seatub

Though the walk is nice. Comforting, and soothing. The sun sinks lower by the minute, the kind that has both of you pause, facing the horizon to take in the glimmering sea that reflects the light like a painting. The kind of sight that has your breath hitch, has you stop, eyes shining as you take in the pink and purple sky, the bright orange sun ready to bid its farewell.

Chan seems to agree, your boyfriend squeezing your hand almost faintly before he mutters the words you would have missed between the sunset, the waves and the winds.

You don’t though, not when Chan looks as if you mean the word, the same shine in his eyes as they meet yours.

“—It would be perfect to propose here.”

You think you would’ve laughed startled at such a random exclamation, would have agreed with such an romantic observation. Yet before you can even giggle at the idea, even agree with him with a hum and a nod, you only turn to find a sight that has you freezing. 

Eyes widening and lips parting with shock because he doesn’t even wait for his words to settle, doesn’t tear his gaze away, already dropping down with a widening grin.

Chan kneels. Right there, right before your suddenly frozen form.

He’s on one knee, pants planted over the wet sand, the seafoam left after retreating waves seeping through the material, yet even the dirt and water isn’t enough to keep him from doing what he decided to do. 

Everything continues as it was. The sun still on its descent, the waves still crashing against the rocks, rising over sand, the winds still ruffle through his hair, tousling the strands.

Yet nothing remains the same for you, not when his gaze meets yours so warm, so fond. Locked onto you with a lingering softness that shows in the way he fishes out the small box from the depths of his pocket. 

Where had he hidden it all day? You’re clueless. Yet he holds it before you, opening with ease, the slight tremble in his hands going unnoticed amidst the sudden emotions that surge through you. Chan holds it out before you. Offering you something you’ve only dreamt of, you can’t help but gasp, eyes flickering to what’s inside. 

It’s a glimmering thing, dainty and elegant, the ring glints beautifully against the sunset. And he cradles it in his palms, inhaling deeply as he lets you react. Your hands fly to your mouth, pressing against your lips, as you once again gasp louder. The ocean waves are cold over your feet, wind biting at your skin, yet you feel as if you are burning up.

“I—” Chan begins, clearing his throat, a twinge of nervousness crossing his gaze but the wide smile remains.

“I love you.” He states, softly, loudly, those words coming out as easily as breathing.

His eyes dart over your shocked-still expression, at the misty haze in your own gaze as you finally grasp what is happening.

“‘Is this love?’” He whispered.

A repeat of a question you’ve asked. It’s a familiar question, one that has you break into a breathy and wet scoff-like giggle as you realize exactly what he is referring to, hands falling to your sides, shoulders relaxing as you let him continue.

Let him propose.

“The night after our first date, after I spent the entire after of it distracted by thoughts of you, you sent me that question.” His cheeks dimpled with the way he grinned, watching you exhale with a breathless laugh.

“—Granted, it was a message you accidentally texted to me instead of your friend—immediately followed with ten other messages of you freaking out over it, before threatening me to forget how you just embarrassed yourself.” He recalls with a chuckle, with a fondness and a grin that has you mimic the glee, though the tears now freely slide down your cheeks.

“But how could I have ever forgotten such a question when that same night I decided that I had an answer for it. That seeing your adorable sputtering and your refusal to meet my eyes the next day made me realize that it was love. That you were it for me.” There’s a waver in his voice, a shine in his own eyes as he takes in the beautiful sight that is you.

But he barrels on, as if he has so much to say but not enough time—at least not currently. Not when he has a ring to put on your finger. The recollection of your most precious moments could wait a little.

“I knew I wanted to marry you then. I knew I wanted a full life with you.” He swallows his nervousness, his emotions that threaten to crack in his voice.

You almost whimper shakily, happily, your expression soft and warm and oh-so-touched as his voice drops just a tad bit softer, just a tinge warmer.

“I want more late night adventures, more spontaneous trips, the slow strolls hand-in-hand. I want the growing birthdays to come, the wrinkles and white hair, all the way to the end. Till death do us apart—right after that first date. I want it all with you.”

You swipe the back of your hand to wipe away the tears that pool at your jaw, shuddery breath escaping your lips with a soft sob. Chan kneels patiently, as he continues to make your heart flip, your stomach swoop, your eyes prick with more happy tears.

“I’m sure you know by now how painfully obsessed I am with you.” He too chuckles wetly, his voice slightly shaky, yet dripping with something akin to adoration as he looks up at you, absolutely besotted.

“You already know how deeply I love you, but I’ll say it again. I love you. And I will continue to do so for the rest of my remaining life. Will you—” He stutters just the slightest as he swallows, taking in a nervous breath, his eyes locked onto yours.

“Will you please marry me?”

The waves crash loud, your feet sink into the wet sand, the sunlight is moments away from disappearing, yet you only look at Chan, on his knees, his own teary eyes and that beautiful smile of his that you’re so fond of. 

Your boyfriend awaits the answer he should know you would give him almost nervously. And even with the shock and the heart-touching words spoken, you can’t help but laugh almost helplessly. The tears continue to cloud your vision yet even with blurred sight you know exactly where to find your most special person, lunging forward you can’t help but wrap your arms around him, falling onto your own knees.

Chan wobbles just the slightest at the impact but he holds you firmly, pressed right against him.

“Yes. Yesyesyes.” Your voice is half-choked, half a whisper as you tug him closer into your embrace.

Chan’s own voice cracks as he laughs against you, arm wrapping tight around you as he inhales your scent.

“Thank you. I love you so so much.” He pulls away, just enough to gaze into your eyes, lashes wet from his tears, yet his smile remains.

“Give me your hand.” He whispers.

You don’t wait another second, your hand trembling between the both of your kneeling bodies as Chan looks down to pluck the ring out, box forgotten over the sand.

It slips on easily, cool against your skin, yet even that doesn’t last long, not when his hands cup your fingers in his, engulfing you in his warmth.

“You won’t regret it, I swear—”

As much as you want to hear more of his heartfelt promises, you can’t help but want to disappear in his embrace, melt into his arms. Squeeze into his chest, and make yourself home. You lean in to capture his lips, kissing him and swallowing his promises. And he easily allows you to do so. 

Melt into his embrace, disappear in his arms.

Kissing you in that slow, careful kind of way. The one where his fingers sit just right below your jaw, cradling your face as if you’re the most delicate thing he has. And you can’t help the sigh that leaves you, the way you pull him close and allow the thought to settle.

So this is love. 

He squeezes you a tinge bit tighter, kisses you just a tad bit harder, his mouth hot against yours.

His laugh vibrated against your lips as you rolled your hips again, slow this time, just to feel the way his thighs tensed under you.

“God, you’re—” Chan broke off with a gasp when you bit his neck, his hips jerking up to meet yours. You could feel him twitch beneath you, his breath coming in ragged bursts, his hands were everywhere, kneading your ass, sliding up your ribs, thumb brushing the underside of your breast.

You whimpered when his palm cupped you through your shorts, his fingers pressing just right, and Chan swallowed the sound with another messy kiss.

His tongue was hot against yours as you rocked into his hand, chasing the building pressure low in your gut. It wasn’t going to take much, not with the way he was touching you, the way his hips stuttered under yours like he was already close.

Chan’s voice was wrecked when he spoke, his lips brushing yours with every word. “Fuck, you’re so wet—” He cut himself off with a groan, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as you grind down harder, the seam of your shorts catching just right. His fingers dug into your thighs, his hips trembling, and you knew he was teetering on the edge, just like you.

His groan vibrated against your skin as you arched into him, the rough drag of fabric between you turning slick with arousal. Chan’s fingers tangled in your hair, tugging gently, just enough to make you gasp, and his other hand slid down to grip the back of your thigh, hauling you impossibly closer. "nghh, fuck—" your voice cracked, both hands holding onto his shoulders.

"Yeah, just like that — keep moving like that," he encourages, you could feel the tension coiling in him, the way his hips jerked up erratically, chasing the friction of your shorts riding higher with every roll of your body. "fuck you feel so good, gonna make me cum already."

His words sent a fresh pulse of heat through you, your own breath coming in shallow gasps as you grind down harder, the pressure building almost unbearably, "m'close" you managed to whine against him.

Chan's palm slid up your stomach, dragging your shirt along with it, his thumb brushing your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra. "That's it," he encouraged, his voice rough with want, "just let go, I got you." His other hand slipped between you, fingers pressing against the soaked fabric of your shorts, circling exactly where you needed it, and your vision blurred at the edges.

You clutched at his shoulders, your hips stuttering as pleasure crashed over you in waves, your back arching as you came with a broken cry. Chan's name spilled from your lips, half muffled against his neck, and he shuddered beneath you, his own climax hitting hard as he buried his face in your hair. His hips jerked up once, twice, before stilling, his groan vibrating against your skin as he came too in hot pulses.

“shit,” he muttered eventually after he'd caught his breath, voice wrecked, lips curling into a grin against your shoulder. “You didn’t even let me take my shoes off.”

You laughed, breathless, curling your fingers into his hair just to feel the way he shivered at the touch. “You complaining?”

Chan lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark, still hazy with lingering pleasure. “Not even a little.”

a/n: #bringbackdryhumping

Minho flopped on the floor beside him, two bottles in his hand, one for himself and the other for the boy who made the list.

“Last for what?” he asked, handing the beer to Jisung, taking a sip of his own. 

Chan laughed, sprawled backward with his legs parted, slumped on the cushions in ripped jeans and a white tank. A silver chain hung down his front and studs poked through his ears. His blonde hair, longer than it’s ever been, had been pushed back from his face, tiny pieces falling out of place to frame his features. His half smirk and the way his fingertips pressed into the inside of your thigh drove you mad.

It’d been weeks in the making, you and Chan. Felix and Jihyo, your closest friends in the group, they’ve been rooting for you since classes ended and summer began, that first party post-graduation the moment you caught your feelings— and realized they might’ve been there for way longer than you thought.

In the final days cramming for finals, throwing together projects, rushing papers, you found yourself beside Chan often, alone, your schedules matching up with each other. Plenty of alone time in the quiet library for idle chitchat you wouldn’t normally get from him in a situation like tonight.

Over notebooks and forgotten pencils you shared your frustration, your need for the year to end, for graduation to hurry up, taking the negative feelings from one another and holding onto them for safe keeping. Amongst your friends he’d rarely open up, get deep, share his fears he brushed off with a no big deal to which you’d remind him that they mattered.

Your feelings are valid, Chan, and you aren’t alone. Plenty of people feel a little lost when it’s time to transition.

He hit you with a shrug after a stare before he focused back on his notes, one hand dragging through his curls, the other gripping a pen.

A completely different man sat beneath you tonight. Confident, with his melodic laugh, leader of the pack, easy on everyone's eyes… And he was yours.

Kinda.

Chan raised a brow, his eyes on Minho. “Last on the list of gettin’ bitches,” he said through his laugh, and Minho nearly choked on his beer.

From your left, on the couch beside you and Chan, Jeongin snickered, his foot stretching out to tap Changbin's knees where he sat on the floor wrapped around his girlfriend, Nayeon. When their eyes met, the youngest jutted his chin to Seungmin who hadn’t moved from the doorway, all attention in the room pointing toward him. 

He deadpanned, his typical resting face. His always face. The room laughed at his expense, and he simply bobbed his head and sipped his beer. His clothes hung off of him, the grey hoodie, the blue jeans, he always wore things too big for him, swimming in them. Fairly tall, the second tallest boy in the group, definitely taller than Chan, he filled the archway perfectly.

Glare bouncing around everyone's grinning faces, he asked, “And who’s first on the list?”, as he took another sip of his beer.

Chan smirked.

Jisung snickered. “Mr. Bang Christopher Chan.”

Seungmin popped his brows and glazed his eyes over you briefly. “That’s unfortunate.” He sat down on the arm of the lounge chair Hyunjin kicked back in, taking another calm and collected sip of his beer.

Chan jolted beneath you, and your stomach sunk a bit. Not because of how he grabbed your waist and sprung forward to snarl at Seungmin. But because of what Seungmin said.

“The fuck does that mean?”

Seungmin looked back up at the group, blinking, registering that he was still being talked to. His face never changed. Unbothered.

He shrugged and gestured toward you with the top of his bottle. “You feel proud to be at the top of the list of getting bitches right now?”

Chan laughed, hollow, falling right into Seungmin's trap. “Don’t be mad ‘cause you’re at the bottom, bro.”

Seungmin’s face finally broke. His lips turned down. Slightly. Something one wouldn’t notice unless they were actively looking at him as he did it. And you were.

“I’m not,” he said, emotionless eyes staring Chan down.

Everyone watched them like a tennis match, heads turning in time as each boy spoke, one spewing hot lava from his lips, the other unable to care less.

You were locked in on Seungmin though he barely gave you a glance.

Jisung flung himself forward, arms smacking against the coffee table as he laughed up at Chan half hanging off the sofa clinging to you. “It’s a joke! It’s a joke!” He glanced at Seungmin and put a hand over his chest. “I’m last, and, and, if we really think about it,” he threw a hand toward Changbin, giving a look to Felix and Jihyo on the floor next to him, “Bin is first, right? I mean… Right?” His nervous laugh had the room groaning.

Changbin tightened his arms around Nayeon, propping his chin on top of the bun on her head. His brows nestled together. “She is not bitches. She is full of love and deserving of respect.”

Chan flopped backward on the couch. Jisung and Minho slumped over in groans that spun into giggles. Felix and Jihyo exchanged a look. Hyunjin laughed with Jeongin, and Seungmin… looked at you.

And he smiled.

For a split second, behind all the noise, the laughter, the groans, the teasing, the flying of hands and chugging of drinks, Seungmin seemed to speak to you.

Deep, dark chocolate eyes speaking a language you don’t and cannot understand.

It ended all too fast when Chan slid a hand beneath your chin, turning you to look down at him. “Hi,” his full lips perk up.

 Everyone spoke amongst themselves, a normality falling back into place. He brushed a thumb beneath your lashes. Narrowing his eyes, his soft smile growing, he tilted his head and breathed out a laugh. 

“You’re so cute,” he whispered. He attempted to read you. You think. “For the record,” he smirked, flashing you his dimples, “You are not bitches.”

Smiling, you shook your head. “Don’t worry about it.”

Chan pouted his lips, eyes flickering down to yours. “But, I will.” He tilted his chin toward you and your heart skipped a beat, thinking he was going in for a kiss in front of all of your friends. “I like this,” he mumbled, blinking a few times. “You and me.” 

A gasp shuddered through you. Cheeks flushing, you nibbled your bottom lip and he watched. Inches between you, about three to be exact, your heart thundered. Longing to swallow him whole, like you already have a few times, nothing more has been shown off to the group other than right now. Lap sitting, innocent middle school touches, yearning gazes, teeny tiny moments that gave away that you were something but not quite something but there was definitely something there but you’ve only told Felix and Jihyo late at night curled up under her blankets giggling over the fact that Chan is an earlobe biter…

No one knew, but they knew. 

Chan deepened his pout and flipped his eyebrows over, his big, silly eyes making an appearance. “Don’t listen to them,” he whispered.

Sliding your hands up his biceps to his cheeks, you squeezed them and smiled. “I won’t. I like this, too. You and me. Promise.”

He glanced at your lips again. “Promise.” Then, in one quick motion, he scooped you off of his lap, stood up, and placed you back on the couch, leaving you with a wet kiss on the cheek before he turned down the hall, headed toward the bathroom.

Giggling, wiping at your cheek, Chan disappeared fast. No chance to get him back. 

From the floor, Felix grabbed onto the cushion and hoisted himself up, squishing into your side, reaching for your hands and lacing his fingers through them. He pulled a knee up onto the couch and laid it across your lap as he leaned in toward you.

Fluttering his long lashes, he gave you a devastating pout and whispered, “Promise!?” 

“Stop, oh my god,” you groaned with a smile, toying with the rings on his fingers.

“No, no, it’s cute, really,” he giggled. “You doing okay? Need a drink or anything?”

“Maybe in a little,” you said, taking a glance around the room, at Jisung and Minho scooting closer together on the floor. Turning to Felix, you grabbed onto his leg and pulled him into you. “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded, quickly, round eyes attentive, waiting for your question. “Always, please.”

It came out with a sigh. “That was weird right?” 

Felix’s brow crinkled. “What, your promise, or the ranking of getting bitches?” Tilting your head, you told him without telling him, and he released a breath. “Yeah, it was a little weird.”

Tossing your hands up, he was quick to snatch them back. “I knew it, I-”

“We know Chan. It was… just a joke.” Felix bobbed his head, pieces of white blonde hair brushing his freckled cheeks. “If we’re being honest, he’s got the most charisma, doesn’t he? Horrific name bitches aside, he knows how to get and secure a girl. You’re on his lap for Christ sake.” 

Your stomach twisted in what you assumed were butterflies. “Yeah, I am,” you whispered, giving him a look. 

He bounced your hands on his lap. “You are, and you guys are cute. Besides, he’s a big, loud man who owns sleeveless shirts.”

You leaned in to him, mumbling, “Do you see his arms?”

His eyes bugged out of his head. “Do I see his arms, are you kidding? They take up all the space in the room, I swear to God if he doesn’t start throwing you around-”

Your phone buzzed in the pocket of your shorts stealing your attention. Slipping it out of the denim hugging your hips you tapped at the screen and felt your heart lodge in your throat.

“What happened?” Felix asked, looking between you and Jihyo, the two of them having their own side conversation.

Eyes growing wider as you read the tiny black words on the screen, a grin broke out onto your cheeks. Whirling around on the couch, almost knocking straight into Jeongin who sat forward to talk to Changbin and Nayeon, you met eyes with Seungmin who held onto his phone just the same.

He was already looking at you, brows low, eyes unreadable.

“What’s wrong?” Jihyo asked from the floor, crawling over to Felix's lap on her knees. She propped an elbow up on his thigh as Felix took your phone from you.

Deep voice mumbling, he read aloud, “Dodgers designated hitter, Shohei Ohtani, a confirmed start for tomorrow's game… Roberts claims he’ll pitch one inning… The star hasn’t pitched in an MLB game since 2023 due to elbow surgery…”

Seungmin's smile grew, one that didn’t reach his eyes but still hit you with a spark as he shook his head. 

“Ohhh, she loves that man,” Jihyo sang, grabbing the back of Felix’s hand to turn the screen toward her as well, “Lemme see his face.”

“Mister Hot and Sexy,” Felix murmured, leaning down to lay his head on top of hers as they scrolled through the article on your phone screen.

Seungmin, with his eyes still on you, he knocked back the rest of his beer and stood on his feet. Waiting for all of three seconds, he blinked, broke his gaze from you, and took himself into the kitchen, vanishing through the doorway. Jumping to your feet your friends sprung up straight, their wide eyes taking you in.

“Where you going?” Jihyo asked.

You nodded toward the kitchen. “Gonna get a drink.”

Felix tilted his head ever so slightly. “Want one of us to go with you?” “Seungmin’s in there, I’m good,” you said.

They both parted their lips and shut them at once, Felix asking, “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you breathed, reaching forward to snatch your phone from his hands.

“Awh, man,” Jihyo muttered, swatting at his hip. “Look him up on your phone, I wasn’t done with his face.”

Pulling his screen out he handed it over to her and shouted after you, “Grab me a seltzer!”

Wobbling over Jeongin’s legs he didn’t move, stepping over Nayeon in Changbin’s lap, the three of them dogpiling Hyunjin with laughs and teases and jokes you didn’t have half the mind to focus on, you hurried through the doorway and caught Seungmin right as he slammed the fridge closed. 

Turning to you with a smirk pulling at his lips, at the sight of you standing with both of your hands tucked politely behind your back, he twisted the top off a beer and shrugged, hands flying out at his side. “Have at it.”

Your knees almost hit the floor. Stumbling toward him in dramatics, fingers knotting into your hair, you hit his shoulder with yours– jumping to do so, and shouted, “I told you!”

Seungmin took the damage, pretending to topple over before catching himself on his feet. Face still unbothered, he sipped his beer and scrunched up his nose. “Technically, you didn’t tell me, you assumed something and it just so happened to come true.”

“Assumed, yes,” you confirmed, peeking into the fridge, pulling out a seltzer to crack open. “Was I right?” you asked with a cackle, sipping the bubbles, “Yes!”

Seungmin pulled his lips into a small smile. With one hand he hopped off of the floor and onto the counter, Adidas sneakers dangling half foot away from the floor. Beer bottle pressed to half smiling lips, he watched you pace the linoleum floor, hands flying a mile a minute.

“No one knew for sure if he was ever going to go back to pitching, you’re gonna tell me that Roberts had full confidence the entire time? Hell to the fuck no!”

Seungmin shook his head, encouraging you. “To the fuck no.”

“That man lived in fear,” you lowered your voice, stepping closer to him, “In fear that his star player was not going to make it back onto the mound, when we all know damn well that trade happened because he wanted him back out on that mound.” The space between you grew smaller. “With all the goals he’s been hitting? The history he’s been making? Anyone who knows anything about baseball knows Shohei Ohtani. My cousins know about him, and they are way out of the loop of anything happening on this planet.” The denim of his jeans brushed your knee. “He’s a star. And he’s back.” 

Seungmin waited a second, then opened his mouth. “And you…”

Your arms shot up, some seltzer spilling from your can onto the floor. “I told you so!”

Defeated, he laughed, tipping his head backward. “You told me so, you win.” He glanced down at you, whipping your phone out, tapping through your notes. “Oh god,” he groaned within a laugh, trying to shove your phone away with his beer, dripping condensation all over your hands, “I believe you, okay, I believe you, you win, you said it-”

“On December 11th, 2024, I told Seungmin this season would be the season Shohei Ohtani has his Dodgers pitching debut,” flickering your determined eyes up to meet his and his giggles, you whispered, “And he said, and I quote, ‘Ohtani pitching debut my ass’.”

Seungmin's shoulders slumped. “I can’t believe you wrote it down.”

Locking your phone, you smiled proud, sliding it into your pocket. Sipping your drink, you leaned into him and winked. “I foresaw the prophecy, I had to have proof.”

Giving you a wild look, he leaned forward, inches between your noses. “I never doubted your prophecy.” Brown eyes blinked at you, dark lashes fluttering against cream colored skin. “You’re usually right.”

Quiet settled around you both. Chatter rang from the doorway, mere feet away, yet it felt much further. In the kitchen alone, away from prying eyes, jarring comments, any type of perception, your heart rate seemed to slow. Consciously settling into your body, the cold from the can in your hand, the clothes on your body, shorts and a big tee, the hair pulled up on your head, wisps tickling your neck and shoulders… 

“We should just stay in here,” Seungmin whispered, his fingertips drawing circles in the water droplets on his bottle. Softness, a voice fit to comfort. 

You gulped, shrugging. “It’s not bad out there.”

His brow creased slightly. “Tell that to your shoulders that finally relaxed.”

You clenched your jaw. “Shut up. Everything is fine.”

Studying one another for a moment, he blinked and sipped his beer, breaking his gaze. “You aren’t bitches, yanno,” he said quietly with a smack of his lips, “They’re all acting like jerks tonight.”

Closing your eyes, you breathed through a laugh. “It’s fine, we’re fine. Chan and I, it’s… new. Really new, it doesn’t need to be so serious, we-”

“He seemed pretty proud to be number one,” Seungmin grumbled with a pop of his brows. 

“Yeah, well, it was a stupid, like, joke,” you sputtered, taking three steps back as he jumped off the counter, towering over you, “They do shit like this, like all the time, i-it didn’t bother me.”

Seungmin stared at you. He sipped his beer. He bobbed his head, once. “Sure.”

Swatting at his chest, you pursed your lips. “I’m serious. It’s fine.”

“Okay,” he said. 

“Seungmin.”

“You wanna add to the note that I said you’re always right,” he offered with a tilt of his head.

With a gasp all discomfort wiped from your face. “Yes, oh my god, oh my god,” you muttered, working your phone out again. “Documenting this, forever, and ever… On June 15th, 2025, Seungmin told me…” Mumbling through the rest, phone shoved back into your pocket, you snapped your head up to find him waiting in front of you with another seltzer in his hand. You blinked.

“For Felix,” he said.

“Oh, right,” you sighed, taking it from him. “How did you…”

“I heard him,” he smiled.

“Oh, thanks, I would’ve totally forgotten.”

He simply nodded his head. “You know, I think Hyunjin likes him.”

The corners of your lips pricked upward. You knew a couple secrets yourself. “Good to know,” you whispered.

And then the quiet came back. A mix of comfort, and calm, not like the silence you’d have with Chan, the type you always felt the need to fill, the pressure to take up space, a silence like pins and needles against your brain. 

Not here.

Not with Seungmin.

He’d be the first to break it.

“Can I ask you something?”

You whispered, “Of course.”

“If Ohtani pitches another game-”

“Oh-who-ee?!”

Heart leaping into your throat, your body spun around in an instant. Swaggering through the doorway, cheesy smile on his face, Chan’s eyes spit back and forth between you and Seungmin.

“Ohtani,” you shouted with a laugh, holding open your arms. He sunk right into them, his wrapping around your waist, body weight rocking you back and forth. “We’ve been over this, it’s Oh-tah-nee.”

Chan nuzzled his nose into your neck and dug his fingers into your sides, crippling you with giggles as he tickled you. “What is it?” He laughed with you, keeping you on your feet. “What’s his name?”

“Ohtah-,” you gasped, wriggling around like mad, “Sho-Shohei, Ohtani!”

“You know, you keep saying it, but it just sounds like Mister Hot and Sexy.”

His tickling ceased, his hands scooping beneath your shoulders to hold you up while you caught your breath and your footing. Cheeks cramping from smiling, you groaned aloud.

“He is Mister Hot and Sexy.”

Chan raised a brow. “Sure you not thinking ‘bout me?”

“Stop,” you broke into giggles again, skin flushing. Turning to your left, shock evading your being because Seungmin was still here–

He wasn’t.

Looking at Chan, like he was expecting, he widened his eyes and gave you a tight lipped smile. “Come on,” he said, wrapping a hand around one of your wrists, yanking you toward the living room. 

Back on his lap, having weaved back over legs and a Changbin that now laid flat on the floor for some reason, Chan had one hand sliding up and down your back and the other resting on your legs. He spoke with Jihyo, still on the floor, while Felix sipped his seltzer that you dropped into his lap and sideeyed her.

Business as usual. Talkative friends, loud laughter, pulsing music, crude jokes, the tensing of your shoulders as the noise grew—

No.

Forcing them down, ignoring how the noise all meshed together in your head, one big jumble that stood before you and screamed bloody murder in your face—

No.

Squeezing your eyes shut, sucking in a deep breath, one of Chan's hands gave you a squeeze, somewhat grounding you back in the room. He shifted beneath you, his body bouncing. He was laughing.

Tuning back into the noise, eyes narrowing to focus on one voice, maybe the loudest, or the shrillest, you couldn’t choose, but you didn’t really have much of a choice, the voice chose for you, Minho spoke.

“My place. Everyone’ll be there,” he said with a raise of his beer he’d gotten up a few minutes ago to grab. One for him, one for Jisung.

How long have you been sitting here?

Hollers of invites being accepted echoed around the couches.

Even Chan curled his lip with a sideways smile and pressed his fingertips into your curves. “We’ll be there.”

Leaning into him, you whispered, “Where?”

His eyes glazed over your lips. “Minho’s, this Friday.”

“For what?”

“A party.”

Your brows furrowed. “Why?”

Chan cracked a laugh. “To… party, I dunno. Some summer thing, one big graduation party or something.”

“Who’s gonna be there?”

You didn’t miss the gentle roll of his eyes.

“Everyone, he just said it, damn.” He covered his words with a laugh, and then within seconds the room began to scream bloody murder again, directly in your face.

You lost endless minutes. Tapping in and out of conversations, barely hearing half of what everyone said. Jokes misunderstood yet laughed at anyway, generous nods during discussion you couldn’t even place what for…

A hand wrapped around yours.

“Hey,” a voice warm and deep spoke. Blinking, you find sunshine. “You okay?” He’d scooted across the floor, now sitting at Chan's feet. 

The screaming bloody murder stopped.

It’s as if someone turned the volume down significantly.

Swallowing, you nodded. “Yeah,” you whispered, and Felix tried to nod with you.

“Okay.”

He didn’t go far, but he did move away. Watching him slide back to Jihyo, your throat tightened. Chan’s hands gripped your thigh. He’d thrown his head back, laughing again, and in the background, Jisung laughed too.

Minho’s on Friday for a party. Everyone will be there.

The beat of the music laid on top of your skin. Chan moving beneath you, rocking you with him, you couldn’t breathe. He wouldn’t stop moving. It’s not like he did it on purpose, he was just talking, he wasn’t rocking you around as if he wanted to, and it’s not like you were moving that much anyway, but his hands didn’t squeeze you hard enough, and though they were careful, respectful– they were too loud. Every brush of his hand, it screamed.  Bobbing around, like he didn’t care you were sitting on him, touching you mindlessly, claps of laughter from all angles of the room, multiple mouths, and what the hell were they talking about?

You missed it again.

You weren’t paying attention.

It screamed, it all screamed, so fucking loud, nails on a chalk board, high pitched squeaking gears, nails hammering into the hardest of woods, fists banging on hollow metal–

“C’mon.”

A hand laced with yours, like before.

Felix.

Glancing up, Jihyo stood behind him, eyes trained on you.

You moved fast, swiftly, a ghost simply floating to her feet. 

Chan sat forward, leaning over his knees. “Where are you going?” His hands opened in front of him.

The party moved on.

Felix gave him a look as he shifted you between him and Jihyo. “We’re leaving.”

Chan’s brows screwed together. “What?” He reached for your seltzer that now sat on the coffee table. “Nuh-uh, she’s still got a drink, you’re not leaving.” Meeting your eyes over Felix’s shoulder, he stood up and smiled. “Thought you were gonna stay over.”

“I- I- I can’t, I-”

Eyes flashing around the room, your jumble of words fell flat when they latched onto Seungmin. Beside Hyunjin, who cozied up in his arms chatting with Changbin, he looked at you. Watched you. No hint on his face whatsoever to give away what went on inside his head.

Felix tipped his chin up and shot Chan a grin. “We’re going now. Thanks for having us, this was fun.”

You barely took a step down the hall.

Hyunjin shouted, “Wait, you’re leaving?” But, he was only worried about Felix. He’d flung himself out of Seungmin's arms, the boy nearly on the floor with how worried he was about Felix.

Felix smiled, drove his gaze around the room that’d now gone silent, and said, “Yeah. We’re leaving.”

“Bye guys,” Jihyo said, slipping her hand around your wrist, the perfect squeeze.

A safe squeeze.

A, you’ll be out of here soon, squeeze.

‘Bye’s’ and ‘See ya’s’ flew around the space as you and your friends shuffled toward the hall, Chan hanging behind you like a shadow, Hyunjin sliding off the lounge chair with another, “Wait!”

Stepping aside at the doorway, Felix slipped around a corner that Hyunjin tumbled into, leaving Jihyo, and Chan, walking with you toward her car. Halfway down the lawn she released your hand, gave you a look over her shoulder, but kept walking. Big eyes you couldn’t read.

“You running away from me?” He laughed, but the question stung.

Facing him, stomach flopping over, you took a breath. “Course not.”

He pulled his full lips into a pout, swaggering into your energy, both of his hands taking to your face, your cheeks. His thumbs, they drug under your lashes. He took steady breaths. His brown eyes melted into yours. His voice had softened tenfold.

A different man outside than he was inside.

With a tilt of his head, he asked, “Did something happen?”

“No,” you breathed, lying through your teeth. 

Though, to think about it, what was it that happened? How were you to describe to him what it felt like to sit there? How would he ever understand that his favorite past time, the hours he could spend in there, that yours came with a time limit? An hour glass full of sand, and once that final grain slipped through the neck it’s like the bell tower struck midnight, leaving you with minimal time to get out, to escape, or else everyone would find out.

“Jihyo has to work tomorrow, we all came together, it just… We gotta go.”

Chan stared. Then, at once, he gulped, nodded, and leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead. “I get it,” he sighed, pulling away. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Hey, hang on,” a quiet laugh slipped from your lips. Grabbing onto the collar of his tank, you yanked him back into you, bodies bumping together. A smile corrupted his cheeks. “We have all summer, why rush it?”

He frowned. “‘Cause I really wanted you to stay tonight.”

“Aren’t Han and Minho staying over?”

He nodded. “Changbin and Nayeon, too.”

Pursing your lips, you tapped his shoulders and drug your hands up to his cheeks, like he held you before. “Then you have plenty of people to keep you company.”

Closing the space between you, he whispered, “They can’t do what you do.”

As much as it lit a fire within you, almost persuading you to stay, it struck a nerve.

Bitches.

“That’s the only reason you want me to stay,” you said just as he went in for a kiss.

Your words paralyzed him for a solid two seconds.

“It did bother you,” he huffed, stepping backward.

You took a step closer. “Chan, no, that wasn’t a big deal, you guys were joking-”

“Nah, nah, nah,” he laughed and walked up the grass. His tone hurt. “Nothing happened, nothing's bothering you, you don’t wanna stay ‘cause Jihyo has to work even though you’ve been saying for two days that you can’t wait to stay, I get it.”

Felix hopped out of the house, the front door still wide open. Hyunjin and Seungmin filed out moments after.

“You guys going, too?” Chan tossed a hand toward them.

Hyunjin, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, wore a dazed smile. “Yeah,” he answered matter of factly, glancing at Felix who hurried your way and snatched you by the wrist. He pulled you toward Jihyo’s car, she’d parked it in front of the driveway, waiting for you two.

Seungmin found you the second his feet hit the porch. Hands in his pockets, trailing behind his friend, head hung low, he met your eyes and clenched his jaw. Once in Felix’s hold, he shot a glare at Chan, and didn’t even say goodbye.

Hyunjin gave him a hug, shook Chan back and forth, thanked him for the drinks, but Seungmin… Seungmin gave him nothing.

With a vengeance Felix pulled the passenger door open and moved you inside, shutting it gently. 

Your lungs squeezed within your chest.

Jihyo tapped a nail against the steering wheel.

Your heart twisted.

She took a deep breath, mirroring how the cool air blasted out the vents on the dashboard, like the engines on a jet plane.

Felix flung the backdoor open and jumped on the leather. His feet rustled against water bottles on the ground, his fingers drug against the fabric of the seats, it sent a chill down your spine.

You couldn’t swallow.

You needed to, and you couldn’t.

Your skin, nails on it appealed to you, but it was a bad idea.

You wanted to crawl out of it, come into anew.

“Someone is Seung-pissed,” Jihyo mumbled, and Felix hummed in agreement, clicking his seatbelt, watching the other two get into Seungmin’s car.

 “Very much so,” he muttered, and they shared a look. “Lets go to my house, no one’s home.”

Jihyo pointed her gaze toward you. “Felix’s good?” She’s learned to train her face, but you could see through her. She kept a strong facade though behind it lived concern. “Used that last tea spoon for that, didn’t you?” She cocked her head out the window, at Chan shutting his front door.

Tears welled in your eyes.

Your joints locked.

Each breath in and out of your nose, shallow.

Your hands trembled, until Felix sat on the edge of his seat and laid his arm over the center console.

He didn’t have to say anything.

Grabbing onto it, one hand squeezing his wrist, the other tugging at fingers, you sunk down in the passenger seat and cried.

And they let you.

And they didn’t ask what was wrong.

Felix let you know he was there, an occasional curl of his fingers over yours, his other hand grabbing the back of your seat, right by your shoulder, not touching you, but touching you.

Jihyo gave you small smiles while they talked quietly to one another, while she drove. They involved you in the conversation, and when you didn’t answer, or if you mustered up the energy to give them a nod, they didn’t ask more from you.

They understood you were here, present in the car, you could hear them, you could feel them.

Even arriving at Felix’s, without so much as a word from you, he pulled open your door and followed Jihyo up the few steps to his front door. Pulling his keys out of his back pocket, shoving them in the lock, Jihyo wrapped an arm around your shoulders when you joined them on the stairs.

Stepping over the threshold, cool air spreading over your skin, the quiet in the house soothing your jagged edges, you took yourself straight to the kitchen and pulled a water bottle from the fridge.

“Grab me one? Please?” Jihyo asked, circling through the living room, kicking her shoes off at the sink as she lathered her hands with soap and pulled the faucet on with her wrists.

A simple task.

You finally smiled, something small.

She needed you.

Tucking her bottle under your arm, you cracked yours open and took a sip, the cold a subtle reset.

“Who wants the Mark Gonzales hoodie?!”

“ME!” Jihyo shouted, shaking her hands over the sink. Groaning, she rolled her shoulder back and sighed. “Think I have to shower.”

Up the stairs and down a short hallway, you padded into Felix’s bedroom and Jihyo took over his bathroom. Over beige carpet you tiptoed and dropped the bottles of water on his bed. 

“She okay?” Felix asked, speaking within the room, voice low, comforting. 

Turning to him, taking the sweats he held out for you, a soft pair too big for you, with a matching hoodie to go with it, you nodded. “Washed her hands, but wanted to shower.”

“Valid,” he whispered, slipping his shirt over his head, tossing it into the hamper behind his door. Following suit, you stripped down and jumped into his clothes that hung off of you. Clothes that made you feel like you could breathe again. “You doing okay?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, crawling onto his king sized mattress. Sitting back against his pillows, sipping from your water, you caught his eye and almost laughed at the look he gave you. “I am.”

Slipping into sweats that his t-shirt hung over, he said, “I’m talking about Chan.”

“Let’s talk about Hyunjin,” you smiled, and he scoffed.

With a grin he rolled onto his bed. “Let’s not.”

“How come?”

He wriggled himself beside you and laid his head on your shoulder. “Because.”

You sunk down on the pillows and turned to face him. He let you wrap an arm around his waist and tangle your leg around his.

“Because, why? I thought you liked him.”

“Shh,” he hushed, pressing his nose against your jaw. “She’ll hear you.”

The shower turned off and you both giggled.

“Think she heard me,” you whispered.

Felix slid his arms through the pocket on the hoodie you wore. “We can’t tell her.”

The bathroom door opened. In a towel, Jihyo rushed into the room and let it fall to the floor.

“Hoodie,” she said.

Felix lifted an arm, gesturing to the top of his dresser. “Over here.”

“Why can’t we tell her?” you asked in a whisper.

Pulling the hoodie over her wet hair, Jihyo popped her head out wearing furrowed brows. “Tell me what?” She opened a drawer, stealing a pair of shorts.

Felix moved his head so you could see him, the look on his face hysterical. Lowered brows, downturned lips, pouty cheeks.

Switching the lights off, Jihyo hurried across the carpet and snuggled up behind Felix. She pulled the blankets up, covering the three of you, and settled into the pillows. Her arm flung over his waist, below yours, your elbows looping together, and her leg stretched over top of him to hook around your waist.

“Mm,” she hummed. “Goodnight.”

Felix snickered. “She forgot already.”

“Did not,” Jihyo snapped. “You guys are just gonna ragebait me before telling me, and I’m not dealing with it. I’m protecting my energy.”

“Protecting my energy,” you whispered within a laugh. 

Felix’s groan turned into a moan aloud. “I like Hyunjin.” 

At once, both you and Jihyo shook the bed, shouting, “I KNEW IT!”

Felix grabbed you both and pinned you back down. “No! Don’t, please, don’t, I can’t deal with it, I can’t understand him, I don’t even know if he likes me like that-“

“He seemed to like suckin’ face,” Jihyo laughed. Felix gasped, shoving her.

“Seungmin said he likes you,” you said, and they froze.

Rolling to his stomach, whacking you and Jihyo in multiple places doing so, Felix and his messy hair looked at you with hope. Hope he so obviously wanted to swallow and keep to himself.

“Is that what you guys were talking about in the kitchen? Felix and Hyunjin?” Jihyo asked, her hair staining the pillows with wet patches. Felix didn’t move. “You were in there for a while, I didn’t think you were ever coming back.”

“We weren’t in there that long,” you rolled your eyes, missing the look they shared, again. “We were talking about Ohtani, he pitches tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Felix smiled, “I know you’re excited.”

“I am,” you said quietly, reaching up to fix strands of blonde that stood straight up on his head, “But he told me that he thinks Hyunjin likes you.”

He flopped headfirst into the pillows with a groan. “What,” you sneered.

Jihyo pursed her lips, and mouthed at the same time Felix said, muffled by pillows, “Thinks he like me is so much different than knows he likes me.”

“Invite him over tomorrow,” Jihyo shrugged.

Felix sat up faster than ever before. Grabbing her by the collar of his hoodie she wore, his nose almost grazed her cheek. “Are you insane, why would I do something like that, we’ve never hung out like that.”

You scoffed. “You guys are making out, Lix, he can come over.”

“So can Seungmin,” Jihyo said, and you glanced at her. She was side-eyeing you. “Tell them it’s for the game, or something.”

Narrowing your eyes, you started, “Seungmin would be coming for the game, I don’t-”

Felix whipped his head back and forth between you, eyes pleading with someone to make a decision.

“Then it’s perfect,” Jihyo cut you off, wearing a smug smirk. “Seungmin and Hyunjin are coming over tomorrow. Are we all okay with that?” Her hands lifted into the air, awaiting a response.

Meeting eyes with Felix, the two of you shrugged and nodded.

You said, “Seungmin’s gonna want to watch the game, so-”

“Great,” Jihyo cut you off again, “Seungmin and Hyunjin are coming over.” Sealing her sentence with definitive looks to either of you, she twisted away and buried herself under the blankets. “Goodnight!”

Pulling your lips tight, both you and Felix holding in giggles muttered, “Goodnight!”

home - - - inbox

That feeling when you know the good streak is going to end soon. The suspicion that things are going too well. Chan felt it in his trainee days every time he got closer to success before being pushed back. He feels it when the day goes too perfectly in the studio and rehearsal, all for Chan to feel a sickness overtake him or one of the boys. He feels it in the sound of joy and the feeling that pairs with it, followed by the dread of knowing this high will wane off.

That dread followed him into sleep, and was only bated by the girl who he took into his arms each night.

Chan had once found comfort in the sound of an airplane engine from the inside seating. It meant he was doing something new, being somewhere new and exciting. Getting to see the world and explore what it had to offer was his specialty.

All that fills his stomach is that familiar dread. He finds himself wanting to hide from the world, because as of right now, you've fallen victim to his lifestyle.

Staff had informed Chan when the plane was refueling for the journey from Seoul to Milan of something out of nightmare. Of all the things that staff could've informed Chan of, he would've rather preferred that all of the luggage was lost in transit to the loading station.

They'd tried to be as calm and placating as possible, he'll give staff that. Not that Chan is easily angered so long as something can be resolved with communication. However, when he saw the look on their faces, it was all over.

You were on the plane, curled up in your seat in a cocoon of a throw blanket and his black distressed hoodie. Peaceful, an image of bliss with the hood drawn up over your face.

Staff had handed him a phone. Said phone had a simple picture. If it was a third party viewing, they'd have no idea what they were seeing. However, Chan knew better. That picture was taken from a strange angle, perverse and unbeknownst to the two subjects in the photo. A high angle from something like a building or a parking complex. Those subjects were you and Chan, a snapshot taken hours earlier when you and Chan were coming out of the company van before boarding.

It was unmistakably Chan in that photo, it couldn't be hidden. His blonde fringe was peaking out of his black Chrome Hearts beanie. There was a lack of people aside from staff and you-- sweet and innocuous to the photo as you clamber out of the van behind him. Empty handed, and Chan holding your carry on with a small Wolf-Chan keychain hanging off the zipper.

Worst of all, he's holding your hand. His eyes are forward, a small content look on his face. You look all sleepy and lax. It's such a simple action, barely anything that anyone should care for. But suddenly, your hand in his feels like the end of the world.

Not for him, but for you. Which you may never recover.

It's a dark photo. It's pixelated and rough and it still had Chan's heart sinking to stomach in such a fast decline, he'd rushed to the bathroom to dry heave over the bowl. He's thankful that Fendi had provided Chan with a private jet for Fashion Week. Chan doesn't know if he could've handled any more prying eyes than the one's on the internet who must've been dissecting that picture.

When he'd come back from the bathroom, and down the aisle to his seat, staff is already looking at him. He rubbed his clammy palms on his sweatpants and reclined in his seat. He hates the look on their faces, equal parts pity and "I knew this was a bad idea". Love was never a bad idea when it came to you.

You, who is still sleeping soundly. Who won’t wake up until Chan says so, to let you keep as much peace to yourself as possible.

You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve any of what is waiting after this flight.

That was hours ago. And naturally, Chan has been a ticking time bomb with his head in his hand against the armrest of his seat. He couldn’t work on his beats. Music was just a reminder of why he was in this situation in the first place. That was the cruelty of being an idol, a suffering he never thought he’d feel.

Chan yearned for love for so long, and you fell into his lap like a blessing. Would it be taken away? Would the damage be too much to mend?

The jet is landed on the private strip, but there’s a week ahead of him with interactions and paparazzi. There’s fans and detractors. News outlets and media and messages and—

“Sweetheart…? We’re landed.” Be a leader. Do it for her. Be her brave man.

Chan’s voice tries to coax you away, running a crooked finger over your cheek. That was something constant, his comfort. He’d never give that up, he felt he was doing something right in this moment of strife in his mind. He pulls the hood back of your, no, his hoodie and watches your eyes go back and forth under your eyelids before they crack open to the harsh interior lighting.

It makes his chest hurt and his throat ache. You’re too peaceful for the news he’s about to don on you.

“Hey…” you whisper, voice all tired and rasped with sleep. Chan smiles lopsided, a boyish grin that wavers at the corners of his mouth. Be brave.

“Sleeping beauty… All good?”

“All good…”

God, he feels like the biggest bastard on planet Earth. Does someone have information on you by now? Are there netizens wishing ill upon you? Do they even know who you are, maybe someone found your private socials. What if they found your family, your job—

“Channie…? Are you good?”

You’d sat more upright while Chan’s eyes turned vacant and distant, like he was looking past you. He realizes his smile is vanished, the tips of his ears feel hot and pounding with the rush of blood. And if there’s one thing Chan isn’t, it’s a liar. He can be cheeky. He can tease. But this? This isn’t something he can shield you from. And that terrifies him to his bones.

You repeat his name again, more serious as you say “Chris?” and put a hand over his. He’s shaking like he’s been left in sub-zero temperature. But his temperature feels hot and clammy.

The sound of staff unloading his and your carry ons is like white noise. He feels like his clothes are touching him funny. His knee is bouncing a bit. And you’re still looking at him with those heartbreakingly soft eyes.

Your eyes look to staff, men and women who refuse to meet eyes with you. And that speaks volumes. Something’s wrong, they just carry on as if they know this behavior of Chan’s will take a minute to recoup. Your hand finds his, remembering an off-time something similar to this happened before.

Chan had come off stage after a performance and just slumped against you. Shaking. Vacant eyes, like now. Like if he didn’t focus on breathing, he’d forget how.

So, there you go. Taking his hand into his and rubbing soothingly.

“Hey, hey… Chris, look at me… Breathe, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You tell him to breathe, and Chan feels like it suddenly becomes harder. Because you can see he’s a wreck. You’re not supposed to see him like this, he’s supposed to take care of you, of everyone. He nods, hurried and childish, his eyes looking down at your hand. You said, “I’m not going anywhere”, but Chan doesn’t know if that’ll ring true in a few hours.

It’s just you and him, he ignores the sound of staff talking about him and what they should do with the situation in low voiced Korean.

“Chris… Talk to me, what happened?”

You’re such a sweetheart. Sweetheart. He knew he chose right in giving you that nickname years ago. You loved the Australian lilt in the way he said it, and he loved the way it made you permanent in his life. You’re so fucking sweet, you don’t even think for a second that something utterly terrible just happened.

Chan takes a deep breath, lungs filling and deflating in a few seconds. Rattling. How does he say this to you? How does he tell you that for the first time in his life, he might fail in protecting someone he loves? His voice comes out weaker than he expects it to, like a wince.

“There’s… they found out.”

He’s met with silence. A soft murmur from staff pretending to busy themselves with cleaning out the jet cabin. They’re really just making sure Chan doesn’t pass out on them.

You stop that sweeping motion of your thumb over his hand. He feels when you squeeze his hand for a millisecond. Such a sweetheart— you don’t need him to explain. Not when you’ve had conversations like this before. “Finding out”. It made it sound like the love that you both shared was something wrong. Illicit. Perverse.

Chan watches that fear spark in your face. He knows all your little tells, because now you’re not even looking at his own face anymore. But in a miracle from above, that little sweeping motion of your thumb starts up again. You’re comforting him.

“Alright… Okay, um… H-How did they… Walk me through it.”

He blinks twice. You’re an insane and stupidly amazing woman. He almost wants to laugh. He could’ve told you the sky was falling and you’d just… ask for the prognosis?

“Someone, um… took a, uh… a picture. At the airport, in the back lot… Staff is trying to trace the person back, um… Y-You can’t really see you very well, but I am holding your hands and luggage, which someone is totally going to research and stalk into—”

You coughed a laugh. A beautiful sound bubbling out of you that gives Chan a reprieve from his turmoil. A few heads of staff look at you warily. His eyes narrow, roving over you as a nervous, grimaced smile appears on his face.

“I’m sorry?” he says, voice cracking at the end.

“N-No, I’m… I’m sorry, even… Even when our relationship is leaked… you’re putting yourself first.”

“Don’t. Don’t start, sweetheart.”

Chan knows where you’re going with this, and you still sit upright all noble and so damn wonderful.

“You remember the first time we talked about this?”

How could he not? You’d been dating for 3 months, but Chan had already knew it was serious. Something built and crafted carefully to last. He wasn’t letting you get away. You were so insane, waking up at all sorts of odd hours to walk with him when the boys were asleep after he’d brainstormed some lyrics or instrumentals.

You’d walk side by side to the Han River. The city was quiet and lit up with city lights on the horizon that looked like stars reflected back on the water. He’d told you being with him wouldn’t be easy. Loving him wouldn’t be easy, was what he wanted to say.

You’d looked up at him like he’d said the dumbest thing ever, and said a cheesy line about “not wanting it if it’s easy”.

Chan grinned all square and dimpled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head to assuage his nerves. He’d then told you that he’d have to treat you like a secret. That he couldn’t love you as freely as he wanted, but he wanted you nonetheless. Told you he knew it wasn’t fair and he understood if you wanted a way out.

You’d flicked his nose and called him stupid. You said you knew what you got yourself into the moment that he said he was an idol. You made it clear in your little declaration that you weren’t going anywhere when you said jokingly, staring into the dark water of the river, “Someone will have to pry you from my cold, dead hands”.

Smitten. Absolutely in love with you. He knew you were serious, that’s how you loved. With pure intentions and strength.

So as he looks upon you now, and you ask him if he remembers the terms you’d both set up, the mutual understanding of how this would all go? He nods. A bit shy for even thinking you’d turn away and cower from this. You duck your head a bit to meet his gaze and smile when he averts his eyes again.

“Yes, this is scary. Believe me, Channie, I’m… I’m really scared right now—”

“Please don’t be scared, sweetheart.”

“Channie. Listen.”

That quiets him. Lips faltering for a rebuttal to quell you. He doesn’t like the thought of you being in fear. But he listens anyhow, even with the underlying discomfort.

“I’m scared right now. This very… finite moment. I told you I knew what I was getting into… It was bound to happen, okay? A-And yeah, we didn’t get to announce on our own terms, but… It feels kind of freeing, doesn’t it? Liberating.”

You truly are insane. Any other sane person would be hyperventilating at the idea of millions knowing of their relationship. Something seen as “taboo” in the industry yet here you are again. Calling the murder of your livelihood liberating.

Chan shakes his head, already tasking for the worst. “The second we get back home, I… I can’t even begin to prepare you for the shitstorm that’s on its way.”

“I know, Channie…”

“The company, I-I’ll— I’ll work this out over the week here, they’ll issue a statement, they’ll say I was just helping a staff member out of the van in the picture— We’ll be okay, you’re okay… Sweetheart, I can’t lose you.”

Chan is a rambling mess and you see his face turn a bit pink. His brain is picking through every worst scenario to prepare for it. He doesn’t even want to check his phone to see what people are saying about you. People claiming to be Stays wishing the worst for you. For him.

“You’re not losing me, I’m not going—”

“You can’t promise that. Not when… Not when they might force us apart.”

He’s not talking about distance people behind a screen. He means the company. Chan’s seen it his fair share of times before, and while Chan is more than welcome to date under his contract… This could get messy. What if the boys are dragged into this? If people started blaming his Kids for menial things, what if his relationship with you breaks their careers?

He studied your silent face. That familiar, pensive look. His clever girl, he knows it all too well. It’s the same face when you’re figuring out a board game with him, or deciphering the layers of music on his laptop when he shows you his proud work.

“No one has that power over us.”

Simple words. Chan swears his breathing stops for a moment before he releases it with a desperate whisper of your name.

“Sweetheart, I… I can barely protect myself in this situation…”

“Let me protect us for once… I-I can’t talk to masses or… your company, but let me fight for us. I’m not letting you slip away,” you whisper into his skin as your lips come down onto his cheek, pulling back to see a small determination in Chan’s eyes.

Staff alerts him that they have ten minutes of personal time left before it’s time to go to claim luggage and head to the hotel. Right, the Fashion Week event. He was allowed to invite you with him, even if you couldn’t be seen with him. Or next to him. Or talk to him.

It all felt like an even bigger slight against you. Sweetheart, darling girl, who he wants to declare his love from the rooftops.

Chan’s eyes meet yours, and you give him your signature, beautiful yet halfhearted smile. You’re trying to soothe him; and damn you, it’s working a bit. Even if it’s just a fraction. All he can do is endure. That’s what he does best.

He takes opens his backpack from under his seat, pulling out a medical grade disposable mask. His fingers ghost your skin as he places the loops around your ears securely. Even concealed like this he’d recognize you from a mile away. You say nothing as he tugs your hood back over your head, cupping the back gently with small little scratches.

“Just look forward. Don’t talk to anyone. Security should be around you, you’ll be behind me. If… If anything happens that makes you uncomfortable, say my name. I don’t care, baby, just… It’ll be fast. Customs. Bags. Van. Hotel. We’ll work it out there, yeah?”

A hastily formulated plan that is utterly him. Diagnostic.

A your lips tighten into a thin line before you exhale off nerves and exhaustion.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

“I love you.”

Chan’s declaration is sudden and whispered. Like staff doesn’t deserve to hear it right now, his private tender moment. He doesn’t know why he says it other than the feeling that it fit right into the moment. You bring his knuckles up to your lips. A promise. You’ll be okay.

“I love you, Chris… I’ll be close by. Don’t worry about me.”

—

A shit show. Chan is familiar with those.

The first thing he sees through the glass after going through customs was a swarm of paparazzi, press, and fans welcoming him for the weeks ahead. Nothing out of the ordinary, just another airport arrival.

No, the problem was when you were spotted. And fuck, he’d forgotten that hoodie you were wearing was his.

Amidst the snapping of camera shutters and flashes, his heart is racing. He’s glad he too is wearing a mask on the lower half of his face, or you’d see how distraught he really was. Under the fabric of his tank top, his heart feels like it’s going to fly out of his chest.

Focus. Walk in silence. Make sure you’re safe.

The second thing Chan notices is that there’s more people than usual. Or maybe the walls of the airport in Milan are more narrow than he remembers. The provided security of four men suddenly seems like nothing. He does the math as he walks when his bags are handed to him:

You’re about 6 people away, tailing behind between staff and security. Don’t get distracted. I know you like sweets sweetheart, don’t look at the treats in the shops. God, I’ll buy you all the sweets you want when we’re at the hotel. Run you a bath and decompress to forget about this. Twenty minutes to the hotel, a ride should already be waiting.

The sound of people is louder. And the second Chan turns the corner and a guard opens the double doors of frosted glass, his heart sinks.

Cameras are naturally always on Chan. But for today especially, he wants them gone. Lenses, smartphones, all of it. Video equipment with recordings. A woman comes awfully close, to which he politely nods his head and continues walking.

More people swarm and he sees phones before he sees actual people. Security does their best to ward off these people, but he notices that with the amount of foot traffic, their entourage is moving slower. The sounds, the questions, the voices all grow more and more over time.

“Chris—”

His head is turned in a heartbeat. He doesn’t care if he makes a fool of himself, he’s stopped dead in his tracks and looking back for you with a bobbing head. His body is jostled by the movements of the tight fit, the arms of security banding away the swathes of onlookers.

Your head is down. You’re trying to move but you can’t. And someone has the audacity to grab at you by the arm? He’s cutting through his own people, ignoring how cameras are shoved into his face, ignoring how there’s so many bodies surrounding him as well. You’re being tossed around like nothing, a few phones trying to duck under your head, and Chan is with you in a millisecond.

“Don’t touch people, please,” he grits out as he forms a barrier between you and the people on your right side. Great. The crowd is held up, naturally as people wanted to convene to Chan. He has to add the formality of “please” as an afterthought. You’d want him to be polite. It’d be a meltdown if he said what he really wanted to.

What he wants to do is smack the phones out of every hand here and tuck you into his arms, walking out like a normal boyfriend would. He can’t afford that. Instead, his hand is ushered with a splayed palm between your shoulder blades. If Chan presses a bit into you to guide you further, he can feel the tension of your muscles.

The clamor of people asking him if this is staff or the “girl from the picture” irritates him to no end. Security was told by Chan himself to corral around you, not him. And for heavens sake, can someone figure out a way from this tight squeeze of a crowd?

Someone’s arm extends with a camera to catch a picture of Chan, and— SMACK! Right against the side of your head. The movement causes you to hiss in pain and fall into Chan. He watches your eyes squeeze shut and your eyebrows pinch in pain. And he’s seething.

“Absolutely not— We’re not gonna do that,” he mumbles under his breath as he gives a disapproving look to the man who is the culprit. His hand reaches out, rings on his fingers and all and shoves the camera lens away a bit roughly. It’s probably a thousand dollar camera lens, but you’re worth so much more. He can deal with the aftermath of that later.

I wanna smack that punk. Can I smack someone? Would you be okay with that? Probably not…

He’s then nodding a head to security to corral the man off. He keeps a tight arm around you, fingers itching to cradle your head to his chest. But he’s already doing so much, a display of affection would only make things descend further.

Nosy, mindless chatter about why Chan is being so protective of you. As if that should matter. He’d do that for any of the people around him. Instead, all that people care of is if this is his partner, either wanted to sneer or pry a glimpse into her.

Another hand reaches out with a phone and Chan doesn’t even think twice before wrapping an arm around your shoulder to shield you. It’s a bit forceful, and he’ll apologize profusely later, but it pulls you into his side. Chan mumbles a curse under his mask and his eyebrows turn taught together.

The motion of moving bodies in the cluster is much easier to maneuver now that they can pass through an opening directed by staff and security. He doesn’t look at you, but he keeps a steady hand on you. So much for laying low, but he could just stand by and let you get hurt.

The second the two of you get into the van that was sent outside of the airport, staff helping you in and loading luggage, he doesn’t say anything. He didn’t even stop for a photo-op. He doesn’t reply when staff asks if he wants water. White noise, an annoying pinching in the back of his ear.

And when the van is out of view, blacked out windows and all— Only then does he fuss over you, throwing off his mask.

He unbuckles his seatbelt, sliding across the back seat and hold you to him. Clammy hands cupping your face like a precious treasure. Your eyes frazzled and in shock, and it makes him whisper your name thrice into your hairline like a restoring prayer.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry— I was a total caveman back there, I had to grab you before anyone hurt you… You’re hurt aren’t you, from the cunt with the camera? Lemme see—”

Faster than the words can come out of him, Chan’s taking your mask off with gentle precision, but as fast as he can. Your hair is all mused when he draws back your hoodie, like a sleepy creature. But a few seconds ago you were just prey thrown into the den. He’s rifling his hands through your scalp, trying to see if you’ve got signs of bruising or bleeding where heavy equipment once stunned you.

“Tell me if it hurts— Fuck, fuck this shit. ‘M fucking pissed right now, sweetheart. I swear, if even a hair is missing here, I’m having words with everyone. Do you feel lightheaded… Can I get some water up here please?”

You look dazed, even with his soft touch, and Chan can’t tell if you’re going to sleep again or burst into a fit of nervous tears.

“Hey, hey, hey— Don’t do that, please— Talk to me, sweetheart.”

He brings his hands back down to cradle the sides of your face, keeping your eyes on him. That must’ve been intense and scary for you, he can’t even begin to imagine what’s going on in your head. You eventually clasp your hands over his wrists and let your forehead fall onto his shoulder, which makes Chan sigh in relief. At least you’re willing to be touched by him.

He slides his hands slowly up under the hoodie, under your shirt, to touch your bare skin. You’re safe. You’re okay. He doesn’t know if those internal words affirm him or you.

You lean into him, pressing your forehead into his neck. “I’m tired.”

“I know, my sweet girl… I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize,” you whisper, lips pressed into his neck and trailing down to his shoulder as you rest your cheek flat. Chan feels your breath over his skin. Evened out and calm, though a bit stilted.

“This is on me.” So quick to blame, he shakes his head and closes his eyes, holding you tighter and smoothing his hands over your spine.

“On you…? Because someone took a picture when you couldn’t control it?”

“I wish I could.”

“But you can’t, Channie…”

And he knows that all too well. His perfectionism consumes him sometimes, it bleeds into your relationship. Never touching you, but seeping into the ways that he can shelter you from the public.

Not like a secret. But something sacred in the profane of his eclectic life.

But he can’t. Simple words from you always feel the strongest, like he’s seeing the world in a whole new light. Like you’re some wise sage.

You’re not this unattainable being who’s out of his grasp. You’re right here. In front of him, with raucous laughter in a crowd that’s as contagious as your smile. Animals come to you in the street, and you immediately bend down to coo and pet. You have a way of looking at the world that proves to Chan that good things are all around.

He can’t do it perfectly, but he’ll try. Try his damn hardest to protect you even more, starting with talking to the company once you’re both home again.

Chan pulls back with pitiful eyes, smoothing his hands carefully over your head as they slide out from your clothes.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt…? You took a hit, hm? Sweet, brave girl…” Chan says as he smacks a kiss firmly onto your hairline. You hum and nod your head, just reminding yourself that no one’s taking him from you. Not a messy breakup through a company mandated NDA. Not a public statement. Not through apologizing to upset fans for being in love.

You look up at him and see every reason why you fell in love with him in the first place. His tact and grit. The concern and worry in his eyes. His soothing touch. How he loves with his whole chest.

“I-I had a welcome dinner for the event, but… Honestly, fuck that right now… I’ll send someone to represent me. You need me more— I need you.”

The van drives over bumps and cracks in the road, and it sways you against Chan. A small noise breaks in his throat and he wraps his arms around you, chin atop your head as the ride continues to the hotel.

—

Staying in the hotel room with you meant a complete detachment from any obligation that wasn’t… well, just you.

Fendi brand representatives were more than understanding of the situation, offering a box of sweets to send up to the room as temporary remedial support. You’d thought it was silly, a third party apologizing for something that wasn’t due to them.

You still accepted the box of pastries and cake, though.

Chan ran you a nice bath, as he’d promised to himself for you, sitting on the closed toilet lid and tracing his fingers over your back. He didn’t want to take his hands off you, not without thinking of the hands that were on you prior. Chan’s index runs down the back of your arm, where someone had attempted to pull you in that crowd.

You’ve got your knees tucked up to you, a plethora of lavender scented suds in the porcelain basin. Chan’s hands rake through your scalp to check for damage one last time before helping you dry off in a fluffy robe.

When it was Chan’s turn in the shower to clear his head, all he could think of was what to do with his anger. Letting the hot spray of water hit over him while you were probably lazing on the bed no doubt. You wouldn’t want him to hold onto his anger, but he couldn’t help it. When he was stripping to take his shower he was looking through all the buzz around you and him.

Photos from the airport. Saying Chan had a “meltdown”. Deep dives into who you might be, analyzing every minuscule detail to signs that you were always lingering under their noses. A clip of you getting hit in the head with the camera makes him want to gnaw on drywall until his teeth turn to sawdust.

He saunters out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, phone in hand and wet strands of blonde hair clinging to his forehead. Just as he presumed, you’re flipping through the room service menu, splayed out like a cloud.

You smile and turn a bit sheepish when you see his appearance. That lack of clothing that never fails to disarm you. He pushes his wet hair away from his forehead, and it sticks up in wild directions. Biting your lip, you singsong a “Hey, handsome.”

The tips of his ears turn red, but he just stares at you. Eyes darkened and expression sullen. Tired. Maybe it was the hot water, but you know he’s still thinking of earlier. How could he not?

“No updates from me. They don’t get a lick of a word from me for a while.”

Bubble. It sounds silly, but you know that’s the best punishment Chan can offer. It sends a message… or in this case, a lack thereof. You snort and sit upright, musing, “You’re doing the whole “punish-the-entire-class-for-three-people’s-wrongdoings” shtick, huh?”

The corners of his lips quirk upright, a dimple craters his face. “I mean it. This was an overstep. You know how much I hate that shit, baby…”

Chan huffs as he throws himself onto the bed, purring like a cat as he feels your nails rake up and down his skin. He closes his eyes, sighing the tension out of his body. His cheek is pressed against his folded forearms as he speaks.

“Sent some messages. People need to learn… Told them off a bit, took my picture down—”

“Your profile picture?” you interrupt, a small laugh escaping you as he frowns.

“It’s the best I can do without completely losing it on everyone.”

“Okay… okay, what’d you say in your messages?”

Chan opens his eyes and looks up at you, grunting as he sits up on his elbows to give you his phone. He was already in the Bubble app when he’d come out of the bathroom:

🫧 260223

🐺: It does not matter if I am with staff, a friend, the kids, a lover, etc. You do not behave like this. These people know who they are. You should know better, and it pains me to have to write this.

🐺: On a personal level, leave the people around me alone ffs. You’re here for the kids and I, not to push around the people in our lives. Do not write editorials on the people I hold dear to my heart. Don’t say bad things about my loved ones lol. I know them and you don’t.

🐺: My choices. My decisions. Accept them or don’t bother being a fan.

🐺: Diabolical.

🐺: Don’t stick your camera right in my face

🐺: Respect boundaries please

You look up from the phone and Chan isn’t looking at you anymore. Like he’s mulling over the thought of saying more on the messages. He pinches the lobe of his ear and rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

“As for you… I’ve already emailed the company. We’ll announce it properly that you’re my—”

“Christopher, are you serious—?”

“—That you’re the love of my life… You’re mine, and you’ve been mine, and this whole day has been insane, but I don’t want… I don’t want peace if it isn’t with you.”

Stunned to silence. This is a major step in his career, in his life. But it was bound to happen, even if it wasn’t on your own terms. He watches your mouth flounder for words and sits up on his elbows again, taking your hand in his.

“Sweetheart… You’re not some dirty secret, you never were… You’re not illicit, you’re mine. I’m tired of hiding the things I’m proud of. You’ve every piece of me, yeah? The ones that no one sees. They’ve just been for each other,” Chan leans against the headboard and brings your hand over his chest, your touch feeling how erratic his heart is beating. He’s just as nervous as you are, even when he’s taking the lead.

Your eyes soften, throat feeling a bit tight with emotion. “What if… What if it goes bad…?”

“Then it goes bad.”

You laugh, a bit of a wet sound now that glossy tears are starting to pool in your eyes. He smiles so delicately, closing his eyes as he gives you slow popcorn kisses on your cheek to make you feel better.

“I learned that from a girl once. She’s amazing. She taught me that sometimes things are out of my control.”

“She sounds badass.”

Chan grins, a hand cupping the back of your neck as he watches you wipe salty tears from your eyes in closed fists. “She is. And I’m gonna tell the whole world about her. But… there’s a few things I’m keeping private.”

His nose brushes yours as he chases your eyes for contact. You feel your face heats with his intensity. How does he still manage to look at you like you’re the only woman on planet Earth?

“What would that be, Christopher…?”

“Oh, it’s Christopher again now, is it?”

He playfully kisses under your jaw and brings you down to play with him on the bed, keeping his arms tethered around you as you writhe from the tickling of his wet hair on your face.

“Keeping these moments private. When I have you to myself… Just like this," he mumbles against your skin, breathing in the smell of your skin and expelling warm breath against it. You always smell like something fresh to him. Something cozy and intimate that he can't put into words. "They'll know you as my girlfriend. It'll be official. And Stay can get off my ass about me being lonely... Let's order some food, yeah? Think I finally built up an appetite."

The remainder of the night is spent with the hotel curtains drawn at the balcony. Ordering whatever sounds most appetizing on the room service menu, and cozying up next to each other while trying to figure out how the TV channels work.

All he's ever wanted is for your ultimate happiness. Sometimes factors of life get in the way of that, but you're a constant. His Kids are a constant.

Chan watches you happily munch on a burger on the bed, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Pets your head a little before puckering his plush lips to kiss you on yours mid chew, much to your chagrin as you groan and pull away. He takes a bite of a pizza slice.

"Channie, 'm eating..."

"Okay? Swallow and kiss me."

"That's what she said."

"Minx..."

You finish your bite and turn your head properly, looking up at him with expectant wide eyes. It makes Chan want to squish your face until your eyes pop out. Cuteness aggression.

Instead he leans in a bit, closes his eyes, and brings a hand under your chin to direct your lips onto his. In his mind, he thinks there's nothing more perfect than this, and that's coming from the master perfectionist. He trusts that you enjoy this longing kiss as much as he does when your lips move against his.

A small sound escapes him, like pure want. He pulls back before it goes any further and he swipes all this food away so he can satiate his other hunger.

“You’re incredible,” he breathes out, shaking his head as if he can’t believe you’re his. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger and you don’t even realize it. You just cozy back into his side and continue to eat, watching stupid infomercials and snuggling against him.

Chan’s arm comes over your shoulder and stays. Pulling you closer, like he can fuse into you.

This is the best he can do. Chan’s nervous for the future, as he often is. But with you feeling like this against him, it’s an exciting kind of nervous. What was that word you’d said— liberating. You’re always right, aren’t you?

New terrain is exciting. Even if it terrifies him. Because you’re not going anywhere, even if he’s haunted by the prospect of seeing people come and go from his life. He knows you’re the one that locked him down.

No obligations for the week ahead. He’ll go through his ambassador work. Take some interviews and pictures, an editorial video. And at night, in the late hour of Milan, that’s when he’ll come alive. He’s going to take you to that small restaurant you wanted to go to so bad. To see architecture and cobbled streets in golden lamppost light.

Chan burrows his nose into your damp hair, whispers a sweet nothing, and closes his eyes. You’re the peace he strived for. Even when it comes with a storm, he’ll chase it away.

Minho: Did something

Minho: If anything happened

Minho: Are you worried over finals?

Minho: Those papers are no match for you. Don’t stress over it too much

Minho: Changbin won’t say it to you, but he’s

Minho: Changbin is pouting about the song you wouldn’t listen to. Put him out of his misery, would you? He’s been working on it for months

Minho: Have you eaten?

Minho: You haven’t been spamming me with pictures lately

Minho: Did what Felix said scare you? Nothing has to change. We’ll wait for you

Minho: I know things have been

Minho: You don’t need to tell me, but

Minho: [Image of a cat, seemingly asleep sitting up.] This looks just like you.

Minho: I think Hannie needs

Minho: Hannie’s rut is coming up. He can get kind of

Minho: Hannie’s rut is coming up. He isn’t feeling great. If he could hear from you

Minho: Han’s rut is over. He should be back to normal now. Did he

Minho: Are you eating well?

Minho: I’m here whenever you’re

Minho: I’ll come straight to you if you

Minho: I had the same kinds of banchan you made me at the hotel today. Catering. None of them tasted right.

Minho: I had the same kinds of banchan you made me at the hotel today. There was a lot of vinegar in the

Minho: I’ll bribe you for your banchan recipe. This hotel room has a kitchen, so

Minho: Is it all of us? Or just one?

Minho: Is it me?

Minho: I’m not the best at advice. But if

Minho: Are you still working on that last book I sent you? Did your reading speed slow so much the moment you graduated?

Minho: Yah, if you really hate the book that much, then

Minho: I know you don’t like nonfiction. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. Next time, I

Minho: Seungmin’s voice cracked during sound check today. I’m telling you, since I know he won’t.

Minho: Seungmin said

Minho: Am I supposed to just act normal? Is that what you want?

Minho: Do you need space?

Minho: Is this enough space?

Minho: Today Jeongin said

Minho: Today I

Minho: It’s been a month since I’ve heard your voice

Minho: I saw a movie you’d like. Hyunjin

Minho: I saw a movie I think you’d like. It was pretty scary. I wrote the name down for you.

Minho: I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want

Minho: I looked up the name of the flower you asked me about, around when we first met. It was a naengi plant. I’m sorry I never told you.

Minho: Are you eating well?

You wake up in the circle of his arms, the sunlight playing in ribbons across your bedroom.

You pretend not to wake, really, not for several minutes even though it is well past your usual rising. You stay where you are instead and live a moment longer in your memory of last night. Instinct tells you that reality will catch up to you the moment you let it; lethargy keeps you half asleep, so that you may dream anyway.

It is only when Chan moves, sighing and pulling you closer, that you realise there is no need to live in the past. He is right here, chest against your back; the warmth of his skin still the same, his legs tangled with yours, and his hands-

“I can hear you thinking,” he says in your ear, his breath fanning softly across your face.

“You’re not even awake,” you say to him in return, squeezing his fingers with the hand he still holds.

“I was until you woke me up,” he grumbles, and presses his mouth to the hollow of your neck.

You can’t help the small noise that he elicts from you. “I wasn’t even – thinking anything bad.”

“Good,” he replies, and nothing more. He is too busy – his hands sliding over your skin and his mouth occupied with making your spine shiver and your stomach clench.

You turn before he can get any ideas, facing him just so that you can capture his mouth for yourself, explore the planes of his body as if you hadn’t already made endeavours to learn every inch. The cut of his muscle ripples and shivers under your touch, his mouth swearing at you for being a tease, even as he pulls you over the top of him, trapping him between your legs.

It is nice, the lazy morning light and the way that he moves so slow and languid underneath you. The way the world holds its breath for you on this one day, when normally it would call on you by now. It’s as if responsibilities don’t exist anymore, right up until the moment that he says;

“We should probably talk now.”

You have enough sense to know that that is the moment you’ve been trying to avoid. You sigh, and roll over to stare at the ceiling, the sweat cooling on your skin.

“Y/N,” he says before you can articulate a response. “I know we had a deal, and this doesn’t have to be-”

“As a leader,” you say over the top of him, “what’s your opinion on dating?”

He blinks. Several times.

“Neutral,” he says after a moment, and then, “Why? Do you have someone in mind?”

“I might,” you sigh. “I don’t know if he likes me though.”

His hand creeps across the bedsheets, sliding over your stomach. “Funny,” he says. “Does this mean you don’t want to talk about it?”

You meet his eyes for a moment – patient, and amused, not frustrated by the thought. Too good for you, and yet here he is, closing the small distance between you the moment that you open it. “I want to talk about it,” you say. “I’ve been thinking about it, actually.”

He pauses, lifting his head to look at you properly. “You have?” he asks, a slow smile spreading across his face. “When?”

“Since I told you no,” you admit. “I was trying to figure out how to make this work.”

“And?”

You consider it, tight-lipped, the way you have been for months now. “I have conditions.”

He laughs at you, a low noise that rumbles in the back of his throat. “You want me to sign a contract?”

“If that’s what it takes.” Your heart is in your throat, your breath only just squeezing past it, but you still can’t resist the urge to run your fingers along his skin, your touch feather-light on his arm.

His skin shivers, his mouth curving into an indulgent smile. You'd thought he would be worried, but he is only amused, even in the way that he says, "Can I bargain?"

"Bargain?" you ask. "For what?"

"Fair compensation," he answers, and then, "Creative liberty." He doesn't get to say whatever third stupid thing is going to come out of his mouth because he's too busy laughing at himself, unable to keep a straight face. 

"I thought you wanted to talk seriously," you say, swallowing the giggle that rises in the back of your own throat. It makes you feel giddy anyway, rising in your chest and leaving all the air high and light in your lungs. You can't remember a time that you've ever felt more content.

"I do," he answers, and struggles to compose himself. There's not much he can do with the way his hair sticks up everywhere and that stupid smile plastered all over his face. "Tell me your terms. Please."

Your mouth twists, trying to pretend you are annoyed - really, it holds back that breathless laugh that sits in the back of your throat. "You agree that the company shouldn't know about this, don't you?" you ask.

"No," he answers, the edges of his smile fading. "I don't know if anyone should know about this."

"But you want to...date?" you question. "Seriously?"

His hand finds yours where your fingers trace his arm, capturing them between his own. “I want you,” he confirms. “All to myself. That hasn’t changed since January.”

“Even if it might not work out?” you question.

“Why wouldn’t it work out?” Chan asks.

“Schedules. Secrets. Fans making things up.” You list them off sa they come to mind, your well of potential catastrophes unending. “We’ve never actually lived together.”

At that one,’ he snorts. “We spend more time at work together than we do at home.”

“That’s still different to being at home,” you insist.

“I already know everything annoying about you,” he tells you. “You only eat half your lunch, you leave your table a mess at venues, and when you get intimidated, you make yourself really small and hide behind the others.”

He pauses to take breath, running back over the words that have poured out of his mouth at the same time you process them. “I’ve already thought about it,” he adds after a moment. “There’s no part of you that I’m not sure about.”

“Chan, I-” The words get caught in your throat, welled u in the great knot of fear and love and possibility that this path has tangled inside you. You feel raw, flayed open by this truth so that a wound might heal clean.

“All we have to promise is to talk to each other,” he continues, as if your breath is not caught in your throat, your heart in his hands. “No secrets. No hurting each other. And if something doesn’t work anymore, then we go back to being friends. Easy.”

“Easy,” you repeat slowly.

He huffs a laugh. “What are you worried about? It’s never going to happen.”

“It could,” you insist, though you believe it less with every word he says. “People change as they get older – maybe not soon, but in ten, twenty years…”

“Twenty years?” he says. “We could be anywhere in twenty years. We could be married in Australia with three kids by then.”

Shock lurches in your heart, your mouth open as you stare at him. He laughs at you in the next moment, anchoring you with his weight as he buries his nose into your neck.

“”We met ten months ago,” you say, staring up at the ceiling in disbelief. “You can’t just bring up marriage. Who are you?”

“Sounds good though, doesn’t it?”

“You’re hopeless,” you sigh, and his laughter rumbles across your chest.

“Are those all of your conditions?” he asks when he is done laughing at you, falling back across his own pillow.

“Nearly,” you reply. “I have one more.”

“Tell me,” he requests.

It takes you a breath to put the words together, in and out of your lungs. “Keep work and this separate. Anywhere there might be cameras, we’re just friends. Not even friends that hug.”

“No fooling around,” he summarises, and it sounds, to your ears, like he is agreeing with you.

“Not at work,” you confirm. “I don’t want fans breathing down my neck, and I don’t want to sneak around the company or shows or whatever, worrying about if we were caught or not.”

He hums agreeance. “Some of the others do a lot more than hugging, or holding hands, you know.”

“I know,” you say. "I can't though. You know it'll just worry me until it kills me."

His smile is soft, his fingers squeezing yours gently. "Me too," he tells you.

"So you agree?" you ask.

"Of course," he says, and then, "Do you think it would be hard to pretend to be your friend? We've been doing that for months now."

You stare at him for several seconds before you realise that it's true. When you do, you blow out a sigh from between your lips, disturbing the still air of the room. "Nothing changes, then," you say, and let the statement settle over you. It's comfortable. Easy, even - just the same thing you've been doing this whole time, life going on as usual. You can handle that. 

Chan's face twists though, his smile growing wicked. "Some things change," he amends, before you can get too comfortable with the idea, and kisses you again, drawing the thought right out of your head.

TAGLIST

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The apartment is quiet except for the hum of the air purifier and the soft music playing from your phone on the kitchen counter. 

You’re halfway through answering emails, wrapped in a blanket at the dining table with a half-finished cup of coffee, when the front door clicks open.

At first, you think you have imagined it. chris never comes home this early. Not during comeback season, not during promotion week, and certainly not after a talk show. You blink twice, pushing back from the chair.

The door swings open fully, and there he is -- cap pulled low, mask loose around his chin, backpack hanging off one shoulder. exhaustion clings to him like an aura, but his eyes soften the second they land on you.

"Baby, I'm home."

Home.

It hits you in the chest, warm and strangely overwhelming. You almost forgot what his voice sounded like without a mic or studio filter. You step toward him, a smile growing unintentionally wide.

"You are home early," you say, eyebrows lifted. "Are my clocks broken?"

He snorts, pushing the door shut behind him. "I know, shocking, right? I figured I should remind you what I look like before you forget."

You laugh as he toes off his shoes, kicking them lazily aside. Before you can think, he crosses the room in a few long steps and wraps his arms around you, face burying into the crook of your neck. His hug is heavy, full body weight leaning against you like he needs the grounding. You slide your hands over his back, holding him just as tightly.

"Rough day?" you murmur.

"Long day," he breathes. "But a good one. John hyung was fun."

The interview. Of course. You pull back enough to look him in the eyes. "Yeah, I watched it. You were cute."

His mouth curls into a smirk. "Just cute?"

"Well, until you started talking about marriage on a talk show like that for all to see."

His ears turn pink instantly. You enjoy that you always have and you always will.

"Oh my god, you saw that?"

"I did. 'When am I gonna get married?' -- ring a bell?"

He groans loudly and drops his head into your shoulder. "It was a joke. Mostly. Kind of. I don't know, hyung put me on the spot."

"Sure, Christopher," you tease, running your fingers through the curls escaping his cap. "Just saying, it sounded very real."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes soft but sparkling with something playful. "And if it was real?"

Your breath catches for the smallest fraction of a second. You push at his chest lightly, pretending to push him away. "Go shower. You smell like a studio and stress."

Chan gasps dramatically. "You wound me."

But he laughs and heads toward the hallway, pausing to look back at you. His voice drops lower, warmer.

"Stay right there. Don't move. I missed you today."

Fifteen minutes later, he returns in slack sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips and a white tank top slightly damp from the shower.

His natural curls were more fluffier as his hair had grown longer and slightly damaged because of the bleach, eyes sleepy, skin clean and glowing. He looks... painfully good. The kind of good that makes your stomach turn and your brain go quiet.

"You're staring," he says, already grinning.

"No, I'm observing."

"Observing, huh? With your jaw on the floor?"

You roll your eyes and get up from your chair. "You hungry?"

"Starving," he says, catching your hand as you walk past and bringing it to his lips. He presses a soft kiss to your knuckles -- one of his quiet gestures that always makes your chest ache.

"Cook with me?" you ask.

"Only if I can back-hug you the whole time."

"You say that like I have a choice."

He does exactly that -- arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, swaying side to side while you start preparing ingredients on the counter. You grab veggies from the fridge, and he hums contentedly behind you, warm and solid.

"You know," he says quietly, "standing here with you... it feels like breathing again."

You pause, heartbeat hitching. His hands slide slowly up and down your sides, comfortable and familiar.

"It's been really hard lately," he continues, voice soft. "Barely sleeping, barely eating something that isn't a convenience store kimbap. But coming home to you... it's like everything resets."

You turn in his arms, looking up at him. "I'm proud of you, Channie. Really proud."

He smiles, small and real, and leans down to kiss you -- slow, lingering, like he’s drinking you in. You melt into it, arms looping around his neck.

When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours. "Thank you for waiting for me," he whispers.

"I always will."

You cook together, bumping hips intentionally, stealing bites, chan trying to feed you with chopsticks but missing your mouth on purpose just to watch you glare. Dinner ends up with simple white sauce pasta and garlic bread, eaten at the counter with your knees touching under the bar.

Between bites, you say casually, "So... about the interview."

Chan freezes, fork halfway to his lips. "Oh no."

You laugh. "relax. I just wanted to ask something."

His eyes narrow suspiciously. "Uh huh. go on."

"How many kids were you planning when you say things like that on television?"

He chokes on air, coughing dramatically. "Kids?"

You keep a perfectly innocent face. "Yeah. Children. Mini-channies or mini-me."

He clears his throat, face turning bright red. Then he straightens his back and looks at you with unexpected seriousness.

"That's not my decision," he says gently. "It's your body. You carry them. You have to go through everything. I just... want whatever you want. Two, three, none, ten -- whatever makes you happy."

Your chest tightens. The sincerity in his voice hits hard.

"You really think that far?" you whisper.

"All the time," he admits. Then, with a smirk, he adds, "Although ten kids might kill us both, so maybe not that many. But only if you want…. We dont need to if you dont wanna.."

You burst out laughing, leaning into him. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

Silence settles comfortably between you, warm and full.

Chan presses a kiss to your temple and whispers, "We'll talk more when we are fully ready. I'm not scared of the future with you."

You look up at him, smiling softly. "I'm glad you're home, channie."

He looks at you like you're the only thing he's ever wanted.

"Me too."

— — 

Dinner plates are stacked in the sink, warm dishwater running, soft music floating through the apartment. Chan stands beside you drying bowls with a towel, hip bumping yours every few seconds like he just can’t help touching you.

It’s quiet, comfortable -- the kind of silence you spent years craving when you both lived chaotic lives in opposite directions. You glance sideways at him, noticing the relaxed slope of his shoulders, the way his eyes soften every time they meet yours.

It’s been a long time since he looked this peaceful.

You flick a little foam onto his arm, pretending not to watch him.

"So," you say casually again, "marriage, huh?"

The towel slips from his fingers. He stares ahead dramatically, jaw dropping. "You’re really going to do this to me while I’m washing dishes? You ain’t gonna drop the topic are you?"

You grin. "Just asking a harmless question. You’re the one who started it in front of a cam."

Chan sighs, drying his hands and leaning against the counter, watching you with that intense, fond gaze that always makes your stomach flutter. He reaches out, fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Did it bother you?" he asks softly. "Hearing me say that?"

You shake your head. "No. It... it surprised me. In a good way."

His thumb brushes your cheek. "Good."

You hold his hand against your face, feeling his warmth soak into your skin.

"Did you mean it?" you ask quietly.

He takes a deep breath, eyes dropping to the floor for a moment. When he looks up again, vulnerability sits raw and open beneath his lashes.

"I meant every word," he says. "I’ve thought about it longer than I want to admit."

You let the water run as you turn to face him fully. His hands find your waist like instinct, gripping gently, thumbs stroking the hem of your shirt.

"I don’t want to promise you something I can’t give," he says, voice low. "Being an idol means late nights, schedules changing at the last minute, going months without real time together. I don’t want to marry you and then disappear. I don’t want you to think you’re alone in it."

Your chest aches at the fear hidden under his softness -- the fear you’ve known for years.

"channie," you say, sliding your arms around his neck, "I never expected perfection. I just want you. However you come. Whatever that looks like."

He lets out a shaky breath, forehead falling onto your shoulder as his hands tighten around you. You feel him exhale like he’s been holding it for months.

"I love you so much it scares me," he whispers.

You smile into his hair, remembering the first time you heard that voice.

"You know," you say, pulling back a little, "I still think about the first time we met sometimes."

His lips curl faintly. "The cafe?"

"Mm. You looked so angry at that workbook."

Chan laughs, full and bright, head tilting back. His curls bounce, and you swear your heart flips.

"I wasn’t angry," he argues weakly

"You were glaring at your korean essay like it personally had offended you."

"’cause it did!" He grins and nudges your nose with his. "Tenth grade was brutal. I could understand everything but writing it was like trying to decode an alien language! And then you walked in, sat beside me without asking, and said 'You look like you're about to cry, want help?'"

You laugh. "I thought you were going to throw your pencil at me."

"I was going to," he admits, eyes sparkling, "but then you smiled and my brain malfunctioned."

You lean in, whispering teasingly, "And you've been malfunctioning ever since."

"Oh absolutely," he says. "still am. see? right now. completely broken."

You flick his forehead gently and he pretends to stumble backwards dramatically, then pulls you back against his chest.

"But honestly," he says softly, voice dipping sincere again, "I think I fell for you the moment you stayed with me until closing time. When the cafe staff kicked us out, and we walked home sharing earphones. I knew then. I just... couldn’t say anything yet."

You remember it clearly -- the cold night air, your hands brushing awkwardly, his shy glances, the warm glow of streetlights turning him gold. You remember thinking he felt like safety before he ever became yours.

"And then you trained, and everything changed," you say gently.

Chan nods. "I almost lost you."

"But you didn’t," you whisper. "You never will."

His grip on you tightens, like he believes you now in a way he didn’t before.

He brushes his lips against yours, a slow kiss at the corner of your mouth.

"I want to make a life with you," he murmurs. "A home, a family. I want to wake up next to you without counting hours before I leave again."

You swallow, throat tight. ".........then what’s stopping you?"

He laughs quietly, shaking his head. "Probably just me. I’m scared of being selfish."

"chris," you whisper, lifting his chin so he meets your eyes, "loving someone isn’t selfish."

For a second, he just stares at you -- really looks -- like he’s memorizing every detail. Then his expression shifts, something warmer and heavier settling behind his eyes.

"You’d look really good carrying my last name," he says, voice dipping low and shameless.

Heat floods your cheeks. "Christ--"

"I’m serious." His thumb strokes your lower lip. "Mrs. y/n bahng? That has a nice ring to it."

"And you’re bold tonight," you say, breath catching.

He smirks. "I’ve been bold since the day I met you. You just didn’t notice."

You shove him lightly, but he pulls you right back, hands sliding to your hips, grip firm, body close.

"Can you imagine it?" he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. "Little ones running around here? Mess everywhere? You yelling at me for letting them eat snacks before dinner?"

Your pulse stutters.

"Stop," you whisper, embarrassed.

"I don’t want to stop," he says, voice rougher. "I think about it all the time."

His fingers press into your waist, body warm and steady against yours.

"You’re my future," he whispers. "Even if it takes time, even if it’s messy. You’re it for me."

You don’t trust your voice, so you just pull him into a kiss -- deep, slow, desperate. He holds you like you might disappear, mouth moving against yours like worship, like he’s breathing for the first time.

When you finally break apart, he presses his forehead to yours, breathing hard.

"I’m yours," he whispers. "Don’t ever doubt that."

The moment hangs heavy and sweet between you, the kind that feels like a turning point -- like the world just shifted an inch.

"Come here," he says softly, taking your hand. "Let’s go get comfortable."

He leads you toward the bedroom, fingers intertwined, like he’s afraid to let go.

The bedroom lights are low, warm and golden, throwing soft shadows across the room. You both move slowly, like you’re afraid to break whatever fragile bubble you’ve stepped into. Chan sits on the edge of the bed, tugging off his rings one by one, setting them carefully on the nightstand.

You change into a loose shirt and soft shorts, and when you turn back around, he’s watching you with that expression again -- the one that sees right through you, like he’s memorizing every moment for later.

He pats the space next to him. "Come here."

You climb onto the bed, settling beside him. He immediately hooks his arm around your waist, dragging you gently across his lap so you’re facing him. His hands rest warm on your thighs, thumbs brushing slow circles into your skin.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, searching your face.

"Yeah," you whisper. "Are you?"

He nods, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. "I am now."

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth. Each one feels like a promise. You slide your hands up his shoulders, feeling the tension he carries there finally beginning to melt.

"It still feels strange," he murmurs, "coming home like this. Early. Actually getting to sit with you. Touch you. Talk to you. I missed this so much."

You brush your thumb along his jaw. "We’ll have more of it. We’ll make more."

His eyes darken with that same intensity from earlier.

"You always talk like the future is certain," he says quietly.

"It is," you whisper. "At least with you."

Something in him cracks open. He pulls you closer, forehead against yours, breathing you in.

"I want all of it," he whispers. "Marriage. A home. Waking up next to you every day. Cooking together, fighting over laundry, arguing about stupid things and then making up. I want to grow old and grey with you and complain about our backs hurting…though mine already hurts at times."

You laugh softly against his lips. "You sound like you’ve planned this."

"I have," he admits without shame. "More times than I can count."

You tilt your head, brushing your nose against his. "Tell me."

He smirks lightly, hands squeezing your hips. "Tell you what?"

"Everything. What you picture. What you want."

His voice falls lower, rougher, trembling with honesty.

"I want a little house just outside the city," he begins. "With space for a yard. So the dogs have room to run. And maybe a tiny studio space for me so I’m not working in the living room and driving you insane."

"Bold of you to assume you won’t drive me insane anyway."

He grins. "Oh, I will. But at least it’ll be in a beautiful house."

He traces patterns on your arm as he keeps speaking.

"And maybe kids. Not because I feel like I should, but because... I want to see what pieces of us look like put together. I want to teach them guitar. I want them to fall asleep on my chest. I want to watch you hold them, but again only if you want kids. And thats a picture my brain keeps replaying."

Warmth floods your body, tightening your throat.

"How many?" you ask softly again.

He shrugs, easy and gentle. "You are repeating questions tonight baby, the answer won’t change… we will have as many or as few as you want. It’s your body. You decide. I’ll just be the supportive guy handing you water and crying more than you."

You laugh, wiping the corner of your eyes. "You’re ridiculous."

"Deeply," he says. "Irrecoverably ridiculous about you."

You rest your forehead against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent -- detergent and his hair sweet serum and something uniquely Chan. His hand slides up your back, slow and soothing.

"And marriage?" you question again in a whisper.

He stills, then speaks with absolute certainty.

"I’d marry you tomorrow," he says. "If I could give you the time and the stability you deserve. If I wasn’t always exhausted, always gone, always trying to be everything for everyone else."

"Chan--"

He lifts a hand to cradle your jaw.

"I don’t want our wedding to be rushed. I don’t want you walking down the aisle alone because I’m overseas. I want to be there. Fully. Present. Not half a person."

You cup his cheek, leaning closer. "You don’t have to be perfect for me."

"I know," he whispers, eyes softening. "But I want to be better. For you."

You swallow hard, voice trembling. "I’d wait a lifetime if it meant ending up with you."

His breath stutters -- you feel it more than hear it. He pulls you into a kiss that is slow, deep, reverent. His hands slide up your back, gripping gently, pulling you closer like he can’t bear the space between you.

When you break apart, foreheads still touching, he whispers:

"One day, I’m going to get down on my knees and I’m going to ask you to be my wife my forever. And I hope you say yes."

You smile through the heat pooling in your chest. "I will. Every time."

Something playful sparks in his eyes, breaking the intensity with ease.

"Good. Because I already practice saying ‘my wife’ in the mirror."

You shove his shoulder, laughing. "You’re shameless."

He leans in, lips brushing your ear, voice dripping with warmth.

"Only for you."

Your breath hitches as his hands glide slowly up your sides, slipping under the hem of your shirt just enough to feel skin. His mouth trails soft kisses along your jaw, down your neck, lingering like he’s worshipping every inch.

"You have no idea what you do to my head just by existing," he whispers against your skin. "I missed touching you like this….holding you close."

Your fingers slide into his curls, tugging gently, and he groans softly, head falling back into your hand like he’s starving for it.

"Stay with me tonight," he murmurs. "Don’t let go."

"I’m not going anywhere."

He moves the blanket over both of you, settling you against his chest, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. He presses one last kiss to the side of your neck and breathes out, peaceful and soft.

Minutes later, his breathing steadies, falling slow and deep -- the rare sound of christopher  genuinely resting.

You stroke his hair gently, smiling as he murmurs something half-asleep, voice warm and slurred against your skin.

"Goodnight, future Mrs. Bahng."

You feel your heart break and rebuild all at once.

"Goodnight, chris."

The world fades into quiet, warm and safe, wrapped in the arms of the man who is already your home.