, dropping your bag at your feet, already reaching for your notebook.

jisung healed.

after you’d taken the rebar out and stopped the bleeding, his spider powers had done their thing pretty much overnight. by next morning, the wound had closed like it had never happened. apparently, immunity to tetanus was just another perk of his healing factor.

you didn’t have chemistry with jisung, so you weren’t exactly sure where he was right now. still, you caught snippets of conversation from the row behind you—something about a robbery in gangnam, not linked to any of the usual enemies.

which probably meant that’s where jisung was.

you sighed, dropping your forehead briefly against your notebook. the city felt tenser by the day, people acting out in ways that only made everything worse. and jisung already had more than enough on his plate. the thought of him having to fix a mess made by your own civilians made you frustrated for him.

your usual chem professor, dr. park, still hadn’t shown. thank the lord. you’d never liked that woman. 

people started checking the time, whispering about class being cancelled now that she was ten minutes late. half the room was halfway out of their seats when the door opened.

the chatter died instantly.

a man stepped in with a confident posture. you recognized him instantly.

this was the man jisung always raved about. professor han. 

“my apologies for the delay,” he said smoothly, setting his bag down. “your professor had some matters she needed to attend to, so i was asked to cover today.”

professor han was older than you’d expected, middle-aged, tall. 

“i teach another section of this course,” he continued, glancing around with a small, reassuring smile. “so you’re in good hands.”

a few people visibly relaxed.

he turned toward the board, uncapping a marker. “you were scheduled to start discussing reaction kinetics today,” he said, writing as he spoke. “equilibrium, predictability.”

the marker paused.

“but lately i find that this particular topic doesn’t quite align with what we’re seeing outside this classroom.”

your pen hovered over the page.

“seoul has changed,” he went on calmly. “crimes that escalate faster than expected. mutated entities that outpace the known species on earth. technology that shouldn’t be as advanced—or as resilient—as it is.”

a few students shifted in their seats.

“you’ve spent almost an entire term studying systems that assume stability,” he said, turning back to face you all. “controlled environments. reactions that behave the same way every time.”

his gaze swept the room slowly.

“and yet,” he added, “much of what’s happening right now defies the science we talk about in this room.”

the lecture hall was completely silent now. no phones out. no whispering. even the people who usually looked half-asleep were watching him.

you found yourself leaning forward without realizing it.

professor han let the quiet sit for a moment before continuing.

“take the phenomenon people have been calling spider-man,” he said casually. “by all observable metrics, he shouldn’t exist.”

a few students exchanged glances. someone let out a quiet laugh, unsure if he was joking.

he wasn’t.

“we’re seeing resilience far beyond expected biological limits,” han continued. “recovery times that defy known healing processes. reflexes that operate faster than conscious thought. strength output that doesn’t match muscle mass.”

his eyes flicked over the room again.

“if something defies our models,” he said, “the answer isn’t to dismiss it.”

a hand went up a few rows ahead of you.

professor han turned. “yes?”

the guy hesitated, clearly aware of the attention, then went for it anyway. “uh so, like is spider-man actually a real person? or is he, i don’t know, some kind of engineered thing by the government? or an alien or—”

a collective groan rippled through the lecture hall.

you closed your eyes at the idiot in front of you. oh my god. what else would he be? he waves at kids. he’s funny. use your brain.

professor han didn’t look annoyed. if anything, he looked amused.

“a fair question,” he said mildly, and the groaning died down. “spiderman demonstrates conscious decision-making, moral reasoning, and restraint. so yes, spider-man is human and a good one at that.”

“individuals with that kind of power would seek recognition and control,” han went on. “spider-man does none of that. that alone tells us a great deal about his character..”

you felt something warm bloom in your chest. you understood why jisung liked him and you were already excited to tell him about this later. 

professor han clearly spoke with a kind of respect for jisung that made your shoulders relax without you realizing they’d been tense.

your boyfriend had great judgment.

later that afternoon, you found yourself standing outside professor han’s office. you knocked before you could talk yourself out of it.

“come in,” a voice called.

you stepped inside. his office was neat but lived-in—books stacked in uneven piles, papers clipped and re-clipped, a half-empty mug on the corner of his desk. he looked up and smiled.

“yes?”

“hi,” you said quickly. “i’m y/n. i was in the chemistry class you covered this morning.”

“ah,” he said, brightening. “please, come in.” he gestured to the chair across from him. “how did you find the lecture? i hope i didn’t derail things too much.”

you shook your head, sitting. “no, not at all. it was incredibly enriching. you see, that class usually feels… very contained. with everything going on in the city, it actually put my mind at ease a little. the chaos feels less—random, i suppose.”

“i’m glad,” he said warmly. “understanding better tends to do that.”

there was a small pause.

you cleared your throat. “actually, that’s kind of why i wanted to talk to you.”

he leaned forward slightly. “go on.”

“i’ve always been really interested in what’s been happening lately,” you said carefully. “i’m curious about whether there’s anything linking the incidents together. the mutants, advanced robots. i know a lot of it sounds speculative, but i thought—given your background—you might have some insight.”

you forced a small smile.

“purely academic curiosity, of course.”

“that’s a very intelligent line of questioning,” he said at last. “and not nearly as speculative as you might think.”

your pulse quickened.

“i can’t give you definitive answers,” he continued, “but i do believe there are connections. and i’d be happy to discuss what we know so far.”

he folded his hands on the desk. you nodded, already mentally cataloguing everything he might say. jisung needed answers. and for the first time, it felt like you might be closer to finding them.

you hesitated, then reached into your bag.

“well… there’s something i’ve been working on,” you said, a little sheepish. “it’s probably overkill, but i figured if i was going to worry about this stuff, i might as well organize it.”

professor han’s eyebrows lifted with interest. “by all means.”

you opened the same exact google doc that jisung still didn’t know existed. now it included a lab report that you’ve been secretly working on. the cursor blinked in the new section as you turned your laptop towards him.

does the presence of spider-man influence the frequency and severity of citywide incidents?

the recent rise in high-risk incidents within the city appears correlated with spider-man’s activity, suggesting the possible presence of an external targeting force. current data implies that an unidentified agent—or agents—may be actively seeking him, thereby influencing both the frequency and severity of these events.

observations:

incident frequency: events have increased by an estimated 20 percent over the last month, particularly within central districts.

severity index: average threat levels show a consistent upward deviation from previous baselines.

escalation rate: hostile activity initiates more quickly upon spider-man’s arrival, indicating direct provocation (?)

you paused, cheeks warm. “the numbers aren’t perfect,” you added. “i’m pulling from public reports, police scanners, news footage.”

notes:

current data suggests possible feedback-loop dynamics: an incident arises, spider-man intervenes, and subsequent incidents intensify.

spider-man may be being pursued or influenced by an external factor. motive unknown.

professor han sat back slowly, eyes still on the screen. 

“this is very well organized,” he said at last.

your head snapped up. “thank you.”

he nodded. “you’re asking the right questions. you’re careful with your language. you acknowledge uncertainty instead of forcing conclusions.” he glanced at you.

relief washed through you so fast it almost made you dizzy.

“if spider-man were simply causing chaos, we’d see random distribution. instead, we’re seeing pattern clustering.” he continued calmly. 

your fingers curled slightly against the edge of the laptop.

“so… you think he’s being targeted,” you said.

“i think,” the man replied, “that someone out there is very interested in how he responds under pressure.”

your brows knit together before you could stop yourself.

“but… i thought,” you said slowly, choosing your words with care, “i always assumed he was being targeted because someone wanted to eliminate him. like they were trying to kill him.” you shivered internally at the thought.

professor han watched you closely, like he’d expected it.

“that would be the simplest explanation,” he said. “and sometimes the simplest explanation is correct.”

he paused, folding his hands together again.

“but killing him outright doesn’t seem to be the goal,” professor han continued. “if it were, the escalation would look different. more direct and aggressive. less… experimental than it seems right now.”

experimental. huh.

“the incidents increase in complexity,” he went on. “the threats adapt and learn. each encounter pushes him harder than the last, but always leaves room for survival.”

your fingers tightened on the laptop.

“so whoever’s behind this,” you murmured, “they don’t want him dead.”

“not yet,” professor han replied. “and possibly not at all.”

he met your gaze steadily.

“they want to see what he’s capable of.”

professor han leaned back slightly, thoughtful rather than ominous.

“in your research,” he said, tapping the edge of your laptop lightly, “you actually touch on both possibilities.”

you looked up at him.

“you frame him as either responding to a city that’s becoming increasingly dangerous on its own,” he continued, “or as someone being pursued.”

you nodded once, slow.

“the first possibility shouldn’t be dismissed,” han said. “it’s entirely plausible that someone is destabilizing the city for its own sake. in that scenario, spider-man is simply doing what he always does, trying to save people.”

you swallowed.

“it’s possible both are true,” professor han said calmly. “someone may be endangering the city because spider-man exists within it.”

you let out a slow breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“so… if that’s true,” you said carefully, “then he’s probably not going to—” you stopped yourself, jaw tightening. “they’re not trying to kill him. at least not right now.”

professor han nodded once. “correct.”

that was meant to be reassuring.

it helped. a little.

you frowned, fingers worrying the edge of your laptop. “but why?” you asked. “why would anyone want to see how he reacts? why push him like this and endanger people?”

professor han tilted his head slightly.

“y/n, is it?”

you nodded.

“have you ever thought,” he continued, voice gentle and almost curious, “about how he came to be? who created him?”

your mind jumped instantly to the spider. the bite that changed everything. the thing jisung still talked about like it was a fluke, like it hadn’t rewritten his entire life.

you hesitated, then lied, “i’ve wondered about it before. i just… never came to any real conclusions.”

professor han’s lips curved, just barely. “i believe it’s reasonable to think the creator and the observer might be the same.”

you swallowed.

“which might explain,” you murmured, “why they wanna go after him”

professor han met your gaze, calm and steady.

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“this was really insightful,” you said, earnest now. “thank you, professor han. it actually helped a lot.”

he waved a hand dismissively, the corner of his mouth lifting. “no trouble at all. curiosity like yours is always welcome.”

you smiled, feeling lighter than you had walking in. “actually, um, my boyfriend’s in your section,” you added, unable to stop yourself. “he’s always talked about how much he enjoys your lectures. he thinks you’re incredible.”

professor han brow lifted with interest. “is that so? who might that be?” he asked.

“han jisung.”

instant recognition flickered across his face

“ah,” he said. “yes. smart kid, that one.”

your smile widened. “really?”

he nodded. “i’ll be transparent, i don’t always remember names. but he’s memorable. very engaged.”

you beamed. “he’d be really happy to hear that.” you stood, gathering your things. “thank you again. seriously.”

as you turned toward the door, his voice stopped you.

“y/n.”

you paused, heart skipping, and looked back.

“if you get the chance, please remind mr. han,” the professor said calmly, “to start watching his attendance. we haven’t seen him much lately.”

your stomach dipped.

“yeah,” you said quickly. “i’m always on him about that. but he’s been juggling a lot these days. family stuff.”

professor han studied you for a moment.

“i’m sure he is,” he said at last. “he has a tendency to take on more than he should.”

your chest tightened at how close that felt to the truth.

“i’ll let him know,” you added quickly. 

then he smiled. “thank you for stopping by, y/n.”

you returned the smile, gathered your things, and slipped out into the hall. you exhaled slowly.

you were closer to the truth than you’d ever been. 

“holy shit,” jisung groaned as he came down his high, his head tipped back into your pillow.

you lifted your head, wiped your lips with your finger. you licked it clean, before tugging his sweatpants back up over his hips and climbing up beside him. he barely waited a beat before pulling you in and pressing a kiss to your forehead, fingers already slipping under your shirt with full intention to return the favour.

“it’s fine,” you shook your head, voice now a little scratchy.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, lips jutting out in a small pout. “baby, no—”

you laughed, cutting him off as you nudged his shoulder. “it’s okay. we need to get to studying.”

before he could argue again, you swung your legs over the side of the bed. he watched you for a moment, then sighed, flopping back against the pillow. it was probably for the best. he’d missed too many days of class and had a lot to catch up on. he’d come over for you to help him with that, after all. 

he just hadn’t been able to turn down your offer to help him relieve some stress first.

you sat down at his desk, already flipping your notebook open. a second later, he dragged himself up and joined you, chair scraping softly as he dropped into it. he blinked, still a little dazed from you sucking the soul out of him.

“okay,” you said, scanning the page. “where were we?”

he leaned over your shoulder. “uh, i think we were gonna go backwards,” he said slowly. “the stuff that’s fresher for you. you had chem yesterday, right?”

you paused.

your eyes drifted to the margin where the topic should’ve been, and it hit you a second later why there was nothing there. 

“…actually,” you said, tapping the page, “we didn’t really cover any material.”

he pulled back slightly. “how come?”

you hesitated, then glanced down again like the notebook might answer for you. “we had a substitute.”

“mm,” he hummed.

“it was professor han.”

his head snapped up so fast his chair creaked. 

“well, how was it?” he asked immediately, already leaning closer, eyes bright in a way that made your chest warm. you knew how much he liked him.

“he was great,” you said. “just like you always said.”

a proud smile tugged at his mouth. 

you watched it fade almost as quickly as it appeared when you added, “he talked about you.”

“me?”

“well, spider-man.”

“oh,” he said quickly, then frowned. “wait, please don’t tell me he’s one of those grown-ass men who hates me.”

you snorted. “he actually… seems to like spider-man.”

“me,” he corrected, gaze brightening. “he seems to like me.”

“yes, you,” you said, smiling despite yourself. “and i thought—well, i thought he might actually be able to help us figure some things out. so i went to his office after class.”

the brightness drained from his face, his shoulders stiffening just a notch. 

“you… went to his office?”

“yeah,” you said quickly, words tumbling out now that you’d started. “we talked for a while, and there’s so much we went over. maybe we’re closer to understanding what’s going on—”

“hold on,” he cut in, sharper than before. “you told him i was spiderman?”

“what? no, obviously not,” you said immediately. “i didn’t tell him. i just asked about the city. about what might be happening, and how spiderman—how you might be connected to it.”

his jaw tightened.

“and he said,” you continued, excitement creeping back in despite yourself, “there’s a chance whoever’s behind all this isn’t trying to kill you. and it might have something to do with the spider…”

you stopped mid-sentence.

because jisung wasn’t looking at you anymore. his expression had gone dark as he furrowed his eyebrows, struggling to hear you out.

“y/n,” he said quietly, the edge in his voice coming from somewhere closer to fear than anger, “you can’t bring other people into this. not even professor han. if someone really is watching me, then anyone who starts asking the questions becomes a target. and i can live with that risk for myself, but i can’t live with it for you.”

he ran a hand through his hair, breathing out hard.

“whatever that spider did to me, whatever this is, it’s mine to figure out. it’s reckless to loop other people into this.”

you bit your lip, the excitement draining out of you all at once.

“well,” you muttered, looking down at the notebook instead of at him, “sue me for wanting to help.”

jisung’s expression faltered almost immediately.

“look, baby,” he said quietly.

you glanced up.

“i just—every time you get closer to this stuff, i panic.” he went on, rubbing a hand over his face. “i don’t want you anywhere near the fallout if something goes wrong.”

you swallowed.

“i just need you to stay out of it,” he said gently. “for me. okay?”

“okay,” you said quietly.

he searched your face for a second, then nodded, relief flickering through his features.

“okay,” he said. “good.” he tried to lighten his tone, forcing a small smile. “i love professor han, but we really need to be careful here. and he can’t know we know each other, or he’s gonna start growing quite suspicious of the student who barely shows up to his lectures anymore,” jisung continued, trying to keep his tone light.

your heart dropped.

“—especially if that student’s girlfriend is asking a lot of questions about spider-man.”

your throat tightened.

you forced yourself to nod, keeping your face carefully blank. “yeah,” you said, a little too quickly. “of course.”

he relaxed, missing the way your shoulders had gone stiff.

and you sat there, heart pounding. 

you hated lying to jisung.

anomalies - hjs

you hadn’t renamed the document in a long time.

at first, it had been a place to dump all the weird little things about your boyfriend before you found out he was spiderman. his sudden disappearances, the bruises.

now the document had turned into something else entirely.

the cursor blinked at the bottom of the page, waiting. you felt no motivation or urgency to type. you could still hear jisung’s voice in your head saying “stay out of it”.

it was almost three in the morning.

your gaze drifted from the laptop to the bed behind you.

jisung was dead asleep on your bed behind you, sprawled on his stomach with one arm tucked under the pillow, hair a mess from hours of studying that had finally knocked him out. 

you frowned.

how could he possibly handle this on his own?

suddenly, a shadow passed over the wall.

you stiffened as you looked around until your eyes landed on the window.

the shadow moved behind the pink curtains covering your window, slow enough that your brain had time to register it before it disappeared completely.

your chair creaked softly as you stood, heart beating fast. 

the shadow came back and it was more defined this time. it looked almost human-like.

you swallowed and took a careful step toward the window.

it vanished again.

you flinched. you realized that you were less afraid than you should’ve been. maybe because jisung was right there with you. 

hesitantly, you reached for the curtain and tugged it aside.

nothing.

just the usual view. rows of lit windows across other dorms, lit roads, other buildings in the way. you stepped closer until your face was near the glass. you noticed a damp patch of fog, right at eye level. as if something warm had been breathing there moments ago.

that was when it dropped into view from above.

you sucked in a sharp breath, stumbling back half a step.

it was a mutant. just like you’ve seen on the news.

it was pressed against the outside of the window. it almost looked human if you didn’t stare too long. exposed flesh and bones. long limbs and sharp teeth. cloudy eyes staring right at you. its mouth was hanging open with its head tilted.

you were in such shock you couldn’t scream. your breath came heavy and shallow as you froze, heart slamming against your ribs. from this angle, your bed wasn’t visible so neither was jisung. it must’ve thought you were alone.

the mutant lifted a hand and pressed it against the glass, staring straight into your eyes.

for one horrifying second, you thought it might attack you right there and then. but suddenly, it slipped out of view as quickly as it had appeared, retreating upward, leaving nothing behind but your reflection in the window and a faint handprint on the glass. 

you stood there for a beat longer than necessary, then yanked the curtain closed with shaking hands.

you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe.

from everything you’d ever tracked—everything you’d read, logged, and overthought to death—mutants never lurked in the middle of the night. 

so either you’d imagined it, or sleep deprivation was finally making you hallucinate..

you dragged a hand through your hair, exhaling shakily, then turned away from the window and crossed the room on unsteady legs. 

you quickly slipped into bed behind jisung, careful not to jostle him, curling into his back. your arm slid around his waist, your hand sneaking under his shirt until you felt his abdomen.

you pressed your cheek between his shoulder blades, squeezing your eyes shut. it felt like being a little girl again, hiding under blankets from monsters that weren’t real. except this time, they were very real.

when jisung stirred awake, you realized you must’ve held onto him tighter than you intended to.

“mmm,” he murmured, shifting, then rolling onto his side until he was facing you, half asleep. his eyes cracked open just enough to find your face. “you okay?”

you nodded even though your heart was still racing. he leaned in and brushed a soft kiss against your lips.

“i love you,” he mumbled, already drifting again.

“i love you too,” you whispered back, holding him closer as his arm wrapped around you instinctively.

objectively speaking, being held by the amazing spider-man was probably the safest place to be in seoul right now.

thank goodness you had that privilege.

©heybrownieboy | do not copy, repost, or translate my work

When Chan cupped your face and asked what the two of you were going to do about this, you did not see yourself ending up here.

With him hovering over you now, one hand resting at your waist while the other traced absentminded circles along your side, as though he couldn't quite convince himself to stop touching you.

Your back sank further into the cushions as he kissed you again, slow and unhurried this time. His lips lingered against yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache. He kissed you like he was trying to memorize every part of you, and somewhere along the way, so caught up in the warmth of him, you didn't even realize your hips had shifted until they brushed against his.

Chan smiled into the kiss.

When he finally pulled away, there was barely an inch between you before he leaned in to steal one more quick peck.

Then another.

Only then did he sit back, slipping an arm behind you to help you lean against him.

"I-I'm sorry," you whispered more embarrassed than anything. A quiet laugh escaped him. "For what?" he asked, turning just enough to look at you properly. "Having a very normal reaction?"

You scoffed, refusing to meet his eyes.

"I think I should be the one apologizing." His fingers found yours, absentmindedly weaving between them before lifting your hand toward his lips.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your fingertips, then the back of your hand, lingering there for a moment. "The idea of...." he hesitated, smiling to himself. "Having a family with you."

You looked at him again.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "Hearing you talk about wanting a family with me.…" he let out a quiet breath. "It made me feel....secure."

Your expression softened, "Chan....."

He shook his head with a quiet laugh, almost like he couldn't believe the thoughts coming out of his own mouth. "I've spent so long worrying about whether I'd ever be enough for someone else…. whether anyone would really want this life."

His eyes met yours again. "And then you looked at me and talked about a future that has Jia in it."

His gaze lingered on your face before dropping briefly to your lips. "If circumstances were different.…" he murmured, pressing another lingering kiss to the back of your hand, "…I don't think I'd be able to think about anything else. I'd do it right now."

You frowned slightly. "Do what?"

His eyes lifted back to yours, "….I'd put a baby in you right now."

The words landed with complete sincerity. Like he'd forgotten they were supposed to sound outrageous.

Your eyes widened, "Chan!"

"Hm?"

"You can't just say things like that." A nervous laugh escaped you despite yourself, your body heat slightly rising you were sure he could feel how warm you were getting.

It took him exactly one second to replay what he'd just said. His ears immediately started turning pink "….Right,” he looks away back towards the tv.

You chuckled softly, a quiet sound meant to soften the moment, to give him space to breathe. "We should probably finish the movie."

"Probably," he reached for the remote, fingers trembling just a little.

Twenty minutes passed, though the clock on the wall seemed to mock you, insisting it was longer. You couldn’t tell what had happened on the screen. The plot had dissolved into a haze of flickering colors, shadows dancing behind your eyelids.

Somewhere during the first scene after pressing play again, Chan shifted faintly beside you, it was barely even noticeable. Until his hand settled on your thigh. Not high enough to be considered too intimate, just above your knee. Warm and steady, like he’d done it without thinking, as if it belonged there.

Your eyes stayed fixed on the TV, but his eyes lingered elsewhere, watching you in the silence. Neither of you spoke. Neither moved. A minute passed. Then his thumb brushed over your leg, a slow, deliberate stroke.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding. The movie blurred into a swirl of colors, everything completely meaningless.

His hand hadn’t moved away. If anything, it had crept a fraction higher, pressing into the space between your thoughts, and closer to the bottom of your shorts.

He still hadn’t looked at you.

"Are you even watching this?" you whispered.

"Not even a little."

You let out a soft, trembling laugh. "Good."

"Why?"

You finally turned your head, meeting his gaze.

Because I want to see what you’re afraid to say.

Because I want to feel your hand tremble again.

Because I want this to go further.

Your voice was barely more than a breath, "Because I haven’t been paying attention since you said you wanted to put a baby in me."

Chan finally looked over, his eyes dark and searching, pulling you into his gaze. Despite the tips of his ears flushing with a bright pink hue again, his hand continued its slow ascent. It rested in the middle of your thigh, thumb gently caressing, sending a shiver through you.

"Why….is it something you want?" His voice was low, heavy with hunger, and his eyes never left yours as he watched your breath hitch.

You hesitated, your lips parting slightly, "I—"

"Hmmm?" he prompted softly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he gripped your thigh, pulling you closer toward him. A small gasp escaped you, caught between anticipation and surprise.

"What's going through that pretty head of yours?" he whispered, voice thick with desire, eyes burning into yours as if he already knew the answer but wanted to hear you say it.

You played with the hem of your shirt, lips trembling as you tried to find the words. The space between you felt smaller, charged with unspoken promises. "I just…" you started, voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t realize how much I wanted this, how much I’ve been waiting for you to make a move."

Chan’s gaze darkened further, and his thumb pressed a little harder against your thigh, slow and deliberate. He leaned in closer, so close you could feel his breath against your lips.

“You’re beautiful when you’re nervous,” he murmured, voice velvet-soft, yet edged with desire. “Tell me what you want.”

Your heart pounded fiercely, every nerve alight. The world outside the room faded into insignificance. All that mattered was the way his eyes held yours; intense, hungry, and waiting for your answer.

You drew in a shaky breath, voice trembling. “I want you closer. I want to feel everything....your skin, your breath, what it’s like when we’re not holding back.”

His thumb resumed its slow path along your thigh, a lazy rhythm that made thinking nearly impossible. “You really mean that?” Chan’s voice dipped lower, rougher. The question wasn’t a challenge, it was a door he was holding open, waiting to see if you’d walk through.

You nodded, the motion small and unsteady.

“Words, baby.” The endearment slipped out so naturally you wondered if he’d been holding it back for weeks. “I need to hear you say it.”

Your throat tightened. “I want this. I want you.”

Something shifted in his expression. Relief, maybe. Or hunger finally given permission to surface. His free hand came up to your jaw, cupping it the same way he had earlier that evening when he’d first asked what you were going to do about all this tension between you.

Back then, you hadn’t had an answer.

Now your body seemed to know exactly what to do.

Your hips shifted again, pressing against the side of his thigh, and this time you didn’t pull away. Chan noticed. His eyes flicked down to where your bodies met, then back to your face with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

“There,” he murmured. “That’s what I wanted to see.”

His thumb traced the curve of your jaw before his hand slid back into your hair, gentle but deliberate. He tilted your head slightly, exposing the line of your throat, and leaned in until his lips hovered just above your pulse point.

Not kissing, or licking, just breathing against you. The warmth of it made your fingers curl into the cushion beneath you.

“Chan…”

“I know.” His lips brushed the word against your skin.

Then his mouth pressed against your neck, soft and searching, and your eyes fluttered shut. His kiss was unhurried, almost reverent, like he was learning the shape of you one breath at a time. His hand on your leg tightened just slightly, grounding you both.

Your fingers found his shoulder, then his collar, then the warm skin at the nape of his neck. The contact drew a quiet sound from him, something between a hum and a sigh, and the vibration traveled through his lips straight into your bloodstream.

“You’re shaking,” he said against your throat.

“Because of you.”

“Good.” He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “I want you to feel this. All of it.”

His hand slid higher on your thigh. Still over the fabric of your shorts, still maddeningly patient, but the intention was unmistakable now. His palm settled at the crease where your leg met your hip, thumb tracing the seam.

Your breath caught.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said.

“It’s not. It’s.....Chan, please.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk, “please what?”

A frustrated laugh escaped you, shaky and thin. “Don’t make me say it out loud.”

“Oh, but you’re so pretty when you’re flustered.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw, then another to the corner of your mouth. “I could watch you struggle for words all night.”

His fingers curled against your inner thigh, and the pressure sent a jolt through you that made your hips rock forward without permission. There was nothing to hide behind now, no movie to pretend to watch, no plausible deniability about what was happening between you.

Chan shifted, and suddenly his body was closer; not hovering over you again or pinning you down, but angled toward you in a way that made everything feel more intimate. His knee pressed against the outside of your leg. His shoulder brushed yours. His breath mixed with your breath.

“I’ve thought about this,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “More times than I should probably say out loud.”

“Tell me?"

His eyes searched yours, checking. “You sure?”

“I want to know.”

His hand moved. Up, slowly, until his thumb rested just below the waistband of your shorts. Your shirt had ridden up slightly, leaving a band of bare skin exposed, and he traced it with deliberate focus as his hands rested at your mid-section.

“I thought about kissing you first,” he said, voice low and steady. “Slow. The way you deserve.” His thumb dipped beneath the waistband, just barely, and your stomach tightened. “Like this.”

His lips found yours again, and this kiss was different from the ones before. Deeper and more certain. His mouth parted against yours, and when your tongue brushed his lower lip, he made a sound low in his chest that you felt in your ribs.

Your hands found the nape of his neck.

His hand slid further beneath your shorts.

The fabric stretched to accommodate him, elastic giving way to his knuckles, his palm, the gentle press of his fingers against you. Not where you wanted him most, not yet, but close enough that every nerve in your body had rerouted itself to that single point of contact.

He broke the kiss to breathe, forehead resting against yours. “And then I thought about touching you.”

His thumb traced a line on your pelvic bone causing your hips to buck. “Like that?” he asked, the question dripping with something darker now.

“Lower,” you breathed.

Chan’s eyes flicked to yours. The pink in his ears had spread to his cheeks, but his expression was steady and focused, “show me.”

Your hand covered his arm, his hand still hidden beneath the dark fabric of your shorts, and guided it downward. The movement was slow, deliberate, charged with the kind of tension that made the air feel thick.

When his fingers brushed against the damp cotton of your underwear, you both stopped breathing.

“Fuck,” he whispered. The word was so quiet, so reverent, that it didn’t sound like profanity at all. It sounded like a prayer.

His fingers pressed against you through the fabric, experimental and gentle, mapping the shape of your arousal without any rush. The pressure was light, too light, but the fact of his hand there, the heat of his palm cupping you through cotton, made your head fall back against the couch.

“Look at me,” he said and you did.

His pupils were blown wide, nearly eclipsing the brown of his irises. The boyish fluster from earlier had burned away, replaced by something sharper. He looked at you like you were the only thing in the room worth seeing.

“Is this okay?” His fingers pressed a little harder.

“Yes.....God, yes.”

He kissed you again, swallowing the sound you made when his middle finger found the seam of you through the damp fabric and traced it up and down. The friction was perfect, maddening, but not nearly enough.

Your hips rolled against his hand.

“There you go,” he murmured against your mouth. “Take what you need.”

His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer until you were half in his lap, your back against the arm of the couch and your legs tangled with his. The new angle gave him better access, and he took advantage of it immediately, fingers moving in slow, steady circles that had you gripping his arms.

“Does that feel good?”

You couldn’t answer. Your voice had fled somewhere behind your hammering heart. He smiled then kissed your collarbone. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The pressure built in increments. He varied his speed and intensity in response to the sounds you made, faster when your breath hitched, lighter when your nails dug into his skin, harder when your hips chased his hand.

His lips never stopped moving. Your neck. Your jaw. The hollow beneath your ear. He kissed each spot like he was cataloging it for later, filing away which places made you shiver and which made you sigh.

“I want to feel you,” he said against your ear, his voice rough. “Can I—”

“Yes.”

He laughed softly, “you didn’t even let me finish.”

“I don’t care what the question is. The answer is yes.”

His fingers stilled against you. For one heartbeat, then two. Then his hand withdrew from your shorts, and the absence of his touch was so acute that you nearly whimpered. But he was already moving, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts, looking up at you with an expression that was half question and half plea.

“Lift your hips for me.”

You did, and he peeled the fabric down your thighs with a care that made your chest ache. The shorts joined the growing collection of forgotten things on the floor; the remote, your earlier inhibitions, every reason you’d ever given yourself for why this couldn’t happen.

Your underwear stayed on, for now.

Chan’s breath shuddered out of him as he looked at you. His hand found your bare thigh, palm spreading wide over muscle and skin, and he dragged it upward until his thumb rested against the damp cotton between your legs.

“You’re soaked,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

His thumb pressed down, and the fabric did nothing to hide how much you wanted this, how much you wanted him. The evidence was there, impossible to ignore, soaking through the thin cotton barrier.

“Chan, please.”

“Please what?” He was pushing again, but his voice had lost its teasing edge. Now he just sounded desperate, like he needed the words as much as you did.

“Touch me, underneath. I need to feel—”

He didn’t let you finish. His hand slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, and his fingers: warm, calloused, trembling just slightly, finally, finally touched bare skin.

He froze, and you could feel it in the tension running through his forearm, the way his breath stopped halfway up your throat. His index finger rested just above where you needed him, and the pause stretched long enough that you opened your eyes to check if something was wrong.

Nothing was wrong. Chan was looking at you like you'd just handed him something fragile and precious, something he was terrified of breaking.

"Chan." Your voice cracked on his name.

"Hang on." He swallowed hard. "Give me a second."

His thumb traced a slow arc over your hipbone, the motion almost unconscious. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped to something barely above a murmur. "I've wanted this for so long that I need to make sure I don't rush it."

"You're not rushing." Your hips tilted toward his hand, seeking pressure. "You're torturing me."

A laugh escaped him, breathless and warm against your cheek. "Good."

But he didn't make you wait much longer. His middle finger slid lower, parting you with a gentleness that made your toes curl. The sound you made, half gasp; half moan, seemed to embolden him. His finger traced your slickness upward, circling once, twice, before retreating just enough to make you whimper.

"Shh." He pressed a kiss to your temple. "I've got you."

His hand withdrew from your underwear, and before you could protest, he was shifting your position. Strong hands gripped your hips, repositioning you until your back was fully against the couch cushions and your legs draped over his lap. The new angle left you completely open to him, and the vulnerability of it sent heat flooding through your chest.

But Chan wasn't done.

His palm slid down your calf, fingers wrapping around your ankle with deliberate care. He lifted your leg, bending it at the knee, and pressed a kiss to the inside of your ankle. Then higher, your shin, the sensitive spot just below your knee. Each kiss was slower than the last, his breath warming your skin seconds before his lips made contact.

"What are you doing?" The question came out reedy, thin.

"Something I've thought about." Another kiss, this time to the tender flesh of your inner thigh. "Something I've thought about a lot."

He lifted your leg higher, guiding it over his shoulder. The position pulled you closer to him, your hips tilting upward, your thighs falling open. The damp cotton of your underwear was fully exposed now, the evidence of your arousal impossible to hide in this position.

His eyes dropped to the spot, and his expression shifted. The boyish flush on his ears had spread down his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. But his gaze was steady and hungry. He looked at you like a man who'd finally been given permission to want something after convincing himself he never could.

"Tell me if it's too much," he said, echoing his earlier words.

Then he lowered his head. His mouth pressed against you through the cotton.

The heat of his breath penetrated the fabric instantly, and your back arched off the couch before you could stop it. A broken sound clawed its way out of your throat, something between a moan and his name, tangled together beyond recognition.

Chan hummed against you, and the vibration traveled through the soaked fabric directly into your core. Your fingers scrambled for purchase, one hand fisting in his dark hair while the other gripped the couch cushion hard enough to leave marks.

"Fuck." The word left you on a shudder.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his lips still brushing against you. "That good?"

"You know it is,” you breathed out, “don’t ask silly questions.”

"I wanted to hear you say it." He pressed another kiss to the cotton, softer this time. Then another, slightly firmer. His free hand slid up your thigh, thumb stroking the crease where your leg met your hip. "I wanted to hear the sounds you'd make."

His mouth was still there again, his tongue pressing against you through the damp cotton, relentless and unhurried. The fabric had grown impossibly wet against your skin, and the warmth of his tongue was undeniable, even with the thin barrier between you.

He licked a slow, deliberate stripe along the seam of your underwear, and the sound you made was barely appropriate; a broken, keening sound that seemed to surprise even you.

Chan responded by pressing his mouth harder against you, licking feverishly, while his nose brushed against your clit through the soaked fabric as he angled his head. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider, anchoring you in place as he worked you through the cotton. He was thorough. He licked and sucked and breathed against you like he was trying to memorize the shape of you through the fabric, learning every curve and crease with his tongue.

Your hips bucked against his mouth, chasing the friction, and he let you. He let you rock against his face, his hands firm on your thighs holding you steady while you took what you needed. When he finally pulled back, it was only to hook his fingers into the waistband of your underwear.

His eyes met yours. He didn't ask. He didn't need to.

You lifted your hips, and he slid the wet fabric down your thighs, past your knees, off your ankles. The fabric landed somewhere on the floor, joining the rest of the discarded things between you.

And then he looked at you. Really looked at you.

His breath caught in his throat again, and for a long moment, he didn't move. His hands rested on your bare thighs, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin at your crease, but his eyes were fixed on the place he'd been worshipping through fabric moments before.

"Fuck," he whispered again, softer this time.

Then he lowered his head.

His first kiss, bare skin this time, nothing between you but air and want, made your entire body shudder. His lips parted against you, and when his tongue touched you, finally touched you without anything in the way, you cried out.

He didn't stop or pull away. He licked into you like he'd been waiting his whole life for the taste, and judging by the sounds he was making, low and desperate against your skin, maybe he had. "Baby," he whined against your skin, the word vibrating through you. "You taste incredible."

"Chan please—" you gasped, not even sure what you were asking for.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his lips brushing against your lower ones. "Please what, baby?"

"More." The word came out desperate, ragged. "Please."

His eyes met yours, dark and hungry, and he added his middle finger, pumping in and out of your core, as you forgot how to breathe. Once you were stretched out, he added another, making you mewl from underneath him.

He licked and sucked and pressed his tongue inside you beside his fingers, his own moans vibrating against your sensitive flesh. He was obsessed, you could feel it in the way he kept going, even when your legs trembled, even when your fingers pulled his hair hard enough to hurt. He didn't care, he just wanted more of you.

"Chan—" His name came out on a sob as your orgasm crested, your body shuddering against his mouth. He still didn't pull away, instead he licked you through it, gentler now, drawing out every last tremor until you collapsed back against the cushions, breathless and shaking.

He finally lifted his head, his chin glistening, his lips swollen and wet. He looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "You okay?" he asked, his voice rough.

You couldn't speak. You just pulled him up by his shirt and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips. He smiled against your lips, a soft hum of approval vibrating through you.

Your hands slid from the hem of his shirt to his shoulders, then down his chest, savoring the warmth of his skin through the fabric. You broke the kiss slowly, your mouth trailing to the corner of his mouth, then to his jaw, then down to his neck. His pulse fluttered under your tongue.

"Mmm," you murmured against his collarbone, letting your fingertips graze the waistband of his pants. "Taste good."

He shivered, hands coming up to cup your face, tilting you up to meet his gaze again. But you shook your head gently, sitting up and pressing him back into the cushions. Not with force; with a slow, irresistible pressure, your body following him down as you straddled one of his thighs.

"Stay," you breathed, and his hands fell obediently to his sides.

You let your gaze travel down his body; his parted lips, his heaving chest, the unmistakable bulge straining against his pants. He lifted his hips slightly, a wordless plea, and you rewarded him by sliding them down. Your eyebrows shot up as you realized he wasn't wearing anything underneath.

His cock stood rigid and flushed, a bead of precum already glistening at the tip. He sucked in a sharp breath, his entire body tensing under your gaze. You didn't speak right away. Instead, you let your eyes trace the length of him, the way his cock twitched in the open air, the way his stomach quivered with each shallow breath. The silence stretched, thick and electric, until he let out a soft, pleading whimper.

Your voice came out low and affectionate as your hand wrapped around the base. "Look at you. So hard and ready after taking care of me like that. You must like pleasuring me or something."

He shivered under your touch, hips jerking slightly upward. Leaning down, you pressed a soft kiss to the head before dragging your tongue slowly along the underside. His thighs flexed, a shaky sound escaping him.

"Please," he whined, the word cracking with need.

You chuckled softly, circling the crown with light, teasing licks. "Not yet. I want to hear those pretty sounds a little longer." Your fist stroked him in unhurried pulls, your mouth hovering close so your warm breath teased his sensitive skin. "You're so sensitive. I love when you twitch and moan like this."

Chan groaned, head tipping back as his fingers dug into the cushions. You took him into your mouth, sucking and making out with his tip gently at first, then pulling off with a wet sound to lap at the slit. "That's it. Just let me handle everything. You're perfect like this, all desperate."

His whines grew louder, hips thrusting shallowly into your grip. "Please....more. I need you."

You wrapped your mouth around him, working down his shaft slowly, deliberately, drawing out every broken sound he made. His hips rocked in small, desperate rolls, chasing your warmth without quite forcing the pace, still letting you lead. His hands had moved from the cushions to your hair, fingers threading gently, not pushing, just holding on like you were his anchor.

You pulled off with a wet pop, your hand still stroking him as you pressed a kiss to his inner thigh. He whimpered at the loss, a shudder running through him.

You breathed against his skin, lips trailing upward. "You must be close baby." He whimpered in response.

"You've been neglected, haven't you, love?" He nodded desperately then gasped once your tongue circled his head again, lapping at the bead of precum that had gathered.

His grip in your hair tightened. "Please—I—please, I need to—"

"Yeah, baby?" Your voice was soft but certain. You kissed the tip once, twice, then looked up at him through your lashes. His chest was heaving, his eyes glazed and wet. "You've been so good to me, Chan. You gonna cum?"

A desperate nod. "Yes! Yes! Yes! Fuck!”

"Go ahead, let go baby." You took him deep, until you were choking, all the way until your nose brushed his belly, then swallowed around him.

The sound he made was raw, almost pained, a broken cry that turned into a long, shuddering moan as his release hit your throat. You stayed still, letting him pulse against your tongue, your hand cupping his balls gently as you milked every last drop. When he finally stilled, trembling, you pulled off slowly, licking your lips clean.

You crawled up his body, lifting his shirt off as you press soft kisses along his stomach, his chest, his neck. His eyes were dazed, lips parted, and cheeks flushed. You brushed your thumb against his cheekbones and kissed him slowly.

"You're perfect," you whispered against his mouth. He let out a shaky breath and pulled you into a proper kiss, arms wrapping around you as he shifted and melted into the couch. "Fuck," he sighs out, in a daze, as you pull away.

You kiss his nose, "good?" His hold on you tightens as his eyes meet yours, "Perfect," he pecks your lips. "You are so perfect."

Your heart hammered against your ribs, so loudly you were convinced he could feel every beat through the fabric of your shirt. Judging by the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, maybe he could.

"You're staring," you whispered, trying to hide your face against his shoulder.

"I know."

"It's making me nervous."

He laughed softly. "Don't be acting all shy now."

You groaned, burying your face even deeper into his chest. "I mean it," he said, still smiling. "You're cute."

"I'm choosing to ignore you."

"noted."

He let the silence settle after that, his hand moving slowly up and down your back in an absentminded rhythm. Every now and then his fingers paused at the curve of your waist before continuing, as if reassuring himself you were still there. Your breathing gradually matched his.

The room felt warm, the movie long forgotten somewhere behind the sound of your heart settling back into a normal rhythm.

After a while, Chan pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "We should probably get cleaned up."

You made a quiet, reluctant noise into his shirt. "I know," he chuckled. "I don't really want to move either." Neither of you did immediately.

Another minute passed before he finally sighed dramatically. "If we stay here any longer, I'm never getting off this couch."

You lifted your head just enough to look at him, "I wouldn't be opposed to that."

He smiled before brushing his thumb across your cheek, "come on." This time, when he stood, he kept one hand wrapped around yours, helping you to your feet. You swayed for a second, earning a quiet laugh from him.

"You okay?"

"Mhm."

"You sure?"

You wrapped your arms around him and pressed your body against his, "I'm positive."

His expression softened before he reluctantly put space between you two, "Be back," he said before leaving a kiss on your forehead. He disappeared down the hall for a moment while you flattened your hair as best you could with your hands. A second later you heard the bathroom sink running.

"I left you a towel," he called. "And I put a clean shirt on the counter if you'd rather wear that to sleep."

"Channie," you looked at him and smiled fondly. "You didn't have to."

"I figured you'd be more comfortable."

Something about that made your chest ache. By the time you stepped into his bedroom a few minutes later, he'd already changed into a pair of gray sweatpants and an old T-shirt, his hair still damp around the edges from splashing water on his face.

He looked up immediately. "You feel better?" You nodded.

"Good," and without another word, he disappeared into the kitchen. You heard a cabinet open, then the refrigerator.

When he returned, he balanced two glasses of water in one hand. "I know," he said before you could tease him. "I'm hovering."

"You are, dad."

He smiled, "Humor me."

You accepted the glass anyway, smiling as you took a sip, he looked completely satisfied.

"What?"

"I don't know." He rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. "Taking care of you just.…makes me feel better."

You leaned over and bumped your shoulder against his, "Is that so?" He nodded and laughed before taking your empty glass from you. "Bed?"

"Bed."

Chan turned the lights down until the room was bathed in a soft amber glow before pulling you towards the bed and pulling back the covers. You climbed in first, settling against the pillows while he walked around to the other side.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight and almost instinctively, you rolled toward him. He opened an arm without a word, and the way you fit against him as though you'd done it a hundred times before had your heart fluttering.

His chin rested lightly on top of your head, "you comfortable?" he asked.

"Mhm."

"You need anything?"

You shook your head. "You?"

"I've got everything I need." His answer came so simply that it made you smile. Outside, the neighborhood had gone still. Somewhere in the distance, a car pulled from someone's driveway disappearing into the night.

Chan's fingers traced slow circles against your arm beneath the blanket. "Thank you," he murmured after a long while.

You tilted your head. "For what?"

"For trusting me."

Your eyes searched his face. He wasn't looking at you anymore. Just staring at the ceiling, his voice barely above a whisper, "I don't ever want you to feel like you have to be anything except comfortable with me."

You reached up and intertwined your fingers with his. "And vice versa." His hand squeezed your hand gently as a comfortable silence settled over the room, neither of you feeling the need to fill it.

It wasn't long before your eyelids grew heavy, the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulling you toward sleep. Just before you drifted off, you felt him press one last kiss into your head. "Goodnight," he whispered.

You smiled against his chest, "goodnight, Chan."

𐙚

He had never been the kind of man who woke up slowly.

His body snapped into consciousness all at once, like a switch being thrown, and that morning was no different, except for the heat. It pooled low in his belly before he even opened his eyes, a steady throb that matched the rhythm of his pulse.

The bedroom was still dark, thin streaks of dawn threading through the curtains, and beside him, You breathed in the slow, even cadence of deep sleep.

You were laying on your stomach, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, your chan's shirt has ridden up, the sheet had slipped sometime in the night, leaving your back slightly bare to the dip of your waist where the blanket pooled. Your skin looked impossibly soft in the half-light.

Chan turned onto his side carefully, making the mattress shift only slightly. He didn't want to wake you. Not yet.

His mind flickered back to the night before; the taste of you, the sounds you'd made, the way your fingers had twisted in his hair. There was a reason he didn't suggest going all the way last night. Other than the fact that you did not mention it, Chan wanted the first time with you to be special.

Now, hours later, his body was making a compelling argument that 'not yet' had expired.

He watched you sleep for a long moment. The gentle rise and fall of your ribs. The flutter of you eyelashes; dreaming, perhaps. A small whimper came out with your exhale, and the sound of it, that tiny sound, sent a fresh pulse of want through him.

Chan leaned in and pressed his lips to your shoulder.

It was as light as a feather, barely a brush of skin against skin. He waited, your breathing didn't change.

He breathed you in, and his hand, moving of its own accord, ghosted up the length of your spine without touching, hovering just above the warm skin.

He kissed the nape of your neck, letting his mouth linger this time. The taste of you, slightly salty and something faintly vanilla from your body wash, spread across his tongue.

Then another, this time to the curve where your shoulder met your neck. He parted his lips slightly, just enough to feel the fine hairs there, and a sound rumbled in his chest that he swallowed before it could escape.

Your shoulder blade drew his mouth next, then the soft inward curve of your waist where the blanket had tangled. He was moving lower, propping himself on one elbow, mapping the landscape of your back with lips and breath. Every kiss was a question he wasn't asking aloud.

Do you know what you do to me?

Do you feel this too?

Can I have more?

"Chan?"

Your voice was thick with sleep, muffled by the pillow. You hadn't moved, hadn't even opened your eyes, but your hand had found his shoulder beneath the blanket and rested there, warm and grounding.

"Morning," he murmured against your lower back.

"What time is it?"

"Early."

You made a sleepy, questioning sound. "Why are you awake?"

He could have said something sweet, something about the sunrise or needing water. Instead, he let his teeth graze the rise of your hip, and said, voice rough, "Because I've been thinking about the way you taste."

Your breath caught. A small hitch that made the muscles of your back tense and release. Now he could see one eye, cracked open and watching him. "You're going to be the death of me," you whispered.

"Can I?" The words tumbled out before he could stop them, hoarse and urgent. "Please. Let me...just let me taste you again. That's all I want." He was already moving, already settling himself lower. "I'm just asking for this. For you. On my tongue."

"You're begging."

"I'm absolutely begging."

You propped herself on your elbows and looked down at him, and something in your expression shifted, from sleepy amusement to a quiet, considering heat. "You really mean it."

"Every word."

Your throat moved as you swallowed. "Then what are you waiting for?" He didn't need more than that.

Chan's hands found your hips, fingers pressing into your soft skin as he settled lower still, his shoulders nudging your thighs apart. The scent of you, warm and faintly musky and entirely you, filled his senses, and his mouth literally watered. He had to pause and press his forehead against the inside of your thigh just to steady himself.

"You okay down there?" Your voice was breathless, half-laugh.

"I'm trying not to embarrass myself," he admitted.

"That's adorable."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

He lifted his head and met your eyes. "Sit on my face."

The words landed between you like a stone dropped into still water. your lips parted, pupils went wide, swallowing the brown of your irises. "What?"

"You heard me." His voice was steadier now, confidence returning. "Sit on my face. I want to feel you above me."

The hesitation lasted only a heartbeat, and then you were moving, shifting up the bed as he rolled onto his back, arranging herself with a kind of focused precision that told him that you wanted this just as badly as he did.

Your thighs settled on either side of his head, and the world narrowed to the sight of you above him, backlit by the gray dawn. You were breathing hard, and so was he.

"Like this?"

"Exactly like that."

Chan's hands slid up the outside of your thighs, over the swell of your hips, pulling you down gently. His tongue curled against you, and the sound you made, a sharp, surprised gasp that turned into a moan halfway through, unraveled something in his chest.

He worked slowly at first, relearning the topography of you. The way you responded when he used the tip of his tongue versus the flat of it. The small, involuntary rock of your hips when he found a rhythm you liked. His hands gripped you harder, not to direct you, because he needed something to hold onto as he lost himself in your taste.

Your fingers found his hair, twisted and pulled at the strands. The sting on his scalp sent electricity straight down his spine. "There," you gasped. "Right there. Don't stop, Channie, please don't stop."

He continued fucking into you with his tongue, because who would he be if he didn't listen to you?

Time softened around the edges, became measured in the back and forth movement of your hips, the increasing urgency of your sounds, the way your thighs began to tremble against his ears. The taste of you was everywhere; on his tongue, his lips, his chin. He was drowning in it and had never been happier.

Your breathing changed, quickened almost. Your thighs clamped tighter, and Chan moaned against you, the vibration pulling another cry from your throat.

"I'm—" you couldn't finish the sentence.

He understood anyway. His tongue lapped against you harder and faster, as one of his hands left your hip to slide up your stomach, feeling the flutter of your breath beneath his palm. Your thighs squeezed him harder, fingers clenched in his hair as a raw, broken cry tore from your throat, your hips wildly grinding against his tongue as he flattens it.

He held you through every pulse, every shudder, drinking you down until you went limp above him, trembling and gasping. Only when your grip loosened and you collapsed to the side, pulling him closer to you, did the room fill with the sound of your ragged breathing and the soft, satisfied weight of your body against his.

Chan eased back as you slid off his face, your body still trembling from the orgasm. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and hungry as he watched you catch your breath beside him. The gray dawn light painted soft lines across both of you.

You turned toward him, fingers tracing down his chest. "Channie... I want more. I want you inside me. We...we can use protection, but...." you paused, "fuck I need you."

His cock twitched hard at your words. He reached in the nightstand without hesitation, tearing open a condom packet with his teeth. Sliding his pants off and rolling it down his thick length, he positioned himself between your spread thighs.

"You sure?" he asked, voice rough.

"Please."

He pressed the head of his cock against your slick pussy and pushed in slowly. Inch by inch, stretching you open until he bottomed out. A shared groan filled the room.

"Fuuuuck," he gasped closing his eyes. He stayed there for a long moment, buried deep, letting you both adjust to the thick stretch. His hips rocked in tiny, shallow movements at first, barely pulling back before sinking in again. The slow drag of his cock against your walls drew soft sounds from both of you.

"You like that, baby?" He moans against your lips causing you to whine. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels pressing into his lower back as you urged him deeper. He answered with a low groan, beginning to thrust in a steady rhythm, "you feel so good, babydoll....so so good."

He throws his head back grinding into you. Each stroke was deliberate, hips rolling forward until he was fully seated inside you before withdrawing almost completely, only to push back in again.

The wet sounds of your bodies grew louder with every thrust. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging in as he kept the pace measured, savoring the way your pussy clenched around him every time he bottomed out. You could feel every inch of him sliding in and out, the friction building heat between you causing your moans to get louder and more erotic.

"Keep squeezing me like that, babydoll," he growled, voice strained. He leaned down to kiss you, tongue sliding against yours while his hips continued into slow, deep thrusts. "I'm close," you breathed into his mouth.

"Yeah?" He thrusted hard into you. "Gonna cum for me baby?" Your nails dug into his back as the pleasure built gradually. He kept fucking you with that same controlled pace, angling his hips to hit the spot that made your breath hitch. The tension coiled tighter with each stroke, bringing you closer, until he stopped thrusting and pulled out suddenly, causing you to clench around nothing.

Your eyes shot open, "Chan," you whined out.

"Shhh, babydoll, I got you," he murmurs while admiring your pussy, before leading his cock back into you. "I got you."

Chan lingered above you, his breath warm against your lips as he eased his hips forward again. Instead of rushing, he kept the motion unhurried, sinking into your soaked pussy again with deliberate care. Every inch of his cock stretched you open slowly, the thick head pressing deeper until he was fully seated inside you once more. A low, shared sigh escaped both of you at the full connection.

Your eyes were in the back of your head, "F-fuck daddy, right there," you moaned out gripping his shoulders. The term of endearment made his cock throb inside of you, and his hips stayed buried in you.

"Say it again, babydoll," he rasped out, ".....please." He tried letting your walls adjust around him while his hands roamed gently over your sides. One hand sneaked down between you, as his fingers brushed your clit in soft circles. His other hand found yours, squeezing you gently. His mouth found yours again, the kiss slow and deep, tongues sliding together as he began to rock his hips in smaller, measured movements.

"J-just like that, daddy," you mewled out as he dragged his cock out just to slam it back into you, drawing out a loud groan from the two of you.

Despite wanting to continuously slam into you, he felt himself getting close, so he kept each thrust measured and sweet. He pulled back only a little before pushing forward again, the drag of his cock against your inner walls steady and intimate. Wet sounds filled the quiet room with every gentle stroke, but he never quickened the pace. Instead he focused on the way your body responded, watching your face for every flicker of pleasure.

Your legs stayed wrapped around his waist, heels resting against his lower back as you encouraged him to stay close. He answered by leaning down to press kisses along your jaw, then down your neck, his lips warm and lingering on your skin. The slow rhythm continued, his cock sliding in and out with careful control, the head brushing that sensitive spot inside you on every inward push.

Time stretched as he kept fucking you like this. Minutes passed with the same unhurried pace, his hips rolling forward to fill you completely before easing back almost to the tip. Your pussy clenched around him with growing need, but he didn’t speed up. He simply adjusted the angle slightly, angling his cock to press against that perfect spot again and again, drawing soft gasps from your throat.

Your hands explored his back, fingers tracing the muscles that flexed with each controlled thrust. He groaned quietly against your shoulder when your nails dragged lightly over his skin, the sound vibrating through his chest. Sweat began to gather between your bodies, but he kept the connection tender, pressing his forehead to yours as he continued the steady rhythm. "You like this, babydoll?"

You nodded as the pleasure built gradually, "Fuck yes." you whisper. "Yes yes yes." Every slow stroke pushed you closer without overwhelming you, his hips started stuttering as you squeezed tightly. “come on babydoll, let go,” he grunted out as you tightened your legs around his hips.

Your second orgasm approached like a rising tide rather than a sudden crash. When it finally washed over you, your pussy pulsed and fluttered around his thick length, squeezing him in rhythmic waves. Your back arched, pressing your chest to his as the sensation rolled through you in long, drawn-out pulses.

Chan held still through your climax, buried deep while your walls milked him. He kissed your temple, “that’s it baby, there you go,” he murmured softly against your skin as your breathing slowly evened out.

Only when your tremors began to fade did he resume the gentle thrusting, still keeping the pace measured and loving. He lasted longer this way, savoring every moment inside you. He can't remember the last time he's had sex, let alone with someone who reciprocated his feelings.

His own release built again slowly, his cock twitching inside the condom as the pressure mounted. When he finally came, it was with a deep, drawn-out groan, his hips pressing forward one last time as he emptied himself. His body shuddered against yours in long waves, the condom catching every pulse of his release.

He didn’t pull away immediately. He stayed nestled inside you, softening gradually while his hands continued their gentle exploration. One hand stroked your back. The other traced slow circles over your hip and thigh. His lips brushed yours in a series of soft, lingering kisses, each one unhurried and full of affection.

When he finally eased out, he did so with care, removing the condom and tying it off before dropping it aside. Then he gathered you against his chest, pulling the blanket up to cover both of you. Your bodies remained pressed together, skin to skin, as the morning light grew brighter outside. His fingers kept moving in slow, soothing strokes along your spine, and the quiet intimacy of the moment stretched on without any need to rush.

Neither of you spoke for a long while, but when you did the conversation drifted in and out between comfortable silences, interrupted only by lazy kisses and quiet laughter whenever one of you caught the other staring again.

Eventually the sunlight spilling through the curtains grew brighter, stretching farther across the bed until it reached your legs.

There wasn't much to say. The room was quiet except for the occasional creak of the house settling and the distant chirping of birds outside the bedroom window. Every so often Chan would brush another kiss against your forehead or lazily trace circles along your back, neither of you particularly interested in being the first person to move.

Eventually, hunger won.

"If we don't get up," you mumbled against his chest, "we're going to waste the entire day."

Chan let out a sleepy hum, "I don't see the problem."

You smiled. "You said you needed groceries, especially for Jia."

One eye cracked open.

"…I did say that."

"And I need groceries too."

He sighed dramatically, tightening his arms around you for one last minute before finally letting go. "Five more minutes."

"You said that fifteen minutes ago."

"Then I'm making progress."

𐙚

By the time either of you finally convinced yourselves to leave the bedroom, the morning had quietly become afternoon. The house had settled into its usual weekend rhythm. Sunlight spilled across the hardwood floors in wide golden strips, warming the quiet rooms as if the day had been patiently waiting for the two of you to rejoin it.

Chan wandered into the kitchen first, still rubbing sleep from his eyes as he opened the refrigerator. He stared inside for a long moment. "...I've definitely been putting this off."

You laughed from somewhere down the hall. "That bad?" He stepped aside just enough for you to look.

Half a carton of milk.

A few eggs.

Butter.

One container of yogurt.

Three different condiments.

You looked back at him, "so....you've been surviving." You leaned against the counter, folding your arms. "My refrigerator isn't much better."

Chan glanced over at you, "No?"

"I keep buying ingredients because I think I'll cook."

"And then?"

"I get home from work and eat cereal."

He laughed quietly, "That explains a lot."

"It really does."

A comfortable silence settled between you as the coffee maker sputtered to life, filling the kitchen with its familiar sounds. Chan reached into the cabinet for two mugs without thinking, only hesitating for the briefest second before carrying on as if it had always been the obvious choice.

You noticed.

Neither of you acknowledged it.

By the time the coffee had finished brewing, the rich smell had drifted through the kitchen. Chan poured two cups and handed one to you, your fingers brushing lightly against his as you accepted it.

"Thanks."

He answered with a quiet hum before leaning back against the counter beside you, close enough that your shoulders nearly touched. For a while, neither of you said anything, simply standing there with warm mugs in your hands, watching the backyard through the kitchen window.

"What time are you getting Jia tomorrow ?" you asked eventually.

"Around three."

You nodded into your coffee. "So we've got today."

"And most of tomorrow."

It was a simple observation, but it settled between you with a weight neither of you expected. Not because you had anything special planned, but because knowing there was still time somehow felt important.

Chan took another sip before setting his mug on the counter, "I still need groceries."

"Me too."

He glanced over at you, one corner of his mouth lifting. "Want to just go together?"

You smiled over the rim of your mug, "I was hoping you'd ask."

𐙚

Nearly forty minutes later, the reusable shopping bags were tucked into the back seat, coffee cups abandoned in the cup holders, and the two of you were pulling into the grocery store parking lot.

Saturday afternoons always seemed to bring everyone out at once.

Families navigated overflowing carts through the parking lot while college students hurried inside with hastily scribbled shopping lists clutched in one hand. Somewhere nearby, someone was losing a battle with a shopping cart that refused to separate from the rest of the line.

Chan grabbed one with considerably less effort before falling into step beside you, "you have a list?" he asked.

"Somewhere," you dug through your bag until you found a crumpled receipt folded into quarters, every bit of blank space covered in handwriting. He looked at it for a second before laughing,"....that's your list?"

"It made sense when I wrote it."

"I believe you," his smile lingered as the two of you wandered inside.

The store hummed with the familiar rhythm of a busy weekend. Shopping carts rattled over tile, conversations drifted from neighboring aisles, and somewhere overhead an employee announced a sale that neither of you paid much attention to.

Without ever deciding to, you settled into an easy pace.

You paused to inspect produce while Chan wandered a few feet ahead, reaching automatically for the things he always bought. Every so often one of you would stop beside the other.

"Need cereal?"

"Mhm."

"You still out of coffee?"

"Unfortunately."

A carton of eggs appeared in the cart.

Then bread.

Then fruit.

Somewhere along the way, Jia's favorite yogurt ended up beside your coffee creamer. A loaf of bread rested against vegetables you'd picked out. His pasta sat next to spices you knew you were almost out of.

Neither of you questioned it.

It wasn't until you reached the meat department that you finally glanced down into the cart. You rested both hands on the handle, smiling to yourself, "our groceries are kind of... mixed together."

Chan followed your gaze. For a long second, he simply looked, "...Huh."

"My stuff's with yours."

"And mine's with yours."

"They're going to have to be sorted when we get home."

He nodded once, "...Probably."

Neither of you reached into the cart. Instead, Chan picked up a package of chicken, dropped it in beside everything else, and continued walking. You smiled to yourself before following him.

For now, it didn't seem important whose groceries belonged to which house.

By the time you reached the checkout, neither of you had made much progress figuring out whose groceries belonged to whom. You started unloading the cart onto the conveyor belt while Chan grabbed the divider.

"Everything before this is mine," you said, pointing toward the growing pile.

"Mhm."

Coffee. Vegetables. Pasta. Chicken.

When you reached for the yogurt, Chan quietly slid it onto his side of the divider. You frowned. "...That was mine."

"It was?"

"You watched me pick it."

"Huh."

Before you could say anything else, he reached over and moved your coffee beside it.

"...Chan."

"What?"

"Those are my groceries."

He didn't even try to look innocent, "I know."

You narrowed your eyes. "You're trying to pay for them."

"I might be."

A laugh escaped you as you immediately slid both items back across the divider, "you are absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Because they're mine."

"They're groceries."

"They're my groceries."

Resting his forearms on the cart handle, he smiled in that infuriatingly calm way that told you he'd already decided this conversation was entertaining, "I invited you."

"...To the grocery store."

"I still invited you."

"You don't buy someone groceries because you invited them to buy groceries."

"I don't see why not."

"I do."

The cashier glanced between the two of you, her expression already giving away that she'd decided this was the highlight of her shift.

Chan reached for his wallet anyway.

You caught his wrist before he could, "no."

He looked down at your hand before meeting your eyes again. "What?"

"I cook for you and Jia because I want to."

"I know."

"So you're not paying me back through produce."

He laughed. "I'm not paying you back."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Saying thank you."

"You can say thank you for free."

"...It's less convincing."

The cashier let out a quiet laugh before clearing her throat, "your total," she said, nodding toward your side of the divider, "is fifty-eight forty-three."

Chan looked almost offended, "....See?"

You blinked. "What?"

"It wasn't even close to a hundred."

You stared at him for a second before shaking your head, "that is the part you took away from this?"

"I feel vindicated."

Laughing, you handed your card to the cashier, "you are unbelievable."

A grin spread across his face, "so I've been told."

--

By the time the groceries were loaded into the back of the car, the afternoon sun had shifted just enough to stretch long shadows across the parking lot.

Chan started the engine, one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel as he pulled out onto the main road. The radio hummed low beneath passing traffic, filling in the kind of silence that didn’t ask to be fixed.

You rested your elbow against the window, watching neighborhoods blur past before glancing over at him.

“What was Jia like when she was little?”

He smiled faintly, eyes still on the road. “She’s still little.”

“You know what I mean.”

A small exhale through his nose, like he’d already accepted the correction. “I know.” There was a pause as he thought back, “…She was fearless.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“It should,” he said, finally glancing over with a grin.

That pulled a laugh out of you.

“She climbed everything,” he continued, warming into the memory. “The couch, the bookshelves, kitchen chairs. I’d turn around for two seconds and she’d be somewhere she absolutely shouldn’t be.”

“Chan.”

“I’m serious.” His mouth curved. “One time I walked into the kitchen and she was standing on top of the table.”

You turned fully toward him. “How did she even get up there?”

“I still don’t know,” he admitted, laughing now. “She just….figured it out.”

“And what was she doing?”

“Getting bananas.”

The car filled with your laughter, “she climbed onto the table…” you repeated, incredulous.

“…because she wanted fruit,” he finished, like that explained everything. “I found her holding the bunch over her head like she’d just won something.”

“Oh my God.”

“I didn’t know whether to be impressed or terrified.”

“Both,” you decided immediately.

“Definitely both,” the memory softened him a little, the grin easing into something fond. “I used to think she didn’t understand gravity.”

“She still doesn’t.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “No… she just negotiates with it better now.”

The laughter settled gradually, the car slipping back into an easy quiet. A few minutes passed before your voice came again, softer this time.

“What about food?”

The shift was subtle, but it landed differently. You noticed it in the way his hand adjusted on the steering wheel before he spoke.

“When her mom left…” he began, voice quieter, “Jia had just turned two.”

You didn’t interrupt.

“I couldn’t cook,” he admitted after a moment.

“Not even a little?”

A small, sheepish smile. “I could ruin cereal.”

That earned a quiet laugh from you.

“I’m serious.”

“I believe you,” you said, still smiling.

“I lived off frozen dinners before she was born. After….that didn’t really work anymore.”

His eyes stayed on the road, but his voice shifted into memory, “so I started calling my mom. My sister too. Pretty much every night.”

“Every night?”

“Pretty much,” he said, amused at himself. “I’d just put them on speaker and stand in the kitchen like I had any idea what I was doing.”

You smiled. “That’s kind of sweet.”

“It was chaos,” he corrected immediately, but he was laughing. “I’d be like, ‘Okay… now what?’”

“And they’d tell you?”

“Yeah. ‘Dice the onion.’”

“Simple.”

“Except I didn’t know what ‘small’ meant.”

That made you laugh, “like… tiny? Medium? Is there a rule?”

He shook his head, smiling. “I asked that exact question.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

The two of you laughed again, softer this time, the kind that fades into something more comfortable. “I burned chicken three nights in a row once,” he added.

“Three?”

“I kept thinking I’d learned something from the night before.”

“And had you?”

“No,” he admitted, amused. A pause, then a small shrug. “But eventually… I got better.”

“What was the first thing you actually made right?”

His expression shifted slightly at that, “chicken noodle soup.”

“Why soup?”

“Jia got sick.”

The air in the car changed, not heavy, just quieter, “she wouldn’t eat anything,” he said. “I ended up sitting on the kitchen floor with her because she wouldn’t stay in her high chair.”

You watched him as he spoke, like you could almost see it, “she only ate maybe….three bites,” he said softly.

“And that was enough?”

“It felt like I’d won the lottery.”

Silence settled again, this one thoughtful rather than empty. After a while, he added, quieter still, “I figured if I was going to do this by myself….she deserved more than microwaved dinners.”

You looked at him for a long moment, “Chan.”

“Hm?”

“You’re a great dad.”

He smiled, but it didn’t fully reach his eyes this time. “I’ve mostly just been trying to stay one step ahead of her.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

A glance at you. “No?”

“I think you’ve spent the last four years building a life where she never has to wonder if someone’s coming home.”

That landed and stayed there. Chan didn’t respond right away. Just kept driving, fingers tapping once against the wheel like he was holding the words somewhere quieter than speech.

Then, after a beat, a small, genuine smile returned. “…Thanks.”

And this time, he didn’t try to say anything else.

He didn’t need to.

--

By the time Chan turned into the neighborhood, the conversation had already softened into something familiar.

Jia’s unwavering belief that broccoli was just “tiny trees.”

The phase where she had refused to wear matching socks for an entire week on principle alone.

The brief, intense period where she had announced she was a dinosaur and responded only to roaring.

It came in fragments between laughter, the kind that filled space without needing to push anything out of it.

Eventually, the house came into view. Then the driveway.

And when Chan pulled in, the two of you both seemed to notice it at the same time. The grocery bags in the backseat. Still sitting there. Still very much not sorted.

A pause settled over the car.

“…Right,” you said slowly. “We’re going to have to separate all of this.”

Chan followed your gaze like he’d only just remembered they existed. “…Yeah.”

Neither of you moved for a second longer than necessary. It wasn’t reluctance exactly. More like the quiet realization that the moment had finally caught up to you.

“…Do you remember what’s yours?” he asked.

You leaned slightly to see better, squinting at the jumble of bags. “I know the coffee is mine.”

“…I think.”

That made him turn his head toward you. “You were confident for a second there.”

“I was confident,” you defended lightly. “Until you made me think about it.”

A small laugh left him as he opened his door. “That’s dangerous.”

“So is this grocery strategy.”

That got a fuller exhale of amusement from him as he stepped around the car. You followed him to the trunk.

The air outside felt a little cooler, quieter without the movement of driving, like the world had paused just long enough for this to become its own small task.

Chan lifted the first bag and held it out slightly. “Okay. This one?”

You peered inside, then frowned. “I genuinely don’t know.”

“Helpful.”

“I’m trying.”

He handed it back into the trunk and picked up another. “This?”

You leaned in closer this time, taking your time. “Wait… I think those are your onions.”

A pause.

Chan blinked once. “I don’t buy onions.”

“You literally picked them up.”

“I would remember that.”

“You made me smell them.”

That did it. You both broke out into laughter at the same time. Your hand went to your face, shoulders shaking. “Oh my God.”

Chan bent slightly at the waist, laughing harder now, one hand braced on the edge of the trunk like he needed support to survive the memory.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he said through a laugh. “This feels like we’re dividing assets.”

“That’s exactly what it feels like,” you said, still laughing. “Custody agreement for groceries.”

He pointed at you without hesitation. “This is your influence.”

“My influence?”

“You kept saying ‘I'll use it’ about everything.”

You straightened, defensive but amused. “Because I will use it, whether its with you guys or by myself.”

That hung there a second longer than the joke deserved. The laughter didn’t stop, but it shifted, softer now, less chaotic. Chan looked at you over the open trunk, expression easing into something quieter. He picked up another bag, holding it for a moment before handing it over like he’d already accepted the answer.

“…Yeah,” he said gently. “We will.”

And somehow, that landed more than the joke ever did.

--

The house was quiet as you both stepped inside, the bags heavy in your hands. The familiar sounds; the soft rustle of plastic, the faint clink of bottles filled the space. You set your bags down on the counter while Chan moved to start unloading his own, a slow, practiced rhythm.

He looked up at you with a small, familiar smile. “Leave your bags for now,” he said softly. “We can take them over to yours when we get a chance.”

You nodded, knowing he was right. It was easier this way, him handling the division, the organization, the flow of the household. No need to worry about sorting everything immediately.

He moved with a quiet purpose, opening the fridge and freezer, carefully placing items where they belonged, his movements slow and deliberate, as if tending to something fragile.

"Here, just put them away while they're still in the bags, so you don't leave anything behind," he says glancing towards you. You watched him for a moment, feeling the steadiness in his movements, the familiar quiet confidence.

You watched him for a moment, feeling the steadiness in his movements, the familiar quiet confidence. It wasn’t just about groceries. It was about the rhythm of the home, the way things could be organized and cared for without words, a shared understanding that everything would find its place naturally in time.

“Thanks,” you said softly, reaching for the bags again. “It’s….nice having this kind of normal, even if it’s just for a little while.”

He smiled, a little tired but genuinely peaceful. “Yeah,” he replied. “It’s good. We’ll make it feel like home, one step at a time.”

Later, as the evening settled in, you found yourselves in the kitchen again, this time side by side, reheating leftovers in the microwave. The hum of the appliance blended with the faint, distant chatter from the living room, stories about the day, sprinkled with the occasional giggle.

The quiet rhythm of the house continued, unhurried; passing plates, brushing shoulders, sharing small, knowing smiles as you set the table together.

You exchanged a glance, a small, knowing smile passing between you, feeling the unspoken understanding that everything was okay, just as it was.

You both sat side by side at the kitchen table, the soft glow of the overhead light casting a warm, calming hue over everything. The gentle clatter of plates and silverware punctuating the quiet. Outside, the faint sounds of the evening drifted through the window; distant traffic, a birdcall or two, filling the space with a peaceful, familiar rhythm.

You reached for a glass, taking a sip before glancing at Chan. “Do you remember how she used to react to changes?” you asked softly.

Chan chuckled, a quiet laugh that carried a hint of nostalgia. “Yeah,” he said with a small shake of his head. “She’d get all anxious if her routine was even a little different. Like, when she’d go to bed start asking for her nightlight or Leebit a hundred times.”

You smiled, remembering those nights. “She still does that?” you questioned.

"Not so much now," he nodded thoughtfully. “She’s adaptable. Just needs a little time to process.....speaking of I want to make sure she’s okay, you know. Before we talk about anything new between you and I.”

You looked at him, your expression softening. “Yeah. I think that’s smart.”

He paused, glancing down at his plate, then back at you with a quiet resolve. “I just… I want to be careful. Not rush her or make her feel overwhelmed. I want to tell her first, in a way she can understand, simple, gentle. No big surprises. Just us, taking it slow.”

You reached across the table, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “That’s the right way. She’ll trust us more if she knows she’s safe.”

The gentle hum of the house wrapped around you both, quiet but steady, an unspoken promise that patience and love would guide you through. No matter how long it took, everything would fall into place when the time was right.

You looked down at your plate, then back up at him, feeling the quiet strength in his words. “We’ll get through this,” you said softly. “One step at a time.”

He nodded, a small, genuine smile touching his lips. “Yeah. One step at a time.”

And in that peaceful moment, with the evening settling around you, you both knew that love wasn’t about rushing or pushing, it was about patience, trust, and quietly building something steady and real, day by day.

𐙚

The soft hum of the house continued around you, but at the table, everything seemed to slow down. The gentle flicker of the candlelight cast warm shadows across your faces, and for a moment, the world outside faded away.

You sat close, your shoulders just barely brushing, the quiet comfort of each other’s presence wrapping around you like a shared secret. You reached for your glass, but you hesitated as your arm brushed against his. He looked up at you, eyes dark and steady, a quiet understanding passing between you. The air grew thick with unspoken longing, a slow-burning tension that didn’t need words.

He shifted slightly, closing the space just a little more, his gaze dropping to your lips. You felt your heartbeat quicken, the anticipation building gently.

Without a word, he leaned in, a small, deliberate movement, his eyes never leaving yours. His hand reached out, resting softly on your thigh, warm and grounding.

Your breath hitched as he brushed a tender kiss along the corner of your mouth, then along your jaw, slow and deliberate, as if savoring each moment. His lips lingered there, sending a shiver through you, and you instinctively leaned into him, closing the gap.

The slow, steady press of his lips against your skin sent a ripple of heat through your body. You felt the faint brush of his fingers, the subtle pressure of his hand, grounding you in the moment. Your eyes fluttered shut for a brief second before opening again, meeting his gaze; soft, intense, full of promise.

The atmosphere shifted seamlessly, from calm and gentle to something more electric, yet still tender. You could feel the unspoken desire simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to unfold fully. But for now, it was enough; this quiet, lingering closeness, the shared breath, the unhurried connection at the heart of it all.

In that silence, at the dinner table, love and longing intertwined, simple and profound. And you knew, without saying a word, that this moment was just the beginning of something deeper, something waiting patiently just beneath the surface.

masterlist | next

a/n: ovulating (੭ ˊ^ˋ)੭ ♡ but originally, I wanted to do the whole weekend in this chapter, but I now have different plans. also for the love of GOD if you are a minor and interacting with this, don’t let me find out. You will get blocked.

Today, on your day off, you grabbed an early dinner after volunteering.

Chris was already there, sitting at the wooden table tucked away in the corner. The spot you'd shown him years ago. The one you'd both kept coming back to.

He wore a simple black hoodie and basketball shorts. No Stray Kids logo. No stage persona. Just Chris.

You smiled when you saw him. "Hey, sorry. Things ran long at the center."

Chris stood immediately, pulling you into a hug. "You're good. I'm glad we could meet."

"Yeah." You stepped back. "I'll eat with you, but I want to head home after. I'm beat."

His expression softened. "Okay." He didn't ask questions.

After dinner, he offered to drive you home. For once, you handed over the keys without arguing. The ride was quiet. Music played softly through the speakers while city lights drifted past the windows. Every so often, he glanced your way. You looked tired. Not the kind that a nap would fix. Tired from weeks, maybe months. Like you were emotionally drained.

You let him inside your apartment.

It was small but comfortable. Photos of friends, a few struggling houseplants, mismatched cushions on the couch. There were no pictures of him anywhere amongst the ones of your friends.

Maybe because neither of you knew where this stood.

You filled a glass with water for him. You tried to, but the glass slipped from your hand and hit the tile with a sharp crack. The glass shattered and water spread across the floor.

You froze, then immediately bent down. "I got it." Your voice came out tighter than you intended.

Chris crouched beside you. "Y/N."

"I said I got it." Your hands were shaking like you were trying to hold your own pieces together.

Before you could grab another piece, he gently took it from your fingers and set it aside.

"Hey. C'mere." His hand cradled the back of your head. A hug that tried holding all of it: grief, fatigue, loneliness.

That was all it took.

A small, choked sob escaped you first. Then another. And then the dam cracked.

You buried your face into his chest, fingers clutching the fabric of his hoodie like an anchor as weeks—months—of running finally caught up to you. No dramatic sobbing or screaming. Just tears that shook your whole body and came from somewhere deep and raw where all the pain had been stuffed down for too long.

Chris didn’t flinch, didn't pull back. He just held on tighter.

[...]

The apartment was quiet now. Just the soft sound of glass being swept into a dustpan. Chris moved carefully, not wanting to make noise and disturb you.

You had ended up on your sofa, curled under a blanket while he cleaned up in silence. Swept the glass fragments and made sure there were none left. Because he knew you liked walking around barefoot.

“Please be careful with the glass,” you finally spoke.

He looked up at the sound of your voice. It was hoarse from crying. He gave a small nod, his expression gentle.

"I'm being careful," he spoke back—not too loud because he knew your head probably hurt from crying so much.

He came back to you when he was done; kneeled like it was nothing, and petted your head with so much love. Like you were precious and fragile, like this wouldn't blur the lines even more.

"I think we should talk about it." He whispered.

You looked away. "Nothing to talk about."

His hand paused. "Y/N."

"I'm fine."

He gave you a look that made it obvious he didn't believe you. "You cried over a broken glass."

"I got overwhelmed."

He exhaled quietly. "You're working two jobs. You're volunteering on your only day off. You're exhausted all the time." He sighed. "I hate seeing you do this to yourself."

"So what?" You laughed bitterly. "Should I just sit around feeling sorry for myself because I'm alone?"

"No." His answer came immediately. "You just shouldn't have to carry everything by yourself." You swallowed hard. Chris held your gaze. "You deserve someone who checks if you've eaten. Someone who worries when you're tired. Someone who cares." His voice softened. "I'm here, Y/N."

You shuddered, looking anywhere but at him. "I-I don't think you know what you're saying."

"I do." He said with a certainty that made your heart stutter. "I want to be the person you call when things get hard. Don't act like you don't know how I feel."

Of course you knew. That was the problem.

"Y/N?"

You closed your eyes. "I don't think I can love anyone right now."

Something flickered across his expression. But he didn't look away. Instead, he reached for your hand and pressed a gentle kiss against your knuckles. "I don't need you to. I just want to be here while you heal."

Tears burned behind your eyes again.

"That's not fair."

"Why?"

"Because I can't love you back." The words came out broken. "I can't think about anything except being tired."

For a moment, he looked hurt. Then he pulled you closer. Until your forehead rested against his chest. "That's okay."

You shook your head. "No, it isn't."

"It is." His arms tightened around you. "You don't have to be ready. I haven't asked for your love." His hand moved gently through your hair. "I've only asked you to let me stay."

The apartment fell quiet. Just Chris cradling you in his arms.

"And if all you can do right now is let me sit beside you," he murmured, "then that's enough."

The café Chan mentioned turned out to be small and warm, tucked between a bookstore and a laundromat near the edge of downtown.

The kind of place with different kinds of seating, many hanging plants, and soft music low enough that conversations blended together quietly beneath it.

You spotted them near the window almost immediately.

Jia sat on her knees in a booth beside Chan, coloring while he scrolled through his phone with his coffee untouched beside him.

He looked up the second you walked in, and there it was again. That subtle shift in his face every time he saw you lately.

“Hey,” he said as you approached.

“Hi.”

Jia looked up next, immediately brightening. “You came.”

“I did.”

“Daddy thought you were gonna cancel.”

Chan blinked once. “Okay.”

You laughed softly as you slid into the booth across from them. “Did he now?”

“Jia,” he sighed out, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. She looked completely unbothered by his tone and went back to coloring.

Your eyes drifted toward him again. “You thought I was gonna cancel?”

Chan looked faintly embarrassed, “I don’t know,” he admitted with a small shrug. “You said yes pretty fast.”

The words slipped out naturally. “That’s because I wanted to come.”

The barista called your pickup order a second later, breaking whatever had started settling between you.

“I’ll grab it,” Chan said automatically, already standing.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.” The quiet answer lingered strangely in your chest while you watched him walk toward the counter.

Across from you, Jia looked up from her coloring book. “Daddy smiled in the car today.”

Your heart betrayed you instantly. “Oh?”

Jia nodded very seriously. “Usually traffic makes him grumpy.”

“Yeah?”

Jia nodded very seriously, leaning closer across the table like this was important information.

Your smile softened before you could stop it. “Maybe he was excited for cake pops.”

Jia considered that for a second, then shook her head. “No. He smiled before I asked for pops.”

You pressed your lips together, trying very hard not to look over at Chan while he stood at the counter waiting for the order. “That sounds like a good morning, then.”

Jia nodded once, satisfied with that answer, before returning her attention to the coloring page in front of her.

By the time Chan came back, you were still pretending your chest hadn’t done something incredibly inconvenient. He slid your coffee toward you first, then set Jia’s cake pop carefully beside her crayons.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

“Of course.”

The morning crowd moved quietly around you after that, but somehow the little booth by the window still felt oddly separate from the rest of the café. Like the three of you had slipped into your own corner of it.

Jia carefully peeled pieces off her cake pop while you and Chan drifted into easier conversation across the table.

Work.

The neighborhood block party.

The fact that Jia apparently believed every stuffed animal in existence had emotional needs.

“She cried because I washed Leebit once,” Chan admitted, sounding deeply tired about it.

Your eyebrows lifted immediately. “You washed her best friend?” you asked in mock horror.

“She smelled like applesauce.”

“That’s not the point.”

Jia gasped softly beside you like she couldn’t believe either of you would reopen such a traumatic event, and you both ended the conversation with a chuckle.

She then took another thoughtful bite of her cake pop before looking back up at you. “Where’s your husband?”

You nearly choked.

Across from you, Chan went completely still. “Jia!” he said immediately, sounding genuinely horrified this time.

“What?” she asked softly, blinking between both of you. “Nana said grown-ups usually have one.”

You felt your whole body heat up.

Chan dragged a hand over his face. “Okay,” he muttered tiredly. “We are not interrogating people this morning.”

Jia frowned slightly. “I was just asking.”

“I know, bug.”

His voice softened automatically at the end despite the obvious embarrassment threatening to kill him where he sat.

Your eyes dropped briefly toward your coffee cup while you tried to regain control of your nervous system.

The question shouldn’t have hit as hard as it did, but somehow it settled directly into every quiet part of your life you usually avoided thinking about too long.

Chan looked over at you carefully then. “You absolutely do not have to answer that,” he said gently.

The sincerity in his voice made something ache unexpectedly in your chest.

You let out a small laugh, mostly to buy yourself a second to think. “No husband,” you admitted softly.

Jia tilted her head immediately. “Why?”

“Jia.”

“What?!” she whisper-shouted back.

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

Chan looked moments away from dissolving into the floor.

“I think,” you said carefully, glancing down into your coffee for a second, “it just never really happened for me.”

Jia considered this very seriously while taking another bite of her cake pop. “It’s okay,” she said seriously. “Daddy was married to my mommy. But not anymore.”

Silence settled over the table instantly.

Chan closed his eyes briefly. “Bug,” he muttered softly.

“What?” she asked, confused again. “I’m helping.”

Your chest tightened painfully at the sincerity in her voice, because she thought she was making you feel better.

Chan rubbed a hand over the back of his neck before glancing toward you apologetically. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you said quietly.

His gaze lifted toward yours again after that. Searching in that way he always did when something mattered more than he knew how to say out loud.

“Still,” he murmured.

Before either of you could figure out where the conversation was heading next, Jia held her cake pop toward you suddenly.

“You can have some.”

The offer was immediate. Serious enough to make your chest ache all over again.

Chan huffed a soft laugh beside her, shaking his head slightly. “That’s how she fixes everything,” he admitted quietly.

Your eyes stayed on Jia for another second before you finally smiled. “That’s a pretty good system,” you murmured softly.

Jia nodded like she already knew that.

Chan watched the two of you quietly from across the table, fingers resting loosely around his coffee cup now gone cold.

Something in his expression had changed again. Softer than before. More careful, somehow.

Like he was realizing this wasn’t just Jia getting attached anymore.

Outside the café windows, people drifted past beneath the late morning sunlight while the quiet buzz of conversation carried around you.

But sitting here with them somehow felt strangely separate from the rest of the world.

Jia yawned suddenly beside Chan, tiny shoulders lifting dramatically with it.

He glanced down immediately. “You getting tired already?”

“No.” The answer came too fast to be believable.

Chan smiled faintly into his coffee. “Mm.”

Jia ignored him completely before looking back at you instead. “Daddy has to work later.”

Your eyes lifted toward Chan automatically “Today?”

He nodded once. “Friend of mine needed help at the garage.”

“Uncle Hyunjin,” Jia added around another bite of cake pop.

“Mhm,” Chan hummed. “Uncle Hyunjin.”

“He lets me sit on the toolbox.”

“Which is very unsafe,” Chan muttered.

“But fun.”

A laugh slipped out of you softly. “So that’s who keeps stealing you on weekends.”

Chan leaned back slightly in the booth. “Pretty much.”

“If you want,” you added carefully, “Jia and I can hang out later?”

Chan looked faintly surprised by the offer. “You don’t have plans?”

“Not really.”

Jia gasped softly beside him. “We can color.”

“That sounds less like a suggestion, and more so a demand." You laughed out.

“She does that,” Chan murmured into his coffee.

Jia ignored him completely. “And maybe cartoons.”

“Wow,” you nodded seriously. “Big plans ahead.”

A quiet laugh escaped Chan before he could stop it. “If you’re sure,” he said.

Your eyes flicked toward him again. “I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.”

Something in his expression softened briefly at that before Jia shoved the remaining piece of cake pop dramatically into her mouth.

“So, I’m coming over?”

You looked over at Jia, who already seemed entirely certain of the answer. “I think that’s what we agreed on, yeah.”

“Okay.” She nodded once. “Can Leebit come too?”

“I don’t think she’d forgive me if I said no.”

Jia smiled brightly at that before returning to the last few crumbs of her cake pop.

Across the table, Chan shook his head softly. “We really walked into this one.”

“Into what?”

“Now she’s going to expect you every time I have to work last minute.”

Something about his words lingered strangely in your chest, and before you could figure out why and respond, Jia held up frosting-covered fingers toward Chan.

“Sticky.”

Chan sighed quietly and reached for napkins immediately.

You smiled into your coffee as he cleaned frosting from her hands with the tired patience of someone who’d clearly done this a thousand times before.

And somewhere between the coffee going cold in your cup and Jia humming softly beside him, the morning slipped into something comfortable and easy.

The kind of easy that felt a little dangerous if you thought about it too long.

𝜗𝜚

“Daddy said I can only have one juice box.”

You looked up from the living room floor where you’d been helping Jia get crayons from the zipper pocket of her backpack.

“Sounds like we better listen to daddy.”

Jia sighed dramatically. “He says too much sugar makes me crazy.”

“I think he might be onto something there.”

“I’m already crazy.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

Late afternoon sunlight spilled across your apartment while cartoons played quietly in the background, the volume low enough to blend into the rest of the room.

Across the coffee table, Jia carefully lined up 7 other stuffed animals beside Leebit.

Meanwhile, Chan had been gone for less than an hour, and somehow, his absence was already noticeable. Which felt ridiculous. You barely knew him.

“Can you braid hair?” Jia asked suddenly.

Your eyes dropped toward the doll currently being shoved into your lap. “I-I do. How many braids does your baby want?”

Jia looked down at the doll seriously. “Three.”

“Three?”

She nodded once. “So she can be fancy.” Jia scooted closer beside you on the rug while cartoons played quietly in the background.

You carefully separated the doll’s tangled hair between your fingers while Jia watched with complete concentration.

“Daddy can’t braid,” she informed you.

“No?”

“He tries.” Jia paused thoughtfully. “Then he gets frustrated and says bad words.”

A laugh escaped you softly “Poor daddy.”

Jia nodded sympathetically before handing you another tiny hair tie from the floor.

Outside, the afternoon had started slipping slowly toward evening, sunlight stretching gold across the living room walls.

And somewhere across town, Chan was probably elbow-deep in an engine while you sat cross-legged on your floor learning how his daughter liked her dolls’ hair styled.

𝜗𝜚

Once 8:30 rolled around. Jia was already fed and tucked in your bed fast asleep by the time Chan was knocking at your door.

The second you opened it, he looked exhausted. Grease still smudged faintly along one forearm. Dark curls a mess from repeatedly running his hands through them. “I’m so sorry.”

Your eyebrows lifted immediately. “For what?”

“For being late.”

He glanced past you automatically, already searching for signs of Jia. “Hyunjin and I lost track of time.”

“Chan.”

His eyes returned to yours.

“She’s fine.”

Some of the tension left his shoulders immediately. Not all of it. Just enough for you to notice how much of it he’d been carrying.

“She ate dinner, we watched cartoons, and she passed out about twenty minutes ago.”

Chan blinked. “Already?”

“Completely knocked out.”

A tired breath escaped him “Thank God.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. Honest enough to make something in your chest ache.

“Long day?”

Chan let out a quiet laugh. “You have no idea.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The porch light cast a warm glow across the front steps while crickets hummed somewhere deeper in the neighborhood.

“Come in,” you offered softly. “She’s sleeping in my bed.”

He froze for half a second. Not because of the invitation. Because of the image it created. “Okay,” he said quietly.

You stepped aside to let him in. The house was dim now, lit mostly by a lamp in the living room and the light over the stove.

He shut the door gently, instinctively quieter now that he knew Jia was asleep. “She wasn’t any trouble, was she?”

Your eyes immediately narrowed. “Chan.”

“I’m just asking.”

“She spent half the afternoon making me braid hair.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Sounds exhausting.”

“I barely survived.”

A tired laugh escaped him. And for the first time since he’d arrived, he looked like he was finally starting to relax. The silence that followed settled comfortably between you.

His gaze drifted toward the hallway towards your bedroom, where Jia was currently asleep beneath your blankets.

Safe, warm, and completely unaware her father had spent the last thirty minutes worrying about getting back to her.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

You opened your mouth immediately. “Chan.”

“No.” The interruption was firm and gentle, causing your heart to flutter.

His eyes found yours again. “I know you don’t think it’s a big deal. But it is.”

The house suddenly felt very warm, because he wasn’t talking about dinner. Or cartoons. Or braiding hair.

He was talking about trust.

About coming back after a long day and knowing Jia had been happy; knowing she had been taken care of.

His gaze dropped briefly before he added, softer this time, “She had a good day then,” he then pauses, “she really likes you.”

The words settled somewhere deeper than they probably should have. You glanced toward the hallway before looking back at him.

“And you?” The question slipped out before you could stop it.

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Me?”

Suddenly, you became very aware of how that sounded.

“Did you have a good day?” you clarified, a little too quickly.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I think I did.”

Something about the answer felt like it meant more than the words themselves. The silence that followed stretched comfortably between you. He leaned against the couch, his gaze drifting to the dark outline of your front yard in the window.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Depends.”

A quiet laugh escaped him, then he asked, “What’s with the garden?”

You blinked. “The garden?”

He nodded. “Every time I see you outside, you’re messing with something out there.”

Warmth settled in your chest unexpectedly. Not because of the question. Because he’d noticed.

“I’ve always kinda liked doing it.”

Chan hummed softly. “That’s not really an answer.”

You laughed. “It’s the only one I’ve got.”

“There isn’t more to it?” His curious gaze lingered on you. “People don’t spend hours in the heat pulling weeds because they kinda like something.”

Your smile faltered slightly. “You judging my hobbies?”

“I’m saying there’s probably a story there.”

“I…” You looked down briefly. “I think I just find it healing.”

He didn’t interrupt.

“You put something in the ground, nurture it, and eventually it becomes something beautiful.” Your shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “There’s something comforting about that.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything. Then he muttered out a quiet, “Yeah.” His gaze dropped briefly toward his hands, “I never thought about it that way before.”

You tilted your head slightly. “The gardening?”

Chan nodded. “The waiting.”

The answer surprised you. “Waiting?”

A faint smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You put time into something. Take care of it every day. Hope you’re doing it right.”

His eyes drifted toward your bedroom for the briefest second before returning to your curious stare. “And then one day you look up and realize it’s become something completely different from what it was when you started.”

Your chest tightened. Suddenly this conversation wasn’t about tomatoes or flowers anymore.

Chan let out a quiet laugh through his nose. “Maybe that’s why I like watching you out there.”

Your heart stumbled. “In my garden?”

“Yeah.”

His smile softened. “Reminds me that some things take time and patience.”

And somehow that felt like the most personal thing he’d told you all night. Your eyes stayed on him for a moment longer than they probably should have. He didn’t look away. For once, neither of you rushed to fill the silence.

Then he glanced toward the hallway again. “She’s really asleep?”

A smile pulled at your mouth. “I could take Leebit and she wouldn’t even know.”

His laugh came easier this time. “Good.”

The word lingered. Not because of Jia. Because for the first time all evening, he looked like he wasn’t in a hurry to leave. Like he had finally found a place to sit down, and stay for a minute.

Your heart gave an uncomfortable little squeeze as you watched him relax.

“What?” Chan asked suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “You’ve been staring at me for a minute now.”

Something uncomfortable and fluttery settled in your chest. “That’s not true.”

“It’s a little true.”

“You’re exhausted.”

“That’s your defense?”

“It’s all I’ve got.” You laughed out.

Somewhere along the way, the two of you migrated from the front door to the couch. The conversation stopped needing a direction. One story became another.

Chan told you about his first car.

You told him about the pepper plant you accidentally killed three summers in a row.

You learned he hated mushrooms.

He learned you couldn’t keep a houseplant alive unless it lived outside.

Then neither of you noticed how the hours slipped by quietly.

Outside, the neighborhood settled into sleep.

Inside, Chan’s laughter had become easier. Less guarded and more frequent.

Every now and then you’d catch yourself staring at him. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed and his dimple deepened. you could’ve melted on the spot every time he smiled wide. The way he looked at you as he listened. Like every story mattered. Like what say you mattered.

You glance up.“Wait.”

He followed your gaze. “What?”

You stared at the clock on the wall. “Is that right?”

His eyes widened. “No way.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

“How?” He questioned. 

“I genuinely have no idea.”

Then he eventually glanced toward the hallway, reality returning all at once. “I should probably get her home.”

The words landed quietly as you nodded. “Probably.”

Neither of you seemed willing to be the first one to leave, and as he ducked his head trying to unsuccessfully hide a smile, he mumbles. “We’re really bad at ending these conversations.”

A laugh escaped you. “Are we?”

“I think so,” he paused, It’s a good thing.” 

Your heart betrayed you immediately. It sounded less like an observation, and more like he planned on having more conversations like this. Then he reluctantly pushed himself up from the couch, like he wasn’t entirely convinced leaving was the right choice either.

You led him down the hallway, and by the time you reached your bedroom door, he had already slowed.

Once you opened the door, Jia was asleep exactly where you’d left her. One arm wrapped around Leebit, half the blanket kicked off. Completely sprawled across the middle of your bed.

Chan stared for a second. Something in his expression shifted. Not the way it usually did though. 

You stayed beside him quietly. Neither of you wanting to disturb her. Finally, he exhaled softly through his nose.

“She really made herself at home.”

“A little.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Sorry about that.”

“You apologize too much.” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

He froze, then he turned his head toward you. The hallway light caught in his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your voice came out softer than intended.

“You don’t have to say sorry every time someone does something nice for you.” Suddenly you became very aware of how close he was standing.

And for once, he didn’t immediately have a response, he just looked at you, like he was trying to decide what to do with this new feeling.

His gaze dropped briefly, towards your mouth, then right back up. A tiny movement of course, something that was easy to miss.

But for you, impossible to ignore.

Your breath caught and so did his.

And suddenly the space in between you felt very little, very quiet.

Very very concerning.

Then from the bed, “Daddy?”

Both of you jumped, and he immediately looked away. The spell breaking all at once. “I’m here, bug,” he answered softly as he walked further into your room.

Jia made a sleepy sound from beneath the blankets. “Okay.”

Then, “Leebit too?”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

Chan pressed a hand over his eyes briefly “Yeah.”

Jia settled immediately. “Okay.” Within seconds, her breathing evened out again. Like she’d only woken up long enough to do a quick room check.

The room fell quiet once more, but not the same kind of quiet. The moment from before had slipped away, leaving something else behind.

He looked down at his daughter for a second before carefully pulling the blanket higher over her shoulder.

And when he turned back toward you, something in his expression had changed. Like he was suddenly very aware of how close you’d been standing too. Neither of you said anything. There wasn’t really anything to say. Not without making things better or worse.

Chan cleared his throat first. “I should get her home.” The words sounded slightly rough around the edges.

You nodded. “I agree.”

Neither of you sounded particularly enthusiastic about it, he smiled faintly after you spoke. Then leaned closer towards your bed to carefully to gather Jia from the bed. This definitely seemed more intimate having him in your room now.

She stirred the moment he lifted her. Small hands immediately finding the front of his shirt. Head tucking beneath his chin. Still mostly asleep.

The way she fit in his arms made your chest ache.

Chan adjusted her weight effortlessly. One arm beneath her legs. The other supporting her back. “Thank you,” he said quietly. This time, there wasn’t an apology attached to it. Just gratitude.

Your smile softened. “You’re welcome.”

For a second, neither of you looked away. Then Jia let out a sleepy sigh and buried her face deeper into his shoulder.

The spell broke again.

He adjusted her again against his chest before glancing toward the doorway. “I should let you get some sleep.”

You laughed softly. “Says the man who got here three hours ago.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Fair.”

He lingered for another second anyway. Eventually, he shook his head softly. “Goodnight.” The word felt strangely intimate. Like it belonged to something much more familiar than this.

Your chest tightened. “Goodnight, Chan.”

His eyes held yours for a moment, then he smiled before turning toward the front door.

You waited until the door closed behind him.

Waited until you saw the porch light next door flicker on through the window. Only then did you let yourself exhale.

Because somewhere between coffee, cartoons, talking about your hobbies, and three accidental hours on your couch…something had changed, and neither of you had missed it.

As you crawled into bed, your phone lit up.

Channie: She woke up long enough to ask if Leebit made it home safely.

You stared at the message, then laughed out loud.

You: And? Did she?

Three dots appeared immediately.

Channie: She’s safe. Mildly traumatized from being dropped in the street, but safe.

Another laugh escaped you.

You: Thank God.

Channie: Jia also wanted me to tell you goodnight.

Your smile softened immediately.

You: Tell her I said goodnight too.

The reply came a minute later.

Channie: Will do.

Three dots appeared again.

Disappeared.

Then returned.

Channie: Thanks again. For today.

You stared at the message longer than necessary. Somehow it felt different from the thank you he’d given you at the door, like it wasn’t just about babysitting anymore.

You: Anytime.

The message sent.

The three dots appeared almost immediately.

Then vanished.

Nothing else came.

Yet somehow, as you set your phone on the nightstand and turned off the lamp, you found yourself smiling into the darkness.

Sleep definitely didn’t find you for a while.

𝜗𝜚

Three days later, you were halfway through watering your garden when a shadow fell across the flower bed.

“Question.”

You looked up immediately to see Chan standing on the other side of your fence.

Hair damp.

Black tank stained with what looked like chalk.

Still looking unfairly hot right where he was standing.

“I should have an answer.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Jia wants to know if tomatoes are fruits or vegetables. She says fruits.”

You blinked. “That’s the question?”

“I’ve been informed it’s important.”

“And you couldn’t Google it?”

“I did.”

“And you still came here?” You laughed. 

He leaned his forearms against the fence. Looking entirely too comfortable. “She said you’d know more.”

You stared at him for a second smiling. “Tomatoes are fruits.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“Cucumbers too.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Seriously?”

“Seeds.”

“That’s a ridiculous system.”

A laugh escaped you. “Take it up with science.”

He looked as if he was considering this. “I’m not arguing with science.”

“Coward.”

The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Let Jia know she’s right.” You pointed at him immediately.

“I can’t phrase it like that.”

“Why not?”

“She’ll never let me live it down.”

“Good.”

For a moment neither of you looked away. The late afternoon sun warmed the air between you while a breeze stirred the leaves overhead.

“Another question?” He asked, this time softer.

“Hmm?” You look back down watering the seedlings.

“Or well,” he pauses looking slightly flustered which gained your full attention again. “M-my mom is taking Jia for the weekend,” he starts while rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Okay?”

“It’s my birthday.”

“Oh!” You smile. Really?”

Chan nodded. “Saturday.”

“Twenty-nine right?”

He nodded.

You immediately winced. “Wow.”

“Wow?”

“That’s serious.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He rolled his eyes, though a smirk started to appear.

You went back to watering the seedlings, but only for a second before looking up again. “Sooo you came over to tell me that?”

He immediately looked flustered again, “No.”

“Okaaay.” 

“I mean, yes, but not just that.”

His gaze stayed on yours a second longer than necessary, like he was still deciding whether to actually say it out loud or swallow it back down and pretend this moment never tried to happen, but then he exhaled, “I was wondering,” he said, slower now, more careful, “if you’d want to come with me to a jazz festival this weekend.”

That landed differently and your heart was definitely fluttering.

Not just a casual night out. A whole event. A crowd. Music bleeding through open air. Something alive and loud and full of people he didn’t quite seem built for, and yet, he was inviting you into it.

You blinked. “A festival?”

He nodded once. “Yeah. Downtown. It’s…a few days. Different sets, food trucks, all that.”

A pause flickered between you. 

“It’s just music,” he added on, then immediately softened it. “I just thought you might like it. And I was given more than one ticket and I—” He stopped himself, rubbed the back of his neck like he could physically erase the awkwardness. “I’d like you there.”

There it was. Not polished. Not rehearsed. Just honest enough to sit in the air between you and raise the temperature even more.

You didn’t answer right away, and you could see him start to brace for impact. That subtle tightening in his shoulders. The way people did when they were preparing to recover from a “no.”

So you didn’t make him wait too long. “I like jazz,” you said.

His eyes flickered a glimmer of hope. “Yeah?”

“And I like food trucks,” you added.

That earned a quiet breath of relief from him, almost a laugh that didn’t fully form.

“Okay,” you said finally.

He blinked. “Okay?”

“I’ll go.”

The word hit him like it needed a second to fully translate in his brain. “You will?”

You nodded. “Festival. Jazz. Food I probably don’t need to spend money on but will anyway.”

He looked away briefly, like he was still processing the fact that you’d said yes. Then he spoke quieter, almost in disbelief, “Cool. Friday?”

“Friday works.”

“I’ll pick you up,” he said. This time, it didn’t sound like a question. It sounded like something he needed to do.

And when you nodded, he gave a small exhale, like he’d just stepped off a ledge and discovered the ground was still there.

Chan lingered for another second, the smile still pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Dad!” Jia’s voice carried across the driveway.

He laughed. “Duty calls.”

𝜗𝜚

Friday was four days away, which shouldn’t have mattered.

Yet somehow, Chan became painfully aware of it every time he looked at a calendar.

Every time someone mentioned the weekend.

Every time his phone lit up.

It was ridiculous. He was turning twenty nine . Not sixteen.

And yet, by Tuesday, Hyunjin had accused him of smiling at an alternator. In which Chan denied smiling at it.

Hyunjin had to remind him that he's a terrible liar.

By Wednesday, Jia wanted to know why he kept checking his phone.

“I’m not checking my phone.”

“You just checked it.”

“That’s different. It lit up and I looked at it”

“How?”

Chan had no answer for that.

Thursday evening found Chan standing in his kitchen watching water on the stove as he was trying to decide whether he hated the blue button-down or merely disliked it. His grey v-neck was always an option, he thought to himself. 

Then his phone rang.

Mom. The sight of her contact poster stirred suspicion in his gut.

“Hello?”

“Did you ask her?”

Chan closed his eyes. “There wasn’t even a hello.”

“I know who I raised.”

A sigh escaped him. “Hi, Mom.”

“Did you ask her?”

“You called specifically for this?”

“I bought those tickets specifically for this.”

Chan stared at the ceiling. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Did she say yes?”

The fact that she asked so quickly told him everything. His mother already knew the answer. She was simply enjoying herself.

As she waited for a response, a smile threatened to spread across his face despite his best efforts.

“Oh my God.”

“Mom.”

“She said yes?”

Chan rubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe.”

A gasp echoed through the phone. “Jack!” she yelled.

“Jessica!” Chan called into the phone.

A muffled voice responded somewhere in the background before he heard his mother clearly again.

“I told your father she said yes.”

“I have to go…..Jia needs me.”

“Aht aht! No you don’t.”

“Actually, I do.”

“Tell my grandbaby I said hello.” She laughed out. “Your neighbor too.”

Chan laughed despite himself. “Goodnight, Mom.”

“Don’t wear that gray shirt.”

The line went dead as he stared at his phone.

“…How?”

masterlist | next

Sundays were your favorite.

Everyone else hated them because it meant the weekend was over, but every other Sunday meant catching your new neighbor in his garage with the door rolled open, grease staining his hands while he worked on whatever car currently had its guts spread across the driveway.

Was this borderline stalking? Probably

But he’d never introduced himself, and neither had you, and it had somehow been almost a month since he moved into the small corner house at the end of the cul-de-sac.

Everyone in the cul-de-sac knows each other.

Except him.

He was still an enigma.

Instead of peeking through the blinds like a stalker, you convinced yourself that opening every blind in the house was a perfectly normal alternative.

And there he was, standing in the middle of his driveway with a phone pressed to his ear instead of working on the unfamiliar car sitting with its hood popped open.

He looked worn out actually. Still attractive, unfortunately. But exhausted.

The brutal summer heat probably wasn’t helping either, and before you could stop yourself, one singular thought drifted into your mind:

Is he staying hydrated?

Which immediately sparked an entire chain of questions that could only be answered if you actually spoke to him for once.

So now you were standing in your kitchen cutting apples and making lavender lemonade.

Generic? Maybe.

But it felt like a decent way to introduce yourself without sounding insane.

You definitely weren’t going to tell him you made it specifically for him, though.

You didn’t care much about presentation either.

The apple slices got tossed into a sandwich bag, and you poured two glasses of lemonade. Less in yours to make it look like you’d already been drinking it, and more in the one meant for him.

The outfit, though, took a little more thought.

It was way too hot outside for sweatpants, and if you were finally going to talk to him, the last thing you wanted was to sweat through your clothes.

So, summer shorts and a cute tank it was.

Nothing wrong with showing a little skin when your neighbor spent half his life shirtless in the driveway anyway.

𝜗𝜚

As you headed for the door, you peeked out the window one last time to assess his current predicament.

The phone was gone now, and half his body was buried beneath the hood of the car as he worked, completely unaware that you were seconds away from walking across the street with a quick pick-me-up and several weeks’ worth of curiosity.

The closer you got, the more clearly you could hear the soft spill of saxophones and low bass drifting from the garage speakers.

And unfortunately for your sanity, he looked just as good from the back as he did from the front.

“Jazz fan?” you asked softly, careful not to startle him beneath the hood of the car.

The reaction was immediate.

He jerked hard enough to smack his head against the underside of the hood with a loud clank.

“Shit,” he hissed, stumbling back a step while rubbing the spot with grease-stained fingers.

Your eyes widened instantly. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no,” he laughed breathlessly, still wincing. “That’s my fault. I think I lost the ability to hear anything besides this engine like twenty minutes ago.”

Up close, he looked even more exhausted.

Faint shadows sat beneath his eyes, damp curls sticking to his forehead from the heat. There was grease smeared along his forearm, another streak near his jaw, and somehow the whole thing only made him more attractive.

Which felt deeply unfair considering you’d crossed the street carrying homemade lemonade just because he looked tired.

His gaze finally dropped to the midday snack in your hands. “…Is that for me?” he asked carefully, like he genuinely wasn’t sure.

“Uh,” you started, suddenly very aware of how suspicious this probably looked.

“I was already making some for myself,” you lied smoothly. “And you looked like you were one second from passing out, so…”

His gaze flicked between you, the lemonade, and the apples in the sandwich bag. “Right,” he said slowly, like he absolutely did not believe you.

Which was fair. Nobody casually made lavender lemonade in this economy.

Still, he took the glass from your hand carefully, fingers brushing yours for half a second.

“Well,” he said, softer this time, “thanks. Seriously.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied, trying very hard to act normal despite the fact that your entire nervous system had just short-circuited over brief hand contact.

He took a long sip almost immediately, and the faint tension in his shoulders eased a little.

“Okay,” he admitted after a second, glancing down at the cup, “this is actually really good.”

“Thank you,” you said, maybe a little too fast. The corner of his mouth twitched before the soft sound of saxophone filled the brief silence between you again.

You nodded toward the speaker tucked near the back of the garage.

“So you are a jazz fan.”

Chan glanced over his shoulder at the music before looking back at you. “Depends who’s asking.”

“Someone trying to figure out if you’re secretly eighty years old.”

That finally earned you a real laugh. Warm, low, slightly tired around the edges. “Jazz is timeless,” he defended.

“That’s not helping your case, actually.”

He pressed a hand dramatically against his chest. “Wow. You bring me lemonade and immediately start attacking me.”

“Keeps you humble, I think.”

“I don’t think I was arrogant to begin with.”

“You mow your lawn shirtless,”

It went completely silent.

Fuck. I said way too much.

Chan stared at you for two full seconds before the corner of his mouth twitched

“In my defense,” he said carefully, “it was ninety degrees.”

Chan took another sip of lemonade, “So you like watching your neighbors do lawn work?”

All of a sudden you were burning up. “I was curious that morning.”

“Mm.” Chan glanced down at the lemonade. “Curious enough to start bringing me refreshments.”

“I’m being neighborly,” you defended immediately.

Chan hummed, clearly unconvinced. “And the apples?”

“Also already cut.”

“Right.”

“You’re being really judgmental for someone accepting free lemonade.”

That earned another quiet laugh from him, softer this time, like he was finally relaxing into the conversation instead of standing awkwardly inside it.

“Well, since we’ve both noticed each other and somehow still never spoken…” you said, “I think that makes us equally guilty.”

Chan’s smile widened behind the rim of his cup.

“Equally guilty, huh?”

“Painfully guilty.”

“Good to know I’m not the only terrible neighbor here.”

“You’re still worse,” you said. “You moved in and didn’t introduce yourself.”

“You watched me mow my lawn shirtless and didn’t introduce yourself either.”

You opened your mouth. Then closed it immediately.

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” you said, even though it absolutely was not.

Chan looked far too entertained by your suffering.

“So,” he said, leaning back against the car, “how long was I under neighborhood surveillance before you finally decided to talk to me?”

“Surveillance is a strong word.”

“That somehow sounds worse.”His laugh came easier now, lighter than before.

“For the record,” you added, gesturing vaguely toward the garage, “you’re kind of hard to ignore.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “That so?”

Heat rushed to your face immediately. “That sounded less embarrassing in my head.”

“Good to know my hard work is appreciated.”

“Your hard work?” you repeated incredulously.

“Maintaining a lawn is serious business.”

“You’re standing here covered in engine grease trying to flirt about landscaping.”

He blinked at you. "I'm not flirting.” The denial came way too fast to sound convincing.

You stared him for a second. "Sure."

His mouth twitched again before he looked away, suddenly seeming very interested in the rag beside him. "Okay, maybe a little."

The admission sounded accidental. Honest in a way that made your stomach flip embarrassingly fast. Like realizing he’d been charming without fully meaning to be.

He wiped his hand against the rag before finally holding it out toward you. “I should probably introduce myself properly before my neighbors start opening investigation files on me,” he said. “Chan.”

You told him your name, trying not to focus on how warm his hand felt when your fingers slipped into his.

“Nice to officially meet you,” he said, his thumb brushing once against your knuckles before letting go.

The gesture was brief enough that you could’ve imagined it. Unfortunately, your brain decided to replay it anyway.

“So,” you said, clearing your throat slightly, “what exactly are you working on?”

Chan glanced back toward the car like he’d almost forgotten it existed. “Customer’s car,” he explained. “Or… technically my friend’s customer. I’m helping him out.”

“Meaning you’re fixing someone else’s problem on your day off?”

“Pretty much.”

“That sounds terrible.”

He laughed softly. “You get used to it.”

You watched him take another sip of lemonade before his shoulders relaxed again, just slightly.

“Long day?” you asked before thinking too hard about it.

Something flickered across his face then. Quick enough that you almost missed it.

“Long month,” he admitted instead.

The answer settled between you more honestly than expected.

And for the first time since moving in, the mysterious neighbor across the street stopped feeling mysterious at all.

Just human.

Right on cue, his phone started ringing again.

And just like that, the same expression from earlier returned. The softness in his face tightened almost instantly, exhaustion settling back over his features like something heavy and familiar.

Chan glanced at the screen and exhaled quietly through his nose. “Sorry,” he murmured, already reaching for it.

“No, you’re okay,” you replied quickly.

For a second, he looked like he wanted to say something else. Instead, he answered the call with a tired, “Hey, Mom.”

Mom?

Your curiosity immediately sharpened, but you stepped back anyway, lifting a hand in a small goodbye to give him some privacy.

Chan glanced up from the call almost immediately.

“Wait,” he said quickly, covering the phone against his chest for half a second.

The suddenness of it made you pause.

“Thanks for the lemonade,” he added, softer this time. “And for finally introducing yourself.”

Something warm fluttered annoyingly in your chest. “Try not to die of heatstroke,” you replied.

A tired smile pulled at his mouth. “No promises.”

As you walked back across the street, you heard him sigh quietly into the phone behind you

“Yeah,” he said tiredly. “Just bring her back. It’s fine. Thanks.”

Her?

Your steps slowed for only half a second before you forced yourself to keep walking.

It wasn’t your business.

Probably.

𝜗𝜚

The rest of the afternoon passed quietly after that.

You watered your plants. Folded laundry that had been sitting untouched for two days. Pretended very hard not to glance out the window every ten minutes.

Around an hour later, movement across the street finally caught your attention again.

A familiar older woman pulled into Chan’s driveway in a silver SUV. Only this time, she wasn’t alone.

A little girl climbed out of the backseat holding a stuffed rabbit by one ear, her tiny sneakers lighting up against the pavement with every step she took.

And suddenly, everything clicked into place.

Chan appeared from the garage almost immediately after hearing the car door shut.

The exhaustion you’d seen earlier softened the second the little girl spotted him.

“Daddy!”

She launched herself across the driveway at full speed, stuffed rabbit bouncing wildly behind her.

Chan barely had time to crouch before she collided into him, and just like that, the intimidatingly attractive mechanic across the street completely melted.

“Hey, bug,” he laughed softly, catching her against his chest with practiced ease. “Miss me already?”

The little girl nodded dramatically against his shoulder.

From your window, you watched him press a kiss to the side of her head before standing again, one arm hooked securely beneath her legs like he’d done it a thousand times before.

The older woman said something to him then, too far away for you to hear clearly.

You watched see him sigh in response.

She reached up to squeeze his shoulder before heading back toward her car.

Mom.

Well that explained the grocery bags.

The little girl kept talking animatedly while he listened, nodding along despite the lingering exhaustion still written all over him.

And against your better judgment, something in your chest tightened at the sight.

You really tried not to stare after that.

Tried being the important word.

Because the next thing you knew, Chan was balancing the little girl on his hip while attempting to close the garage with the other hand, and she was very seriously holding his lemonade for him like it was an important assignment.

Your lemonade.

Which somehow made the entire thing feel weirdly intimate. The little girl took a curious sip from the straw before immediately making a face.

Chan laughed. Actually laughed. Not the tired, polite kind he’d given you earlier, but something fuller. Easier.

The sound carried faintly across the street even through your closed window. Then, like she could feel herself being observed, the little girl suddenly looked up.

Directly toward your house.

Your body reacted before your brain did, ducking beneath the window.

“What am I doing?” you whispered to yourself from the floor.

Slowly, cautiously, you lifted yourself just high enough to peek over the windowsill again.

He was already looking directly at your house. Specifically, at the exact window you’d just disappeared from.

Mortification hit instantly.

The little girl was still perched on his hip, tiny hands wrapped around the lemonade cup while she whispered something into his ear.

Chan started to smirk.

Oh god.

She definitely noticed you spying.

Before you could disappear for a second time, the little girl suddenly lifted her arm and waved enthusiastically through the window.

Bright, excited and completely unashamed.

Chan glanced down at her, then back toward your house, and to your complete horror, he smiled too. Soft and sleepy around the edges.

Well there went your ability to act normal around this family.

𝜗𝜚

Things only got worse the following evening. Or better. Maybe.

Unfortunately, the distinction was becoming harder to make.

You were dragging grocery bags out of your trunk when you heard tiny sneakers slapping against pavement.

“Hi!”

You looked up just in time to see the little girl from yesterday standing at the edge of your driveway.

Up close, she looked even smaller. Big dark eyes, messy curls, and the same stuffed rabbit tucked beneath one arm like it legally belonged to her.

Chan trailed a few steps behind her carrying two takeout bags and looking deeply apologetic already. “I’m so sorry,” he called out immediately. “She saw you and escaped.”

“I did not escape,” the little girl argued.

“You absolutely escaped.”

She ignored him completely and looked back at you instead. “Daddy said you made magic lemonade.”

You blinked once. Then slowly turned toward Chan. “Magic lemonade?”

Chan looked mildly horrified. “That’s not what I said.”

“You said it had flowers in it.”

“…That is unfortunately true.”

The little girl stepped closer, lowering her voice dramatically like she was sharing a very serious secret. “Daddy talked about your lemonade all night.”

Chan made a noise somewhere between a sigh and genuine embarrassment. “Okay,” he muttered, staring at the sky for patience. “I think that’s enough sharing for today.”

“I like your flowers too,” she added helpfully.

“Okay, seriously, whose side are you on?” Chan asked.

She gasped softly. “Yours.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You finally laughed, unable to help it anymore, and something in Chan’s expression softened immediately at the sound.

The little girl beamed proudly at the fact that she’d apparently succeeded in making everyone equally uncomfortable.

“I’m Jia,” she announced suddenly.

“Jia,” Chan repeated with the deep weariness of a man who knew exactly where this conversation was headed. “What do we say when introducing ourselves to strangers?”

She thought about it very seriously. “…My dad is twenty-eight?”

Chan closed his eyes. “That is not remotely what I meant.”

“You asked me to be polite,” Jia defended immediately.

“I did,” Chan agreed. “I just didn’t think you’d start listing my personal information like a tiny government employee.”

Jia looked completely unbothered by this comparison. Meanwhile, you were trying very hard not to laugh yourself into cardiac arrest in your own driveway.

“Twenty-eight, huh?” you repeated lightly before you could stop yourself.

Chan pointed at you instantly. “Don’t encourage her.”

“I’m just processing the information I was given.”

“Against my will.”

Jia tugged on his sleeve. “Can we have nuggets now?” The dramatic betrayal faded from his face immediately.

“Yeah, bug,” he sighed softly. “We can have nuggets now.”And there it was again. That softness. The one that seemed to appear every time he looked at her.

You’d kill for him to look at you like that.

Which felt slightly dramatic considering you’d known this man for less than forty-eight hours.

But still.

Chan adjusted the takeout bags in one hand before nodding toward you.

“Sorry again,” he said. “She’s decided privacy is optional.”

“I heard that,” Jia informed him.

“I know you did.”

You smiled despite yourself. “It’s fine. Honestly, I think I’ve learned more about you in five minutes than I did the entire month you lived here.”

“That’s because my roommate keeps violating confidentiality agreements.”

Jia looked delighted by this accusation.

Before he could start ushering Jia toward the house again, you crouched slightly to her level. “Well, Jia,” you said seriously, “I should probably introduce myself properly too.”

Once you told her your name, Jia stared at you for a second before slowly lifting the stuffed rabbit into view. “And this is Leebit.”

“Leebit?” you repeated carefully.

Jia nodded once like this was an entirely reasonable name for a stuffed rabbit. “She’s sensitive.”

“I understand completely,” you replied.

Chan laughed quietly behind her, softer this time. “Okay,” he sighed, finally steering Jia back toward the house before she revealed his blood type next. “Dinner before you expose anything else about this family.”

“Bye!” Jia called, already halfway up the driveway.

Then she stopped suddenly and turned back around. “Wait,” she gasped dramatically. “We forgot to say thank you for the magic lemonade.”

Chan sighed toward the heavens. “It was lavender, Jia.”

“That’s magic to me.”

Honestly? Fair enough.

You smiled, folding your arms lightly against your chest. “You’re welcome.”

Jia beamed at you one last time before finally allowing herself to be herded toward the front door.

He lingered behind for half a second longer. The porch light caught softly against the tired edges of his face, but for the first time since you’d met him, he looked lighter somehow.

“Sorry in advance,” he said quietly, glancing toward the tiny chaos already disappearing inside the house. “She gets attached to people fast.”

Your stomach betrayed you instantly. “That makes two of us,” you almost said.

Instead, you just smiled. “I think I can handle her.”

Chan looked at you for a second too long before finally nodding once. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Chan.”

You spent the rest of the night trying not to think about them.

Which was difficult when your kitchen still smelled faintly like lavender and fresh lemons. Worse, every time you closed your eyes, your brain insisted on replaying tiny moments like an aggressively edited romantic comedy montage.

Chan laughing softly in the driveway.

Jia introducing Leebit with complete sincerity.

The way his face changed whenever he looked at his daughter.

By the time morning rolled around, you’d managed to convince yourself to act normal about the entire thing.

That resolution lasted until approximately 10:14 a.m. Because when you opened your front door to grab a package, Jia was sitting on your porch.

Alone.

Holding Leebit.

And coloring directly on your welcome mat with sidewalk chalk.

“Jia?” you blurted immediately, eyes widening.

She looked up from the chalk drawing completely relaxed, as if this had always been her porch too. “Hi,” she said happily. Leebit was tucked beneath one arm while pink chalk dust coated her fingers.

Your heart nearly stopped. “Why are you over here by yourself?”

Jia pointed vaguely behind her with the chalk, “Daddy’s sleeping.”

Oh.

“Jia,” you said carefully, crouching down a little, “did you sneak out?”

She gasped like you’d accused her of a serious crime. “No.”

A pause.

“I walked out.”

You pressed your lips together hard to stop yourself from laughing at the worst possible time.

“Okay,” you said slowly, “that’s still not something you’re supposed to do by yourself.”

Jia considered this information while drawing another aggressively pink line across the concrete. “Daddy was sleeping,” she explained again, like that answered everything.

Which, honestly, explained enough.

Your gaze flicked across the street toward Chan’s house. The curtains were still closed.

A tiny thread of concern tugged at your chest.“How long have you been over here?” you asked gently.

Jia shrugged. “Since cartoons.”

That was not a measurement of time.

“Jia,” you said carefully, “what does that even mean?”

She blinked up at you like you were the confusing one.“The blue dog cartoons.”

…Still not a real answer.

Your concern must’ve shown on your face because Jia suddenly held Leebit out toward you reassuringly. “It’s okay,” she said confidently. “I know where my house is.”

“That’s not my concern, sweetie,” you said gently. “Some cars drive really fast around here. What if you got hurt?”

Jia’s expression faltered slightly for the first time since you opened the door. “But I looked both ways,” she defended quietly.

Your heart squeezed a little. “I know you did, sweetie,” you replied softly. “But you still can’t leave the house without telling your dad, okay?”

Jia looked down at the chalk in her hand.“…Okay.”

And suddenly the situation felt a lot less funny.

“Come on,” you said gently, standing back up. “Let’s get you home. I don’t want your dad waking up and panicking because he can’t find you.”

Jia’s eyes widened slightly. “He’ll panic?”

“Absolutely.”

She looked genuinely thoughtful about this revelation before quietly gathering her chalk pieces into a tiny pile.

Leebit was tucked securely beneath her arm again as she reached for your hand without hesitation.

And that tiny, instinctive trust nearly took you out on the spot. Crossing the street with her tiny hand wrapped around yours felt strangely domestic. Girl, get it together.

The front door of Chan’s house was unlocked when you gently pushed it open, calling out a cautious, “Chan?”

No answer.

The house was quiet in that heavy, sleepy kind of way that suggested someone had crashed hard after being exhausted for too long.

Jia immediately slipped off toward the living room like this was a completely normal morning adventure.

You followed after her just in time to see him asleep on the couch. One arm thrown over his eyes. Phone still in his hand.

The television played softly in the background to absolutely nobody.

The second Jia climbed onto the couch beside him, Chan jolted awake so fast it genuinely startled you.

“So sorry for the intrusion,” you blurted out immediately. This was definitely not how you envisioned the first time stepping inside his house.

Chan blinked at you for a second, still visibly caught between asleep and awake, before his gaze snapped toward his daughter.

“Jia.”

Uh oh.

“I went to visit,” she explained confidently from beside him.

“Without telling me?” The panic in his voice was subtle, but there.

Real enough that guilt twisted in your chest a little on Jia’s behalf.

Chan sat up fully now, running a hand down his face before looking back at you. “Did she cross the street alone?”

“Technically…” you started carefully.

“I looked both ways,” Jia added helpfully.

Chan stared at the ceiling for a long moment like he was asking the universe for strength.

“Don’t be too hard on her,” you said gently. “I already told her that was dangerous.”

Chan exhaled quietly through his nose, some of the panic easing from his shoulders.

Jia immediately took advantage of this. “See?” she said proudly. “I got lectured already.”

“That’s not exactly something to be proud of,” Chan muttered. Still, his hand found the back of her head automatically, smoothing down her messy curls just to reassure himself she was there.

The tiny gesture did something weird to your chest again.

This was probably a terrible idea, but your mouth was already moving before you could stop.“Hey, um…” you started awkwardly, suddenly very interested in the floor.

“If you ever need extra rest or need to handle stuff around here, I can hang out with her for a bit.”

Chan looked at you like nobody had offered him that in a very long time.

Jia, meanwhile, looked ready to adopt you on the spot. “Really?” she gasped.

Chan blinked once before rubbing the back of his neck. “You really don’t have to do that,” he said softly. But he sounded tired enough that it almost hurt to hear.

Before you could respond, Jia spoke up from the couch.

“Nana’s been busy lately.”

Chan’s expression shifted instantly. Not angry. Just… exposed, somehow. Like a private part of his life had been accidentally placed on the table between all of you.

Jia, completely unaware, kept talking while hugging Leebit to her chest. “So Daddy’s extra tired now.”

Your heart squeezed painfully.

Chan let out a quiet sigh, rubbing a hand over his face again.

“Nana?” you asked quietly.

Chan glanced toward you before answering. “My mother,” he said softly. Something in his expression gentled when he said it, but the exhaustion never fully left his face.“She usually helps a lot with Jia, but work’s been keeping her busy lately.”

Jia nodded solemnly from the couch like this was a very serious family meeting. You looked between the two of them for a moment.

Chan sitting there barely awake on the couch. Jia curled against his side with Leebit in her lap. The quiet television humming in the background.

The lived-in warmth of the house despite the exhaustion hanging over it.

It hit you suddenly then. He wasn’t distant because he was unfriendly. He was drowning. Working, parenting, moving into a new neighborhood, fixing cars on his days off, surviving on what looked like four hours of sleep and caffeine.

And somehow still managing to be gentle.

“The offer still stands,” you said softly.

Chan looked up at you immediately.

“Even if it’s just so you can nap without worrying she’s gonna escape and start another neighborhood tour.”

“I did not tour,” Jia argued sleepily.

“You trespassed.”

“I visited.”

The corner of your mouth lifted despite yourself.

Chan watched you for a second before letting out a quiet laugh through his nose. “You barely know us,” he said finally.

“Yet,” you pointed out gently, “I’m kind of the only person you guys know in the neighborhood right now.”

Chan went quiet at that, because unfortunately, it was true.

The moving boxes still stacked near the hallway.

The unfamiliar street.

The exhaustion.

All of it suddenly felt a little heavier in the silence.

Jia leaned against his arm, already looking half-asleep again. His gaze dropped briefly toward her before returning to you. Something softer settled into his expression then. Not just appreciation, but relief as well.

“J-just let me know,” you added quickly, suddenly feeling very aware of how personal this conversation had become. “No pressure or anything.”

Chan’s expression softened even further at the stumble in your voice. “Right,” he said quietly. “No pressure.”

But he looked at you like the offer meant more than you realized.

Sensing the sudden shift into dangerously intimate territory, you started backing toward the front door. “I should probably let you guys get back to your morning,” you said lightly.

Jia immediately looked disappointed, and Chan, somehow, looked a little disappointed too. Which absolutely did not help your situation.

“Wait.” Chan stood from the couch before you could make it more than two steps toward the door.

Jia immediately flopped sideways into the cushions the second his arm moved away from her, completely exhausted from what had apparently been a very eventful morning.

Chan glanced toward Jia briefly before looking back at you.

“At least let me repay you somehow,” he said. “You returned my runaway child.”

“That sounds way more dramatic than what actually happened.”

“Does it?”

You smiled despite yourself. “You really don’t have to repay me.”

“Maybe I want to.”

And suddenly the foyer felt a little too small.

Chan leaned lightly against the wall near the doorway, still looking half-awake. Somehow, it only made him more unfairly attractive.

“You like coffee?” he asked after a second.

“That depends,” you replied carefully. “Are you trying to bribe me into future babysitting?”

A tired laugh slipped out of him. “Maybe a little.”

“Then yes. I love coffee.”

“Good,” he murmured. “There’s a café like ten minutes from here. She likes the cake pops and I survive off iced americanos.”

“A balanced diet.”

“Exactly.”

His smile lingered this time. “Come with us sometime?” he asked.

The question landed so casually it took your brain a full second to process it.

Come with us?

Not me.

Us.

And somehow that made your chest ache even worse. “Yeah,” you answered before you could overthink it. “I’d like that.”

His shoulders loosened almost immediately, like he’d been oddly nervous about asking. Which felt insane considering this man looked like that while standing barefoot in sweatpants at eleven in the morning.

Jia suddenly lifted her head from the couch cushions. “Can I get two cake pops?”

“No,” He answered instantly.

“One and a half?”

“That’s not a real number of cake pops.”

Jia thought about this carefully. “Then two.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself, and he looked over at you again with that same softened expression from earlier.

Like he was quietly cataloging every sound you made.

“Alright,” you said finally, forcing yourself to continue toward the door before your feelings developed a mortgage in this house. “I’ll let you guys rest.”

Jia waved lazily from the couch. “Bye.”

“Bye, Jia. Bye, Leebit.”

The stuffed rabbit stared at you with the same emotional support energy as before.

He walked you to the door despite looking seconds away from passing out where he stood.“Thanks again,” he said quietly once you stepped onto the porch.

“For returning your escape artist?”

“For…” He paused briefly, glancing back toward the living room. “Being nice to us.”

The sincerity in his voice hit harder than expected.

Your chest tightened a little. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

He looked at you for a moment like he wanted to say something else. Instead, he just smiled softly. “Still going to.”

After you parted ways, reluctantly, you walked back across the street trying very hard not to replay the entire interaction in your head.

In which you failed immediately.

By the time you made it back inside your house, your brain had already decided to obsess over approximately seventeen separate things.

Chan asking you to get coffee with them.

Jia holding your hand without hesitation.

The way he’d said us.

The fact that his house already felt strangely familiar after only ten minutes inside it.

Which was absolutely not normal.

You dropped onto your couch with a dramatic groan, staring at the ceiling.

“This is how people end up emotionally attached to single fathers,” you informed yourself aloud.

𝜗𝜚

The front door clicked shut behind you, leaving their house quiet again aside from the low murmur of cartoons still playing from the television.

Chan stayed standing there for a second. Longer than necessary.

“Dad,” Jia said from the couch, “you’re staring at the door.”

“I know.”

He scrubbed a tired hand down his face before finally locking it, though the motion felt pointless considering Jia had apparently started wandering the neighborhood at sunrise.

His heart still hadn’t fully recovered from waking up and realizing she’d walked out.

Across the room, Jia hugged Leebit tighter. “She’s nice.”

His gaze drifted automatically toward the front window, then toward the house across the street. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “She is.”

The thing was, he’d noticed little details long before the lemonade.

It was hard not to.

You watered the flowers along your porch every morning before the heat got too bad, usually still half-asleep and wearing clothes that looked thrown on five minutes earlier.

Your car was the little dark-colored sedan with a small dent near the back bumper.

Sometimes you sang absentmindedly while bringing groceries inside.

Sometimes you sat on your porch at night scrolling on your phone with your legs curled beneath you.

And sometimes, when he worked in the garage with the door open, he could feel your eyes on him from across the street.

Not in a creepy way.

Like you’d been trying to figure him out from a distance the same way he’d been trying to figure you out.

He hadn’t expected the neighborhood to feel this lonely.

New house. New routines. New streets.

Most days it felt like he was still unpacking pieces of his life that no longer fit together properly.

Then somehow, within forty-eight hours, the neighbor across the street had walked into his garage with lavender lemonade and looked at Jia like she mattered immediately.

He’s fucked.

“Dad?”

He hummed tiredly from where his head rested against the couch.

Jia tilted her head up at him.“Can we keep her?”

His mouth twitched despite himself. “You ask that like she’s a stray cat.”

“Okay.....then can she come over again?”

He glanced toward the front window again before answering. The flowers on your porch swayed lightly in the summer heat, bright against the white railing.

Your curtains shifted, probably from you moving around inside. And for some reason, the thought settled warmly in his chest.

“Maybe,” he said finally. Jia grinned triumphantly before settling back against him.

The room went quiet again after that, filled only by cartoons and the low hum of the air conditioner struggling against the heat.

His eyes drifted shut briefly. Only for a second, before his phone buzzed against the couch cushion beside him.

His mother.

He sighed before answering. “Hey, Ma.”

“Is Jia better?” his mother asked immediately.

Chan looked over at his daughter, currently half-asleep with chalk still smeared across one cheek. “She’s fine.”

His mother laughed softly through the speaker. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help this weekend.”

Guilt hit instantly. “Ma, it’s fine.”

“Christopher.”

Ah. Full government name.

Chan rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Seriously,” he murmured. “I’ve got it handled.”

His mother went quiet for a moment before speaking again, gentler this time. “You don’t always have to handle everything alone, you know.”

“Kind of hard,” he admitted quietly, “when you and Dad are basically my only support systems.” The words slipped out more honestly than he intended. Silence filled the other end of the call for a moment.

Then his mother sighed softly. “Christopher…”

He stared up at the ceiling. He hadn’t meant it as guilt. Just fact.

Moving here had been necessary. Better schools. Better neighborhood. More space for Jia.

But starting over somewhere new while trying to hold everything together alone felt a lot heavier in practice than it had on paper.

Especially on mornings where his daughter wandered across the street while he accidentally passed out on the couch.

“You’re doing your best,” his mother said gently.

Chan laughed quietly under his breath.

“Yeah. Some days my best loses the kid before ten a.m.”

“And some days your best fixes cars until midnight and still makes dinosaur pancakes the next morning.”

His chest tightened unexpectedly at that.

Across the couch, Jia shifted sleepily against his side, still clutching Leebit by one ear. He smoothed a hand over her curls automatically. “I just…” He exhaled slowly. “I don’t want her growing up feeling like everything’s unstable all the time.”

His mother was quiet for a second before speaking again.“You know what she’s going to remember?”

Chan leaned his head back against the couch cushion. “What?”

“That her father loved her enough to keep trying even when things were hard.”

Well, that hit directly in the sternum.

He went quiet after that.

Because what was he even supposed to say to that?

His mother had always been unfairly good at reaching straight into the center of a problem and pressing on it gently until he stopped pretending it didn’t hurt.

“And,” she added after a moment, her tone shifting lighter, “your neighbor seems nice.”

Chan immediately frowned. “Jia talked to you already?”

His mother laughed outright this time. “Christopher, that child would leak classified military information for a fruit snack.”

Fair.

“She said the neighbor brought you lemonade.”

He stared toward the front window again before he could stop himself. “Lavender lemonade,” he corrected absentmindedly.

A pause, then, “You sound fond already.”

“Ma.”

“I’m just saying.”

“You’re definitely saying something.”

“Mm.” His mother sounded far too entertained. “And are you denying it?”

…Annoyingly, no.

“Christopher.”

He already didn’t like the tone of her voice.

“Don’t start planning your wedding in your head because a pretty neighbor brought you lemonade.”

“I am not planning a wedding,” he muttered immediately.

His mother hummed skeptically through the speaker. “You noticed she was pretty awfully fast.”

Damn.

“Ma.”

“I’m just happy you sound interested in something again.”

The teasing softened around the edges near the end of the sentence. Enough that his chest tightened a little. Because he knew what she meant. The last year had been survival mode.

Work.

Jia.

Bills.

Moving.

Rebuilding routines from scratch.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, he’d stopped noticing things outside of necessity.

Then suddenly there was a woman across the street who sang while carrying groceries and crouched down to speak to Jia like she deserved full eye contact during conversations.

And apparently that had been enough to restart something in him. Which was terrifying, honestly.

𝜗𝜚

Three days later, Chan learned two very important things.

One: Jia had somehow become emotionally attached to you at alarming speed.

And two: You were apparently immune to embarrassment.

“Dad,” Jia whispered loudly from the shopping cart seat, “there she is.”

He looked up immediately and spotted you near the produce section, dressed in soft shorts and an oversized shirt while carefully inspecting mangos like your life depended on it.

He barely had time to fully think and react before Jia started waving both arms aggressively from the cart.

“HI!”

Half the grocery store turned to look first. Then you glanced up in confusion before spotting them. And then you smiled.

God, that smile was becoming a genuine problem for him.

“Well,” you laughed softly as you walked closer, “there’s my favorite escape artist.”

“I didn’t escape today,” Jia informed you proudly.

“We’re aiming for growth,” Chan added.

Your eyes flicked toward him then, warm amusement immediately settling into your expression. “And look at that,” you teased lightly. “She brought her emotional support dad with her too.”

Chan stared at you for a second before an unwilling laugh escaped him.

Yeah. He was absolutely screwed.

"We ran out of dino nuggets," Jia explained gravely.

"Apparently it's a crisis," he confirmed.

“I can tell.” You dropped a few mangoes into your basket before glancing into their cart.

There were approximately six different snacks, apple juice, coffee creamer, and absolutely no actual dinner ingredients.

Your eyebrows lifted slowly. “Interesting grocery strategy.”

He looked down into the cart before sighing. “In my defense, she was helping.”

“I picked the Oreos,” Jia said proudly.

“Yeah?” A quiet laugh escaped you as Chan rubbed the back of his neck.

“I was supposed to stop by after work yesterday,” he admitted, “but I got home late and we ended up ordering takeout instead.”

Your expression softened immediately. “You guys eaten today?”

Chan blinked once. “That sounded vaguely accusatory.”

“That's not an answer.”

Jia raised her hand from the cart. “We had waffles.”

“Chocolate chip waffles,” Chan corrected weakly.

You stared at him for a second.

Then at the cart.

Then back at him again.

“You know what?” you said suddenly. “Come over for dinner tonight.”

Chan blinked.

Jia gasped, “Really?”

“Only if you want to,” you added quickly, looking back at him now. “I was already planning to cook anyway.”

Chan hesitated for maybe half a second before Jia answered for the both of them, "We want to."

"Jia."

"What? We do."

You laughed softly.

"Seven okay?

He nodded slowly.

"Y-yeah. Seven's good."

The conversation moved on easily after that. Way too easy.

Like this was normal.

As if people invited him and Jia over for dinner all the time.

As if he hadn't spent the better part of last year feeling isolated in ways he didn't know how to explain to anyone.

Neither of you seemed in much of a rush to end the conversation, but eventually the aisle ran out before the talking did.

"Don't let her convince you to buy more snacks," you called lightly before turning your cart away.

Jia giggled as he mumbled a distracted, "Okay." He watched you leave for a second too long.

“Dad?”

"Yes, bug?"

"Why haven't we moved?"

He blinked, finally looking down at her.

"What?"

Jia pointed in the direction you'd disappeared. "You stopped walking."

𝜗𝜚

By six-thirty, you had already changed outfits three times. Which was ridiculous. They were your neighbors.

Not royalty. Not a date.

Definitely not a date.

And yet your kitchen somehow looked like you were preparing for a full dinner party instead of feeding a tired mechanic and his tiny accomplice.

You checked the pasta sauce simmering on the stove for the fifth time before groaning dramatically into your hands. “Why am I nervous?” you demanded aloud to absolutely nobody.

Because realistically, the worst thing that could happen was Jia not liking the food.

Or Chan thinking this entire thing was weird.

Or realizing halfway through dinner that you were getting emotionally attached to his little family at genuinely alarming speed.

Okay.

Maybe there were several worst-case scenarios.

- - -

“No.”

Jia gasped from the middle of the living room floor. “But Leebit wants to come.”

Chan glanced down at the growing pile of stuffed animals beside her.

“Leebit can come,” he agreed carefully. “The other six absolutely cannot.”

Jia crossed her arms immediately. “They’ll feel left out.”

“They’re stuffed animals.”

“They have feelings.”

Chan rubbed a tired hand down his face before glancing toward the clock again.

Why was he nervous?

It was dinner. Just dinner.

With the neighbor. The very pretty neighbor.

…Okay, maybe that was part of the problem.

His gaze drifted toward the unopened bottle of wine sitting on the counter. Was bringing wine too much?

Too formal?

Weird?

Did people even bring wine to casual neighbor dinners anymore?

He barely knew you, but somehow the idea of showing up empty-handed felt worse.

- - -

The knock at your front door came at exactly seven o’clock. Chan definitely seemed like the type to apologize for being thirty seconds late.

Your stomach flipped anyway.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself while smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from your shirt. “Normal.”

Which immediately became impossible the second you opened the door.

Chan stood on your porch with one hand resting lightly on Jia’s shoulder.

Freshly showered. Dark curls still slightly damp.

Black t-shirt. Black jeans.

And somehow he looked even more unfairly attractive without engine grease smeared across his face. Which felt rude, honestly.

Jia, meanwhile, looked delighted to be there. “Hi!” she chirped instantly, holding Leebit up toward you like proof of life.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Your gaze flicked back toward Chan just in time to catch him already looking at you.

Something unreadable softened briefly across his face before he held up the bottle in his hand awkwardly. “I didn’t know if bringing wine was weird,” he admitted immediately.

Your heart did something genuinely embarrassing inside your chest. “No,” you said quickly. “That’s actually really sweet.”

He looked weirdly relieved by the answer. “Okay, good,” he laughed softly. “I stood in the grocery store for like ten minutes trying to decide.”

“Daddy almost bought flowers too,” Jia announced helpfully as she stepped past him into the house.

Chan froze.

You blinked.

Jia blinked back innocently.

“Jia.”

“What?”

Heat climbed straight up Chan’s neck as he shut the front door behind them. “I was not going to buy flowers.”

Jia looked deeply unconvinced. “You stared at them for a long time.”

“That’s because I couldn’t reach the wine.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself, and Chan immediately looked both embarrassed and relieved that you were laughing instead of judging him.

“For what it’s worth,” you smiled, “I think flowers would’ve been nice.”

He stared at you for half a second too long. “Yeah?”

Jia, blissfully unaware of the psychological warfare occurring above her head, wandered farther into your house with Leebit tucked beneath one arm.

“Do you have toys?”

He sighed softly. “Jia.”

“What? I’m just asking.”

“It’s okay,” you said, smiling. “I don’t have toys, but I do have markers and coloring books somewhere.”

Jia’s entire face brightened. “For me?”

“For you and Leebit, if she wants.”

Jia looked down at the stuffed rabbit tucked under her arm.

“She does.”

Chan watched the exchange quietly, his hand still wrapped around the neck of the wine bottle. He looked like he wanted to say something.

Like maybe thank you again.

Like maybe something else entirely.

Instead, he just followed you toward the kitchen, after getting Jia settled. “Need help with anything?”

You glanced over your shoulder at him, “You’re a guest.”

“I’m bad at that.”

“At being a guest?”

His mouth twitched, “At sitting still.”

You still shooed him away despite it all.

Unfortunately, he turned out to be exactly as incapable of sitting still as advertised.

You’d barely finished setting plates on the counter before he was beside you in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up slightly as he glanced around for something to do.

“What can I help with?”

“You can sit down and relax for more than five minutes.”

"That's impossible."

A quiet laugh slipped out of you before you pointed toward the stove.

“Fine. Stir that for me.”

“See? This is why I offer help.”

He moved beside you easily after that, close enough that you became painfully aware of how little space your kitchen actually had.

Which had never been an issue before.

Now suddenly every movement felt catastrophically noticeable.

Especially when you turned at the exact same time he did.

He caught himself quickly, one hand bracing against the counter behind you to avoid knocking directly into you.

But it still left him close.

Very close.

“Sorry,” he murmured immediately.

“It’s okay,” your voice came out quieter than intended.

Neither of you moved right away.

Then Jia’s voice floated in from the living room.

“Daddy, Leebit wants juice.”

Chan blinked like he’d temporarily left his body. “Right,” he muttered, stepping back again. “Juice. Important.”

You stared very hard at the vegetables in front of you while he disappeared into the living room.

Unfortunately, the universe apparently wasn’t done with you yet.

Because ten minutes later, Chan reached around you for the spoon on the counter at the exact moment you bent down to grab something from the cabinet.

His hand brushed lightly against your waist.

Both of you froze instantly.

“Sorry,” he said again, this time sounding genuinely flustered.

“You’re okay,” you answered quickly.

He lingered for half a second before stepping back again, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck.

“Small kitchen,” he muttered.

“Apparently.”

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly before he turned back toward the stove like neither of you had just short-circuited over two seconds of accidental contact.

Neither of you spoke for a second after that.

The kitchen suddenly felt very warm, or maybe that was just you.

Chan busied himself with grabbing glasses from the cabinet while you focused very hard on stirring the pasta with too much force.

Which was ridiculous.

It was a hand brushing your waist.

Unfortunately, your nervous system seemed committed to disagreeing.

From the living room, Jia’s voice drifted toward the kitchen, “Daddy, Leebit needs to go potty!"

And just like that, the tension loosened slightly around the edges.

Chan let out a quiet laugh through his nose beside you. "Bathroom?"

"First door down the hall."

“I should probably go handle that crisis,” he murmured.

“Probably.”

You risked glancing up just in time to catch him already looking at you again, seeing something softer flickered briefly across his expression before he disappeared back toward the living room.

You started setting the table while Chan helped Jia wash her hands in the bathroom. It gave you something to do with yours.

After the kitchen incident, your body still felt a little too aware of him. The brief brush of his hand. The way he’d stepped back so quickly. The way neither of you had really known where to look afterward.

You set down plates. Then napkins. Then adjusted the forks even though they were already straight.

Completely normal behavior.

From down the hall, you heard the faint rush of water, Jia’s tiny voice, then Chan’s quieter response.

You couldn’t make out the words.

Maybe that was worse.

Because even without hearing him clearly, you could still picture the patience in his face. The tired curve of his shoulders. The gentle way he spoke to her even when he looked like he was running on fumes.

You exhaled slowly and reached for the glasses to pour wine.

Dinner. Focus on dinner.

Jia reappeared first, climbing into one of the dining chairs while Chan lingered behind her in the hallway for a second.

Your gaze lifted automatically.

He’d rolled his sleeves up slightly while helping Jia wash off the chalk, exposing strong forearms, which unfortunately did not help your situation at all.

He caught you looking for a second before your attention snapped aggressively back toward the plates. Great.

"This looks really good," he said quietly as he stepped toward the table.

The sincerity in his voice caught you a little off guard.

"I-it's just pasta."

"Still," he murmured. And for some reason, the way he said it feel like he meant more than the food.

Jia looked between the two of you briefly before narrowing her eyes. “You guys are being weird.”

Both of you answered at the exact same time.

“We’re not.”

Silence.

Jia gasped softly. “That was the same voice.”

He immediately dragged a hand down his face while you nearly choked on air across the table.

“Okay,” he muttered tiredly. “Can we play detective later?”

"Mhm"

Dinner settled into something more comfortable and quiet after that.

Jia swung her legs lightly beneath the chair while absentmindedly feeding tiny pieces of bread to Leebit between her own bites of pasta.

“Daddy sleeps on the couch when he works too much,” she said suddenly.

Chan went still for half a second.

“Bug.”

Jia frowned slightly, confused by his tone. “What?” she asked softly. “It hurts your neck.”

The concern in her voice softened something in your chest immediately.

Chan looked down at his plate for a moment before exhaling quietly through his nose.

“I didn’t know you noticed that.”

“I notice,” Jia informed him simply.

And somehow, that felt less like a joke this time.

Your eyes lifted toward him automatically.

He looked embarrassed.

Not because Jia had exposed him, but because someone else had heard it too.

“You should probably sleep in your bed more,” you said gently before thinking too hard about it.

His gaze flicked toward you briefly. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Probably.”

Silence settled briefly around the table after that, not awkward; just quiet in the way good conversations sometimes became.

The kind where nobody felt rushed to fill every second.

Jia eventually went back to eating, humming softly to herself while kicking her feet beneath the chair.

Chan watched her for a moment before glancing toward you again.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “She overshares.”

“She gets that from you?”

His mouth twitched slightly.

“Definitely not.”

“Mm.”

Chan leaned back slightly in his chair then, studying you for a second over the rim of his glass.

“What about you?”

Your fork paused briefly. “What about me?”

“You know basically my entire life story already,” he said lightly. “Feels unfair.”

Warmth crept into your face immediately.

“I do not know your entire life story.”

“You know enough to ruin me in court.”

A quiet laugh slipped out of you before you took another sip of your drink.

“Fine,” you conceded. “What do you want to know?”

Chan looked strangely thoughtful for a second.

Like he was trying to decide which question he actually cared about asking most.

You expected something casual. Favorite color. What you did for work.

Maybe whether or not you always invited near-strangers over for dinner after knowing them for less than a week.

Instead, Chan asked quietly, “Are you always this nice to people?”

The question caught you so off guard you actually blinked at him.

Across the table, his expression remained calm, but there was something careful underneath it now. Like he genuinely wanted the answer.

“I…” You let out a small laugh, glancing down at your plate for a second. “That’s kind of a heavy question for pasta.”

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, but he didn’t look away.

Jia hummed softly to herself beside him, completely absorbed in attempting to feed Leebit microscopic pieces of garlic bread.

You watched her for a moment before speaking again.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “I guess I just think people should look out for each other.”

Your fingers traced lightly against the side of your glass.

“We stick together in our little corner of the neighborhood.”

The words settled softly between all of you.

Chan’s gaze held yours for a second too long afterward. Like maybe nobody had included him in something that gently in a very long time.

Jia yawned dramatically beside him a few minutes later, the earlier excitement of the evening finally starting to wear off.

Chan glanced down at her immediately. “You getting tired?”

“No,” she answered automatically.

Then she yawned again so hard her entire body folded forward.

You smiled into your drink while Chan shook his head softly.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s convincing.”

Jia ignored him completely, leaning more heavily against his side instead. He adjusted without even looking. Like he'd done it a thousand times before.

You watched them while your heart pounded at the sight. "You can lay her on the couch if you want," you offered softly.

He glanced up at you.

"You sure?"

You nodded as you got up from the table, "I'll go grab her a blanket."

He watched you disappear briefly down the hallway before looking back at Jia curled sleepily against his side.

Something in his expression softened.

Not just because you offered, but because of how naturally you did it. Like making space for them in your home hadn’t required a second thought.

By the time you returned with the blanket folded over your arms, Jia was already half-asleep against Chan’s shoulder.

He looked up as you approached, “Thank you,” he said gently.

The sincerity in his voice settled somewhere deep in your chest. You handed him the blanket and watched him lay his daughter down carefully across the couch, making sure to tuck Leebit beneath her arm before pulling the blanket over both of them.

The sight felt almost unbearably tender. So tender, that you had to force yourself to look away before your feelings developed roots in your living room.

So instead, you escaped into the kitchen under the excuse of cleaning up. Which would’ve worked better if he hadn’t followed you with the dirty dishes a minute later.

“You know,” you said as he set them beside the sink, “most guests usually pretend to relax after dinner.”

“I told you,” he replied quietly, rolling his sleeves up slightly again. “I’m bad at staying still.”

The kitchen felt smaller now.

Quieter too.

Without Jia’s constant chatter filling the house, every little thing suddenly felt more noticeable.

The clink of dishes.

The brush of his arm beside yours.

The way he kept drifting close without seeming to realize he was doing it.

You tried very hard to focus on packing leftovers into containers instead. “Take these home with you guys,” you said, sliding one of the lids into place.

He looked over immediately. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

His gaze lingered on you for a second before softening slightly. “You always do things like this?”

“Feed people?”

“Take care of them.”

The question landed quieter than expected. Your hands paused briefly against the counter. “I don’t know,” you admitted after a second. “I like making people feel comfortable.”

He leaned lightly against the counter beside you, close enough now that you could smell soap lingering faintly against his skin underneath everything else.

“That explains Jia,” he murmured.

Your chest tightened embarrassingly fast. You busied yourself with another container before looking over at him again.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Depends.”

“Why’d you move here?”

Chan went quiet. His eyes drifted briefly toward the living room where Jia slept curled beneath the blanket.

“Fresh start,” he answered finally.

The words were simple. But heavy enough that you didn’t push immediately.

Chan exhaled softly through his nose before continuing anyway.

“Things got messy where we were before.” His mouth twitched faintly. “And Jia deserved somewhere quieter than all that.”

Something in your chest ached a little at the honesty in his voice.

“You'd do anything for her,” you said softly before thinking too hard about it.

Chan looked at you immediately after that. Like the answer to that question was the easiest thing in the world.

“Without a doubt." The certainty in his voice settled heavily in your chest.

Your eyes drifted toward the living room automatically, toward Jia asleep beneath the blanket with Leebit tucked against her chest.

“She’s lucky,” you murmured.

Chan was quiet for a second beside you. “I think I’m the lucky one.”

Something about the way he said it nearly took you out at the knees.

You focused very hard on snapping another lid onto a container before your face betrayed you completely.

“You make it sound easy,” you admitted quietly.

“What?”

“Being there for someone like that.”

Chan leaned back against the counter slightly, studying you with an expression that had gone softer somewhere in the middle of the conversation.

“It’s not easy,” he said honestly. “You just keep choosing them anyway.”

Your hands slowed against the container in front of you before you glanced back toward him carefully. “What happened to her mom…” you asked softly. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Chan went still.

Quiet in a way that immediately made you wonder if you’d crossed a line.

“You don’t have to answer that,” you added quickly.

He exhaled softly through his nose, gaze drifting toward the living room again to watch Jia. “No,” he murmured after a second. “It’s okay.”

The kitchen felt smaller somehow while you waited.

Chan rubbed a hand slowly across the back of his neck before speaking again.

“She left when Jia was two.”

The words were calm, and straightforward. Like he’d repeated them enough times that they no longer sounded sharp coming out, but something in his face still tightened anyway.

“At first it was supposed to be temporary,” he admitted quietly, at least that's what it seemed like. “Then it just… wasn’t.”

Your chest ached instantly.

Chan laughed once under his breath, though there wasn’t much humor in it.

“I think I spent a long time trying to convince myself I could fix it if I just worked harder.” His eyes lowered briefly toward the counter. “Turns out relationships don’t work like cars.”

The honesty in his voice made something twist painfully inside you.

“Chan…”

He shook his head lightly before you could say anything else.

“It’s better now,” he said quietly. “Or at least… calmer.” His gaze drifted toward Jia again, softening immediately. “And she’s happy.”

The way he said it made it painfully obvious that Jia’s happiness had become the center of his entire world.

Even at the expense of his own.

Silence settled quietly between you after that. Not uncomfortable.

Just heavy in a way that made you suddenly very aware of how close he was standing beside you.

The sink ran softly while you rinsed out one of the pots, mostly just to give your hands something to do.

He stayed leaned against the counter nearby, arms loosely crossed now. Open in a way he probably wasn't used to.

“I didn’t mean to make things depressing,” he said eventually, voice quieter than before.

You looked over immediately. “You didn’t.”

His eyes stayed on you for a second longer than expected. Like he was trying to decide whether or not to believe that.

“People usually get uncomfortable,” he admitted eventually. “Once they realize it’s just me and Jia.”

Your chest tightened slightly. “Why?”

He gave a small shrug, gaze dropping briefly toward the counter.

“Single dad thing, I guess.” A faint breath of laughter escaped him. “People either think you’re barely surviving or they start looking at you like you’re some kind of tragedy.”

You frowned. “That’s stupid.”

He looked genuinely caught off guard by how quickly you answered.

"I mean it," you continued softly. "You're a great dad, Chan."

He broke eye contact first, "I'm trying," he admitted quietly.

Something about the honesty in his voice hit harder than you expected, because he didn’t sound like someone asking for praise.

Just a parent who was tired.

The rest of the cleaning happened quietly after that.

Softer now, like something between you had shifted slightly without either of you fully acknowledging it.

Chan dried dishes while you put dishes away, the occasional brush of your arms still enough to make your heartbeat stumble embarrassingly fast. Neither of you mentioned it.

By the time the kitchen was finally clean again, the apartment had gone almost completely still.

Jia remained curled beneath the blanket on the couch, one tiny hand still wrapped around Leebit’s ear.

He glanced toward her before exhaling softly through his nose. “She’s out cold.”

“I think the pasta took her down.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. Then his eyes drifted toward the half-finished bottle of wine still sitting on the counter.

“You want me to head out?” he asked.

The question sounded polite, but not like he actually wanted to leave.

Your fingers tightened slightly around your wine glass before you answered.

“You can stay a little longer if you want.”

Chan looked at you then, something in his expression softened in a way that immediately made your stomach flip.

“Yeah?” he asked quietly.

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

A few minutes later, the two of you ended up back in the living room with fresh glasses of wine while Jia slept peacefully nearby.

The television stayed off.

Neither of you seemed to mind the quiet.

He leaned back carefully into the corner of the couch, one arm stretched loosely along the cushion behind Jia while you sat a little farther down the other end.

Close enough to talk softly. Close enough to notice things.

Like how his voice got rougher when he was tired.

Like how he listened with his full attention whenever you spoke.

Like how neither of you seemed in much of a hurry for the night to end anymore.

The conversation drifted easily after that.

Slower than before. Less careful.

Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the exhaustion.

Or maybe the two of you had simply crossed whatever invisible line existed between strangers and something else entirely.

“So,” Chan murmured after a while, turning his glass slowly between his hands, “how’d you end up here?”

You smiled faintly. “In this house specifically?”

“In this aggressively nosy neighborhood.”

A laugh slipped out of you softly enough that Jia stirred slightly beneath the blanket before settling again.

Both of your eyes immediately flicked toward her. Chan’s expression softened automatically once he realized she was still asleep.

It did something deeply unfortunate to your nervous system.

“I grew up around neighborhoods like this,” you admitted quietly once the room settled again. “Everybody knowing each other. Neighbors bringing over food, or having neighborhood cookouts. Somebody’s aunt always watching from a window somewhere.”

Chan huffed softly into his wine. “That last part definitely tracks.”

You narrowed your eyes at him over the rim of your glass.

“You’re never letting the spying thing go, are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

His smile lingered afterward. Softer now.

Less teasing than before. Like he’d relaxed enough to stop hiding behind it quite so much.

“I think I missed this,” he admitted after a moment.

Your expression eased slightly. “The spying?”

Chan laughed quietly, shaking his head. “No.” His gaze drifted around the house briefly before settling back on you. “Just… this.”

The room. The conversation. The calm.

You understood immediately anyway.

Something in your chest tightened gently. “It gets lonely?” you asked softly.

Chan was quiet for a second. “Sometimes it feels like I only exist as somebody’s dad now.”

The honesty in the sentence settled heavily between you. He looked almost surprised after saying it out loud. Like he hadn’t meant to.

“Not that I mind being her dad,” he added quickly, glancing toward Jia again. “I just…” He exhaled softly through his nose. “I don’t know. Somewhere in the middle of work and bills and trying to keep everything together, I think I forgot how to be a person outside of taking care of everybody else.”

Your heart genuinely hurt for him then, because he said it so casually.

Like he’d gotten used to carrying that feeling around alone.

“Chan,” you said softly.

His tired eyes lifted toward you again.

The wine had loosened something in him tonight. Not enough to make him reckless.

Just enough to make him honest.

“You know what the weird part is?” he admitted quietly after a second. “I don’t even think I noticed how lonely I was until recently.”

Your chest tightened immediately. “Recently?”

The corner of his mouth twitched faintly around the rim of his glass.

“Yeah.”

The single word landed warm. Heavy with implication neither of you addressed directly.

You looked down at your wine before smiling softly to yourself. “I think,” you admitted carefully, “sometimes people get so used to surviving that they forget they’re allowed to want more than that.”

Chan went very still across from you. Like the sentence had landed somewhere deeper than you intended, or maybe exactly where you intended.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The house had gone completely quiet around you.

Just the faint hum of the refrigerator.

The soft ticking of your kitchen clock.

Jia breathing steadily beneath the blanket a few feet away.

Chan’s gaze stayed fixed on you longer than it probably should have. Not intense. Not even flirtatious, really. Just… searching.

“You always know the right thing to say,” he mumbled eventually, voice rougher now.

Warmth crept up your neck immediately. “No,” you laughed softly. “Most of the time I’m just hoping I don’t sound insane.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “You don’t.”

Something about the way he said it made your chest ache unexpectedly.

Like he wasn’t just reassuring you. He genuinely meant it.

Your fingers tightened slightly around your wine glass.

You’re easy to talk to too,” you admitted quietly after a second.

Chan looked faintly surprised by that. “Yeah?”

You nodded once, tracing your thumb along the stem of your wine glass.“Most people don’t actually listen anymore. They just wait for their turn to talk.”

Chan huffed a quiet laugh through his nose at that, gaze dropping briefly toward the floor.

“Occupational hazard, maybe.”

“Mechanics are good listeners?”

“Single dads,” he corrected softly.

Something in your chest shifted at the answer.

Chan leaned back further into the couch afterward, looking more relaxed now than you’d seen him all night, or maybe just less guarded.

“I think I forgot what it felt like to sit somewhere and not feel stressed the whole time,” he admitted after a moment.

Your eyes lifted toward him immediately. He sounded almost confused by the realization himself.

Before you could think too hard about it, the words slipped out, “You can come here whenever you need a break.”

He looked at you. Holding that steady kind of attention that always made you feel like he was listening to more than your actual words.

Your pulse stumbled almost instantly.

“That’s a dangerous thing to offer me,” he said quietly.

Your breath caught slightly at the softness in his voice. “Why?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Chan’s gaze lingered on you for a second. “Because I think I’d get used to it.”

The confession settled between you gently. Not flirtatious. Somehow worse.

Your pulse stumbled hard enough that you immediately looked down into your wine glass just to regain composure.

He seemed to realize what he’d said a second too late because a quiet laugh escaped him afterward, softer around the edges now.

“Sorry,” he murmured, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “That sounded more intense out loud.”

“A little,” you admitted weakly.

His smile widened faintly. “The wine’s making me honest.”

“I think you were honest before the wine.”

Chan looked at you carefully after that. Like he was trying to figure out whether you understood how much he already meant every word he said to you.

The terrifying part was, you did.

Chan glanced away first this time, exhaling quietly through his nose before leaning forward to set his glass down on the coffee table.

“You know,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his curls, “I almost didn’t come tonight.”

Your eyebrows lifted immediately.

“Why?”

“Because Jia gets attached easily.” His gaze flicked toward the couch automatically. “And I didn’t want to assume…” He trailed off briefly before shaking his head. “I don’t know. That we could just suddenly start showing up in your life all the time.”

Something in your chest twisted painfully at the wording.

Showing up in your life.

Like he’d already been thinking about the possibility.

“Chan,” you said softly, "you guys are not a burden to me."

Chan looked down briefly, thumb dragging once against the side of his glass before he let out a quiet breath through his nose. “You say things like that so casually,” he murmured.

Your brows pulled together slightly. “Why do you say that?”

His eyes lifted toward yours again, “You don’t realize what hearing that does to someone.”

Your heart stuttered.

From the couch, Jia shifted sleepily beneath the blanket with a soft little whine.

Both of your heads turned automatically.

Chan checked the time on his phone and immediately grimaced. “Okay,” he muttered quietly. “I definitely overstayed.”

“You didn’t.” The reassurance slipped out before you could stop it.

Chan looked at you for half a second before his expression softened again in that dangerous way you were rapidly becoming too attached to.

“Still,” he said gently, pushing himself up from the couch. “She’s gonna be impossible to wake up for school tomorrow if I don’t get her home.”

Your chest tightened unexpectedly as the reality of the night ending settled in.

Suddenly, the house already felt quieter.

Chan crossed the living room slowly before crouching beside the couch. “Bug,” he murmured gently, brushing a curl away from Jia’s face. “Time to head home.”

Jia squinted up at him sleepily from beneath the blanket.

“M’tired.”

“I know.”

“Carry me?”

Chan’s expression softened immediately. “Always.”

Your heart nearly folded in on itself right there.

Jia lifted her arms sleepily toward him while he carefully gathered Leebit and the blanket first before reaching down for her.

Like this exact routine had happened a hundred times before.

Jia curled against his chest almost instantly after he picked her up, cheek pressed against his shoulder. Half-asleep already.

“Tell your neighbor thank you,” Chan murmured quietly.

Jia peeked one eye open toward you. “Thank you for pasta,” she mumbled.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Her eyes drifted shut again immediately afterward. Chan adjusted her slightly higher against his chest before glancing toward you.

“Sorry again for staying so late.”

“Chan.”

He stopped immediately at your tone.

“You don’t have to apologize for being here.”

Something flickered briefly across his face at that. Like hearing it still caught him off guard.

masterlist | next

That small taunt, though it came from a place of pure adoration of your dumb self, felt so awakening and humiliating that it was enough to make you clench around his thick shaft, stuffed snug and belonging in your sticky hole, your arousal leaking down your damp thighs like honey.

"Hmp- mhh… Hyune, H-Hyunjin…" You could only pathetically whine as your eyes closed by pure reflection from how hard they were stinging, hot tears refusing to stop pouring down, you push your pelvis back into his despite your trembling legs, rolling your hips dumbly on top of his lap as he held your neck pretty and stiff in a tight headlock.

His big, angry cock pumping in and out of your messy warmth at a disgusting pace was all that you could hear, if it wasn't for the vulnerable position he kept you in, you're sure that your body would be trashing at all kind of angles from his rapid movements which somehow only felt faster as you came around his length again and again. Forced to sit there shaking on top of his strong body, pressed hard against the voluminous mass of his chest and convulsing against his torso as your back involuntarily bent into another painful arch from overstimulation, drooling all over your chin and his forearms until it's reaching your boobs — a mess, just the way he liked you.

Hyunjin's built muscles flexed against your neck again, he could feel every pulse and gag of your throat, you could hear his airy giggle whenever it matched the flutter of your abused walls, rewarding your slutty tendencies with a tighter hold of your breathing, just enough to make you struggle a little bit.

"You love it, don't you, doll? When… hmp- When I hold you like this?" he bits your earlobe and the disaster you had going on in your throat only worsened, choking on your own drool, stuck in a incoherent mess as Hyunjin left you cock-drunk and whining. His forearm pressed against your pulse one more time, you gasped as your eyes rolled to the back of your head and words just spurted out of your mouth with no business of making any sense.

"Lo-Love you… I love you, Hyune… mhp, mhhh- Love you, Hyunjin…" You tried sucking in more air, your brain begging for some sort of oxygen that lasted for more than one or two of your loud moans and never ending whining. Satisfied with your answer, he presses his arm just right to push your head back on his shoulder, hips never slowing down their pace at ruining your creamy warmth as his palm brushes against your puffy clit with every stroke, he kisses your cheek gently then. A mean reminder of how carefully he can love you when you behave.

The way his big body could cover yours with no issue whatsoever was doing wonders to making you dizzy with desire, fluttering in the way he held you as if it wasn't hard at all because for him, it really wasn't.

He could always make you feel so deliciously small, sat pretty and destroyed at his lap which was completely damp from your juices, his leaking length only filling you deeper, fingers teasing and prodding on that spot in your clit just right to make your head spin, keeping you basically bouncing on his lap from his hard thrusts.

His gasps and groans alongside the sounds wet splashes of skin slapping were reminding you of the most beautiful melody you've ever heard, slamming into your weeping womanhood while you trembled like a weak little thing, walls flexing roughly around his rough ministrations, you were almost there, could feel the relief you needed so badly at the tip of your fingertips, just out of reach.

Your nails clawed helplessly at the damp skin of his forearms, holding onto a small hope that he'd be done soon to convince yourself of not turning your head to the right and biting onto the beefy, delicious meat of his bicep. An uselessly broken sound rips from your throat and he catches it at the perfect time, swallowing your whimpers with a messy kiss full of teeth and tongue.

Every time he pressed onto that gummy spot, you felt like crying even harder, body convulsing harshly against his like you were being electrocuted by an entire thunderstorm and he didn't flinch even once. Used to the way his little toy moves around beneath his power, kissing the side of your face every time you gasped for air, smiled at your cheek every time he could hear every bit of your sweet struggle.

Finally, you came again, thighs shaking aggressively and quickly betraying the tears streaming down your face with a loud show of just how much you truly loved his brutal demonstrations of love, you can slowly but surely feel all of that ugly, persistent tension leave your frail body.

That's when you hear it.

"Want me to stop, baby? Wanna cum again?" Hyunjin's voice in your head — all too warm, dripping with the thinnest of sugars.