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part 4 | series masterlist
summary: he’s new to the neighborhood, moving into the house directly across from yours in the quiet little cul-de-sac. you don’t know much about him. only that he works on cars in his garage, mows his lawn shirtless like he’s trying to ruin your life, and always looks a little too tired. it’s not until a little girl appears in his driveway one afternoon that you realize the handsome mechanic across the street comes with a tiny family attached.
pairing: girldad!bangchan x reader
genre: all the above (f,s,a)
cw/tags: eventual smut, slow burn, grief/loss, fear of abandonment, insecurity, self-worth issues, overworking, exhaustion & burnout, praise, emotional intimacy
soundtrack: apple music - lithen when you're in love / spotify
* ✩˚word count: 9k ˚✩ *
a/n: chat, I know ya girl is weeks late. I'm a liar too, but hey at least you got part 4!! Life comes @ you quick. First a cold, then it becomes a sinus infection, then I had summer finals, which today is the last day, but thank you to those who checked in. Enjoy :)
Chan watched Jia run into the house as soon as he unlocked the door. She kicked off her shoes somewhere near the entryway and disappeared down the hall.
"Daddy, I can wash up by myself!" she called over the sound of running water. "You need to wash up too!"
A laugh escaped him before he could stop it. "Don't rush, bug. And make sure you clean up if you make a mess."
The response came immediately, "I know!"
Shaking his head, Chan made his way into the kitchen and turned on the sink.
Across the street, you were probably already setting the table. Maybe plating dinner. Maybe trying to decide how much food was enough for a preschooler who alternated between eating three bites and eating like she hadn't seen food in days.
The thought settled into him far too easily, that was the part that caught him off guard. A few months ago, the idea of ending a Monday evening at your house would've felt unexpected. Now Jia accepted invitations before he did.
And if he was being honest with himself, part of him had already said yes the moment you'd offered.
He dried his hands and stared down at the sink, watching the water disappear down the drain. The sound of hurried footsteps running down the hall, broke him out of it.
Jia skidded into the kitchen with damp hands while grinning. "Lets go! Lets go! Lets go!"
Chan glanced down at her, "we don't need to rush bug," he chuckled out.
"But what if she starts without us?"
Chan paused although it was such an innocent question. Jia wasn't really worried about dinner, she was more worried about missing time with you.
His smile faded slightly. He spent the entire weekend trying not to think about that. About how easily you'd become someone Jia looked forward to seeing, and about how disappointed she'd be if that were to ever change. "I-I don't think she'd leave us out like that bug."
Jia nodded like she seemed satisfied with the answer, "Okay," then she grabs his hand leading him to the door. "But, let's hurry anyway."
𐙚
By the time they reached your house, Jia was already halfway up the walkway.
"Bug."
"What?"
"Slow down."
"I am going slow."
She wasn't.
Chan sighed as she bounded up the last step, already reaching for the door.
Before he could remind her to knock, you opened it. "We're back!" Jia announced, slipping past you and into the house before either of you could say anything else.
"Welcome back," you said, laughing as you watched her. She made it only a few feet into the house before stopping abruptly and turning around, "Thank you for waiting for us."
You blinked. Beside you Chan rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.
"You're welcome?"
Jia nodded, completely satisfied with that answer, and disappeared deeper into the house.
You watched her go before looking over at Chan. "What was that about?" you asked laughing. He let out a long sigh, "You don't want to know."
"That's usually a terrible sign."
"It usually is."
You laughed and shook your head before leading him further inside.
The smell of dinner grew stronger the closer you got to the dining room. Chan followed a step behind while Jia disappeared ahead of both of you. By the time they reached the table, she was already climbing into her chair.
"I win."
"It wasn't a race," Chan said immediately.
"It was for me."
You snorted, pulling out your own chair, "at least she's honest."
"Unfortunately."
Jia beamed.
The table was already set, dinner laid out between the three places. For a moment, the room settled into a comfortable quiet as everyone got situated.
Chan found himself looking around the table for a second longer than necessary before reaching for his glass. He wasn't sure when exactly the evening had stopped feeling like an invitation.
Maybe somewhere between crossing the street and sitting down. Maybe sometime before that. All he knew was that, lately, he kept finding himself in moments like this and forgetting they were supposed to feel unusual.
Everything settled into an easy rhythm after that.
Jia did most of the talking, as usual, narrating parts of her day that didn’t always follow logic but always demanded full attention. Chan listened like he was used to translating her world in real time, occasionally stepping in when she drifted too far from reality.
You didn’t interrupt. Just filled in the gaps when they appeared.
But you were also aware of him in ways that didn’t have much to do with listening.
The way his knee bumped yours under the table when he shifted, and stayed there. The way he reached for your water glass instead of his own and didn’t seem to notice until his fingers were already closing around it. The way he watched you explain something to Jia with a focus that felt borrowed from somewhere else entirely, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth forming words he’d heard a hundred times before.
Somewhere between bites of food and half-finished stories, the edges of the evening started to soften.
A shared laugh over something Jia insisted was “very serious.”
Chan quietly pushing the last bit of food on his plate toward you without comment. In which you pretending not to notice.
Jia deciding, mid-sentence, that she was suddenly too tired to finish speaking and continuing anyway.
Eventually, she leaned heavily against Chan’s side without warning, her voice slowing into something softer.
“I’m not tired,” she insisted, already blinking slower than before.
“Sure,” Chan said automatically.
But his hand moved anyway, resting lightly at her back. And his eyes lifted to yours across the table, just for a second, something in them that looked almost like apology. Or confession. Or both.
You watched it happen without thinking about it too much.
When the table was finally cleared, Jia was barely making it through her words. Her energy had drained all at once, like someone had quietly turned her volume down.
“I can walk,” she said, standing up too fast to be convincing.
“No you can’t,” Chan replied immediately.
“I can.”
“You just nodded off while sitting, bug.”
You stood beside them, smiling softly. “Do you want to go lay down in my bed?”
Jia considered this like it was a negotiation. Then nodded once, decisive. “Yes.”
Jia didn’t argue much once she was in your room. She only clung briefly to Chan’s sleeve before letting herself be guided down into the bed. He stayed until her breathing slowed.
You stayed too, leaning in the doorway while the room fell quiet.
Neither of you said much when you stepped back out. Just the subtle shift of leaving one version of the night behind and returning to another.
It felt quieter after that.
Chan helped without being asked. Stacked dishes. Wiped counters. Moved around the kitchen like he knew where things belonged even if he didn’t fully live there.
At some point, you noticed him carrying the trash bag toward the back door. “I’ve got it,” he said before you could reach for it.
“You don’t have to do everything,” you replied, following him anyway.
“I know.” He stepped outside before you did, the screen door clicking softly behind you.
The porch light was already on.
You stayed where you were for a second, just watching him move into the dimmer air beyond the threshold. He tied the bag, set it in the bin, but didn’t rush back inside.
When he looked back up at you, he saw you leaning lightly against the door frame. “You’re just going to stand there and watch?” he asked.
“Mhm,” you said. “Nothing I haven’t already done.” That earned a small exhale from him that wasn’t quite a laugh.
“You’re good with her,” he said after a moment. It didn't feel casual in the way he said it.
You blinked slightly, like you weren’t expecting it to land that directly. “Is that so?”
The space between you shifted.
He stepped back toward the porch slowly, like he wasn’t fully deciding to close the distance until he was already doing it. “You make it feel…” he started, then paused, choosing the rest carefully.
“Very normal....when you’re around.”
Your breath caught a little on the edges of that. “Chan,” you said quietly, like a warning and not a rejection.
But he didn’t move away from it. He just looked at you like he wasn’t entirely sure he should be allowed to, but he did it anyway.
You let him.
The space between you stopped behaving like something either of you was actively managing. It just…stayed.
Chan’s gaze flicked to your mouth, then back up. Not fast enough to pretend he hadn’t done it.
His voice came rougher. “I should probably—”
Your hand lifted, not reaching, just hesitating in the air between you like you were checking if the moment would hold its shape.
That was enough for him.
Chan moved before the thought could complicate itself any further. Not slowly this time. His hand came up and cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone with something that felt almost desperate, and he kissed you like he’d been holding his breath for hours and you were the only air in the room.
The first touch wasn’t careful.
It was need, pure and sudden, his mouth hot against yours, his other hand finding your waist and leaning into you hard enough that your back met the doorframe with a soft thud. You made a noise against his lips, surprised or relieved or both, and your fingers tangled in the front of his shirt, anchoring yourself to something that suddenly felt less like an idea and more like reality.
For a moment it stayed like that. Urgent and close. The porch light casting both of you in something too warm for the night air.
Then he pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead pressed to yours, his thumb still tracing your jaw like he couldn’t stop touching you. “Sorry,” he said, voice low, not sounding sorry at all.
You laughed, breathless. “Are you sure?”
“Not really.”
You didn’t say anything for a second, just let your hand rest over his, feeling the small tremor in his fingertips. Then you nudged your nose against his. “If you’re going to apologize every time, we’ll be here all night.”
He grinned, and it was the first time you’d seen him look completely unguarded. “Maybe that’s not so bad,” he said.
For a second after, neither of you really move. Chan is the first to shift, but it’s small. Subtle, like the moment is only now catching up to him.
His hands were resting at your waist, by now but the grip was different from before. His eyes flick over your face like he’s trying to place what this is now that it’s real in a way it wasn’t a few minutes ago.
“…I didn’t mean for that to happen like that,” he says quietly. It’s not regret exactly. It’s the start of thought, way too many of them at once.
You exhale softly, like you were expecting that exact direction. “Chan,” you say, gently enough that it interrupts without pushing.
He stops as you step in a little closer, your chest almost against him, “Don’t overthink it,” you say simply.
“I’m not—” he starts, then stops again, jaw tightening slightly like he’s trying to find the right version of the sentence that won’t turn into something bigger.
“It’s fine,” you add, softer now. “We don’t have to turn this into anything tonight.”
His shoulders loosen slightly, but not all the way, “You sure?” he asks.
You nod once. Then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, you reach up and lightly adjust the front of his shirt where you were holding it earlier, and places a gentle peck on his lips.
“Go home,” you say, not dismissing him, but putting a hold on it. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
Chan studies you for a second longer than necessary, like he’s trying to memorize the way you’re handling this without making it heavier than it is.
Then he exhales slowly like he’s letting go of the instinct to complicate it.
“…Okay,” he says finally.
But he doesn’t move immediately. The moment lingered between you for another second before reality quietly inserted itself back into the conversation.
Jia, who was asleep in your bed right now.
"You let out a small laugh first, "I guess you should get her home."
He closed his eyes briefly, "Right."
"Before she wakes up catches us like this."
He groans backing away from you reluctantly, "I'm not ready for that conversation yet."
You smiled softly as you pulled away from the doorframe, "Come on."
The walk back through the house felt completely different after that.
Which was ridiculous, because nothing had actually changed.
The hallway looked exactly the same as it had ten minutes ago. The framed photos were still hanging where they'd always been. The floorboards still creaked in the same places.
Yet Chan found himself noticing every time your shoulder brushed his as you walked ahead of him, every time you glanced back to make sure he was following.
By the time you reached your bedroom, his thoughts had already started getting away from him again.
Jia was sprawled diagonally across your bed, one arm wrapped around a pillow she'd clearly stolen for herself.
"Cute," you whispered.
Chan smiled softly as he picked her up leaning her head against his shoulder. "Yeah," he said as she sighed against his neck.
The goodbye at the door was shorter than either of you wanted it to be.
Maybe because neither of you trusted yourselves with another one, or because there wasn't anything left to say.
Not tonight at least.
𐙚
The problem with kissing someone was that it became impossible to remember what things felt like before.
Chan discovered that approximately six minutes after waking up.
By eight-thirty he was overthinking.
By lunch he was actively losing the argument against himself about texting you first.
By four-thirty he was standing outside the shop staring at his phone.
By four-thirty-two he gave up.
But even that didn’t feel like relief. Just a pause before his brain found another way to keep going in circles. So he did the only thing that didn’t require thinking through three possible outcomes.
He called you.
You picked up almost immediately.
“Hey, free to chat?” he asked, like he hadn’t been standing outside long enough to lose an entire argument with himself.
“I am” your voice came through easy. “You okay?”
That alone made him exhale a little,“…Yeah,” he lied automatically.
Then, he added on weaker, “Not really.”
That got a small laugh from you, “I figured,” you said.
He shifted his weight, still standing outside the shop without fully committing to going in or walking away.
“Is this one of those situations where I’m overthinking something that doesn’t need thinking?” he asked.
There was a pause on your end.
“Probably.”
That was so blunt he almost laughed. “…That’s not comforting.”
“It’s not meant to be,” you said lightly. “It’s meant to stop you.”
That made him go quiet for a second. Not the kind of silence that meant the call dropped, but the kind that meant his thoughts were finally lining up in a way he didn’t like.
“…So what am I supposed to do with this?” he asked eventually.
You didn’t answer right away.
Because you could hear it, what he was actually asking wasn’t logistical. It was definition-shaped.
What are we?
What is this allowed to become?
What happens next?
And you could tell he was already building answers he didn’t trust, so you didn’t meet him there. You kept it simple.
“We don’t have to do anything with it right now.”
That made him exhale through his nose, “feels like avoiding it.”
“No,” you said. “It feels like not forcing it into something it’s not ready to be.”
He pauses again, “and what is it?”
That’s the moment where everything naturally narrows, because now he’s said it out loud without naming it.
“We can just be two people who like each other,” you said again, softer this time. “That’s enough.”
He repeated it under his breath, like he’s testing whether it holds under pressure.
“Two people who like each other….and that’s it?” he asked.
You let a small pause sit between you before answering, “Yeah,” you said. “We don’t have to define everything the second it starts existing.”
“…Okay,” he says, "I can do that."
𐙚
Chan had mentioned dropping by later in the evening, and you had agreed. He just didn’t plan on it being as late as it was.
By now, the house was silent, the kind of quiet that settles in after everything for the day has already happened. Inside, Jia slept peacefully, her room undisturbed, unaware of anything unfolding just beyond it. The rest of the house had softened with her sleep, each room feeling stiller than before.
You found yourself at the window more than once, looking out across the street without fully thinking about it. Chan’s house was dim now, the porch light off, only faint light coming from inside.
You caught movement from the garage.
Chan stepped out and, as your eyes met, you knew it was an invite for you. Nothing needed to be said or overthought. You already understood what he meant.
You stepped outside without hesitation.
The night air was cool and still, the street quiet around you. No one else was out, no sound beyond the faint rustle of leaves.
Chan was already there, and you closed the distance between you easily, like it was something neither of you needed to question.
"Let's go to the back," he says smiling at you before he grabs your hand like it's second nature.
You follow him, footsteps light but steady. The cool night air brushes against your skin, sharpening your senses. The deck in the back is quiet, bathed in soft moonlight, shadows cast by the nearby trees swaying gently in the breeze.
He gestures for you to sit on the railing, and you do, with his assistance. Chan follows, leaning casually against the railing, directly next to you, both of you taking in the peaceful night.
The silence is comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. You glance at him, feeling the warmth of his presence, the quiet thrill of just being here together. He breaks the silence, voice gentle, “feels good out here, huh?”
You nod, smiling softly, “Yeah. Peaceful. Just us.” Your eyes trace the stars, then drift back to Chan’s face. The moonlight catches the slight crinkle of his eyes as he looks at you, a softness that’s almost shy.
He reaches out, hesitating for a moment, then gently takes your hand in his and interlocks your fingers. You squeeze gently, feeling the unspoken connection deepen.
There’s a moment of silence, then Chan leans in slightly, his voice a whisper, “I’ve thought about this, about us, more than I’d like to admit.”
You give a quiet, breathless laugh, "Yeah? Me too.” He smiles, a little nervous, a little hopeful. “It’s just… nice to be like this.”
You nod again, feeling the truth in his words. The night feels different now, more open, more honest. The cool air, the quiet backyard, the stars, all of it wraps around you like a shared secret.
He pauses, then softly brushes his thumb across your knuckles, “Can I kiss you?”
You smile, heart fluttering.“Yeah.”
His lips meet yours in a gentle, unhurried kiss, no rushing, no hiding. Just two people who want to be close, savoring the quiet night and the warmth of each other.
The kiss deepens slowly, a tender exploration of connection and trust. He leaned in closer, shifting from being beside you, to standing in between your legs. One of his hands moved to rest on your waist, steady and reassuring as you rested your arms on his shoulders.
After a moment, he pulls back just enough, resting his forehead against yours, “tonight, I just want to be here with you. Not thinking about anything other than us, no rush.”
You breathe in deeply, feeling the calm and the thrill of this simple, honest moment, “Me too. Just us.”
He offers a soft, shy smile, then leans in for another gentle kiss, one that feels like the beginning of something real and unforced.
As the night deepens, you stay close together in the quiet night air, watching the stars, feeling the comfort of each other’s presence; free, open, and entirely real.
𐙚
That following Sunday, Jia was sprawled across their living room floor, completely absorbed in a cartoon that had apparently become the most important thing happening in the world.
You sat on one end of the couch, half paying attention to the television and half scrolling through your phone, listening to Jia's running commentary drift through the room.
The back door opened.
You didn't think much of it at first. Chan had been in and out all afternoon, splitting his attention between whatever he was working on in the garage and checking on Jia whenever he had an excuse.
A few seconds later, footsteps crossed the kitchen.
When you glanced up, Chan was standing in the doorway.
His eyes found yours immediately. "Can I borrow her for a second?" The question was directed toward Jia, but he never looked away from you.
Jia finally tore her attention away from the television long enough to squint at him. "No."
Chan blinked.
"No?"
"No," she repeated firmly before pointing at the screen. "We're watching this."
You pressed your lips together to stop yourself from laughing.
His gaze flicked toward you before returning to his daughter.
For a moment, it looked like he was considering arguing.
Then Jia sighed dramatically, already turning back toward the television. "Fine," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "But bring her back."
A smile tugged at the corner of Chan's mouth.
"Thanks, bug."
The second she lost interest, she was fully immersing in her cartoon, Chan looked back at you.
You already knew that look. The one that usually appeared right before he decided something and expected you to follow along.
Sure enough, the moment you stood up, his hand closed around yours.
"That was subtle," you murmured as he led you toward the kitchen.
"I asked permission."
"Barely."
"It still counts."
The kitchen was quieter, the sounds of Jia's cartoon muted by the doorway behind you. Chan didn't stop until you were fully out of sight of the living room, and even then, it only took another second before his hands settled at your waist.
You laughed softly. "Chan."
"What?"
"You saw me this morning."
"I know."
"You saw me an hour ago."
"I know."
His answer came without hesitation, like neither fact had any bearing on the situation.
Before you could point that out, he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around you. Like he'd been thinking about it long enough that the moment he had access to you again, this was where he ended up.
Your amusement faded into something softer as you slipped your arms around him in return.
For a few seconds neither of you said anything.
The kitchen sat quiet around you, the only noise coming from the television in the next room and the occasional sound of Jia talking back to it.
Chan rested his chin against your shoulder and let out a long breath.
“You okay?” you ask softly, caressing his upper back, feeling the tension melt away as he leaned into you.
He nods, and when he finally lifts his head, his eyes drop briefly to your mouth, lingering there for just a heartbeat before he slowly looks back into your eyes.
The smile you were trying to suppress didn't help. Neither did the fact that he was smiling too.
His smile widens slightly, mirroring your own unspoken feeling, and for a moment, everything else fades away; the room, the TV, Jia’s cartoon echoing faintly in the background.
In that suspended moment, the only thing that matters is the softness of his gaze and the quiet understanding passing between you. Then, almost imperceptibly, he leans in, closing the distance slowly, gently brushing his lips against yours.
It’s a tentative, almost hesitant kiss, light and tender, filled with the weight of everything left unsaid. His hand moves from your waist to rest softly on your hip, anchoring him there, steady and sure.
Your lips part just slightly, responding to the intimacy, your heart pounding a little faster. One of his hands brushes your back, pulling you just a fraction closer, as if he’s trying to hold onto this perfect, fleeting moment.
Time seems to stretch in the quiet space between you, the only sound your shared breathing, soft and warm. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, eyes still closed for a moment.
You both breathe in sync, a silent agreement passing in that breathless pause. The smile you were trying to hide finally breaks free; soft, genuine, and full of hope. Neither of you says a word; the moment speaks for itself.
Until, Jia's voice carried from the living room.
"Daddy!"
You both froze.
Chan closed his eyes. "What?" he called.
A pause.
"Are you done?"
You immediately buried your face against his shoulder to keep from laughing. Chan chuckled quietly, rubbing a hand over his face as he looked down at you.
“Guess that’s our cue,” he murmured, his voice low, still holding you close.
You nodded, your heart still pounding from the moment, but feeling the warmth of his presence settle comfortably over you. “Yeah,” you whispered, voice husky with lingering emotion.
He finally stepped back, gently taking your hand and leading you out of the kitchen, back toward the living room where Jia was waiting, blissfully unaware of how much just happened in those few seconds.
As you crossed the threshold, Jia’s bright voice called again, and you exchanged a subtle, knowing glance, the kind that said, we’re in this together, in quiet, shared understanding.
The moment might have been interrupted, but its significance lingered, woven into the fabric of this ordinary Sunday, an unspoken promise waiting to unfold.
𐙚
Your stolen time together didn’t feel like a series of moments anymore, just something that continued to happen.
The house was quiet, just the faint hum of the air conditioner and the distant murmur of cartoons down the hall while Jia was sleeping. You and Chan sat on the couch without really settling into it, the silence between you stretching long enough to feel like it had its own shape.
Eventually, Chan broke it.
“I’ve been thinking about her,” he said quietly.
You turned toward him immediately, but he didn’t look at you. His gaze stayed fixed somewhere low, unfocused, like he was trying to hold the thought steady before it slipped away.
“Jia’s mom,” he added.
That made the room feel tighter.
He exhaled slowly through his nose. “I keep thinking about it lately. About why she did it. What it looked like from her side. What she was willing to walk away from.”
His jaw flexed once before he continued, quieter now. “And I keep thinking about what she missed. About what that did to Jia without her even realizing it.” He paused, then added, almost reluctantly, “And us. What it’s shaped.”
Silence settled again, heavier this time.
He finally leaned back slightly, but it didn’t ease anything in him, “I wonder if she ever thinks about her,” he said after a moment. “About Jia. Or if it ever crosses her mind at all.”
You didn’t rush to fill the space. You just watched him, the way his hands stayed loosely clasped together like he was holding himself in place.
When you did speak, it was quiet, “that’s a hard thing to carry around on your own.”
His eyes flicked toward you at that, but he didn’t fully meet your gaze.
“I don’t even know what to do with it,” he admitted. “I keep telling myself I’ve moved past it, but I haven’t. It’s always there, and lately it feels…louder.” He pauses again before continuing, “I think I’ve just been trying to function around it instead of actually dealing with it.”
His fingers flexed slightly, like he was trying to ground himself in something physical. “And I don’t want that to spill into everything else,” he added. Softer now. More honest than planned. “I don’t want to get it wrong with her. With Jia. With you.”
That last part landed differently, even in the quiet. You shifted a little closer without thinking, letting your hand find his.
“You’re not pretending it’s easy,” you said gently. “That already matters more than you think. And you’re not doing it alone, even when it feels like it.”
His grip tightened slightly around your hand. He didn’t respond right away. Just looked at you like he was letting the words sit somewhere deeper than conversation usually reached.
Then he leaned in, resting his forehead lightly against yours.
Eventually, Chan exhaled, slow and uneven, and pulled back just enough to look at you properly again. His hand was still around yours, but the grip had softened, like he was slowly remembering where it was supposed to stop.
“I should let you get some sleep,” he said quietly. It wasn’t firm. It sounded more like something he was trying to convince himself was reasonable.
You nodded anyway, because staying would’ve meant holding onto something that was already starting to shift. His hand stayed around yours as he walked you to the front door, like neither of you had fully agreed to the idea of letting go yet.
The house felt quieter as you moved through it. Not in volume, but in attention. Every small sound seemed closer than it should’ve been—the soft creak of the floor, the muted hum of the night settling outside the walls.
Chan opened the door but didn’t step through immediately. Just held it, like he was giving himself a second to figure out where the moment ended.
You stepped out onto the porch first. He followed you out, stopping just inside the threshold, one hand still resting on the doorframe. Close enough that the space between you didn’t feel like distance yet, just hesitation.
For a second, neither of you spoke. Not because there was nothing left to say, because anything said now would make it more serious in a way neither of you were fully prepared to carry out into the night.
His eyes stayed on you a beat too long. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said finally.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
Then quieter, like it slipped out before he could decide whether to keep it in, “Text me before you go to bed.”
“Okay,” you said softly.
The silence didn’t break. Chan’s hand tightened slightly against the doorframe. And then he moved towards you again. Like the decision had already been made somewhere between the last sentence and this one, and his body was just catching up.
His hand came up first, careful, not rushed, fingers finding your jaw like he needed something solid to anchor to before he lost the nerve.
And then he kissed you.
Soft at first, controlled in the way hesitation tries to stay in charge even when it’s already losing. But it didn’t stay there for long.
The space between you collapsed in on itself, not suddenly, but inevitably, like the moment had been leaning this way the entire time and just finally stopped resisting.
Your hand found itself on the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as his other hand settled at your waist, steadying you against him like he wasn’t entirely sure where he ended anymore.
The porch light behind him cast everything in a warm spill of gold, catching the smallest movements, his breath shifting, the angle of his hand at your jaw, the way neither of you stepped back even when there was room to.
Then, there was a sound from inside.
Neither of you broke the kiss at the sound, too lost in each other to care at the moment. Chan’s hand stayed at your jaw. Yours stayed on his neck.
Inside, the hallway light faintly spills forward. A small figure appears at the edge of it.
Jia.
Half-asleep, hair slightly tousled, one hand holding Leebit, the other resting loosely against the wall like she’s only partially committed to being awake. She doesn’t step forward right away. Just stands where the hallway opens toward the door.
Watching.
Not interrupting. Not reacting. Not even fully processing. Jia blinks once, slowly. Like the information never quite fully lands, only passes through her.
Then she shifts her weight back. Not a retreat in alarm, just the quiet decision of someone whose body remembers sleep is still the priority. Whatever she needed her dad for was not important to her after all.
She disappears the same way she arrived: without sound, without commentary, the hallway swallowing her back into dimness. The house settles again almost immediately.
Chan’s forehead dips closer for a moment, like he’s grounding himself in the last fragment of contact before he lets it go. His hand at your jaw lingers, warm and hesitant, then slowly, almost reluctant, it drops away.
The porch light behind him spills a soft glow over both of you, casting gentle shadows on his face, like this moment was both fragile and inevitable, stitched together by the quiet understanding that neither of you fully knew you needed.
He exhales slowly, the words nearly lost in the quiet. “…Right.”
You nod, your own breath shallow, voice barely above a whisper. “Right.”
Chan hesitates, eyes flickering toward the street. Without a word, he takes a step closer, standing just at the edge of the porch, watching you carefully. “Just…make sure you get inside okay,” he says softly, voice steady but gentle. “I’ll be here if you need me.”
You meet his gaze for a moment, then nod. “I will.”
He stays there for a beat longer, watching as you step off the porch, heading toward your house. He doesn’t follow, doesn’t need to. Watching you walk away, he’s already relieved, knowing you’re safe, a silent promise that he’ll be nearby, just in case.
The door closes behind you, and you lean against it for a moment, feeling the weight of everything that just happened settle deep in your chest. The house feels quiet now, but inside, you can’t shake the sense that something inside you has shifted, more certain, more real than before tonight.
You wonder what he’s thinking now, standing in the dark. Does he feel the same tightness in his chest? The flicker of hope mixed with worry? You can’t tell from where you are, but you know he’s internalizing it just as much as you are.
Tonight wasn’t just about words or touches. It was about what you both kept hidden, what you both needed to say without really saying it. You don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but for now, you carry this moment with you; soft, fragile, real.
--
The door clicks shut behind you, and he lingers on the porch, feeling the weight of everything that just happened settle into him. Inside, Jia is asleep, unaware of the storm of feelings swirling just beneath the surface. Worry about her well-being is constant, but beneath that lies a deeper concern, what her mother’s choices have already done to her, and what the future might hold.
His gaze drifts to the dark street, but his thoughts remain fixed on what he just saw, on your face, on the way you left, on the vulnerability that was there. The question presses unbidden, what if this moves beyond just a moment? What if it’s more than just a fleeting connection?
Used to carrying the weight of Jia’s world alone, tonight’s closeness, the way emotions surfaced, made him realize how much has been held back. The possibility of caring more, of risking more, feels like a turning point. It’s not just about him anymore; there’s a new layer of responsibility, a new fear, what this could mean for Jia, for her trust, for her stability.
A faint tremor in the chest, warmth mixed with rising anxiety, spreads quietly. The thought lingers: What if she doesn’t want this? The fear is sharp and persistent. What if it’s too soon? The idea of risking her trust, risking the fragile steadiness they’ve built, what that might mean, hangs in the air.
Breathing slowly, he reminds himself that control is an illusion, especially when it comes to love and trust. But the weight of what could change is undeniable. Starting something new, something that might reshape everything, comes with risks. For her, for him, for what they might be building.
The night feels heavier, more uncertain. Yet, beneath it all, there’s a quiet understanding: this moment marks the beginning of something that can’t be ignored anymore. A change that might just redefine everything, if only they’re brave enough to face it.
𐙚
By Friday, the late afternoon sun was casting long shadows across the driveway as Chan pulled up to his mother’s home. Jia, strapped into her car seat, was already buzzing with anticipation, her bright pink backpack packed with more toys than clothes.
“Nana's going to make cookies!” she announced, her voice a happy chirp. “And we’re going to read all the stories!”
Chan’s smile was genuine, a little tight around the edges. “I know. And I’m going to miss you like crazy.” He unbuckled her, lifting her into his arms for a hug that felt a little longer than usual.
His mother opened the door before he even let himself in. “Darling! And look at you, my little ray of sunshine!” she cooed, her eyes crinkling as Jia wriggled out of his arms and into her embrace.
“Nana!” Jia squealed, burying her face in her grandmother’s shoulder.
“She’s all yours,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “Have fun, bug. I’ll see you Sunday afternoon.”
“Don’t you worry about a thing,” his mother said, already ushering Jia inside. “We’ll have a grand time. You go on and enjoy your own weekend.” She gave him a knowing smile, the kind that hinted at a deeper understanding than he was ready to acknowledge.
He lingered for a moment, watching them disappear into the warm glow of the house. Then, with a final, lingering look, he turned back to his car. The quiet that descended felt both liberating and strangely hollow. The promise of a weekend with you was a bright, beckoning light, but the departure of his daughter always left a small, persistent ache.
The drive back felt longer than usual, the silence in the car amplified by the absence of Jia’s chatter. He found himself replaying the last few moments of your encounter, the not-so-hesitant kisses, the gentle way you had handled his confession. He was already looking forward to the evening, to the quiet comfort of your shared space, the slow unfolding of conversations that didn’t require the constant vigilance of being a sole parent.
He arrived at your house not long after, the familiar scent of your home a welcome embrace. The plan was simple: a movie, takeout, and the luxury of uninterrupted conversation. As you settled onto the couch, your hand finding his, a sense of ease began to seep into him, a quiet contentment that had been a rare commodity lately.
You were halfway through the movie, lost in the flickering images and the shared warmth of your proximity, when his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, a slight frown creasing his brow. It was his mother. He’d told her he’d be unreachable for most of the weekend, wanting to fully immerse himself in this time. He answered, a little annoyed.
“Hey, Mom. Everything okay?”
There was a beat of silence on the other end, a charged pause that spoke volumes. Then, Jessica's voice, usually so warm and melodic, was laced with an uncharacteristic sharpness. “Chan. We need to talk.”
His stomach tightened and you paused the movie looking at him, worried. “What is it? Is Jia okay?”
“Jia is perfectly fine,” she said, her voice tight. “She’s currently attempting to teach me how to play ‘Monster Truck Mayhem,’ and I’m fairly certain I’m losing.” Another pause. “But she did tell me something. Something she saw. Something you apparently forgot to mention.”
Chan’s mind raced. What could she possibly mean? Jia was a whirlwind of imagination, prone to embellishing stories, but this tone… this was different. He felt a prickle of unease. “What… what did she tell you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, his gaze flicking to you, who had paused the movie and were watching him with a concerned expression.
Jessica's sigh was heavy, tinged with a mixture of exasperation and something that sounded almost like… disappointment. “She told me that you.....", she pauses trying to find the proper words. "You shared a kiss. On the porch. Last Friday night.”
The words hung in the air between them, heavy and undeniable. Chan’s breath hitched. He hadn’t meant for anyone to find out. Not like this, not so soon. But it had, and now, Jia, his observant, innocent daughter, had been a witness.
He felt your gaze on him, steady and questioning. He couldn’t lie. “Mom, I…” he started, scrambling for an explanation, for a way to soften the blow, to explain the inexplicable.
“Don’t ‘Mom, I’ me, Chan,” Jessica cuts him off, her voice firm. “You know how I feel about transparency. Especially when it involves someone who is becoming a part of Jia’s life. You’ve been so careful, so guarded. And then this?"
The implication hung in the air. He hadn’t told you about his mother’s reaction to Jia’s parentage, about the quiet unease that had always simmered beneath the surface of their family history. He hadn’t wanted to burden you with his own anxieties, his own past. He’d been so focused on protecting Jia, and in doing so, he’d inadvertently built a wall around himself.
“It… it just happened,” he stammered, feeling childish and exposed, acutely aware of your silent presence beside him. “It wasn’t planned. As for Jia, we've been so careful. She was asleep....or I thought she was that night.”
Jessica repeated, a hint of disbelief in her voice. “Chan, you’re not a teenager. This is serious. You have a child who is forming her understanding of relationships based on what she sees. And you have someone new in your life, someone who deserves to be treated with respect and honesty.”
He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. He knew she was right. Every word his mother spoke was a mirror reflecting his own shortcomings, his own fears that had manifested as a lack of communication.
He looked at you, your expression unreadable for a moment, then saw a flicker of understanding, a quiet empathy that eased some of the tension in his chest. You placed your hand on his arm and smiled softly at him, calming his heart down.
“Mom,” he said, his voice steadier now, more resolute. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have told you. And I should have been more open with… with you. It’s just… it’s new. For all of us. And I’ve been trying to navigate it carefully.”
Jessica was silent for a moment, and Chan held his breath, waiting for the judgment. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer, though still carrying a weight of concern. “Carefully is one thing, Chan. Secretive is another. I just want you to be happy, and I want Jia to be secure. And for that to happen, there needs to be honesty. All around.”
“I understand,” he said, the words feeling like a genuine promise this time. “I’ll talk to everyone. Properly. And I’ll… I’ll be more upfront with you too.”
“Good,” she said, a hint of relief in her tone. “Now, go back to your movie. And try not to let this derail your weekend.” She paused. “But do call me when you’ve had a conversation about all of this. I want to know you’re both okay.”
He agreed, the call ending with a promise of a follow-up. He hung up, the silence in the room now a stark contrast to the charged conversation. He turned to you, your expression open and waiting.
“So,” you said, your voice gentle, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. “The porch kiss. Apparently, it was quite the topic of conversation.”
Chan let out a shaky breath, a laugh bubbling up from his chest, a mixture of relief and embarrassment. “Yeah. Apparently.” He reached out, taking your hand, his thumb tracing the back of it. “I’m sorry you had to hear about it like that.”
You squeezed his hand. “It’s okay,” you said, your gaze steady. “Your mom’s right. It’s new. And we don’t have to have all the answers right now. But…I think we do need to talk. Properly.”
He nodded, the weight of the unspoken questions settling between you, but now, it felt less like a burden and more like an invitation. The movie was forgotten for the moment. The unfolding map of your connection had just taken another unexpected, but perhaps necessary, turn.
He nodded, the weight of the unspoken questions settling between you, but now, it felt less like a burden and more like an invitation. The movie was forgotten for the moment. The unfolding map of your connection had just taken another unexpected, but perhaps necessary, turn.
You tilted your head, your gaze steady. “So, what now?”
Chan’s thumb continued its slow sweep across the back of your hand. The initial relief from his mother’s call was already giving way to a different kind of tension, the one that settled when deeper conversations loomed. “Now,” he began, his voice softer, more hesitant, “now we talk. Properly. My mom’s right. We need to. About… everything.”
He looked away for a moment, his gaze drifting towards the darkened window, as if the answers were etched in the night sky. “It’s not just about the kiss, you know. It’s…it’s about everything that comes with it. With me. With Jia.” He finally met your eyes again, and the vulnerability there was a palpable thing. “Her mother… her absence has been a shadow over our family. For a long time.”
He paused, gathering his thoughts, the words seeming to weigh him down. “It changed things. For my parents, for me. It made me… overprotective. Fiercely so. I learned to do everything myself, to shield Jia from any hint of instability. Because her mother’s leaving… it was sudden. And it left a void. A big one.” He ran a hand over his jaw, the gesture a familiar sign of his internal struggle. “And I worry, constantly, about what that absence has done to Jia. About what it’s shaped in her. And now…” He hesitated, his thumb stopping its motion. “Now I worry about what it’s shaping in us. In this.”
He took a deep breath. “I need to know what you want from this. From… us. Because for me, it’s always going to be about Jia. Her well-being. Her stability. And I can’t…I can’t risk her getting hurt again. If this doesn’t work out, and she’s already attached…that’s a whole new level of pain I don’t want to inflict.”
The question hung in the air, direct and unflinching. You felt a gentle pressure as you met his gaze, your own thoughts swirling. The idea of becoming a stepmother, of stepping into that complex, delicate role, was something you hadn’t fully allowed yourself to contemplate before. It was a possibility that had emerged slowly, almost imperceptibly, with each shared smile, each quiet evening, each moment of connection.
“I don’t have all the answers right now, Chan,” you admitted, your voice soft but honest. “It’s…a lot. The idea of being a stepmother. It’s not something I ever actively sought, but…with you, with Jia…it feels different. It feels… possible.” You paused, searching for the right words. “I like you. I like spending time with you. And I care about Jia. I see how much she means to you, and I see how she lights up when she’s with me. That’s… that’s significant.”
You squeezed his hand. “But you’re right. It’s not something to rush into. It needs to be handled with care. For Jia’s sake, most of all. I wouldn’t want to step into a role that wasn’t truly meant to be, and then have it fall apart, causing her more pain.” You met his gaze, your own a mixture of hope and a quiet understanding of the risks. “I want to explore this, Chan. I want to see where it goes. But only if we’re both being completely honest about the potential… and the pitfalls.”
He let out a slow exhale, a subtle easing of the tension in his shoulders. “That’s… that’s what I needed to hear.” He looked down at your clasped hands, his thumb still gently stroking yours. “It’s just… the thought of her getting attached, and then… and then it not working out… that’s the part that keeps me up at night. The fear of failing her, again, in a different way.”
“I know,” you whispered, your heart aching for the burden he carried. “And I get that. I really do. It’s a huge responsibility. And I wouldn’t want to be the reason for that pain either.” You brought his hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “But we can’t let fear dictate everything, can we? We can take it slow. We can be mindful. We can talk about it. Every step of the way.”
He looked back up at you, a flicker of something akin to relief in his eyes. “Slow. Mindful. Talking. I can do that.” He squeezed your hand, a little tighter this time, a silent promise. “And… if it does work out… if this is something real… then… I want you to be a part of her life. In a way that’s healthy and supportive. Not a replacement, but… a positive addition.”
The words hung in the air, a fragile foundation being laid. The conversation was far from over, the complexities of Jia’s absent mother, his fears, your potential role, all vast and uncharted territories. But for the first time, the map of their connection felt less like a minefield and more like a landscape they were willing to explore, together, with open eyes and cautious hearts.
The silence that settled between you was no longer charged with anxiety, but with a quiet understanding, a shared commitment to navigate the unknown, one careful step at a time.
Chan’s gaze drifted, his thumb still tracing patterns on your hand, but his attention seemed to be pulled inward. He was quiet for a long moment, the rhythmic hum of the air conditioner and the distant city sounds filling the void. Then, he cleared his throat, the sound a little rough.
“Have you ever…wanted to be a mom?” he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, his eyes fixed on your joined hands. “Like, have your own. Give birth.”
The question, so direct and intimate, landed with a surprising weight. You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic, the raw vulnerability it implied. The playful smile that had been on your lips faltered, replaced by something more serious, more revealing. You met his gaze, and the knowing glint was still there, but it was now tinged with a different kind of honesty. You saw the shift in his eyes, the way his pupils dilated almost imperceptibly, the subtle tightening of his jaw that wasn't born of distress, but of a sudden, heightened awareness.
Instead of a witty retort, you met his question head-on, your voice dropping to a low, intimate tone. “Yes, Chan,” you said, your gaze unwavering. “I have.”
The directness of your answer seemed to stun him. He pulled his hand back, not in rejection, but as if he needed space to process the unexpected sincerity. His eyes, dark and intense, searched yours. The playful tension that had been building was still there, but now it was layered with a new, potent undercurrent of raw desire.
“You have?” he repeated, his voice barely a whisper, the words thick with unspoken implications. He took a step closer, the physical space between you shrinking until you could feel the heat radiating from him.
“Yes,” you confirmed, your voice steady, your gaze holding his. The playful shield had fallen away, revealing a vulnerability that mirrored his own. “And seeing you with Jia…seeing the way you are…it makes that want feel…more real. More possible.”
His eyes swept over your face, lingering on your lips, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken attraction that now thrummed between you. The question about motherhood, which had seemed so about the future, had suddenly become about the present, about the undeniable pull that existed between the two of you.
“So,” he said, his voice a low rumble, the words laced with a potent mix of curiosity and something that felt dangerously close to anticipation. He reached out, not to touch your hand this time, but to gently cup your cheek. His fingertips caressed your cheekbones for a moment, sending a jolt through you. “What are we going to do about that?”
The question wasn’t about Jia’s future anymore. It was about yours, about theirs. And the unspoken answer hung in the charged air between you, thick with the promise of something more, something physical, something that had just been irrevocably sparked.
omg plsssssss do you have any recs for poly skz im also going through it and need more
hi baby i have a couple !! make sure to give all these blogs so much love and read their rules before interacting ♡
@leislibrary ── question (smau) text from your ex (smau) the polycule problem (written) hangover (smau)
genuinely some of the cutest works i've ever read. i've only linked a couple, but her whole masterlist is like a gold mine i'm srsly not exaggerating .. like i will read these with the biggest smile on my face
@hwanghhjinie ── before it's too late (written) always nine (written) amidst the chaos (written)
i linked some of my personal favs, but all her ot8 works are so heart-warming :( hurt/comfort will always be my go-to, and hers are very very soft !!
@sunmoonjune ── if i call your name, will you answer? (written)
my favorite period comfort fic of all time. actually i read her 'raspberry leaves', which was a jjk vers, before i got into skz, so finding out that there was a skz vers felt like a blessing from the gods tbh. i digress but this work genuinely has a very special place in my heart
@pineapple-burgah ── we love you (smau)
so cute. no words. i love how silly they can be but then immediately lock in when it comes to their girl !! so like my turn when
@joyracha ── fanmeet crashout (written)
absolutely adorable. nod nod. nah but if i had 8 hot asf boyfies my crashout would've been worse than hers for i am not god's strongest soldier ><
@sereia4skz ── wait?! what! (written)
i kid you not i read this while giggling and kicking my feet !! skksksksk ugh. so sweet
@lieslab ── masterlist
i cannot pick a favorite. i tried i really did i sat there and scrolled through her masterlists and TRIED to pick just a couple but the. entire. masterlist. is like. so many of my favorite works. i have 100% cried like a baby over some of them, but good tears !! always good tears !! these fics always make me feel so seen, but remember to read the content warnings beforehand
there's so many more good ones out there, i just listed the ones that came first to my head !! thank you to these blogs for their service & again, make sure to read their rules before interacting .. enjoy ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
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summary: he’s new to the neighborhood, moving into the house directly across from yours in the quiet little cul-de-sac. you don’t know much about him. only that he works on cars in his garage, mows his lawn shirtless like he’s trying to ruin your life, and always looks a little too tired. it’s not until a little girl appears in his driveway one afternoon that you realize the handsome mechanic across the street comes with a tiny family attached.
pairing: girldad!bangchan x reader
genre: all the above (f,s,a)
cw/tags: eventual smut, slow burn, grief/loss, fear of abandonment, insecurity, self-worth issues, overworking, exhaustion & burnout, praise, emotional intimacy
soundtrack: apple music - lithen when you're in love / spotify
* ✩˚ word count: 12.1K ˚✩ *
Sundays were your favorite.
Everyone else hated them because it meant the weekend was over, but every other Sunday meant catching your new neighbor in his garage with the door rolled open, grease staining his hands while he worked on whatever car currently had its guts spread across the driveway.
Was this borderline stalking? Probably
But he’d never introduced himself, and neither had you, and it had somehow been almost a month since he moved into the small corner house at the end of the cul-de-sac.
Everyone in the cul-de-sac knows each other.
Except him.
He was still an enigma.
Instead of peeking through the blinds like a stalker, you convinced yourself that opening every blind in the house was a perfectly normal alternative.
And there he was, standing in the middle of his driveway with a phone pressed to his ear instead of working on the unfamiliar car sitting with its hood popped open.
He looked worn out actually. Still attractive, unfortunately. But exhausted.
The brutal summer heat probably wasn’t helping either, and before you could stop yourself, one singular thought drifted into your mind:
Is he staying hydrated?
Which immediately sparked an entire chain of questions that could only be answered if you actually spoke to him for once.
So now you were standing in your kitchen cutting apples and making lavender lemonade.
Generic? Maybe.
But it felt like a decent way to introduce yourself without sounding insane.
You definitely weren’t going to tell him you made it specifically for him, though.
You didn’t care much about presentation either.
The apple slices got tossed into a sandwich bag, and you poured two glasses of lemonade. Less in yours to make it look like you’d already been drinking it, and more in the one meant for him.
The outfit, though, took a little more thought.
It was way too hot outside for sweatpants, and if you were finally going to talk to him, the last thing you wanted was to sweat through your clothes.
So, summer shorts and a cute tank it was.
Nothing wrong with showing a little skin when your neighbor spent half his life shirtless in the driveway anyway.
𝜗𝜚
As you headed for the door, you peeked out the window one last time to assess his current predicament.
The phone was gone now, and half his body was buried beneath the hood of the car as he worked, completely unaware that you were seconds away from walking across the street with a quick pick-me-up and several weeks’ worth of curiosity.
The closer you got, the more clearly you could hear the soft spill of saxophones and low bass drifting from the garage speakers.
And unfortunately for your sanity, he looked just as good from the back as he did from the front.
“Jazz fan?” you asked softly, careful not to startle him beneath the hood of the car.
The reaction was immediate.
He jerked hard enough to smack his head against the underside of the hood with a loud clank.
“Shit,” he hissed, stumbling back a step while rubbing the spot with grease-stained fingers.
Your eyes widened instantly. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”
“No, no,” he laughed breathlessly, still wincing. “That’s my fault. I think I lost the ability to hear anything besides this engine like twenty minutes ago.”
Up close, he looked even more exhausted.
Faint shadows sat beneath his eyes, damp curls sticking to his forehead from the heat. There was grease smeared along his forearm, another streak near his jaw, and somehow the whole thing only made him more attractive.
Which felt deeply unfair considering you’d crossed the street carrying homemade lemonade just because he looked tired.
His gaze finally dropped to the midday snack in your hands.
“…Is that for me?” he asked carefully, like he genuinely wasn’t sure.
“Uh,” you started, suddenly very aware of how suspicious this probably looked.
“I was already making some for myself,” you lied smoothly. “And you looked like you were one second from passing out, so…”
His gaze flicked between you, the lemonade, and the apples in the sandwich bag. “Right,” he said slowly, like he absolutely did not believe you.
Which was fair. Nobody casually made lavender lemonade in this economy.
Still, he took the glass from your hand carefully, fingers brushing yours for half a second.
“Well,” he said, softer this time, “thanks. Seriously.”
“You’re welcome,” you replied, trying very hard to act normal despite the fact that your entire nervous system had just short-circuited over brief hand contact.
He took a long sip almost immediately, and the faint tension in his shoulders eased a little.
“Okay,” he admitted after a second, glancing down at the cup, “this is actually really good.”
“Thank you,” you said, maybe a little too fast. The corner of his mouth twitched before the soft sound of saxophone filled the brief silence between you again.
You nodded toward the speaker tucked near the back of the garage.
“So you are a jazz fan.”
Chan glanced over his shoulder at the music before looking back at you.
“Depends who’s asking.”
“Someone trying to figure out if you’re secretly eighty years old.”
That finally earned you a real laugh. Warm, low, slightly tired around the edges.
“Jazz is timeless,” he defended.
“That’s not helping your case, actually.”
He pressed a hand dramatically against his chest. “Wow. You bring me lemonade and immediately start attacking me.”
“Keeps you humble, I think.”
“I don’t think I was arrogant to begin with.”
“You mow your lawn shirtless,”
It went completely silent.
Fuck. I said way too much.
Chan stared at you for two full seconds before the corner of his mouth twitched
“In my defense,” he said carefully, “it was ninety degrees.”
Chan took another sip of lemonade, “So you like watching your neighbors do lawn work?”
All of a sudden you were burning up. “I was curious that morning.”
“Mm.” Chan glanced down at the lemonade. “Curious enough to start bringing me refreshments.”
“I’m being neighborly,” you defended immediately.
Chan hummed, clearly unconvinced. “And the apples?”
“Also already cut.”
“Right.”
“You’re being really judgmental for someone accepting free lemonade.”
That earned another quiet laugh from him, softer this time, like he was finally relaxing into the conversation instead of standing awkwardly inside it.
Well, since we’ve both noticed each other and somehow still never spoken…” you said, “I think that makes us equally guilty.”
Chan’s smile widened behind the rim of his cup.
“Equally guilty, huh?”
“Painfully guilty.”
“Good to know I’m not the only terrible neighbor here.”
“You’re still worse,” you said. “You moved in and didn’t introduce yourself.”
“You watched me mow my lawn shirtless and didn’t introduce yourself either.”
You opened your mouth. Then closed it immediately.
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes,” you said, even though it absolutely was not.
Chan looked far too entertained by your suffering.
“So,” he said, leaning back against the car, “how long was I under neighborhood surveillance before you finally decided to talk to me?”
“Surveillance is a strong word.”
“Observation, then.”
“That somehow sounds worse.”His laugh came easier now, lighter than before.
For the record,” you added, gesturing vaguely toward the garage, “you’re kind of hard to ignore.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “That so?”
Heat rushed to your face immediately. “That sounded less embarrassing in my head.”
“Good to know my hard work is appreciated.”
“Your hard work?” you repeated incredulously.
“Maintaining a lawn is serious business.”
“You’re standing here covered in engine grease trying to flirt about landscaping.”
He blinked at you. "I'm not flirting.”
The denial came way too fast to sound convincing.
You stared him for a second. "Sure."
His mouth twitched slightly before he looked away, suddenly seeming very interested in the rag beside him. "Okay, maybe a little."
The admission sounded accidental. Honest in a way that made your stomach flip embarrassingly fast. Like realizing he’d been charming without fully meaning to be.
He wiped his hand against the rag before finally holding it out toward you. “I should probably introduce myself properly before my neighbors start opening investigation files on me,” he said. “Chan.”
You told him your name, trying not to focus on how warm his hand felt when your fingers slipped into his.
“Nice to officially meet you,” he said, his thumb brushing once against your knuckles before letting go.
The gesture was brief enough that you could’ve imagined it. Unfortunately, your brain decided to replay it anyway.
“So,” you said, clearing your throat slightly, “what exactly are you working on?”
Chan glanced back toward the car like he’d almost forgotten it existed. “Customer’s car,” he explained. “Or… technically my friend’s customer. I’m helping him out.”
“Meaning you’re fixing someone else’s problem on your day off?”
“Pretty much.”
“That sounds terrible.”
He laughed softly. “You get used to it.”
You watched him take another sip of lemonade before his shoulders relaxed again, just slightly.
“Long day?” you asked before thinking too hard about it.
Something flickered across his face then. Quick enough that you almost missed it.
“Long month,” he admitted instead.
The answer settled between you more honestly than expected.
And for the first time since moving in, the mysterious neighbor across the street stopped feeling mysterious at all.
Just human.
Right on cue, his phone started ringing again.
And just like that, the same expression from earlier returned. The softness in his face tightened almost instantly, exhaustion settling back over his features like something heavy and familiar.
Chan glanced at the screen and exhaled quietly through his nose. “Sorry,” he murmured, already reaching for it.
“No, you’re okay,” you replied quickly.
For a second, he looked like he wanted to say something else. Instead, he answered the call with a tired, “Hey, Mom.”
Mom?
Your curiosity immediately sharpened, but you stepped back anyway, lifting a hand in a small goodbye to give him some privacy.
Chan glanced up from the call almost immediately.
“Wait,” he said quickly, covering the phone against his chest for half a second.
The suddenness of it made you pause.
“Thanks for the lemonade,” he added, softer this time. “And for finally introducing yourself.”
Something warm fluttered annoyingly in your chest. “Try not to die of heatstroke,” you replied.
A tired smile pulled at his mouth. “No promises.”
As you walked back across the street, you heard him sigh quietly into the phone behind you
“Yeah,” he said tiredly. “Just bring her back. It’s fine. Thanks.”
Her?
Your steps slowed for only half a second before you forced yourself to keep walking.
It wasn’t your business.
Probably.
𝜗𝜚
The rest of the afternoon passed quietly after that.
You watered your plants. Folded laundry that had been sitting untouched for two days. Pretended very hard not to glance out the window every ten minutes.
Around an hour later, movement across the street finally caught your attention again.
A familiar older woman pulled into Chan’s driveway in a silver SUV. Only this time, she wasn’t alone.
A little girl climbed out of the backseat holding a stuffed rabbit by one ear, her tiny sneakers lighting up against the pavement with every step she took.
And suddenly, everything clicked into place.
Chan appeared from the garage almost immediately after hearing the car door shut.
The exhaustion you’d seen earlier softened the second the little girl spotted him.
“Daddy!”
She launched herself across the driveway at full speed, stuffed rabbit bouncing wildly behind her.
Chan barely had time to crouch before she collided into him.
And just like that, the intimidatingly attractive mechanic across the street completely melted.
“Hey, bug,” he laughed softly, catching her against his chest with practiced ease. “Miss me already?”
The little girl nodded dramatically against his shoulder.
From your window, you watched him press a kiss to the side of her head before standing again, one arm hooked securely beneath her legs like he’d done it a thousand times before.
The older woman said something to him then, too far away for you to hear clearly.
You watched see him sigh in response.
She reached up to squeeze his shoulder before heading back toward her car.
Mom.
Well that explained the grocery bags.
The little girl kept talking animatedly while he listened, nodding along despite the lingering exhaustion still written all over him.
And against your better judgment, something in your chest tightened at the sight.
You really tried not to stare after that.
Tried being the important word.
Because the next thing you knew, Chan was balancing the little girl on his hip while attempting to close the garage with the other hand, and she was very seriously holding his lemonade for him like it was an important assignment.
Your lemonade.
Which somehow made the entire thing feel weirdly intimate. The little girl took a curious sip from the straw before immediately making a face.
Chan laughed. Actually laughed. Not the tired, polite kind he’d given you earlier, but something fuller. Easier.
The sound carried faintly across the street even through your closed window. Then, like she could feel herself being observed, the little girl suddenly looked up.
Directly toward your house.
Your body reacted before your brain did, ducking beneath the window.
“What am I doing?” you whispered to yourself from the floor.
Slowly, cautiously, you lifted yourself just high enough to peek over the windowsill again.
He was already looking directly at your house. Specifically, at the exact window you’d just disappeared from.
Mortification hit instantly.
The little girl was still perched on his hip, tiny hands wrapped around the lemonade cup while she whispered something into his ear.
Chan’s mouth twitched.
Oh god.
She definitely noticed you spying.
Before you could disappear for a second time, the little girl suddenly lifted her arm and waved enthusiastically through the window.
Bright, excited and completely unashamed.
Chan glanced down at her, then back toward your house, and to your complete horror, he smiled too. Soft and sleepy around the edges.
Well there went your ability to act normal around this family.
𝜗𝜚
Things only got worse the following evening.
Or better.
Unfortunately, the distinction was becoming harder to make.
You were dragging grocery bags out of your trunk when you heard tiny sneakers slapping against pavement.
“Hi!”
You looked up just in time to see the little girl from yesterday standing at the edge of your driveway.
Up close, she looked even smaller. Big dark eyes, messy curls, and the same stuffed rabbit tucked beneath one arm like it legally belonged to her.
Chan trailed a few steps behind her carrying two takeout bags and looking deeply apologetic already. “I’m so sorry,” he called out immediately. “She saw you and escaped.”
“I did not escape,” the little girl argued.
“You absolutely escaped.”
She ignored him completely and looked back at you instead. “Daddy said you made magic lemonade.”
You blinked once. Then slowly turned toward Chan. “Magic lemonade?”
Chan looked mildly horrified. “That’s not what I said.”
“You said it had flowers in it.”
“…That is unfortunately true.”
The little girl stepped closer, lowering her voice dramatically like she was sharing a very serious secret. “Daddy talked about your lemonade all night.”
Chan made a noise somewhere between a sigh and genuine embarrassment. “Okay,” he muttered, staring at the sky for patience. “I think that’s enough sharing for today.”
“I like your flowers too,” she added helpfully.
“Okay, seriously, whose side are you on?” Chan asked.
She gasped softly. “Yours.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
You finally laughed, unable to help it anymore, and something in Chan’s expression softened immediately at the sound.
The little girl beamed proudly at the fact that she’d apparently succeeded in making everyone equally uncomfortable.
“I’m Jia,” she announced suddenly.
“Jia,” Chan repeated with the deep weariness of a man who knew exactly where this conversation was headed. “What do we say when introducing ourselves to strangers?”
She thought about it very seriously. “…My dad is twenty-eight?”
Chan closed his eyes. “That is not remotely what I meant.”
“You asked me to be polite,” Jia defended immediately.
“I did,” Chan agreed. “I just didn’t think you’d start listing my personal information like a tiny government employee.”
Jia looked completely unbothered by this comparison. Meanwhile, you were trying very hard not to laugh yourself into cardiac arrest in your own driveway.
“Twenty-eight, huh?” you repeated lightly before you could stop yourself.
Chan pointed at you instantly. “Don’t encourage her.”
“I’m just processing the information I was given.”
“Against my will.”
Jia tugged on his sleeve. “Can we have nuggets now?” The dramatic betrayal faded from his face immediately.
“Yeah, bug,” he sighed softly. “We can have nuggets now.”And there it was again. That softness. The one that seemed to appear every time he looked at her.
You’d kill for him to look at you like that.
Which felt slightly dramatic considering you’d known this man for less than forty-eight hours.
But still.
Chan adjusted the takeout bags in one hand before nodding toward you.
“Sorry again,” he said. “She’s decided privacy is optional.”
“I heard that,” Jia informed him.
“I know you did.”
You smiled despite yourself. “It’s fine. Honestly, I think I’ve learned more about you in five minutes than I did the entire month you lived here.”
“That’s because my roommate keeps violating confidentiality agreements.”
Jia looked delighted by this accusation.
Before he could start ushering Jia toward the house again, you crouched slightly to her level. “Well, Jia,” you said seriously, “I should probably introduce myself properly too.”
Once you told her your name, Jia stared at you for a second before slowly lifting the stuffed rabbit into view. “And this is Leebit.”
“Leebit?” you repeated carefully.
Jia nodded once like this was an entirely reasonable name for a stuffed rabbit. “She’s sensitive.”
“I understand completely,” you replied.
Chan laughed quietly behind her, softer this time. “Okay,” he sighed, finally steering Jia back toward the house before she revealed his blood type next. “Dinner before you expose anything else about this family.”
“Bye!” Jia called, already halfway up the driveway.
Then she stopped suddenly and turned back around. “Wait,” she gasped dramatically. “We forgot to say thank you for the magic lemonade.”
Chan sighed toward the heavens. “It was lavender, Jia.”
“That’s magic to me.”
Honestly? Fair enough.
You smiled, folding your arms lightly against your chest. “You’re welcome.”
Jia beamed at you one last time before finally allowing herself to be herded toward the front door.
He lingered behind for half a second longer. The porch light caught softly against the tired edges of his face, but for the first time since you’d met him, he looked lighter somehow.
“Sorry in advance,” he said quietly, glancing toward the tiny chaos already disappearing inside the house. “She gets attached to people fast.”
Your stomach betrayed you instantly. “That makes two of us,” you almost said.
Instead, you just smiled. “I think I can handle her.”
Chan looked at you for a second too long before finally nodding once. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Chan.”
You spent the rest of the night trying not to think about them.
Which was difficult when your kitchen still smelled faintly like lavender and fresh lemons. Worse, every time you closed your eyes, your brain insisted on replaying tiny moments like an aggressively edited romantic comedy montage.
Chan laughing softly in the driveway.
Jia introducing Leebit with complete sincerity.
The way his face changed whenever he looked at his daughter.
By the time morning rolled around, you’d managed to convince yourself to act normal about the entire thing.
That resolution lasted until approximately 10:14 a.m. Because when you opened your front door to grab a package, Jia was sitting on your porch.
Alone.
Holding Leebit.
And coloring directly on your welcome mat with sidewalk chalk.
“Jia?” you blurted immediately, eyes widening.
She looked up from the chalk drawing completely relaxed, as if this had always been her porch too. “Hi,” she said happily. Leebit was tucked beneath one arm while pink chalk dust coated her fingers.
Your heart nearly stopped. “Why are you over here by yourself?”
Jia pointed vaguely behind her with the chalk, “Daddy’s sleeping.”
Oh.
“Jia,” you said carefully, crouching down a little, “did you sneak out?”
She gasped like you’d accused her of a serious crime. “No.”
A pause.
“I walked out.”
You pressed your lips together hard to stop yourself from laughing at the worst possible time.
“Okay,” you said slowly, “that’s still not something you’re supposed to do by yourself.”
Jia considered this information while drawing another aggressively pink line across the concrete. “Daddy was sleeping,” she explained again, like that answered everything.
Which, honestly, explained enough.
Your gaze flicked across the street toward Chan’s house. The curtains were still closed.
A tiny thread of concern tugged at your chest.“How long have you been over here?” you asked gently.
Jia shrugged. “Since cartoons.”
That was not a measurement of time.
“Jia,” you said carefully, “what does that even mean?”
She blinked up at you like you were the confusing one.“The blue dog cartoons.”
…Still not a real answer.
Your concern must’ve shown on your face because Jia suddenly held Leebit out toward you reassuringly. “It’s okay,” she said confidently. “I know where my house is.”
“That’s not my concern, sweetie,” you said gently. “Some cars drive really fast around here. What if you got hurt?”
Jia’s expression faltered slightly for the first time since you opened the door. “But I looked both ways,” she defended quietly.
Your heart squeezed a little. “I know you did, sweetie,” you replied softly. “But you still can’t leave the house without telling your dad, okay?”
Jia looked down at the chalk in her hand.“…Okay.”
And suddenly the situation felt a lot less funny.
“Come on,” you said gently, standing back up. “Let’s get you home. I don’t want your dad waking up and panicking because he can’t find you.”
Jia’s eyes widened slightly. “He’ll panic?”
“Absolutely.”
She looked genuinely thoughtful about this revelation before quietly gathering her chalk pieces into a tiny pile.
Leebit was tucked securely beneath her arm again as she reached for your hand without hesitation.
And that tiny, instinctive trust nearly took you out on the spot. Crossing the street with her tiny hand wrapped around yours felt strangely domestic. Girl, get it together.
The front door of Chan’s house was unlocked when you gently pushed it open, calling out a cautious, “Chan?”
No answer.
The house was quiet in that heavy, sleepy kind of way that suggested someone had crashed hard after being exhausted for too long.
Jia immediately slipped off toward the living room like this was a completely normal morning adventure.
You followed after her just in time to see him asleep on the couch. One arm thrown over his eyes. Phone still in his hand.
The television played softly in the background to absolutely nobody.
The second Jia climbed onto the couch beside him, Chan jolted awake so fast it genuinely startled you.
“So sorry for the intrusion,” you blurted out immediately. This was definitely not how you envisioned the first time stepping inside his house.
Chan blinked at you for a second, still visibly caught between asleep and awake, before his gaze snapped toward his daughter.
“Jia.”
Uh oh.
“I went to visit,” she explained confidently from beside him.
“Without telling me?” The panic in his voice was subtle, but there.
Real enough that guilt twisted in your chest a little on Jia’s behalf.
Chan sat up fully now, running a hand down his face before looking back at you. “Did she cross the street alone?”
“Technically…” you started carefully.
“I looked both ways,” Jia added helpfully.
Chan stared at the ceiling for a long moment like he was asking the universe for strength.
“Don’t be too hard on her,” you said gently. “I already told her that was dangerous.”
Chan exhaled quietly through his nose, some of the panic easing from his shoulders.
Jia immediately took advantage of this. “See?” she said proudly. “I got lectured already.”
“That’s not exactly something to be proud of,” Chan muttered. Still, his hand found the back of her head automatically, smoothing down her messy curls just to reassure himself she was there.
The tiny gesture did something weird to your chest again.
This was probably a terrible idea, but your mouth was already moving before you could stop.“Hey, um…” you started awkwardly, suddenly very interested in the floor.
“If you ever need extra rest or need to handle stuff around here, I can hang out with her for a bit.”
Chan looked at you like nobody had offered him that in a very long time.
Jia, meanwhile, looked ready to adopt you on the spot. “Really?” she gasped.
Chan blinked once before rubbing the back of his neck. “You really don’t have to do that,” he said softly. But he sounded tired enough that it almost hurt to hear.
Before you could respond, Jia spoke up from the couch.
“Nana’s been busy lately.”
Chan’s expression shifted instantly. Not angry. Just… exposed, somehow. Like a private part of his life had been accidentally placed on the table between all of you.
Jia, completely unaware, kept talking while hugging Leebit to her chest. “So Daddy’s extra tired now.”
Your heart squeezed painfully.
Chan let out a quiet sigh, rubbing a hand over his face again.
“Nana?” you asked quietly.
Chan glanced toward you before answering. “My mother,” he said softly. Something in his expression gentled when he said it, but the exhaustion never fully left his face.“She usually helps a lot with Jia, but work’s been keeping her busy lately.”
Jia nodded solemnly from the couch like this was a very serious family meeting. You looked between the two of them for a moment.
Chan sitting there barely awake on the couch. Jia curled against his side with Leebit in her lap. The quiet television humming in the background.
The lived-in warmth of the house despite the exhaustion hanging over it.
It hit you suddenly then. He wasn’t distant because he was unfriendly. He was drowning. Working, parenting, moving into a new neighborhood, fixing cars on his days off, surviving on what looked like four hours of sleep and caffeine.
And somehow still managing to be gentle.
“The offer still stands,” you said softly.
Chan looked up at you immediately.
“Even if it’s just so you can nap without worrying she’s gonna escape and start another neighborhood tour.”
“I did not tour,” Jia argued sleepily.
“You trespassed.”
“I visited.”
The corner of your mouth lifted despite yourself.
Chan watched you for a second before letting out a quiet laugh through his nose. “You barely know us,” he said finally.
“Yet,” you pointed out gently, “I’m kind of the only person you guys know in the neighborhood right now.”
Chan went quiet at that, because unfortunately, it was true.
The moving boxes still stacked near the hallway.
The unfamiliar street.
The exhaustion.
All of it suddenly felt a little heavier in the silence.
Jia leaned against his arm, already looking half-asleep again. His gaze dropped briefly toward her before returning to you. Something softer settled into his expression then. Not just appreciation, but relief as well.
“J-just let me know,” you added quickly, suddenly feeling very aware of how personal this conversation had become. “No pressure or anything.”
Chan’s expression softened even further at the stumble in your voice. “Right,” he said quietly. “No pressure.”
But he looked at you like the offer meant more than you realized.
Sensing the sudden shift into dangerously intimate territory, you started backing toward the front door. “I should probably let you guys get back to your morning,” you said lightly.
Jia immediately looked disappointed, and Chan, somehow, looked a little disappointed too. Which absolutely did not help your situation.
“Wait.” Chan stood from the couch before you could make it more than two steps toward the door.
Jia immediately flopped sideways into the cushions the second his arm moved away from her, completely exhausted from what had apparently been a very eventful morning.
Chan glanced toward Jia briefly before looking back at you.
“At least let me repay you somehow,” he said. “You returned my runaway child.”
“That sounds way more dramatic than what actually happened.”
“Does it?”
You smiled despite yourself. “You really don’t have to repay me.”
“Maybe I want to.”
And suddenly the foyer felt a little too small.
Chan leaned lightly against the wall near the doorway, still looking half-awake. Somehow, it only made him more unfairly attractive.
“You like coffee?” he asked after a second.
“That depends,” you replied carefully. “Are you trying to bribe me into future babysitting?”
A tired laugh slipped out of him. “Maybe a little.”
“Then yes. I love coffee.”
“Good,” he murmured. “There’s a café like ten minutes from here. She likes the cake pops and I survive off iced americanos.”
“A balanced diet.”
“Exactly.”
His smile lingered this time. “Come with us sometime?” he asked.
The question landed so casually it took your brain a full second to process it.
Come with us?
Not me.
Us.
And somehow that made your chest ache even worse. “Yeah,” you answered before you could overthink it. “I’d like that.”
His shoulders loosened almost immediately, like he’d been oddly nervous about asking. Which felt insane considering this man looked like that while standing barefoot in sweatpants at eleven in the morning.
Jia suddenly lifted her head from the couch cushions. “Can I get two cake pops?”
“No,” He answered instantly.
“One and a half?”
“That’s not a real number of cake pops.”
Jia thought about this carefully. “Then two.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself, and he looked over at you again with that same softened expression from earlier.
Like he was quietly cataloging every sound you made.
“Alright,” you said finally, forcing yourself to continue toward the door before your feelings developed a mortgage in this house. “I’ll let you guys rest.”
Jia waved lazily from the couch. “Bye.”
“Bye, Jia. Bye, Leebit.”
The stuffed rabbit stared at you with the same emotional support energy as before.
He walked you to the door despite looking seconds away from passing out where he stood.“Thanks again,” he said quietly once you stepped onto the porch.
“For returning your escape artist?”
“For…” He paused briefly, glancing back toward the living room. “Being nice to us.”
The sincerity in his voice hit harder than expected.
Your chest tightened a little. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”
He looked at you for a moment like he wanted to say something else. Instead, he just smiled softly. “Still going to.”
After you parted ways, reluctantly, you walked back across the street trying very hard not to replay the entire interaction in your head.
In which you failed immediately.
By the time you made it back inside your house, your brain had already decided to obsess over approximately seventeen separate things.
Chan asking you to get coffee with them.
Jia holding your hand without hesitation.
The way he’d said us.
The fact that his house already felt strangely familiar after only ten minutes inside it.
Which was absolutely not normal.
You dropped onto your couch with a dramatic groan, staring at the ceiling.
“This is how people end up emotionally attached to single fathers,” you informed yourself aloud.
𝜗𝜚
The front door clicked shut behind you, leaving their house quiet again aside from the low murmur of cartoons still playing from the television.
Chan stayed standing there for a second. Longer than necessary.
“Dad,” Jia said from the couch, “you’re staring at the door.”
“I know.”
He scrubbed a tired hand down his face before finally locking it, though the motion felt pointless considering Jia had apparently started wandering the neighborhood at sunrise.
His heart still hadn’t fully recovered from waking up and realizing she’d walked out.
Across the room, Jia hugged Leebit tighter. “She’s nice.”
His gaze drifted automatically toward the front window, then toward the house across the street. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “She is.”
The thing was, he’d noticed little details long before the lemonade.
It was hard not to.
You watered the flowers along your porch every morning before the heat got too bad, usually still half-asleep and wearing clothes that looked thrown on five minutes earlier.
Your car was the little dark-colored sedan with a small dent near the back bumper.
Sometimes you sang absentmindedly while bringing groceries inside.
Sometimes you sat on your porch at night scrolling on your phone with your legs curled beneath you.
And sometimes, when he worked in the garage with the door open, he could feel your eyes on him from across the street.
Not in a creepy way.
Like you’d been trying to figure him out from a distance the same way he’d been trying to figure you out.
He hadn’t expected the neighborhood to feel this lonely.
New house. New routines. New streets.
Most days it felt like he was still unpacking pieces of his life that no longer fit together properly.
Then somehow, within forty-eight hours, the neighbor across the street had walked into his garage with lavender lemonade and looked at Jia like she mattered immediately.
He’s fucked.
“Dad?”
He hummed tiredly from where his head rested against the couch.
Jia tilted her head up at him.“Can we keep her?”
His mouth twitched despite himself. “You ask that like she’s a stray cat.”
“Okay.....then can she come over again?”
He glanced toward the front window again before answering. The flowers on your porch swayed lightly in the summer heat, bright against the white railing.
Your curtains shifted, probably from you moving around inside. And for some reason, the thought settled warmly in his chest.
“Maybe,” he said finally. Jia grinned triumphantly before settling back against him.
The room went quiet again after that, filled only by cartoons and the low hum of the air conditioner struggling against the heat.
His eyes drifted shut briefly. Only for a second, before his phone buzzed against the couch cushion beside him.
His mother.
He sighed before answering. “Hey, Ma.”
“Is Jia better?” his mother asked immediately.
Chan looked over at his daughter, currently half-asleep with chalk still smeared across one cheek. “She’s fine.”
His mother laughed softly through the speaker. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help this weekend.”
Guilt hit instantly. “Ma, it’s fine.”
“Christopher.”
Ah. Full government name.
Chan rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Seriously,” he murmured. “I’ve got it handled.”
His mother went quiet for a moment before speaking again, gentler this time. “You don’t always have to handle everything alone, you know.”
“Kind of hard,” he admitted quietly, “when you and Dad are basically my only support systems.” The words slipped out more honestly than he intended. Silence filled the other end of the call for a moment.
Then his mother sighed softly. “Christopher…”
He stared up at the ceiling. He hadn’t meant it as guilt. Just fact.
Moving here had been necessary. Better schools. Better neighborhood. More space for Jia.
But starting over somewhere new while trying to hold everything together alone felt a lot heavier in practice than it had on paper.
Especially on mornings where his daughter wandered across the street while he accidentally passed out on the couch.
“You’re doing your best,” his mother said gently.
Chan laughed quietly under his breath.
“Yeah. Some days my best loses the kid before ten a.m.”
“And some days your best fixes cars until midnight and still makes dinosaur pancakes the next morning.”
His chest tightened unexpectedly at that.
Across the couch, Jia shifted sleepily against his side, still clutching Leebit by one ear. He smoothed a hand over her curls automatically. “I just…” He exhaled slowly. “I don’t want her growing up feeling like everything’s unstable all the time.”
His mother was quiet for a second before speaking again.“You know what she’s going to remember?”
Chan leaned his head back against the couch cushion. “What?”
“That her father loved her enough to keep trying even when things were hard.”
Well, that hit directly in the sternum.
He went quiet after that.
Because what was he even supposed to say to that?
His mother had always been unfairly good at reaching straight into the center of a problem and pressing on it gently until he stopped pretending it didn’t hurt.
“And,” she added after a moment, her tone shifting lighter, “your neighbor seems nice.”
Chan immediately frowned. “Jia talked to you already?”
His mother laughed outright this time. “Christopher, that child would leak classified military information for a fruit snack.”
Fair.
“She said the neighbor brought you lemonade.”
He stared toward the front window again before he could stop himself. “Lavender lemonade,” he corrected absentmindedly.
A pause, then, “You sound fond already.”
“Ma.”
“I’m just saying.”
“You’re definitely saying something.”
“Mm.” His mother sounded far too entertained. “And are you denying it?”
…Annoyingly, no.
“Christopher.”
He already didn’t like the tone of her voice.
“Don’t start planning your wedding in your head because a pretty neighbor brought you lemonade.”
“I am not planning a wedding,” he muttered immediately.
His mother hummed skeptically through the speaker. “You noticed she was pretty awfully fast.”
Damn.
“Ma.”
“I’m just happy you sound interested in something again.”
The teasing softened around the edges near the end of the sentence. Enough that his chest tightened a little. Because he knew what she meant. The last year had been survival mode.
Work.
Jia.
Bills.
Moving.
Rebuilding routines from scratch.
Somewhere in the middle of all that, he’d stopped noticing things outside of necessity.
Then suddenly there was a woman across the street who sang while carrying groceries and crouched down to speak to Jia like she deserved full eye contact during conversations.
And apparently that had been enough to restart something in him. Which was terrifying, honestly.
𝜗𝜚
Three days later, Chan learned two very important things.
One: Jia had somehow become emotionally attached to you at alarming speed.
And two: You were apparently immune to embarrassment.
“Dad,” Jia whispered loudly from the shopping cart seat, “there she is.”
He looked up immediately and spotted you near the produce section, dressed in soft shorts and an oversized shirt while carefully inspecting mangos like your life depended on it.
He barely had time to fully think and react before Jia started waving both arms aggressively from the cart.
“HI!”
Half the grocery store turned to look first. Then you glanced up in confusion before spotting them. And then you smiled.
God, that smile was becoming a genuine problem for him.
“Well,” you laughed softly as you walked closer, “there’s my favorite escape artist.”
“I didn’t escape today,” Jia informed you proudly.
“We’re aiming for growth,” Chan added.
Your eyes flicked toward him then, warm amusement immediately settling into your expression. “And look at that,” you teased lightly. “She brought her emotional support dad with her too.”
Chan stared at you for a second before an unwilling laugh escaped him.
Yeah. He was absolutely screwed.
"We ran out of dino nuggets," Jia explained gravely.
"Apparently it's a crisis," he confirmed.
“I can tell.” You dropped a few mangoes into your basket before glancing into their cart.
There were approximately six different snacks, apple juice, coffee creamer, and absolutely no actual dinner ingredients.
Your eyebrows lifted slowly. “Interesting grocery strategy.”
He looked down into the cart before sighing. “In my defense, she was helping.”
“I picked the Oreos,” Jia said proudly.
“Yeah?” A quiet laugh escaped you as Chan rubbed the back of his neck.
“I was supposed to stop by after work yesterday,” he admitted, “but I got home late and we ended up ordering takeout instead.”
Your expression softened immediately. “You guys eaten today?”
Jia raised her hand from the cart. “We had waffles.”
“Chocolate chip waffles,” Chan corrected weakly.
You stared at him for a second.
Then at the cart.
Then back at him again.
“You know what?” you said suddenly. “Come over for dinner tonight.”
Chan blinked.
Jia gasped, “Really?”
“Only if you want to,” you added quickly, looking back at him now. “I was already planning to cook anyway.”
Chan hesitated for maybe half a second before Jia answered for the both of them, "We want to."
"Jia."
"What? We do."
You laughed softly.
"Seven okay?
He nodded slowly.
"Y-yeah. Seven's good."
The conversation moved on easily after that. Way too easy.
Like this was normal.
As if people invited him and Jia over for dinner all the time.
As if he hadn't spent the better part of last year feeling isolated in ways he didn't know how to explain to anyone.
Neither of you seemed in much of a rush to end the conversation, but eventually the aisle ran out before the talking did.
"Don't let her convince you to buy more snacks," you called lightly before turning your cart away.
Jia giggled as he mumbled a distracted, "Okay." He watched you leave for a second too long.
“Dad?”
"Yes, bug?"
"Why haven't we moved?"
He blinked, finally looking down at her.
"What?"
Jia pointed in the direction you'd disappeared. "You stopped walking."
𝜗𝜚
By six-thirty, you had already changed outfits three times. Which was ridiculous. They were your neighbors.
Not royalty. Not a date.
Definitely not a date.
And yet your kitchen somehow looked like you were preparing for a full dinner party instead of feeding a tired mechanic and his tiny accomplice.
You checked the pasta sauce simmering on the stove for the fifth time before groaning dramatically into your hands. “Why am I nervous?” you demanded aloud to absolutely nobody.
Because realistically, the worst thing that could happen was Jia not liking the food.
Or Chan thinking this entire thing was weird.
Or realizing halfway through dinner that you were getting emotionally attached to his little family at genuinely alarming speed.
Okay.
Maybe there were several worst-case scenarios.
- - -
“No.”
Jia gasped from the middle of the living room floor. “But Leebit wants to come.”
Chan glanced down at the growing pile of stuffed animals beside her.
“Leebit can come,” he agreed carefully. “The other six absolutely cannot.”
Jia crossed her arms immediately. “They’ll feel left out.”
“They’re stuffed animals.”
“They have feelings.”
Chan rubbed a tired hand down his face before glancing toward the clock again.
Why was he nervous?
It was dinner. Just dinner.
With the neighbor. The very pretty neighbor.
…Okay, maybe that was part of the problem.
His gaze drifted toward the unopened bottle of wine sitting on the counter. Was bringing wine too much?
Too formal?
Weird?
Did people even bring wine to casual neighbor dinners anymore?
He barely knew you, but somehow the idea of showing up empty-handed felt worse.
- - -
The knock at your front door came at exactly seven o’clock. Chan definitely seemed like the type to apologize for being thirty seconds late.
Your stomach flipped anyway.
“Okay,” you whispered to yourself while smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from your shirt. “Normal.”
Which immediately became impossible the second you opened the door.
Chan stood on your porch with one hand resting lightly on Jia’s shoulder.
Freshly showered. Dark curls still slightly damp.
Black t-shirt. Black jeans.
And somehow he looked even more unfairly attractive without engine grease smeared across his face. Which felt rude, honestly.
Jia, meanwhile, looked delighted to be there. “Hi!” she chirped instantly, holding Leebit up toward you like proof of life.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Your gaze flicked back toward Chan just in time to catch him already looking at you.
Something unreadable softened briefly across his face before he held up the bottle in his hand awkwardly. “I didn’t know if bringing wine was weird,” he admitted immediately.
Your heart did something genuinely embarrassing inside your chest. “No,” you said quickly. “That’s actually really sweet.”
He looked weirdly relieved by the answer. “Okay, good,” he laughed softly. “I stood in the grocery store for like ten minutes trying to decide.”
“Daddy almost bought flowers too,” Jia announced helpfully as she stepped past him into the house.
Chan froze.
You blinked.
Jia blinked back innocently.
“Jia.”
“What?”
Heat climbed straight up Chan’s neck as he shut the front door behind them. “I was not going to buy flowers.”
Jia looked deeply unconvinced. “You stared at them for a long time.”
“That’s because I couldn’t reach the wine.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself, and Chan immediately looked both embarrassed and relieved that you were laughing instead of judging him.
“For what it’s worth,” you smiled, “I think flowers would’ve been nice.”
He stared at you for half a second too long. “Yeah?”
Jia, blissfully unaware of the psychological warfare occurring above her head, wandered farther into your house with Leebit tucked beneath one arm.
“Do you have toys?”
He sighed softly. “Jia.”
“What? I’m just asking.”
“It’s okay,” you said, smiling. “I don’t have toys, but I do have markers and coloring books somewhere.”
Jia’s entire face brightened. “For me?”
“For you and Leebit, if she wants.”
Jia looked down at the stuffed rabbit tucked under her arm.
“She does.”
Chan watched the exchange quietly, his hand still wrapped around the neck of the wine bottle. He looked like he wanted to say something.
Like maybe thank you again.
Like maybe something else entirely.
Instead, he just followed you toward the kitchen, after getting Jia settled. “Need help with anything?”
You glanced over your shoulder at him, “You’re a guest.”
“I’m bad at that.”
“At being a guest?”
His mouth twitched, “At sitting still.”
You still shooed him away despite it all.
Unfortunately, he turned out to be exactly as incapable of sitting still as advertised.
You’d barely finished setting plates on the counter before he was beside you in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up slightly as he glanced around for something to do.
“What can I help with?”
“You can sit down and relax for more than five minutes.”
"That's impossible."
A quiet laugh slipped out of you before you pointed toward the stove.
“Fine. Stir that for me.”
“See? This is why I offer help.”
He moved beside you easily after that, close enough that you became painfully aware of how little space your kitchen actually had.
Which had never been an issue before.
Now suddenly every movement felt catastrophically noticeable.
Especially when you turned at the exact same time he did.
He caught himself quickly, one hand bracing against the counter behind you to avoid knocking directly into you.
But it still left him close.
Very close.
“Sorry,” he murmured immediately.
“It’s okay,” your voice came out quieter than intended.
Neither of you moved right away.
Then Jia’s voice floated in from the living room.
“Daddy, Leebit wants juice.”
Chan blinked like he’d temporarily left his body. “Right,” he muttered, stepping back again. “Juice. Important.”
You stared very hard at the vegetables in front of you while he disappeared into the living room.
Unfortunately, the universe apparently wasn’t done with you yet.
Because ten minutes later, Chan reached around you for the spoon on the counter at the exact moment you bent down to grab something from the cabinet.
His hand brushed lightly against your waist.
Both of you froze instantly.
“Sorry,” he said again, this time sounding genuinely flustered.
“You’re okay,” you answered quickly.
He lingered for half a second before stepping back again, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck.
“Small kitchen,” he muttered.
“Apparently.”
The corner of his mouth twitched slightly before he turned back toward the stove like neither of you had just short-circuited over two seconds of accidental contact.
Neither of you spoke for a second after that.
The kitchen suddenly felt very warm, or maybe that was just you.
Chan busied himself with grabbing glasses from the cabinet while you focused very hard on stirring the pasta with too much force.
Which was ridiculous.
It was a hand brushing your waist.
Unfortunately, your nervous system seemed committed to disagreeing.
From the living room, Jia’s voice drifted toward the kitchen, “Daddy, Leebit needs to go potty!"
And just like that, the tension loosened slightly around the edges.
Chan let out a quiet laugh through his nose beside you. "Bathroom?"
"First door down the hall."
“I should probably go handle that crisis,” he murmured.
“Probably.”
You risked glancing up just in time to catch him already looking at you again, seeing something softer flickered briefly across his expression before he disappeared back toward the living room.
You started setting the table while Chan helped Jia wash her hands in the bathroom. It gave you something to do with yours.
After the kitchen incident, your body still felt a little too aware of him. The brief brush of his hand. The way he’d stepped back so quickly. The way neither of you had really known where to look afterward.
You set down plates. Then napkins. Then adjusted the forks even though they were already straight.
Completely normal behavior.
From down the hall, you heard the faint rush of water, Jia’s tiny voice, then Chan’s quieter response.
You couldn’t make out the words.
Maybe that was worse.
Because even without hearing him clearly, you could still picture the patience in his face. The tired curve of his shoulders. The gentle way he spoke to her even when he looked like he was running on fumes.
You exhaled slowly and reached for the glasses to pour wine.
Dinner. Focus on dinner.
Jia reappeared first, climbing into one of the dining chairs while Chan lingered behind her in the hallway for a second.
Your gaze lifted automatically.
He’d rolled his sleeves up slightly while helping Jia wash off the chalk, exposing strong forearms, which unfortunately did not help your situation at all.
He caught you looking for a second before your attention snapped aggressively back toward the plates. Great.
"This looks really good," he said quietly as he stepped toward the table.
The sincerity in his voice caught you a little off guard.
"I-it's just pasta."
"Still," he murmured. And for some reason, the way he said it feel like he meant more than the food.
Jia looked between the two of you briefly before narrowing her eyes. “You guys are being weird.”
Both of you answered at the exact same time.
“We’re not.”
Silence.
Jia gasped softly. “That was the same voice.”
He immediately dragged a hand down his face while you nearly choked on air across the table.
“Okay,” he muttered tiredly. “Can we play detective later?”
"Mhm"
Dinner settled into something more comfortable and quiet after that.
Jia swung her legs lightly beneath the chair while absentmindedly feeding tiny pieces of bread to Leebit between her own bites of pasta.
“Daddy sleeps on the couch when he works too much,” she said suddenly.
Chan went still for half a second.
“Bug.”
Jia frowned slightly, confused by his tone. “What?” she asked softly. “It hurts your neck.”
The concern in her voice softened something in your chest immediately.
Chan looked down at his plate for a moment before exhaling quietly through his nose.
“I didn’t know you noticed that.”
“I notice,” Jia informed him simply.
And somehow, that felt less like a joke this time.
Your eyes lifted toward him automatically.
He looked embarrassed.
Not because Jia had exposed him, but because someone else had heard it too.
“You should probably sleep in your bed more,” you said gently before thinking too hard about it.
His gaze flicked toward you briefly. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Probably.”
Silence settled briefly around the table after that, not awkward; just quiet in the way good conversations sometimes became.
The kind where nobody felt rushed to fill every second.
Jia eventually went back to eating, humming softly to herself while kicking her feet beneath the chair.
Chan watched her for a moment before glancing toward you again.
“Sorry,” he said quietly. “She overshares.”
“She gets that from you?”
His mouth twitched slightly.
“Definitely not.”
“Mm.”
Chan leaned back slightly in his chair then, studying you for a second over the rim of his glass.
“What about you?”
Your fork paused briefly. “What about me?”
“You know basically my entire life story already,” he said lightly. “Feels unfair.”
Warmth crept into your face immediately.
“I do not know your entire life story.”
“You know enough to ruin me in court.”
A quiet laugh slipped out of you before you took another sip of your drink.
“Fine,” you conceded. “What do you want to know?”
Chan looked strangely thoughtful for a second.
Like he was trying to decide which question he actually cared about asking most.
You expected something casual. Favorite color. What you did for work.
Maybe whether or not you always invited near-strangers over for dinner after knowing them for less than a week.
Instead, Chan asked quietly, “Are you always this nice to people?”
The question caught you so off guard you actually blinked at him.
Across the table, his expression remained calm, but there was something careful underneath it now. Like he genuinely wanted the answer.
“I…” You let out a small laugh, glancing down at your plate for a second. “That’s kind of a heavy question for pasta.”
The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, but he didn’t look away.
Jia hummed softly to herself beside him, completely absorbed in attempting to feed Leebit microscopic pieces of garlic bread.
You watched her for a moment before speaking again.
“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “I guess I just think people should look out for each other.”
Your fingers traced lightly against the side of your glass.
“We stick together in our little corner of the neighborhood.”
The words settled softly between all of you.
Chan’s gaze held yours for a second too long afterward. Like maybe nobody had included him in something that gently in a very long time.
Jia yawned dramatically beside him a few minutes later, the earlier excitement of the evening finally starting to wear off.
Chan glanced down at her immediately. “You getting tired?”
“No,” she answered automatically.
Then she yawned again so hard her entire body folded forward.
You smiled into your drink while Chan shook his head softly.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s convincing.”
Jia ignored him completely, leaning more heavily against his side instead. He adjusted without even looking. Like he'd done it a thousand times before.
You watched them while your heart pounded at the sight. "You can lay her on the couch if you want," you offered softly.
He glanced up at you.
"You sure?"
You nodded as you got up from the table, "I'll go grab her a blanket."
He watched you disappear briefly down the hallway before looking back at Jia curled sleepily against his side.
Something in his expression softened.
Not just because you offered, but because of how naturally you did it. Like making space for them in your home hadn’t required a second thought.
By the time you returned with the blanket folded over your arms, Jia was already half-asleep against Chan’s shoulder.
He looked up as you approached, “Thank you,” he said gently.
The sincerity in his voice settled somewhere deep in your chest. You handed him the blanket and watched him lay his daughter down carefully across the couch, making sure to tuck Leebit beneath her arm before pulling the blanket over both of them.
The sight felt almost unbearably tender. So tender, that you had to force yourself to look away before your feelings developed roots in your living room.
So instead, you escaped into the kitchen under the excuse of cleaning up. Which would’ve worked better if he hadn’t followed you with the dirty dishes a minute later.
“You know,” you said as he set them beside the sink, “most guests usually pretend to relax after dinner.”
“I told you,” he replied quietly, rolling his sleeves up slightly again. “I’m bad at staying still.”
The kitchen felt smaller now.
Quieter too.
Without Jia’s constant chatter filling the apartment, every little thing suddenly felt more noticeable.
The clink of dishes.
The brush of his arm beside yours.
The way he kept drifting close without seeming to realize he was doing it.
You tried very hard to focus on packing leftovers into containers instead. “Take these home with you guys,” you said, sliding one of the lids into place.
He looked over immediately. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
His gaze lingered on you for a second before softening slightly. “You always do things like this?”
“Feed people?”
“Take care of them.”
The question landed quieter than expected. Your hands paused briefly against the counter. “I don’t know,” you admitted after a second. “I like making people feel comfortable.”
He leaned lightly against the counter beside you, close enough now that you could smell soap lingering faintly against his skin underneath everything else.
“That explains Jia,” he murmured.
Your chest tightened embarrassingly fast. You busied yourself with another container before looking over at him again.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Depends.”
“Why’d you move here?”
Chan went quiet. His eyes drifted briefly toward the living room where Jia slept curled beneath the blanket.
“Fresh start,” he answered finally.
The words were simple. But heavy enough that you didn’t push immediately.
Chan exhaled softly through his nose before continuing anyway.
“Things got messy where we were before.” His mouth twitched faintly. “And Jia deserved somewhere quieter than all that.”
Something in your chest ached a little at the honesty in his voice.
“You'd do anything for her,” you said softly before thinking too hard about it.
Chan looked at you immediately after that. Like the answer to that question was the easiest thing in the world.
“Without a doubt." The certainty in his voice settled heavily in your chest.
Your eyes drifted toward the living room automatically, toward Jia asleep beneath the blanket with Leebit tucked against her chest.
“She’s lucky,” you murmured.
Chan was quiet for a second beside you. “I think I’m the lucky one.”
Something about the way he said it nearly took you out at the knees.
You focused very hard on snapping another lid onto a container before your face betrayed you completely.
“You make it sound easy,” you admitted quietly.
“What?”
“Being there for someone like that.”
Chan leaned back against the counter slightly, studying you with an expression that had gone softer somewhere in the middle of the conversation.
“It’s not easy,” he said honestly. “You just keep choosing them anyway.”
Your hands slowed against the container in front of you before you glanced back toward him carefully. “What happened to her mom…” you asked softly. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
Chan went still.
Quiet in a way that immediately made you wonder if you’d crossed a line.
“You don’t have to answer that,” you added quickly.
He exhaled softly through his nose, gaze drifting toward the living room again to watch Jia. “No,” he murmured after a second. “It’s okay.”
The kitchen felt smaller somehow while you waited.
Chan rubbed a hand slowly across the back of his neck before speaking again.
“She left when Jia was two.”
The words were calm, and straightforward. Like he’d repeated them enough times that they no longer sounded sharp coming out, but something in his face still tightened anyway.
“At first it was supposed to be temporary,” he admitted quietly, at least that's what it seemed like. “Then it just… wasn’t.”
Your chest ached instantly.
Chan laughed once under his breath, though there wasn’t much humor in it.
“I think I spent a long time trying to convince myself I could fix it if I just worked harder.” His eyes lowered briefly toward the counter. “Turns out relationships don’t work like cars.”
The honesty in his voice made something twist painfully inside you.
“Chan…”
He shook his head lightly before you could say anything else.
“It’s better now,” he said quietly. “Or at least… calmer.” His gaze drifted toward Jia again, softening immediately. “And she’s happy.”
The way he said it made it painfully obvious that Jia’s happiness had become the center of his entire world.
Even at the expense of his own.
Silence settled quietly between you after that. Not uncomfortable.
Just heavy in a way that made you suddenly very aware of how close he was standing beside you.
The sink ran softly while you rinsed out one of the pots, mostly just to give your hands something to do.
He stayed leaned against the counter nearby, arms loosely crossed now. Open in a way he probably wasn't used to.
“I didn’t mean to make things depressing,” he said eventually, voice quieter than before.
You looked over immediately. “You didn’t.”
His eyes stayed on you for a second longer than expected. Like he was trying to decide whether or not to believe that.
“People usually get uncomfortable,” he admitted eventually. “Once they realize it’s just me and Jia.”
Your chest tightened slightly. “Why?”
He gave a small shrug, gaze dropping briefly toward the counter.
“Single dad thing, I guess.” A faint breath of laughter escaped him. “People either think you’re barely surviving or they start looking at you like you’re some kind of tragedy.”
You frowned. “That’s stupid.”
He looked genuinely caught off guard by how quickly you answered.
"I mean it," you continued softly. "You're a great dad, Chan."
He broke eye contact first, "I'm trying," he admitted quietly.
Something about the honesty in his voice hit harder than you expected, because he didn’t sound like someone asking for praise.
Just a parent who was tired.
The rest of the cleaning happened quietly after that.
Softer now, like something between you had shifted slightly without either of you fully acknowledging it.
Chan dried dishes while you put dishes away, the occasional brush of your arms still enough to make your heartbeat stumble embarrassingly fast. Neither of you mentioned it.
By the time the kitchen was finally clean again, the apartment had gone almost completely still.
Jia remained curled beneath the blanket on the couch, one tiny hand still wrapped around Leebit’s ear.
He glanced toward her before exhaling softly through his nose. “She’s out cold.”
“I think the pasta took her down.”
A quiet laugh escaped him. Then his eyes drifted toward the half-finished bottle of wine still sitting on the counter.
“You want me to head out?” he asked.
The question sounded polite, but not like he actually wanted to leave.
Your fingers tightened slightly around your wine glass before you answered.
“You can stay a little longer if you want.”
Chan looked at you then, something in his expression softened in a way that immediately made your stomach flip.
“Yeah?” he asked quietly.
You nodded once. “Yeah.”
A few minutes later, the two of you ended up back in the living room with fresh glasses of wine while Jia slept peacefully nearby.
The television stayed off.
Neither of you seemed to mind the quiet.
He leaned back carefully into the corner of the couch, one arm stretched loosely along the cushion behind Jia while you sat a little farther down the other end.
Close enough to talk softly. Close enough to notice things.
Like how his voice got rougher when he was tired.
Like how he listened with his full attention whenever you spoke.
Like how neither of you seemed in much of a hurry for the night to end anymore.
The conversation drifted easily after that.
Slower than before. Less careful.
Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the exhaustion.
Or maybe the two of you had simply crossed whatever invisible line existed between strangers and something else entirely.
“So,” Chan murmured after a while, turning his glass slowly between his hands, “how’d you end up here?”
You smiled faintly. “In this house specifically?”
“In this aggressively nosy neighborhood.”
A laugh slipped out of you softly enough that Jia stirred slightly beneath the blanket before settling again.
Both of your eyes immediately flicked toward her. Chan’s expression softened automatically once he realized she was still asleep.
It did something deeply unfortunate to your nervous system.
“I grew up around neighborhoods like this,” you admitted quietly once the room settled again. “Everybody knowing each other. Neighbors bringing over food, or having neighborhood cookouts. Somebody’s aunt always watching from a window somewhere.”
Chan huffed softly into his wine. “That last part definitely tracks.”
You narrowed your eyes at him over the rim of your glass.
“You’re never letting the spying thing go, are you?”
“Absolutely not.”
His smile lingered afterward. Softer now.
Less teasing than before. Like he’d relaxed enough to stop hiding behind it quite so much.
“I think I missed this,” he admitted after a moment.
Your expression eased slightly. “The spying?”
Chan laughed quietly, shaking his head. “No.” His gaze drifted around the apartment briefly before settling back on you. “Just… this.”
The room. The conversation. The calm.
You understood immediately anyway.
Something in your chest tightened gently. “It gets lonely?” you asked softly.
Chan was quiet for a second. “Sometimes it feels like I only exist as somebody’s dad now.”
The honesty in the sentence settled heavily between you. He looked almost surprised after saying it out loud. Like he hadn’t meant to.
“Not that I mind being her dad,” he added quickly, glancing toward Jia again. “I just…” He exhaled softly through his nose. “I don’t know. Somewhere in the middle of work and bills and trying to keep everything together, I think I forgot how to be a person outside of taking care of everybody else.”
Your heart genuinely hurt for him then, because he said it so casually.
Like he’d gotten used to carrying that feeling around alone.
“Chan,” you said softly.
His tired eyes lifted toward you again.
The wine had loosened something in him tonight. Not enough to make him reckless.
Just enough to make him honest.
“You know what the weird part is?” he admitted quietly after a second. “I don’t even think I noticed how lonely I was until recently.”
Your chest tightened immediately. “Recently?”
The corner of his mouth twitched faintly around the rim of his glass.
“Yeah.”
The single word landed warm. Heavy with implication neither of you addressed directly.
You looked down at your wine before smiling softly to yourself. “I think,” you admitted carefully, “sometimes people get so used to surviving that they forget they’re allowed to want more than that.”
Chan went very still across from you. Like the sentence had landed somewhere deeper than you intended, or maybe exactly where you intended.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
The house had gone completely quiet around you.
Just the faint hum of the refrigerator.
The soft ticking of your kitchen clock.
Jia breathing steadily beneath the blanket a few feet away.
Chan’s gaze stayed fixed on you longer than it probably should have. Not intense. Not even flirtatious, really. Just… searching.
“You always know the right thing to say?” he asked eventually, voice rougher now.
Warmth crept up your neck immediately. “No,” you laughed softly. “Most of the time I’m just hoping I don’t sound insane.”
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “You don’t.”
Something about the way he said it made your chest ache unexpectedly.
Like he wasn’t just reassuring you. He genuinely meant it.
Your fingers tightened slightly around your wine glass.
You’re easy to talk to too,” you admitted quietly after a second.
Chan looked faintly surprised by that. “Yeah?”
You nodded once, tracing your thumb along the stem of your wine glass.“Most people don’t actually listen anymore. They just wait for their turn to talk.”
Chan huffed a quiet laugh through his nose at that, gaze dropping briefly toward the floor.
“Occupational hazard, maybe.”
“Mechanics are good listeners?”
“Single dads,” he corrected softly.
Something in your chest shifted at the answer.
Chan leaned back further into the couch afterward, looking more relaxed now than you’d seen him all night, or maybe just less guarded.
“I think I forgot what it felt like to sit somewhere and not feel stressed the whole time,” he admitted after a moment.
Your eyes lifted toward him immediately. He sounded almost confused by the realization himself.
Before you could think too hard about it, the words slipped out, “You can come here whenever you need a break.”
He looked at you. Holding that steady kind of attention that always made you feel like he was listening to more than your actual words.
Your pulse stumbled almost instantly.
“That’s a dangerous thing to offer me,” he said quietly.
Your breath caught slightly at the softness in his voice. “Why?” you asked before you could stop yourself.
Chan’s gaze lingered on you for a second. “Because I think I’d get used to it.”
The confession settled between you gently. Not flirtatious. Somehow worse.
Your pulse stumbled hard enough that you immediately looked down into your wine glass just to regain composure.
He seemed to realize what he’d said a second too late because a quiet laugh escaped him afterward, softer around the edges now.
“Sorry,” he murmured, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “That sounded more intense out loud.”
“A little,” you admitted weakly.
His smile widened faintly. “The wine’s making me honest.”
“I think you were honest before the wine.”
Chan looked at you carefully after that. Like he was trying to figure out whether you understood how much he already meant every word he said to you.
The terrifying part was, you did.
Chan glanced away first this time, exhaling quietly through his nose before leaning forward to set his glass down on the coffee table.
“You know,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his curls, “I almost didn’t come tonight.”
Your eyebrows lifted immediately.
“Why?”
“Because Jia gets attached easily.” His gaze flicked toward the couch automatically. “And I didn’t want to assume…” He trailed off briefly before shaking his head. “I don’t know. That we could just suddenly start showing up in your life all the time.”
Something in your chest twisted painfully at the wording.
Showing up in your life.
Like he’d already been thinking about the possibility.
“Chan,” you said softly, "you guys are not a burden to me."
Chan looked down briefly, thumb dragging once against the side of his glass before he let out a quiet breath through his nose. “You say things like that so casually,” he murmured.
Your brows pulled together slightly. “Like what?”
His eyes lifted toward yours again, “Like you don’t realize what hearing that does to someone.”
Your heart stuttered.
From the couch, Jia shifted sleepily beneath the blanket with a soft little whine.
Both of your heads turned automatically.
Chan checked the time on his phone and immediately grimaced. “Okay,” he muttered quietly. “I definitely overstayed.”
“You didn’t.” The reassurance slipped out before you could stop it.
Chan looked at you for half a second before his expression softened again in that dangerous way you were rapidly becoming too attached to.
“Still,” he said gently, pushing himself up from the couch. “She’s gonna be impossible to wake up for school tomorrow if I don’t get her home.”
Your chest tightened unexpectedly as the reality of the night ending settled in.
Suddenly, the house already felt quieter.
Chan crossed the living room slowly before crouching beside the couch. “Bug,” he murmured gently, brushing a curl away from Jia’s face. “Time to head home.”
Jia squinted up at him sleepily from beneath the blanket.
“M’tired.”
“I know.”
“Carry me?”
Chan’s expression softened immediately. “Always.”
Your heart nearly folded in on itself right there.
Jia lifted her arms sleepily toward him while he carefully gathered Leebit and the blanket first before reaching down for her.
Like this exact routine had happened a hundred times before.
Jia curled against his chest almost instantly after he picked her up, cheek pressed against his shoulder. Half-asleep already.
“Tell your neighbor thank you,” Chan murmured quietly.
Jia peeked one eye open toward you. “Thank you for pasta,” she mumbled.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
Her eyes drifted shut again immediately afterward. Chan adjusted her slightly higher against his chest before glancing toward you.
“Sorry again for staying so late.”
“Chan.”
He stopped immediately at your tone.
“You don’t have to apologize for being here.”
Something flickered briefly across his face at that.
You like museums because they are honest about silence.
People whisper there, but even that feels optional. Sound exists, but it never demands you. No one expects conversation, no one expects responses. You can exist fully inside yourself without apologizing for it.
That’s why you came today on your day off from the atelier.
This exhibition has been advertised everywhere in Seoul, contemporary reinterpretations of classical Korean landscapes. Posters plastered on subway walls, colors blooming against concrete, brushstrokes promising emotion.
Art speaks your language.
You arrive early, before the afternoon crowd gets too overwhelming. The museum smells faintly of polished floors and old paper. Sunlight filters through tall windows, washing everything in gold. Your footsteps echo softly, or at least you imagine they do. You’ve learned to construct sound from memory rather than experience.
As you step inside you immediately feel calm settle over you.
Paintings line the white walls of the museum like open windows into other worlds. Mountains dissolve into mist. Rivers stretch endlessly toward horizons painted with impossible patience. You move slowly, hands clasped behind your back, reading each plaque carefully.
You don’t rush art. You let it happen to you.
A group passes behind you, you feel the vibration of footsteps through the floor before you notice them in your peripheral vision. You shift aside politely, used to navigating spaces by motion rather than sound.
People talk. Mouths move. Laughter appears in shapes you recognize but cannot hear. You don’t mind anymore. You stopped minding many years ago.
Silence isn’t loneliness. It can become a home if you know how to welcome it.
You stop in front of a smaller painting, ink brush mountains rising sharply against a pale sky. The artist captured distance so perfectly you almost feel wind on your face. Your chest tightens the way it always does when something beautiful finds you unexpectedly.
You lean closer..and that’s when you notice him.
You notice him the way you notice art that doesn’t belong to the rest of the room. He stands several paintings away.
Tall.
Black hair falling softly across his forehead, slightly messy like he forgot to tame it before leaving home. He’s wearing a brownish long coat, neutral colors, nothing flashy, yet he looks impossibly out of place among ordinary visitors.
Beautiful is too small a word.
Your brain supplies it anyway.
Beautiful.
A properly beautiful man, and you get lost in your head about how you’re pretty sure, you have never seen anyone this good looking before. Is he from here? Is he a visitor?
He studies a painting with complete focus, head tilted slightly, lips parted as if he’s thinking something profound. His hands rest loosely in his pockets, posture relaxed but elegant.
You stare longer than you should, and you know you are staring but you can’t take your eyes off of his face. You tell yourself to look away.
You don’t. You can’t.
There’s something gentle about him, something quiet, and you catch yourself wonder what he sees in the painting, and then you wonder what his voice sounds like. You rarely think about voices, but his lips move slightly, almost forming words to himself, and suddenly curiosity blooms painfully inside your chest.
You look away quickly, embarrassed.
Focus on the art.
You move to the next piece.
Then the next.
But awareness of him follows you like warmth at your back. Each time you pretend not to look, you somehow find him again across the room, turning a corner, standing beneath another canvas. Maybe he’s moving through the exhibition at the same pace as you. Maybe you’re both drawn to the same pieces. Or maybe you’re just being delusional about your destiny bullshit.
You stop in a room with a huge piece, and the painting dominates the room.
It stretches across nearly an entire wall, a sweeping landscape of storm clouds breaking over a coastline, waves crashing in thick, violent strokes of blue & gray. Light cuts through the storm in one brilliant opening, illuminating a lone figure standing at the edge of the sea.
You feel it immediately.
The ache.
You walk closer and closer, until the rest of the world disappears. You imagine the roar of the ocean, not as sound, but as motion. As pressure. As something vast and overwhelming that exists whether you hear it or not. The lone figure in the painting looks small against the storm, yet unafraid.
You exhale slowly, and you sit on the bench placed before the artwork.
You always sit for paintings like this. Standing feels disrespectful when something demands your full attention. You fold your hands in your lap and let your eyes trace every brushstroke. Minutes pass, or maybe longer. Time behaves differently when you’re absorbed in beauty.
Your thoughts drift.
You think about the waves, what sounds they might make, and your thoughts lead you to roads you don’t want to take right now, like how people describe music as emotional. You’ve never known music. Sometimes people pity you for that, but standing here, feeling emotion swell so strongly it almost hurts, you wonder if music could really feel more alive than this.
You don’t think so.
You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice him approach. Not until the bench shifts slightly beside you.
Your heart jumps and you glance sideways.
It’s him.
He is so much more unreal up close. His presence feels warm, and you study him from the corner of your eye as he looks at the painting in front of you.
Long fingers resting on his knees. Soft features sharpened by concentration. His eyes move across the canvas slowly, thoughtfully, and you watch yourself thinking that he looks like someone who feels deeply, just like you.
Then he turns slightly toward you, and his lips move.
You blink, not expecting any interaction at all with the beautiful stranger, as if you were invisible in this space and someone interacting with you was impossible.
You look around briefly, wondering if he’s speaking to someone else, but no one stands nearby.
You look back at him.
His mouth moves again. Gentle expression.
You catch only fragments, shapes of syllables, but he’s probably mumbling and being extra quiet given the space you’re in, so you can’t read his lips at all.
Your stomach drops.
Of course, of course he’s talking, and of course he’s talking to you.
Panic flutters in your chest with the familiar anxiety of misunderstandings. Of people thinking you’re ignoring them purposefully. One of those moment where the world just has to mind you that easy communication isn’t built for you.
You hesitate.
Maybe he wasn’t speaking to you after all.
You look back at the painting, pretending nothing happened, but then he leans slightly closer, clearly directing his attention at you this time.
His lips move again, slower. You recognize the expression now. He’s definitely talking to you.
Heat rises to your face, and you hate this part. The part where you must interrupt normalcy. The moment people’s expressions change, surprise, awkwardness, apology. You turn toward him fully and he waits politely, eyes kind.
You look at him in the eyes, his beautiful intense but kind eyes, and you shake your head, pointing at your ear and your cochlear implant.
Then you mouth silently and carefully, hoping he’ll understand.
I’m deaf.
His eyes widen slightly as he realises, and for a brief second you prepare yourself for the usual reaction, exaggerated apologies, embarrassment, people backing away because they don’t know what to do or how to respond back.
He nods slowly. Then he mouths something again, more carefully this time.
You catch nothing. Maybe because you’re so distracted by him, maybe because the beautiful stranger is literally sitting right next to you and is trying to talk to you.
He pauses.
Thinks.
Then, unexpectedly, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his phone.
You watch his every movement, surprised.
His fingers move quickly across the screen, and a moment later he turns his phone toward you.
“Sorry. I said the painting feels lonely but peaceful. I wondered if you thought the same since you’re sitting here too.”
You stare at the words. Then at him, and your chest does that thing again.
Most people would have simply smiled and stopped trying. They wouldn't try to have a conversation with you. But he was, he was trying. He was actively trying to communicate with you.
You take your own phone out, hands suddenly clumsy with awareness of him watching as you type.
“Yes. Like standing in a storm but not wanting to leave.”
You show him.
His eyes brighten instantly, he smiles and nods at you. Something about his reaction makes warmth spread through you.
He types again.
“Exactly.”
You both turn back toward the painting. Side by side. You can see a smile in his face, and you become acutely aware of everything.
The closeness of his shoulder. The subtle rise and fall of his breathing. The way he glances at the painting, then briefly at you, as if checking whether you’re experiencing the same emotion. Your heart beats faster.
Ridiculous.
You don’t even know his name. You don’t know anything about him. He’s just a beautiful stranger.
And then you catch him typing again, and directing his phone at you, again.
“Do you come to museums often?”
You nod, then write.
“Whenever I want to think.”
He smiles big at you and the smile changes his whole face, making it so soft and childlike, like he’s genuinely so unbelievably happy. And you almost forget how to breathe.
He writes.
“Funny you say that, me too.”
You want to ask more. So much more, but you hesitate. Conversations with strangers rarely last long. People move on. They always do. You don’t want to out yourself up for disappointment
Still, neither of you stands up to leave.
Minutes pass. Maybe more. You exist together in this shared silence, watching painted waves crash endlessly against a painted shore.
You glance at him again.. and he’s already looking at you.
Your gaze collides with his but neither of you looks away immediately. Something shifts. Unspoken. Fragile. Dangerous. You both smile at each other and he looks back at the painting, and he looks shy, cheeks red. You’re pretty sure you look like a radish yourself.
His phone lights up again in his hands. He hesitates before turning the screen toward you, but he does anyway.
“I’m Hyunjin by the way”
Hyunjin. You mouth it silently to yourself, testing how it looks. The name fits him somehow. Soft yet so elegant.
You quickly type your own name and turn your phone toward him.
He reads it carefully and smiles, the kind that reaches his eyes and lingers there, warm and bright, like he’s committing your name to memory.
Your stomach flips again at how pretty he looks.
He types again.
“Nice to meet you.”
You nod and type quickly.
“You too.”
It feels insufficient for the strange gravity of the moment, but you don’t know how else to explain what meeting him already feels like.
He looks at the painting again.
Then at you.
Then types:
“Do you want to see the rest together?”
Your heart stutters. You hadn’t expected that. You were just hoping to stay like this besides him for a few more minutes before he’s gone and you never see him again. You stare at the words longer than necessary, and he waits patiently, a look in his eyes as if hoping more than anything you’ll say yes.
You nod, a small movement, but his face lights up immediately.
You both stand at the same time, almost awkwardly synchronized, and a soft laugh escapes him, you see it in the way his shoulders lift, and you wonder what that sounded like.
You begin walking side by side through the gallery.
At first, neither of you types anything. You simply appreciate the art around you. Stopping before paintings and leaning closer to read descriptions. Then you start to occasionally exchanging phones for short comments.
“I like the colors here.”
“It feels nostalgic.”
“I think this one makes me sad. I’m not sure why.”
It’s all so natural and so not forced.
You notice how patient he is when typing, never rushing, and it’s all just making you feel like this is easy, after all, it’s not some huge inconvenience to him. He waits for your responses fully, eyes attentive, focused only on you when you write your words on the screen.
It’s rare. This is rare for you and you know it. People often grow restless. They get tired of having to do this. It has happened too many times. Boyfriends, friendships, coworkers.
The beautiful stranger in front of you doesn't stop. At least not yet.
You start noticing small things about him. The way he tilts his head when thinking. How expressive his eyes are and how carefully he observes everything.
You’re standing before a sculpture when Hyunjin suddenly pauses as if he forgot something, or her left something behind accidentally. He glances around the room, quick subtle movements, and then he reaches into his bag. You watch curiously as he pulls out a black cap. He slides it onto his head, lowering the brim slightly, and then a mask appears too, covering the lower half of his face.
Strange, you think. All of a sudden, why?
He wasn’t wearing any of that earlier when you saw him walk around the museum alone. Your brows knit together slightly and you look around instinctively.
Nothing seems different.
Only his eyes remain fully visible now. And because you stand beside him thankfully you can still see him clearly.
He notices you looking.
For a brief moment, embarrassment flashes across his eyes as he sees the confused look at your face.
He types quickly.
“Sorry. It's just something I have to do.”
You read it twice.
Why?
You glance at him again, puzzled. Again, you think about how free he looked before talking to you, what changed now?
You type back before thinking clearly.
“Not because of me I hope.” and you smile at him, as if joking. So awkward, why would you say that to him, so passive aggressive and for what? You just met the guy.. relax.
He immediately looks apologetic and there’s panic in his eyes. You’re a fucking idiot that’s for sure.
“Of course not!”
Relief softens the tightness in your chest. You hadn’t realized how much you were holding your breath. You nod lightly to show you understand, even if you don’t really. People have private reasons for things. Everyone carries pieces of themselves they don’t explain to strangers. You have no right to ask for explanations on anything.
He studies your face for a moment longer, as if making sure you truly believe him. Then his shoulders relax. Whatever tension had briefly appeared in him fades, replaced again by that quiet warmth you’ve begun associating with his presence.
You continue walking.
He stays slightly closer to you than before, positioning himself so that anyone passing would see mostly the side of his face turned away. When other visitors walk by, his posture shifts subtly, head lowered, brim of his cap shadowing his eyes.
It feels more like a habit of his. Like muscle memory.
You don’t ask why. You’re not going to ask him anything, he has his reasons. You just hope he’s not a criminal or something and he’s scared of being found.
You laugh in your head at the thought of this beautiful, kind man being a criminal.
You slow near the next painting and gesture toward it, inviting his attention back to something else. You both stop in front of a watercolor landscape, pale greens and soft blues melting into each other. He leans closer to read the description while you type a thought onto your phone.
“This one feels quiet.”
He reads it, then nods immediately.
He types
“Comfortable quiet.”
You smile.
Yes.
Exactly that.
The conversation resumes naturally after that. Whatever moment of tension existed dissolves into shared observation again, phones passing back and forth between you like a language only the two of you understand.
And you notice how attentive he is.
When you pause longer at a painting he waits for you. When you step closer to examine brushstrokes, he follows your lead. At one sculpture you circle slowly around it, studying how light changes the shadows, and when you turn he’s watching you instead of the art.
You pretend not to notice but your heart still reacts anyway. You show him another message.
“Do you like art a lot?”
He thinks before answering.
His thumbs hover over the screen longer this time.
“Yes. A lot. I try to make as much time for art as I can.”
You walk through the remaining galleries together, falling into an easy rhythm. Sometimes you talk through text. Sometimes you don’t talk at all. And somehow the silence between you never feels empty.
It feels shared.
At one point your hands brush accidentally while reaching toward the same information plaque. Both of you pull back at the same time. He laughs silently again, shoulders lifting, eyes crinkling above the mask.
You feel warmth rush to your face.
You type quickly, hiding your embarrassment behind humor.
“We have synchronized museum instincts.”
He grins and nods enthusiastically.
You don’t notice how often he looks at you now.
Not just glances.
Lingering looks.
As if he’s trying to memorize something.
Eventually the exhibition begins to thin out and visitors move toward the exit. Afternoon light grows stronger through the windows, signaling the end of the experience.
You reach the final gallery together and neither of you says anything. Neither of you rushes forward. It feels strangely similar to standing at the end of a good book, not wanting to turn the last page because finishing means losing it forever, that it’s over.
You slow your steps and he matches them automatically.
Outside the gallery doors the museum lobby stretches wide and bright. Reality waits there. You stop walking. He stops too. For a moment you both just stand facing each other. The silence changes. Not comfortable now, but fragile. Temporary.
You suddenly become aware that this was never guaranteed to last longer than today, longer than a few hours. That soon he will become a stranger again. You grip your phone slightly tighter.
He shifts his weight, eyes flicking down before returning to yours.
He’s nervous, you can feel it.
You’ve seen nervousness before, in yourself, in others trying to bridge uncertain moments. He types something. Stops and deletes it, then types again
Your heart begins beating faster.
Finally, he turns the screen toward you.
“Can I have your number Y/N? I understand if not, of course.”
You look at him. At the hidden half of his face. At the eyes that have stayed soft with you all afternoon, at the stranger who chose to stay instead of walking away when he realised communication was going to be more complicated than he's used to.
You type your number and you’re smiling down at his phone, and your fingers feel strangely unsteady as you hand the phone back to him.
He exhales, a subtle release of tension you almost miss. He saves it immediately, then types.
“I’m glad I met you today.”
Your throat tightens.
You reply.
“Me too.”
It feels inadequate compared to what you actually mean. You both linger a moment longer near the exit. Neither moving first.
Finally, you bow slightly, and he mirrors you instantly. You turn toward the doors, the remaining sunlight spilling across the floor ahead of you and each step away feels heavier than it should.
You reach the exit and something pulls at you. You glance back.. and he’s still standing there watching you. Not checking his phone. Not leaving.
When your eyes meet again he lifts his hand in a small wave and you immediately smile at him and wave back in a small movement, and then you step outside into the afternoon air, unaware that somewhere behind you Hyunjin remains still for several seconds longer.
As if leaving this moment is harder than he expected.
_
You didn’t expect him to text.
That’s the rule you’ve learned about people who show interest in you. People are not willing to do all that, to put this much effort. These beautiful moments don’t follow you home.
Still, when you step into your apartment you place your phone down on the table more carefully than usual. As if being gentle to your phone will make him text. You change clothes. Wash your hands. Make tea. The routine unfolds exactly as it always does, predictable.
Your apartment is quiet, as it always is.
You sit by the window, watching the city move below. Cars glide past. People talk animatedly on sidewalks, conversations you can see but never enter. And then.. with the corner of your eye you see your phone light up.
Your heart jumps before logic catches up and you go and pick it up way too quickly.
A message.
Unknown number.
You already know.
“Hey, it’s Hyunjin, from the museum. Did you get home safely?”
Warmth spreads through your chest so suddenly it genuinely embarrasses you. You type back immediately, then delete it. You’re being too fast. Too eager. You don’t want to make it seem like he’s all you could think about, even though that’s exactly what’s happening.
You wait for at least five minutes, just hoping he didn’t see you typing.
You: Hi. Yes. Did you?
The typing bubble appears almost instantly.
He was waiting too.
Hyunjin: Yes :) I keep thinking about the painting.
You smile instantly. You walk to the couch and sit down, pulling your legs beneath you.
You: The one with the storm?
Hyunjin: Yes. The one we met in front of.
Your breath catches. You stare at the message longer than necessary, unsure how to respond without revealing how much it affects you.
You: I can’t stop thinking about that piece too.
Three dots appear again.
Disappear.
Return.
You imagine him somewhere across the city, looking at his phone the same way you are now.
Hyunjin: I’m glad I talked to you today.
You blush like a schoolgirl. What even is this, why are you so effected by this man you barely know. Yes, he’s very attractive and he seems kind, but those things never effect you if you’re not knee deep in someone’s personality.
You: Me too, thank you for today.
The conversation ends there, but you can’t seem to be able to stop thinking about him for the rest of the night, before finally going to sleep, still thinking about him, replaying everything in your head.
_
As the days go by the beautiful stranger texts you nearly every day, almost always at the same hours, late evening, when the city softens and people begin disappearing into their private lives. And you blush and kick your feet like a teenager who’s interacting with a boy for the first time in her life every time you get a text from him.
At first, the questions are small.
Hyunjin: What do you usually do after work?
You: Go home. Read. Sometimes cook badly.
Hyunjin: Haha, I doubt it’s bad.
You: Do you paint?
Hyunjin: Yeah, I'm trying to find time for that.
You: What do you do for work?
Three dots appear.
Disappear.
Return.
Hyunjin: I’m a dancer.
You smile unconsciously. It fits him. The way he stood in front of the sculpture. The way his hands moved. The quiet awareness of his body in space.
You: That makes sense.
Hyunjin: Really? How come?
You hesitate, unsure how to explain something intuitive.
You: You notice things. Dancers notice things.
The typing bubble appears instantly.
Stops.
Appears again.
Hyunjin: I think you notice more than me.
The conversations grow slowly as days go by. He asks what silence feels like to you. No one has ever asked that before. You tell him silence isn’t always empty. It can be full. Full of movement, expressions, light shifting through rooms, people breathing.
He sends a message after several minutes.
Hyunjin: That sounds beautiful. I think sign language is very beautiful, maybe you can teach me something one day?
Your chest aches. Teach him sign? One day? This mean he's planning to see you again?
You: Oh, of course, if you'd like that :)
Hyunjin: I'd love it.
Some nights he tells you about the 'rehearsals' he has, as he calls them. You haven’t t quite understood what he does for work. Is he a dance teacher? Is he a backup dancer? He talks about long hours, sore feet and mirrors everywhere, and you imagine him practicing alone in a quiet studio.
You never push for details. You’ve learned people reveal only what they want to.
One evening after weeks of messages that feel strangely essential to your days, you type without overthinking.
You: I wish I could see you dance one day.
The message sends.
Immediately, the typing bubble appears.
Stops.
Appears again.
You watch it, heart beating faster than it should.
…typing…
…typing…
Then it disappears. Again. A minute passes. Two. Your stomach tightens.
Hyunjin: Maybe someday.
Another pause.
Hyunjin: Goodnight :)
You blink at the screen. Something about it feels unfinished. Like a door almost opened and then quietly shut again. What was he writing for minutes straight that he deleted?
You type goodnight back.
The next day passes without a text from him, and you don’t think much of it. People get busy. He clearly sounds like someone who has lots of work and lots of stuff to do. You go to work, come home, make tea and sit by the window as always.
Your phone stays dark.
Two days.
Five days.
A week.
No message.
You stop checking constantly. You place your phone face down now, as if removing the possibility will make disappointment smaller. It shouldn’t hurt. Yes, you both opened up a little bit about your lives, but still, you barely know him. But something settles quietly in your chest, familiar and heavy.
Because this is how it always happens.
People are kind at first. Curious. Interested. They like the novelty of learning how you communicate, the way you watch faces carefully, the patience required to speak with hands or typed words. But eventually comes the moment when effort becomes visible. When conversations require adjustment. When spontaneity disappears.
And then they fade.
Not cruelly or dramatically, but they do, and it always hurts the same. Maybe he wanted to meet with you, but the thought of having to text all the time made him change his mind.
You learned not to blame people for this.
And with him? You just tell yourself this was never different. You tell yourself that you knew better and to stop rereading the messages you exchanged the past weeks, and to stop wondering what he almost said that night.
Two weeks pass.
The rhythm of your life closes again around you, steady and predictable. Evening tea and city lights through your window. You feel foolish for having expected anything else. Some people are just passing moments. Beautiful ones, yes, but temporary. And you're still glad you got to know him even for just a bit. After all, he seemed like a nice, kind man.
_
It's Friday night and you’re halfway through washing dishes. You're planning on tidying up a bit, then putting on a movie and relaxing like that in front of the tv after a shitty day at the atelier.
You dropped your canvas, made a mess in the floor, ruined hours upon hours of hard work and had everyone trying to help you like you were some baby. You’re deaf, you’re not a toddler.
Everything today was just shit, and you deserved to relax and forget this day all together.
Suddenly your phone lights up on the counter. You don’t rush, you’ve trained yourself not to, and you're pretty much sure it's just your mom or your sister.
You dry your hands slowly.
His name.
Your heart forgets all the lessons you tried to teach it.
Hyunjin: Would you be up to meet again?
_
You start getting ready far too early.
The clock says you still have three hours before he arrives, yet you stand in front of your wardrobe like the decision carries unreasonable consequences. Shirts are lifted, held against your body, folded back again. Nothing feels right. Everything feels like trying too hard. You sit on the edge of your bed for a moment trying to catch your breath and looking at all the mess you’ve made in front of you.
You’re being so ridiculous. This is just tea. Just meeting a friend. Right? That’s what he is. A friend.
But your thoughts don’t cooperate. What if he realizes how exhausting it is to talk with you? The pauses while you type. The way conversations sometimes need to slow down or the constant awareness required to communicate with you. People always say it doesn’t matter at first. And then later it does.
You smooth your hands over the clothes you finally picked. A long skirt and a beautifully detailed top.
You tell yourself not to hope too much. To treat this as meeting a friend and nothing else. This is not a date, not a romantic one at least.
The message he sent yesterday replays in your mind.
Would you be up to meet again?
And then the location he chose.
A tea house.
You had mentioned weeks ago casually that tea makes you feel calm and that you collect different kinds, that choosing tea feels like choosing a mood.
He remembered.
The realization warmed you more than the invitation itself. He listens. He listens and he notices and he remembers. You'd be happy even having him in your life as just a friend, so you just hope tonight goes well.
The tea house isn’t in town. It sat far outside the city, near the hills, almost hidden, and you wondered why he would choose somewhere so far when there were dozens of tea places closer. The thought lingered, unanswered. And you didn’t have time to care.
Your phone lights up.
Hyunjin: I’m outside.
Your heart leaps. You grab your bag, check your reflection one last time and step outside.
The car waiting at the curb makes you slow down.
Sleek. Black. You can tell this is a nice, expensive car. Dancers don’t usually drive cars like that. Or do they? Before you can think longer, the driver’s door opens. Hyunjin steps out, and for a moment your brain stops working properly.
He looks unfairly beautiful.
Soft black hair falling into his eyes, simple clothes somehow looking elegant on him, long coat moving slightly with the breeze. There’s nothing flashy about him, yet everything about him draws attention effortlessly. He has a cup on again, a cup that hides most of his face.
He smiles when he sees you and it makes your stomach flip.
Oh no.
He looks even better than you remembered. How are you supposed to try become friends with someone you are so attracted to? A man so beautiful your heart is doing backflips inside your chest. This is never going to work. But you will try, you will do anything to keep him in your life, you're already sure of it.
He walks toward you, slightly nervous energy in his movements. Then he pauses, studying you carefully. He lifts his phone, types quickly, and shows you.
Hyunjin: How do you sign “beautiful” ?
You blink, surprised. You demonstrate slowly, showing him the motion, and his eyes follow your hands with intense focus, repeating the movement carefully, almost reverently.
He signs it back to you.
Beautiful. And points at you right after.
Heat rushes to your face instantly and you're pretty sure your cheeks are red, and he definitely noticed, because the corner of his eyes crinkles as a small smirk appears. You look away, suddenly very interested in the pavement.
The drive is quiet but comfortable.
He occasionally glances at you, like he’s reassuring himself you’re really there. The city slowly fades behind you, buildings giving way to open views and softer landscapes.
You watch the scenery change, curiosity returning. Why here? Why somewhere so far away? But you will not ask. Somehow, the distance feels intentional. Private. Safe. And you find that nice, you trust him. Maybe he just wants to be far away from people because it will be overwhelming having to text and hear all the noise all at once.
The tea house appears nestled between trees, large windows facing an expansive view of hills stretching toward the sea. When you step inside you can see that there are barely any people, and the air smells faintly of jasmine and citrus. They seat you by the window and the view was breathtaking.
For a while, neither of you speaks. You simply sit there, sharing the calm. Then he types something and turns the phone toward you.
Hyunjin: I’m sorry I disappeared.
You blink, caught off guard by the directness.
Hyunjin: Work became overwhelming. I didn’t want to text carelessly.
You nod slowly and you type back.
You: It’s okay.I thought maybe you got tired of talking to me.
You immediately wish the floor would open up and you’d disappear inside it. Why would you just blurt that out so easily? What is wrong with you?
His reaction is immediate. His eyes widen, genuine shock crossing his face. He shakes his head quickly.
Hyunjin: Of course not.
He hesitates before continuing.
Hyunjin: Why would you think that?
You stare at your hands before answering. You already fucked up by being completely honest, you might as well explain.
You: People usually do. They don’t always have patience. Talking with me takes effort.
You expect sympathy or awkward reassurance. Instead, his expression just softens, and he types slower this time.
Hyunjin: Talking to you is easy.
Your chest tightens, and you're still not used to the feeling even though he's making you feel like this way too often.
You hadn’t noticed how tightly you were holding yourself together until the tea arrived. Steam curls upward between you, carrying the faint scent of chamomile and something floral you don’t recognize. The porcelain cups are warm against your fingers.
Hyunjin watches you as you lift the cup.
Hyunjin: Can I ask something personal?
You nod immediately. You’re surprised by how easily trust comes with him.
Hyunjin: Were you always deaf?
You smile at his genuine curiosity and type back.
You: Yes. I was born this way.
You pause, then add more.
You: My parents found out when I was a baby. I have never experienced sound, so I don’t feel like I lost anything.
Hyunjin: Does the cochlear implant help you catch anything?
You reach up instinctively, fingers brushing the small processor resting behind your ear.
You: Sometimes, yes. In quiet places, I can pick up bits of sound, but it doesn’t come through clearly. It’s more like my brain turning electrical signals into rough shapes of meaning. I guess. Speech is the hardest. Some sounds are clearer than others, but none of it feels natural. And I get tired quickly, listening takes effort
He nods as he reads.
Hyunjin: Can you hear your own voice?
You: Not really. I feel it more than hear it.
You tap lightly against your throat.
You: Like vibration inside my chest.
His expression changes, something tender flickering there, and you realize he’s imagining it. Trying to understand your world from the inside.
He types again, slower this time.
Hyunjin: Thank you for explaining it to me.
You nod and smile at him.
Hyunjin: And do your parents know sign language?
You: Kind of, they're still learning, but we can communicate comfortably for the most part.
He smiles.
Hyunjin: I want to learn too.
You look up at him, smiling big without meaning to.
You: I'll teach you then.
And he nods excitingly, as he types again.
Hyunjin: Tell me about your paintings, about your work!
You describe them shyly at first, talking about your favourite techniques and explain how painting feels like translating emotions you can’t always express otherwise. He reads your messages intensely, elbows resting on the table, completely focused. You talk more than you meant to and you open up to him quickly.
Eventually, without thinking, the words slip out.
You: You could come to my house and see them sometime… if you want.
The moment you turn the phone towards him for him to read you immediately regret it and try to take the phone back, but he stops you and holds your hand, turning the phone back to himself. Soft hands, his long fingers making you feel dizzy.
Focus, you're trying to be his friend.
You read his lips: “Let me see.”
You look down quickly, wishing you could pull the invitation back.
He goes still, and you can see uncertainty flicker across his face as he reads it. You rush to type again.
You: Only if you want. No pressure!!!!!!!!
He interrupts gently, typing as a small laugh leaves his throat and you catch the movement.
Hyunjin: I’d like that.
You look at him and he nods once, as if confirming the decision to himself as much as to you. Warmth spreads through you, mixed with nervous excitement.
You: Enough about me though, tell me about yourself too.
He laughs and types.
Hyunjin: I’m not very interesting.
You snort softly before you can stop yourself, and you wonder if the sound you made just now sounded weird. You hope not, and you see him smile, so you don’t think about it too much.
You: That’s not true.
He smiles at your quick response, shoulders relaxing slightly, and he tries again.
Hyunjin: I dance. That’s most of my life.
You nod, already knowing that part, but you wait for him to continue.
Hyunjin: I started young. Training took a lot of time. Long days. Late nights. I still practice almost every day.
You: What kind of dance?
He tilts his head, thinking how to answer.
Hyunjin: Different styles. Contemporary, hip hop, performance dance.
You: Do you like it?
His answer comes immediately this time.
Hyunjin: Yes. When I dance, I don’t think about anything else.
You smile. You understand that feeling. Painting does the same for you.
You: That’s how painting feels for me.
He nods eagerly, clearly happy at the connection.
Hyunjin: Then you understand.
Golden light stretches across the road as you walk back to the car together, and the drive feels different now. You feel closer to him after the talk you had. You feel like you know more about him, but still, you know there's so much more. You can feel that he’s holding back, you just can't put your finger on what it is.
When the car stops outside your apartment your heartbeat picks up again. He picks up his phone after stopping the car right in front of your door and types.
Hyunjin: I have time to see your painting now, if you’re okay with that.
You look at him, not ready for this to happen so fast, but you want him to come and see so bad that you just can’t find it in you to care if your apartment is messy. You nod eagerly.
_
He’s here. About to see your space. Your world. You glance at him, unsure if he’s nervous too, and he meets your eyes and smiles softly.
He follows you quietly into your apartment and the moment the door closes behind him something shifts in the air. You don’t turn on the big overhead light. Instead you move through the small space flipping on the many warm lamps you’ve collected over the years, soft golden pools of light that make the cozy room feel even smaller, more intimate.
The apartment is tiny, walls lined with bookshelves and half finished canvases. The air smells faintly of oil paint, chamomile tea and a lavender candle that even though wasn't lit you could still smell it.
Having him here feels… overwhelming, in a good, perfect way.
Hyunjin looks impossibly beautiful under the warm lamplight. The harsh edges of the outside world are gone. His black hair falls softly across his forehead as he takes his cap off, catching threads of gold. His long coat is draped over the back of your old armchair, and in just a simple black sweater, he seems softer, more real. Every time he moves the light shifts across his face, highlighting the gentle slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the depth in his eyes. He looks like one of your paintings come to life, something delicate and aching all at once.
You lead him to the corner where you paint. The space is cramped but warm, brushes resting in jars, colors smeared on an old wooden palette. Several canvases are propped against the wall, your private little windows into everything you feel.
Hyunjin crouches down slowly so he can see better, eyes moving across each piece with genuine focus. He studies the stormy seascape, soft misty mountains, and the smaller abstract works where colors bleed into emotions you’ve never named out loud.
His expression changes as he looks. First curiosity, then quiet surprise, and finally something close to awe. He leans closer to one particular canvas, a figure standing on a cliff as golden light breaks through heavy clouds, and his lips part slightly.
He pulls out his phone, but then seems to change his mind. Instead, he looks up at you, eyes bright, and slowly signs the word you taught him earlier.
Beautiful.
The movement is careful, a little clumsy but full of effort. His long fingers shape the sign with reverence.
You look up at him, heart pounding so loudly you can feel it in your throat. Without thinking, you sign back “Thank you”, and you mouth the word silently at the same time.
For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you under the warm lamplight.
Hyunjin’s gaze softens. He rises slowly from his crouch until he’s standing close, closer than he’s ever been. The air between you feels charged, fragile, full of all the unspoken things that have been growing since you met. His eyes drop to your lips for half a second, then return to yours, asking without words.
And then he just leans in.
The kiss is impossibly soft.
Tentative at first, like he’s afraid of breaking the quiet you both cherish. His lips are warm and gentle against yours, tasting faintly of the tea you shared earlier. There’s no rush, only tenderness. One of his hands comes up to cup your cheek with feather light care, thumb brushing your skin.
Your eyes flutter closed. After a heartbeat of surprise, you lean in and kiss him back, your hands rising to rest lightly against his chest. You can feel the steady, slightly faster beat of his heart under your palm. The kiss deepens just a little, still soft, still slow.
When you finally pull apart you’re both breathing a little heavier. His forehead rests gently against yours for a moment, eyes closed, as if he’s savoring the closeness, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, then reaches for his phone with slightly unsteady fingers.
Hyunjin: I wanted to do this since the moment I saw you in front of that painting.
You smile, cheeks flushed, and you grab his phone to type back
You: I wanted you to do this since that moment too, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.
His eyes are warm and shiny as he reads.
Hyunjin: I don’t want to scare you with how much I already like you. But being here, in your space, seeing your art… it feels like I’m seeing the real you. And I like her so much.
Your chest tightens with a sweet ache.
You: I’m not scared of you.
The hour now has grown late, and Hyunjin glances at the time on his phone, reluctance clear in his expression.
Hyunjin: I have early practice tomorrow… I should go. Thank you for letting me into your world tonight.
You smile at him as he touched your face one last time, and you walk to the door together. He puts his coat back on and pulls the mask and cap from his pocket, preparing once again for the outside world. Before he steps out, he turns to you one more time.
He leans down and presses a final, tender kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a few heartbeats, and you melt completely. Then he pulls back, eyes soft.
You sign “Goodnight” slowly as you mouth it, and he repeats the sign back to you with a smile.
You stand there for a long moment, fingers touching your lips where he kissed you, the warmth of his presence still lingering in your small apartment.
_
The next afternoon you stepped out to buy groceries, still carrying the warm glow from last night’s kiss. Your steps felt lighter. The world seemed a little softer, and you wanted more than anything to make soup.
You loved soup, and you loved making it. It felt so cozy to make soup. Mushroom soup, carrot soup, chicken soup, onion soup. You’ve tried everything, all of it equally delicious.
You got your groceries and you decided to go home from a different route, to walk around a little longer since the day was so nice. You turned the corner onto the main street, and right there as you looked up, you froze.
There, towering over the busy intersection was a massive billboard. Bright, impossible to miss. Hyunjin’s face, the face of the boy who was in your apartment last night filled most of it, sharp eyes, styled hair, wearing a striking outfit, promoting a luxury brand.
Your bags slipped from your fingers.
The world tilted. You stared, frozen on the sidewalk as people walked past you. Your chest tightened painfully. That was him. Your Hyunjin, splashed across a building like he belonged to everyone.
What the fuck? Is this actually him? Or is this a sick joke? Does he have a fucking twin or something? No. There’s no way that’s him.
_
The groceries hit the floor the moment the door of your apartment closed, milk carton cracking open, vegetables rolling across the tiles.
You didn’t care.
Hands shaking, you opened your laptop and typed “Hyunjin” into the search bar. You didn’t even know his last name, there’s no way anything will come up with just his name.
The page loaded.
Thousands of results.
Photos. Videos. News articles. “Hwang Hyunjin” — Stray Kids. Born March 20, 2000. Main dancer, rapper, visual. Millions of followers. Fancams. Magazine covers.
His face was everywhere.
You clicked frantically. More images flooded the screen, him on stage, glowing with confidence, blonde hair in older clips, intense expressions, surrounded by seven other men. He looked so different yet the same. Powerful. Distant. Like a completely different person from the man who had kissed you so tenderly the other night.
And then the betrayal hit and you felt tears running down your face.
He had lied to you. Not directly, but by omission. While you poured out your world to him he had hidden this enormous part of himself. The cap, the mask, the faraway tea house, the sudden disappearances… it all made brutal sense now.
Is he really that ashamed of me?
The thought tore through you. That’s why he hid his face whenever you were together. To protect himself. So no one would see the famous idol standing next to the deaf girl.
Tears burned hot down your cheeks.
You curled up on the floor beside the spilled groceries, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The apartment felt too small, too quiet, too full of him. You cried until your eyes ached and your chest felt hollow.
How could he do this?
_
The next morning your phone lit up.
Hyunjin: Hey. I keep thinking about your paintings… and you. How are you today?
You read it. Your thumb hovering over the keyboard, but you can’t bring yourself to answer. The hurt is too raw, too fresh.
Twenty minutes later, another message.
Hyunjin: Did you sleep well? I know I left late the other day, I hope I didn’t mess up your sleep schedule. if you’re busy, it’s okay. Just let me know you’re alright?
Read. No reply.
An hour passes.
Hyunjin: Is everything okay? I’m getting a little worried. Did I do something wrong?
You still couldn’t answer and the tears came again. Why was he doing this? What did he want from you? Why is he texting you acting like he cares if he’s so embarrassed to be around you to the point he has to hide under masks?
Then, late in the afternoon another message.
Hyunjin: Please talk to me. Even if it’s just one word. I can’t stop thinking that I messed up the moment I left your apartment. You’re important to me. I don’t want to lose this.
Something inside you snapped. You typed with trembling fingers, vision blurred
You: Are you embarrassed of me, Hwang Hyunjin? Is that why you were hiding your face every time we were together? What do you want from me exactly?
The message sent.
You saw the “Read” notification almost instantly.
He didn’t reply.
_
You feel slightly calmer now after getting that out of your chest, calm enough to look him up again. With a clearer head now, not filled with shock. You searched his name once more and click on a music video titled “God’s Menu.”
The video starts, and you can’t hear a single note. Hyunjin appears on screen, younger, with striking blonde hair, moving with fierce, sharp precision. His expressions are powerful, almost predatory, completely different from the gentle person who had crouched in front of your paintings to look. There were seven other men with him, all radiating raw energy and charisma. The choreography was intense, synchronized, explosive.
He had opened up to you about dancing, about how it made him forget everything. But he never told you this was his life. Why? Why were you not allowed to know about this?
Fresh tears slipped down your cheeks. The disappointment felt heavier than the anger now. You had trusted him, but he hadn’t trusted you with this.
It was past 9 p.m when your phone buzzed again.
Him.
Hyunjin: I’m outside your apartment. Please… can I come up and explain? Just five minutes. I’ll leave right after if you want me to.
Your heart clenched. Part of you wanted to ignore him. The bigger part, the one that still remembered his soft lips kissing you, made you walk to the door. You were angry, but you were mostly curious. Curious to know what the fuck he wants from you and why he hid this.
Hyunjin stood there in the dim hallway light, mask pulled down, eyes wide with worry and something else.. fear?.
He looked exhausted. He stepped inside carefully when you moved aside, and the moment the door closed he started typing frantically, then stopped and tried to speak slowly so you could read his lips.
“I’m not embarrassed of you,” he said clearly, voice careful. “Never. Please believe that.”
You stared at him, arms wrapped around yourself.
He continued, typing and showing you the screen.
Hyunjin: My company has very strict rules. Idols aren’t allowed to date publicly. If fans see me with someone, especially if pictures get taken, it can turn into a huge scandal. It could hurt my members, my career… and the person I’m with. I was trying to protect you. Your life and identity. I don’t want cameras or hate coming after you because of me. I was going to tell you. I swear. I just… I wanted you to like me for me, the guy who sat next to you in the museum.
His eyes were glassy and he looked genuinely devastated. Breaking your heart seeing him like this even though you were still upset with him.
“I’m so sorry,” he mouthed. “I never meant to hurt you like this.”
You felt your own tears return. The anger cracked, leaving only hurt and sudden guilt.
You didn’t know any of this. You weren’t familiar with idol culture, hell, you couldn’t even listen to music.
You typed with shaky hands.
You: Okay, I get that, I’m sorry for reacting like this. I saw you on a billboard and then I googled you. So many people know you. Why do i not deserve to? I just instinctively thought you’re embarrassed of me because of my disability.
Hyunjin shook his head fiercely and pulled you into his arms without hesitation. He held you tight, one hand gently cradling the back of your head. You clung to him, face buried in his chest, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. He rubbed slow circles on your back, patient and warm.
After a long while, he pulled back just enough to type.
Hyunjin: I really like you Y/N, and I don’t give a fuck that you’re deaf. It’s just another beautiful part of you, nothing more, nothing less.
You read the text and looked up in his eyes, more tears forming in your eyes, in his too. And you hugged again, tightly, as he kissed the top of your head.
After a while like this..
You: I saw the music videos. You look so cool, and you dance so unbelievably great. I wish I could hear your music
The sadness in your own expression was impossible to hide. Hyunjin’s face softened and he cupped your cheeks gently, thumbs brushing away your tears. He leaned in and kissed you, soft, deep, full of apology and longing. You kissed him back desperately, clinging tighter, your hands fisting in his shirt as if he might disappear.
The kiss grew heavier. Your body pressed closer to his, seeking comfort, connection, anything to fill the ache. Your hands slid under his coat, under his sweater, touching his waist and now actively pulling him toward the bedroom as you kiss.
Hyunjin understood immediately and he stopped you gently as he smiled, breaking the kiss, forehead resting against yours.
He shook his head no, breathing uneven, cheeks flushed.
“Not like this,” he mouthed slowly, making sure you could read his lips. “You’re upset. I don’t want you to.. regret it later.”
And his words are kind but they still hit you like cold water. Your hands loosen from his sweater immediately, heat rushing to your face. Embarrassment floods through you so quickly it almost hurts. You pull back a little too fast, avoiding his eyes.
Of course.
Of course you misread everything and embarrassed yourself again.
You stare at the floor, fingers twisting together. You type quickly on your phone, movements slightly clumsy.
You: I’m so sorry. That was stupid. I didn’t mean to-
Before you can finish, he gently catches your wrist. His expression changes instantly, concern replacing surprise.
He shakes his head, almost panicked.
“No,” he mouths quickly. “No, no.”
He takes your phone, typing himself.
Hyunjin: Hey. It’s okay. Really. You didn’t do anything wrong. We can do that some other time, when you’re feeling better. I want it too.
He looks at you and smiles, warm, reassuring, the kind of smile meant to pull you out of your own thoughts. He’s still standing so close and it doesn’t help that you’ve touched his bare waist. You’re still embarrassed, and you don’t know what to do with your hands for the first time maybe ever.
His hand lifts slowly, hesitant, giving you time to pull away if you want.
You don’t.
His fingers tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Then he leans in again. Gentle, soft kiss, slow. Not desperate or overwhelming, reassurance pressed quietly against your lips.
When he pulls back his forehead rests against yours again for a second, both of you smiling a little shyly now. The tension melts and you breathe out a small laugh, still embarrassed but lighter. And he smiles at the sound you made.
He gestures towards the couch and you nod.
You sit side by side, knees touching, your shoulders brushing occasionally as you both pull out your phones to talk. The room feels calmer now. Safe again.
You glance at him, then type.
You: So… idol.
He groans immediately, covering his face with one hand, and you grin.
You: You hid that pretty well.
Hyunjin: I wasn’t trying to lie. I just… wanted you to meet me first.
You tilt your head, teasing.
You: So you’re secretly mega famous and thought I wouldn’t notice?
He laughs, shoulders shaking.
Hyunjin: You didn’t notice.
You nudge his arm.
You: I thought you were just suspiciously pretty.
He pretends to look offended, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. You both laugh, the last bit of awkwardness dissolving between you, but your next message is softer.
You: I was really hurt yesterday. It really shocked me and my mind went to the worse case scenario.
His smile faded, replaced by something serious.
Hyunjin: I know. I’m really sorry. I should’ve thought of the possibility of hurting you like this.
He looks at you while you read it, eyes vulnerable in a way that doesn’t match the polished image he probably shows the world.
Hyunjin: I was scared you’d treat me differently or feel like my life was too much.
Your chest tightens. You don’t type this time. You just lean in and kiss him. A quiet answer. Forgiveness. When you pull back he looks stunned and then relieved, smiling wider than you’ve seen all night.
You stand up suddenly and he blinks in confusion. You gesture toward the kitchen.
“Tea” you mouth, and sign it at the same time.
His face lights up immediately.
He watches you move around the kitchen, comfortable in your own space, sleeves pushed up as you prepare tea. Something about the normalcy of it seems to calm him more than anything else tonight. When you return handing him a warm cup his fingers brush yours deliberately.
He mouths thank you, and he tries to sign it from memory. His movement is a little clumsy, but you help him get it right as you both smile.
You grab the remote and put on some anime show you’ve left unfinished, looking at him to make sure he’s also cool with your choice, and his eyes widen in excitement as he nods immediately.
As the show starts playing quietly the screen colors flickering across the room. He keeps glancing at you more than the show at first, like he’s still grounding himself in the fact that you’re okay, that you’re still here with him.
Eventually you settle closer. Your head rests against his shoulder and his arm hesitates only a second before wrapping around you carefully, pulling you into his side.
He’s warm. steady, safe.
You both watch episode after episode, occasionally passing the phone back and forth to comment or joke. At some point you stop typing altogether. You’re just… comfortable. Your breathing slows and your body grows heavier against him, and a few minutes later he looks down and realises you’ve fallen asleep on him, your cheek pressed against his chest as one of your hands loosely hold his shirt.
His expression softens instantly and he stays still for a long time, unwilling to disturb you, watching your peaceful face like it’s something fragile.
After an hour he carefully shifts, sliding one arm under your knees and the other behind your back as he lifts you. You stir slightly but don’t wake, instinctively leaning closer into him.
He smiles at that. Finding it adorable.
Carrying you to the bedroom feels strangely intimate, more intimate than any of the kisses you’ve shared. He lays you gently on the bed, pulling the blanket over you and tucking it around your shoulders. He just stands there for a moment, watching you, memorizing your face as his fingers brush lightly against your hair.
He mouths quietly, though you can’t hear it,
“Goodnight baby”
And he hesitates… but then leans down and presses one last soft kiss to your forehead before he leaves. And the apartment returns to silence but holds all of the warmth he left behind.
_
Morning arrives slowly.
Sunlight slips through your curtains in golden lines, warming the blankets tangled around you. For a moment you don’t move, you just lie there, half awake, wrapped in the lingering feeling of last night.
Then memory returns all at once.
Hyunjin, the apologies, what almost happened but he’s just so sweet and considerate, the couch, the tea, his arms around you, falling asleep against him.
Your eyes snap open and you sit up quickly, looking around your room. Deep inside you hoping he’s here. A small flicker of disappointment rises… until your phone lights up beside you.
Hyunjin: Good morning! You fell asleep during episode four.
Your heart jumps, and you open the messages immediately. A smile spread across your face as another message appears.
Hyunjin: I carried you to bed. I hope that was okay. I had work pretty early today so I had to go.
You press your lips together, warmth blooming in your chest at the thought.
Hyunjin: Also… I just wanted to say that I’m sorry again for upsetting you. I never want to make you feel unsure of my intentions again.
You reread that one twice. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, but before you can answer, another message arrives.
Hyunjin: I have an idea, and a feeling you’re going to like it. Can I pick you up later?
You don’t even realize you’re smiling until your cheeks start hurting.
You: You don’t have to apologize anymore Hyun. And yes, you can pick me up!
Hyun.
He smiles at the nickname.
He’s down horribly and he knows it.
_
You notice immediately that this drive feels different. He looks excited but nervous too. His fingers tap lightly against the steering wheel while he glances at you every few seconds, like he’s waiting for your reaction before the surprise even happens.
The car stops in front of a large building and you tilt your head questioningly. He grins, a little shy, a little proud over his idea, and gestures for you to follow him.
You immediately realise you’re in a company building. The hallways are never ending, and staff members bow politely as he passes. You notice it, the familiarity, the respect, the way people instantly recognize him. This is his world. Some of them look at you with a strange look on their faces, but they don’t try to interact with you at all, so you simply follow Hyunjin.
He opens a door carefully.
A.. studio?
You’re suddenly inside a huge recording studio. And right there in front of you is another man who looks back at you and Hyunjin and smiles fondly. Does he know you?
Hyunjin signs slowly as he points at him for you to look:
“Friend”
Chan immediately mirrors the greeting, giving you an enthusiastic wave. His smile is kind, gentle in a way that eases your nerves instantly. He types something quickly on a tablet and turns it toward you.
Chan: Hi! I’m Chan, Hyunjin’s bandmate. Hyunjin talks about you a lot. Welcome to our studio. It’s nice to finally meet you”
You smile at him and nod.
He talks about you? He’s.. talked about you to his members? To his group?
Suddenly Hyunjin takes your hand and leads you towards an enormous speaker setup. Huge. Almost intimidating. He suddenly looks nervous, searching your face for trust.
He signs slowly so you can follow every movement.
“I want you to feel my music.”
Did he do research? How does he know how to signs sentences all of a sudden? Your head is already spinning at the fact he’s fully signing before what he actually said even registers.
He guides your hand gently toward the large speaker, an enormous one that’s resting against the wall.
The music starts, and..
BOOM.
A deep vibration surges through the speaker and travels straight into your palm. Strong and alive and you gasp, eyes widening.
The bass pulses again, and again and again. You feel it climb up your arm, into your chest, into your bones. Instinctively, your other hand presses over your heart. The beat syncs beneath your palm. You’re feeling it. Feeling him. His art, his effort. His voice translated into movement, into vibration and emotion.
Your smile grows uncontrollably and you know your eyes are shinning, and then tears spill before you even realize you’re crying. Hyunjin freezes when he sees them.
For one terrifying second he thinks Did I overwhelm her? Did I do something wrong?
But then you laugh silently through your tears, gripping the speaker tighter, shoulders shaking with emotion. And he understands. You feel it. You feel him. He steps closer, overwhelmed himself now, and gently cups your face. His thumbs wipe your tears away one by one, and then he leans down, kissing them softly from your cheeks.
Behind you Chan quietly smiles, and without a word he slips out of the room, closing the door, giving you privacy, protecting the moment.
Hyunjin rests his forehead against yours, the music still pulses through the floor, through your hands, through your heart.
He signs slowly, again: I wanted to share my world with you.
You squeeze his hand, pressing it over your chest so he can feel your heartbeat racing beneath his palm and you kiss kid knuckles.
That’s your answer.
He exhales shakily, overwhelmed by how deeply this moment means means to him, and scared of how much you mean to him.
The tears on your cheeks had barely dried when something shifted in the air between you. His breathing grew heavier, you could feel it. His thumbs stroked your skin once more, then slid down to your jaw.
He kissed you again, hard, passionate, desperate.
It wasn’t like his usual gentle kisses. This one carried everything he had been holding back, longing, fear, and overwhelming want.
His lips moved against yours with urgent hunger, tongue slipping into your mouth as his hands slid into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted and you whimpered into the kiss, hands fisting in his shirt.
He started to guide you to the couch now, and he locked the studio door with one hand without breaking the kiss.
He sat down on the wide, comfortable studio couch and pulled you with him. You climbed into his lap without thinking, knees bracketing his hips, straddling him. The moment your bodies pressed together you both instinctively moaned. And oh you were needy. So needy. And so was he. And the little sounds you were making were driving him crazy.
Your hips started moving on their own, grinding down against the growing hardness in his pants. The friction was delicious, and you rocked against him again and again, chasing the pressure. He groaned deeply, the sound vibrating against your lips as his hands gripped your waist, guiding your movements.
“Fuck… baby,” he breathed against your neck, making sure you could feel the low rumble of his voice. “You’re so eager for me…”
You answered by rolling your hips harder, desperate little sounds slipping from your throat. The music continued to pulse around you, deep bass thumping through the couch, through his body, into yours. Every beat seemed to sync with the way you moved against him.
Hyunjin’s hands slid under your shirt, palms hot against your bare skin. He helped you pull the fabric over your head, then leaned forward to kiss and bite softly at your neck and collarbone while you continued grinding down on him. The humping grew more frantic, and your breathing was ragged, thighs trembling around his hips as you rubbed yourself against his clothed cock again and again.
He was breathing hard too, forehead pressed to your shoulder, groaning every time you rolled your hips just right.
After several long minutes of this, he finally slid one hand between your bodies. His long fingers slipped under your skirt and into your panties, finding you already soaked.
“So wet for me baby” he said, making sure you read his lips, and his words made you shiver.
He circled your clit slowly at first, then faster. Two of his long, elegant fingers pressed inside you, curling gently, opening you up. He scissored them slowly, stretching you, stroking that sensitive spot inside while his thumb continued rubbing your clit.
You clung to his shoulders, hips rocking desperately onto his fingers, soft whimpers turning into broken moans. Hyunjin watched your face the entire time, eyes dark and full of adoration, occasionally leaning in to kiss you deeply whenever your sounds grew louder.
When he felt you were ready, trembling and dripping around his fingers, he pulled them out gently.
He quickly opened his pants, freeing himself. His cock was hard, flushed, already leaking at the tip. He looked up at you, breathing heavily, eyes sparkling and asking for permission even now. And you answered by lifting your hips, pushing your panties aside, and slowly sinking down onto him.
The stretch was intense.
You gasped, forehead falling against his as you took him inch by inch. Hyunjin’s hands gripped your hips tightly, but he didn’t push, he let you control the pace, groaning deeply every time you sank a little lower.
When he was fully inside you, buried to the hilt, you both stayed still for a moment, breathing each other in.
Then you started moving.
Slow at first. Rolling your hips in deep, sensual circles. Hyunjin’s head fell back against the couch, lips parted, low groans spilling from his throat and you wrapped one arm gently around his neck so you could feel every groan, every moan through your palm. And every time you felt it you’d squeeze him inside you so deliciously.
His hands guided you, helping you ride him harder, deeper.
“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, looking at you straight in the eyes as he spoke “So tight… so warm… all mine. My perfect girl.”
Your pace quickened. You rode him with desperate need, breasts bouncing slightly with every movement, hands clutching his shoulders for balance. Hyunjin met every roll of your hips with upward thrusts, fucking up into you while keeping one hand on your lower back, pressing you closer.
When you finally came it hit you so hard. Your body clenched around him, a silent cry tearing from your throat as waves of intense pleasure crashed through you. Hyunjin followed right after, pulling out of you quickly, a shuddering groan you felt vibrate through your entire chest. His arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you against him as he spilled on his stomach.
You looked down at the beautiful mess he had made in himself, and you picked some of it with your finger, bringing it to your mouth.
His head was going to explode. The expressions on his face priceless, making you wet all over again by just how hot he looked looking at you.
His hands started to stroke your back slowly, tenderly. He pressed soft kisses to your sweaty temple, your cheek, your lips. His fingers brushed damp strands of hair away from your face with such gentle care it made your chest ache.
“I think i’m falling in love with you” he mouthed and touched his heart.
Your eyes widened, a smile you couldn’t control. You fell on his chest and kissed him, and you could feel each other’s smiles through the kiss
“Me too” you mouthed back.
You buried your face in his neck, arms wrapped tightly around him, heart still racing.
_
The award still feels unreal in his hands even hours later.
Even after the stage lights, the cameras, the cheers vibrating through the arena floor, the weight of the trophy resting beside the table keeps pulling Hyunjin back to reality.
They won.
The restaurant is loud, warm, crowded with late night laughter and clinking glasses. The members insisted on going out if they won, no managers hovering too closely tonight, just eight exhausted men finally allowed to breathe.
Chan lifts his glass.
“To surviving another year”
Everyone cheers. Glasses collide.
Hyunjin smiles, but his mind drifts elsewhere, and across the table Chan watches him carefully. Too carefully. He knows him too well.
Chan leans forward slowly, eyes narrowing in playful suspicion.
“Why do you look like you’re remembering something illegal?”
Laughter erupts instantly.
Changbin snaps his fingers. “He’s been smiling at nothing all night!”
Han points dramatically. “You can’t possibly be this happy over the award you little fuck, just tell us”
Hyunjin groans, dropping his face into his hands.
“I hate all of you.”
Felix grins. “No, no. We love you. That’s why we investigate.”
Seungmin tilts his head. “It’s her, right?”
The table quiets just slightly. Not teasing now, all of them genuinely curious to know.
Because they know.
They’ve watched Hyunjin change the past few months, softer rehearsals, distracted smiles, the way he stays up texting. The way he just looks happier now, more content, complete.
Chan leans back, arms crossed.
“The museum girl.”
Hyunjin exhales, there’s no hiding he’s down bad for her, they already know, he’s already told them, so what’s the point of shying away now.
His voice comes quiet.
“…Yeah.”
Immediately, smiles spread around the table. Jeongin kicks his leg under the table. “Finally.”
Changbin laughs. “So you’re officially together or what?”
Hyunjin shakes his head, embarrassed but smiling anyway. “I don’t know. Yes? I haven’t asked her to be her boyfriend but do I even have to? We both said we’re falling in love with each other.”
He looks down at his glass, thumb tracing condensation along the edge.
“I think…” he hesitates, searching for words. “…I think she sees me. Who I am, who I really am you know?.”
He thinks about how you looked at him before knowing who he was. How heartbroken you were because you thought he’s embarrassed of you, when the thing he wanted to do the most was yell from a rooftop about you.
“I mean, to find someone like her, so kind, so talented, and to not care at all about this life.. this is one in a lifetime”
His friends have long stopped teasing and are now listening to him, some of them smiling, others almost looking proud.
“When I thought I lost her I was a mess”
Felix nods gently. “But you didn’t.”
Hyunjin shakes his head, a small smile forming.
“No.”
Chan watches him carefully, then grins slowly.
“…So.”
Everyone leans in. Chan’s voice lowers dramatically.
“You brought her to the studio yesterday.”
Groans and laughter explode immediately and Hyunjin’s face turns bright red.
“Hyung...”
Chan points accusingly. “You never bring anyone to the studio.”
Changbin slams the table. “Oh my god, you fucked in the studio didn’t you?”
Hyunjin hides his face again, shoulders shaking with mortified laughter.
“That’s none of your goddamn business idiots.”
“Oh my god they did. They fucked in our studio.”
The reaction is instant chaos. Han nearly falls out of his chair. Felix covers his mouth, laughing and Minho claps like someone just scored a goal.
Chan leans back triumphantly.
“I knew it.”
Minho has been itching to ask this, and he finally does
“So, did you have her sign an NDA?”
Hyunjin looked at him like he had asked the craziest thing in the world. Almost disgust forming on his face
“Dude what? No. She will never do anything shady. She’s not like that”
Changbin nudged him. “You waited forever to meet someone like that.” shifting the conversation, knowing how Hyunjin gets with the whole idea of NDAs.
Felix nods warmly. “You deserve someone who understands you.”
Chan’s teasing fades into something softer. “You look lighter,” he says. “On stage today too. I noticed.”
Hyunjin looks at him and smiles, “Really?” he hadn’t realized it himself, but it was true. The performances felt more free lately. The pressure quieter. Because for the first time since forever.. he has somewhere to return to emotionally. Someone who knows him when the lights turn off and loves him anyway for who he really is.
He smiles to himself.
“She felt our music yesterday, that’s why I took her to the studio. She wanted to know, and that’s the only pleas for her to do that.” he says softly.
The table stills again. They are all so curious about how Hyunjin makes it work considering her deafness. He tells them about your hand on the speaker, the way your smile broke open, how you cried while feeling the rhythm through your body.
No one interrupts. Even Changbin grows quiet.
Chan exhales slowly, clearly moved.
“…That’s beautiful, man.”
Hyunjin nods.
“I think… I think this is serious guys. I’m like.. genuinely in love with her.”
Then eight matching grins spread around the table, and Han raises his glass again.
“To Hyunjin finally being in love.”
Glasses lift. They all cheer loudly as Hyunjin blushes, and he doesn’t deny it. How could he when it’s the truth.
He’s so madly in love with you.
Because when he checks his phone under the table and sees your name lighting the screen with a simple message —
Did you eat? Congratulations on your win, I saw you on tv!
— his chest warms in a way no award ever could ever make him feel.
He types back instantly.
Yes. I miss you already.
He doesn’t notice Chan watching him fondly from across the table. Doesn’t notice the knowing smiles exchanged between the members. They’ve seen Hyunjin chase perfection for years. Seen him doubt himself. Seen loneliness hide behind beauty and talent. Tonight he looks peaceful.
And that matters more than any trophy sitting on the table beside them.
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[Image description: text reads "I ordered a burger and told my waiter 'for every pickle I receive, I will destroy a city'. He returned with this and said 'My least favorite places'." This is followed by a photo of a plate with three pickle slices and a note reading "Silstee, Texas; Channelmew, Texas; Odessa, Texas." End ID]
ᅠᅠ( 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 )ᅠreader is implied to get semi mute when overwhelmed, cuddles, bonus scenes in the endᅠ౨ৎᅠᅠ# 𝟢𝟪
ᅠᅠᅠᅠ𝗒𝗈𝗈𝗇𝗂 ᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠ‘❤︎ᅠᅠᅠᅠ𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾&𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀ᅠᅠᅠꗃ
stray kids knew about your relationship with physical touch, and they have never tried pushing your boundaries before.
it was one of the reasons why alone times with jeongin were easier, since he didn't have this need of wanting you too close (cough cough, hyunjin).
it's not like you hated it and never engaged on any kind of physical affection, you just avoided it more than the others. there were some rare moments in which felix managed to hug you for longer than usual, or changbin had carried you around the stage on their concert.
those were nice moments. they felt nice.
but that's because they're your members, your family. when your friends called you to hang out, so suddenly, in one of your free days—usually reserved for bonding time in the group—you tried your best to come up with an excuse.
but everyone just seemed to be against you today.
only felix, chan, jeongin and minho were home, and they insisted on you leaving the dorm for once, while you protested against it.
“yn–ah,” felix was sitting by the kitchen counter, looking at you with bright eyes, “this is your chance to go meet your friends after so long! you should go!”
jeongin nodded at the same time as minho, the older preparing lunch alongside chan, “yeah, yn. you rarely leave this place, it's not going to kill you if you leave once.”
you felt slightly offended by their words, crossing your arms, “what if it does kill me? you're all going to be blamed for it.”
a laugh escaped from chan before he could stop it, walking towards you and pinching your cheek, “aigoo, stop being so dramatic.”
and that's how you ended up stuck in a cafe with your friends.
those were old friends, back from highschool days to which you somehow managed to keep them despite not being present a lot. you're grateful for them, but sometimes they can be too much.
and by too much you mean they never seem to know when it's the time to go back home.
you've been sitting in silence for the past thirty five minutes, and all they do is speak more and more. honestly you feel like you're about to pass out.
“that day was crazy! i still remember when me and yn used to—” an arm was suddenly around your shoulder, pulling you closer to your best friend.
now, as much as you loved them, this was the last thing you needed right now. you could barely pay attention to what they were saying, your mind feeling too tired to even process anything going.
thankfully, some god answered your prayers and everyone finally decided to say goodbyes.
you had to use the last bits of strength to be somewhat polite and smile at your friends, waving as each one of them went to their own paths.
it took you a few more than twenty minutes to arrive at the dorms, the building feeling so much bigger now that you didn't have any energy left, to which left you contemplating whether staying in the elevator was an option.
well, it wasn't, of course, so you had to drag yourself through the long hallway, finally reaching the damn thing. usually you don't take the elevator when it's too late, but you were sure that if you tried going to the stairs you'd just fall and sleep right there and then.
you got pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of a ’ding’, signaling the elevator had arrived to your floor.
the ride was quite fast—and you were honestly thankful for it. the only thing better than that? opening the door and finding chan on the couch, watching some random movie that you didn't care enough to ask about.
his head suddenly snapped in your direction, a smile growing on his face, “oh, yn–ah, you're back. how was your day? did you have fun?”
you stared at him, blinking once. twice. and then just collapsed on top of him, eyes barely staying open for too long to answer, “mhm.”
chan froze for a split second, not expecting that from you, before quickly relaxing and shifting around a bit so that you'd both get more comfortable, “you look tired. you should probably take a shower before going to sleep—”
the annoyed groan that you managed to force out of you was enough to tell chan that you could take a shower tomorrow morning. for now, exhaustion is taking over.
“okay, okay. we can stay here while i finish this movie, and then we'll go to my room, alright?” a sigh came from your lips as you nodded, knowing that ‘we'll go to my room’ translated to ‘i'll carry you there.’
the movie continued, and after about five minutes in, chan glanced at you and saw your peaceful expression, chest softly moving up and down from your breathing.
as his attention got back to the movie, the sound of a door opening made him look in the direction of where it came from, spotting a slightly tired seungmin.
“hey seungmin, still awake?” the boy hummed, joining chan on the couch and looking at you with curiosity.
“has yn gotten poisoned?”
chan stared at him with a ‘are you serious’ kind of expression, shaking his head, “no, he left to go out with some friends earlier and came back tired. i know how it can be to yn, but i wasn't expecting him to pass out on my lap.”
“well,” seungmin had a smile that chan wasn't sure if it was a smirk or a grin, but it was a smile nonetheless as he gently ruffled your hair, “at least he's sleeping. and he's finally letting someone touch him.”
they stayed like that for a while, watching the movie, some of the other members—felix, jisung and even jeongin—going to the kitchen to get some water before returning to their respective rooms.
once the movie ended, seungmin told chan a good night, and very hesitantly kissed your forehead, knowing how much chan will tease him for it tomorrow. chan, instead, decided it was time to sleep properly now, carrying you to his bedroom.
his arms were carefully placed under your legs and on your back as chan picked up, quietly and walking towards his room and meeting with minho on the way, who only saw the scene in front of him and smiled.
the door opened with some difficulty since chan was holding you, closing behind him right after. his room had been extra messy these past few days, and he wasn't expecting you—out of everyone—to end up sleeping here, so he had to place you down on the bed and clean up a few things.
after moving some clothes around and closing notebooks, chan laid down next to you, pulling you close to lean against his chest.
“sleep well, yn.”
the next morning wasn't as awkward as your mind imagined it to be. chan was still on the bed when you woke up, scrolling through his phone in a comfortable silence, when he noticed you stirring up, “morning sleepyhead. how are you feeling?”
you had to take a moment to actually start working before answering him, nodding in a tired motion, “mhm. my head hurts a little, but i'm fine.”
he raised an eyebrow at you, ruffling your hair gently to not make the headache worse, “if your head hurts then you're not fine.”
a pout formed in your face, to which chan only laughed and pulled you closer to him again, “we can stay here for a little longer if you want.”
“would that mean no talking to anyone?” the words came out more like a whisper, and chan could tell your energy was still low, so he wasn't going to push you into talking to anyone else if you didn't feel like it.
“yeah. exactly that.”
“mhm.” and just like that, you somehow fell asleep again—well, not really, but you also weren't fully awake. you just let yourself be warm with chan's arm still around you, enjoying the silence.
... unfortunately, silence isn't around for long when it comes to stray kids, as the door was slammed open by an energetic jisung.
“CHAN–HYUNG! seungmin had eaten all of the—” his words came to an abrupt stop as he took notice of the sight in front of him.
yn. their yn, laying on top of chan. you were laying on top of chan. you were—
“GUYS, GUYS!” before chan could tell him to shut his mouth, jisung had already ran up to the living room to call everyone to witness a miracle—you initiating contact.
in less than a minute, the room was somehow filled with eight men and a sleeping guy.
“since when has he been falling asleep on us?” hyunjin asked, holding back the urge to poke your cheek, instead letting you have your sleep.
chan hummed, having to slap jisung's hand away when he begun to touch around your face, “that hangout probably tired him out more than we expected it to.”
jeongin was feeling bad now for insisting on you going, but he's at least happy you'd finally tried to seek comfort from someone, “he seems peaceful.”
changbin was silently cooing over your sleeping face, wanting nothing more than to pinch your cheeks but deciding against it. the others continued to talk in whispers, until everyone eventually left—after minho took a picture of you, of course.
and even in your half asleep state, you felt their presence, and you felt safe.
this felt nice.
꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭♡꒷꒦
since that day you've been acting a little different.
a good kind of different.
one of those days were today. you were practicing the choreography for your next comeback, which should be going well, but for some reason, the lights were brighter, the music sounded too loud and your body couldn't keep up with the rhythm.
“yn–ah! are you okay?” changbin asked from where he was standing, already looking a bit worried by how much you were tripping.
instead of answering, though, you walked up to the closest member—hyunjin, sitting against a wall—and just threw yourself on top of him, surprising everyone in the room, especially the victim of your new behavior.
“hey, what's up?” long fingers moved through your hair, hyunjin looking down at you with a soft look on his face. you only sighed, staying silent for a while before mumbling a quiet “'m tired.”
everyone couldn't help but find your new clingy behavior cute, even more so when mixed with what they called ‘sleepy mode you.’
hyunjin wrapped his arms around you, not saying anything else as your head naturally leaned on his shoulder, while the others got back to practicing.
꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭♡꒷꒦
it was evening, with some of the members still on their schedules, and others resting. jeongin was watching a movie alone, having made popcorn for himself.
maybe it wasn't the best idea to watch a horror movie in a dorm, alone, in which anyone could open a door and scare the shit out of him. but here he is.
a tense scene was playing on the screen, and at any given moment there could be a jumpscare. he could feel it coming, right as the protagonist turned around a corner and—
“innie?”
“YAH!” jeongin jumped from where he was sitting, turning around a little too quickly for someone who insisted they weren't easily frightened, “oh my god yn, don't scare me like that!”
jeongin didn't receive an answer—not a verbal one, at least. he watched carefully as you moved closer to him, until you eventually laid across the couch, your head on his thighs.
he understood what that meant almost immediately, placing his bowl of popcorn aside so he could run his fingers through your hair.
“you're tired again, hm?” he paused, not noticing the smile growing on his face, “i think i like you more when you're clingy, in your own way.”
ᅠ𝒇𝗋𝗈𝗆 윤이ᅠ i loved writing this sm that i honestly could continue forever🥹 thank you to the anon who requested this! and i'm sorry if it's too focused on some of them, it's hard for me to write an equal amount for every single member ◞ ‸ ◟
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If you don’t let go of your prejudices and past grudges, your heart won’t blossom. 2013 is coming, let’s make a change. We only have one planet so let’s show each other some kindness.
Hey stays. I was just one admin who decided to do this on a whim when I started, and the wonderful stray kids fandom took thos event and made it bigger than I ever imagined it would be! I met a lot of lovely stays and talented writers through this event and made friends and discovered new fics, which was the purpose of this event. I hope it did the same for all of you. Thank you very much to each and every person who reblogged a post, nominated someone, voted, or just came to give a shoutout. Everyone was very understanding when I closed nominations early too, even though upset would've been justified imo. The real stray kids awards were the friends we made along the way!
Just to show how amazing STAYblr is: for this awards event, we amassed a total of...
113 nominations
And...
4k votes!
Thanks to your guys' dedication and voting, your favorite writers, fics, and moots will receive a place on this masterlist, and these nifty userboxes to do with as they please. Stick them on your masterlists or landing pages if you want! Nominees get one too!
To check out the nominees, go look at these masterlists.
Stray Kids Fic Awards Nominees Masterlist
1
2
3
Without further ado, here are the winners!
Best Fic Concept:
Daybreak by @kangaracha
Best OT8 Fic:
Ready or Not by @insociometry
Best SMAU:
Brother's Best Friend Texts by @pineapple-burgah
Best Series:
Southpaw by @skzophreniic
Best Headcanon:
They Touch Your 🍑 by @yunhotteoks
Best Drabble:
You're Not Mine by @keeperofasecretsecret
Best Fluff Fic:
The No-Kiss Prank by @linoxpudding
Best Angst Fic:
Just a Staff Member by @pvppymin
Best Genre Fic:
That Boy is a Monster by @chimivx
Best 9th Member AU Fic:
Queenmaker by @kangaracha
Best Bang Chan Fic:
The Art of Love by @lxvemaze
Best Lee Minho Fic:
Catnip for the Soul by @chancloud8
Best Seo Changbin Fic:
L♡ve in F♡cus by @feelbokkie
Best Hwang Hyunjin Fic:
The Grace of an Elephant by @emmiesoverthemoon
Best Han Jisung Fic:
Ashes Under the Hood by @4linos
Best Lee Felix Fic:
Sunshine x Sunshine by @lia-linny
Best Kim Seungmin Fic:
I'm All Indigo by @keeperofasecretsecret
Best Yang Jeongin Fic:
Long Story Short by @strrykais
Best Blog Theme:
@emmiesoverthemoon
Best URL:
@imfoive
Best Edit:
Tragic Chronicles of a Hopeless Fanboy Banner by @emmiesoverthemoon
Best Writer:
@feelbokkie
Best New Writer:
@pineapple-burgah
Best Fic Editor:
@happilyeverafterforme
Best Ask Answerer:
@emmiesoverthemoon
Delulu Sweepstakes: Most Ardent Admirer of Stray Kids:
@feelbokkie
Thank you very much to very stay who made this possible by nominating, reblogging, voting, and reblogging again. Stays are the sweetest fandom and were very forgiving of my flubs and I really feel like we all came together and achieved something wholesome and fun. I hope everyone enjoyed the time we shared 🥹 and I hope we all enjoy these wonderful fics and writers together. 💖 Best wishes and a happy new year from the straykidsficawards! ✨️
If you want to talk to me, my main is @nishimurmur
