#ot8imagines

Bang Chan was used to chaos, but usually the chaos came in the form of recording equipment, stray lyric sheets, and his own bad habit of falling asleep at his desk. Not in the form of a seven-year-old girl tugging determinedly at his sleeve, chin raised like she had already planned out the rest of her life.

“Appa,” Hana said with that unblinking seriousness he’d learned to both fear and admire, “I want to learn taekwondo.”

Chan blinked down at her, adjusting the strap of the tote bag on his shoulder. “Taekwondo? That’s… sudden. Where did this come from?”

“To fight people who mess with you.” She folded her arms, voice firm, like she was explaining a law of nature. “It’s very important. If Hana says, then it is what she says.”

He coughed into his fist, partly to hide a laugh and partly because his heart gave that stupid soft squeeze it always did when she came out with things like this. “Oh yeah? You want to protect Appa?”

“Yes. You always protect me. Now I protect you.” She puffed out her cheeks in indignation. “It’s fair.”

Chan bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing outright. There were plenty of reasons to say no—busy schedules, money, the reality that his daughter didn’t actually need to fight anyone—but when Hana set her mind on something, she rarely let go. And really, how could he argue when her reason was him?

So that’s how he ended up pushing open the door of the bright dojang at the edge of their neighborhood, Hana clutching his hand with the same determination she had declared her mission. The air smelled faintly of rubber mats and detergent. Kids in crisp uniforms scampered across the polished floor, their shouts echoing between the high walls.

Chan looked toward the front desk, searching for someone to talk to. At that exact moment, a woman broke away from a small cluster of adults near the mat. She had that kind of brightness that didn’t just sit on her face—it radiated, lighting up the space around her. Her hair was tied back neatly, her smile quick and genuine as she approached.

“Hi there,” you said, voice lilting with a friendliness that instantly put him at ease. “Can I help you with something?”

“Oh—uh, yeah.” Chan cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how rumpled his t-shirt looked. “I was wondering if I could enroll my daughter in classes here.”

“Of course!” you replied, the cheer in your tone natural rather than forced. Your gaze flicked around as though searching. “Where is she?”

Chan suppressed a chuckle, tilting his head down. “Look lower.”

When you glanced down, a small girl stood practically pressed against his leg, big eyes peeking up at you through strands of her hair. Your expression softened immediately.

“Well, hello there.” You crouched gracefully until you were at Hana’s level, hands resting on your knees. “What’s your name?”

“Hana,” she said, voice clear but shy.

“Hana,” you repeated warmly, like you were trying the name on your tongue. “That’s a very pretty name. Are you excited to try taekwondo?”

Hana nodded, still watching you closely.

“Well then, we need to find you the perfect uniform.” You leaned in conspiratorially. “We have two colors you can pick from—blue or white. Which one do you think would look best on you?”

She tapped her chin like she was considering an international treaty, eyes flicking between the options displayed on the rack behind the desk. Finally, she broke into a grin. “Blue. Blue is strong.”

You laughed, the sound ringing bright. “Blue it is, then.”

Within a few minutes, you returned with a neatly folded uniform and a brand-new white belt. You showed Hana how to slip her arms into the jacket, adjusting it gently over her small shoulders. She wriggled happily, admiring the sleeves like they were royal robes. Chan found himself smiling, leaning against the counter as he watched you guide the belt around her waist, knotting it carefully but firmly.

“There,” you said, sitting back on your heels. “Perfect fit. You look ready to conquer the world already.”

Hana’s grin could have powered the building.

You stood and looked at Chan again. “I’ll get Hana into her class now, and once she’s settled, I’ll come back to explain how everything works—schedule, fees, parent area, all that.”

“That sounds good,” Chan said, grateful that you seemed to have this entire process down to an art.

You offered Hana your hand, which she took without hesitation. As you led her toward the mat, Chan couldn’t help noticing how gently you spoke to her, pointing out where to leave her shoes and bow before stepping onto the practice floor. You introduced her to a younger instructor—Felix, you said—who beamed at Hana like she was already his little sidekick. He crouched to her height, demonstrating a stretch, and Hana mirrored him eagerly.

Chan found himself exhaling in relief. His daughter was in good hands.

When you returned, you gestured toward a row of chairs behind a glass partition. “That’s our parent and guest area. You’re welcome to stay and watch every class—most parents do, at least for the first few weeks.”

“Good, good,” Chan said, nodding, though his eyes were still following Hana on the mat.

You pulled a clipboard from behind the counter and slid a form across. “Classes for beginners are twice a week, an hour each. We focus mostly on fundamentals—discipline, balance, stretching, basic forms. Nothing dangerous, I promise.” You chuckled. “The monthly fee is one hundred fifty dollars, and that includes uniform maintenance and belt testing when she’s ready. If that works for you, we can get her officially registered today.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Chan murmured, scribbling his information down.

You leaned one elbow on the counter casually. “She’s adorable, by the way. I don’t usually see kids her age so determined.”

Chan chuckled. “Oh, she’s determined, alright. She said she wants to learn so she can fight people who mess with me.”

Your laugh burst out before you could stop it, hand covering your mouth. “Did she really?”

“She really did.” He shook his head, both amused and embarrassed.

“That is possibly the sweetest—and funniest—reason I’ve ever heard for joining.” You tilted your head, eyes sparkling. “Sounds like she takes her job as your bodyguard very seriously.”

Chan rubbed the back of his neck, warmth creeping up his ears. “Yeah, I guess she does.”

By the time the class wrapped up, Hana practically skipped off the mat, chatting animatedly with Felix, who seemed equally charmed by her endless energy. When she spotted her father, she ran full tilt into him, almost knocking the clipboard from his hands.

“Appa! I kicked so high! And Felix said my balance is good and he said I can stretch better than some of the big kids!” She looked over at Felix, who gave a dramatic thumbs-up from across the room. Hana giggled.

“That’s amazing, sweetheart,” Chan said, crouching to catch her in a hug.

She immediately turned her attention to you, launching into another breathless retelling of the class as though you hadn’t just been watching. You bent down to listen, nodding and smiling, clearly enjoying every word.

Chan tried not to feel sheepish as Hana’s storytelling dragged on, her little hands flying with exaggerated gestures. After several long minutes, he finally cleared his throat. “Hana, come on, we need to let your teacher go. She probably has a lot to do.”

“Oh.” Hana looked at you apologetically, then back at her father. “But she listens so good.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “It’s really no trouble. Honestly, I love hearing what the kids think. They always have the best stories. Better tea than the adults, that’s for sure.”

Chan smiled despite himself. “Yeah… she does talk a lot.”

“She’s seven,” you said matter-of-factly. “That’s when their stories are golden. Don’t take that away from me.”

The way you said it—light, teasing, but kind—made something flutter uncomfortably in his chest. He swallowed quickly, standing straighter. “Well… thank you. For everything. We’ll, uh, see you next time.”

“Definitely,” you said, your smile lingering a little longer than it needed to.

As Chan finally guided Hana toward the door, his daughter waved enthusiastically over her shoulder. “Bye, Teacher Y/N! Don’t forget me!”

“I couldn’t if I tried,” you called back, hand raised in farewell.

Chan exhaled once they were outside, adjusting Hana’s bag over his shoulder. His daughter skipped along beside him, already recounting every detail again, this time in a slightly different order. He only half-listened, his mind drifting back to your smile, the warmth of your voice, the way you had looked at Hana like she was the most important person in the world.

He hadn’t expected much when he walked into that dojang—just a sign-up, a schedule, a new hobby for his daughter. He definitely hadn’t expected you.

And maybe he was imagining it, but the thought of seeing you again at the next class didn’t feel like a chore. It felt a little like anticipation.

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The second time Bang Chan pushed open the glass door to the dojang, Hana was already buzzing with excitement. She practically skipped inside, her small hand clamped tightly around his fingers. The sleeves of her blue uniform flapped as she moved, her white belt hanging a little crooked where Chan had tied it himself that morning. He wasn’t exactly proud of the knot—more like proud it hadn’t fallen apart on the walk here.

“Appa,” Hana whispered like it was a big secret, “I think I forgot how to stretch.”

Chan bent his head toward her, his lips twitching at the corners. “That’s okay, sweetheart. That’s why you have teachers. They’ll remind you.”

“But what if they ask me and I look silly?” She scrunched her nose.

“You could never look silly,” he assured her. Then, after a beat, he added gently, “Even if you do, you’ll learn. That’s the point, right?”

Hana thought about that for a moment, then nodded decisively, already scanning the room for Felix. Sure enough, the blond instructor was on the mat, chatting with a few of the other kids. The moment Hana spotted him, she lit up.

“Felix!” she called, her voice carrying across the room.

Felix turned, breaking into a wide grin. “Hana! Ready to show off your kicks again?”

She giggled, suddenly forgetting all her nerves, and dashed forward. She nearly tripped on the hem of her pants but caught herself just in time, throwing Chan a quick thumbs-up as if to say, I meant to do that. Chan snorted under his breath, shaking his head.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed you approaching from behind the counter. You looked the same as before—bright, confident, welcoming—but somehow even more radiant when you smiled at Hana bowing clumsily in Felix’s direction.

“She’s really eager,” you said, your tone warm.

Chan nodded, still watching his daughter fumble through a stretch Felix demonstrated. “Yeah. She was up half the night telling me about everything she did in the first class.”

“That’s a good sign,” you chuckled. “Though I’m guessing you didn’t get much sleep.”

“Sleep?” Chan deadpanned. “What’s that?”

The sound of your laugh tugged at something in him, unexpected and disarming. You gestured toward the parent section, and together you both took seats in the row of chairs behind the glass.

For the first few minutes, Chan’s attention stayed locked on Hana. She copied the older kids with complete seriousness, her brows furrowed, her small body wobbling as she attempted a balancing stance. At one point she tipped too far to the side and landed on her hands, hair tumbling into her face. Instead of crying or pouting, she popped back up and announced proudly, “I almost flew!”

Chan pressed his hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking.

You leaned closer, lowering your voice. “See? That right there is the adjustment phase. They trip, wobble, sometimes even cry—but the important thing is how quickly they pop back up. Hana’s got that resilience.”

Chan’s chest warmed with quiet pride. “She’s tougher than me, honestly.”

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. “I don’t know. You’ve got the look of a very protective dad.”

He raised an eyebrow, half-smiling. “Is that good or bad?”

“Depends,” you teased. “If you’re hovering too much, kids notice. But if you care just the right amount…” Your eyes softened as you looked at Hana, who was now giggling with Felix as he showed her how to stretch her arms without tipping over. “It gives them confidence. She’s lucky.”

The words caught him off guard. He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how close you were sitting, the warmth of your presence seeping into the space between you. “Thanks. I… I try.”

The class continued, filled with small bursts of Hana’s laughter and exaggerated concentration. Whenever she nailed a move, she’d glance toward the glass as if to check if her father had seen. And of course, Chan always waved back, giving her a thumbs-up.

By the time the kids lined up for a bow at the end, Hana looked flushed but proud, cheeks glowing pink. She bounded over the moment they were dismissed, hair sticking to her forehead.

“Appa! Did you see me? I did the balance pose and only fell once, but that’s okay because Teacher Felix said falling means I’m practicing!” Her words tumbled out in one long breath.

“I saw,” Chan said, crouching to wipe a strand of hair from her face. “You did amazing, sweetheart.”

Then Hana turned, her grin widening at you. “Teacher Y/N, did you see my kick? Was it strong?”

“I did,” you answered with a smile, crouching down too. “It was super strong. I think your kick might even scare away anyone who bothers your dad.”

Hana nodded firmly. “That’s the plan.”

Chan groaned softly, rubbing his forehead. “You’re supposed to be learning discipline, not—”

“Appa,” Hana cut him off with the authority of a general. Then, with no warning, she blurted, “Teacher Y/N, do you like my appa? He’s handsome, right?”

The words hung in the air like a firecracker.

Chan froze, his ears burning. “Hana—!”

Your eyes widened, then immediately softened with laughter bubbling in your chest. You covered your mouth, but it didn’t hide the way your cheeks turned pink. “That’s… a very bold question.”

“He’s handsome,” Hana insisted, as if daring you to disagree.

Chan buried his face in his hands. “I—Hana, oh my God…”

You reached out, gently patting Hana’s shoulder. “Your dad is very kind. And yes,” you added carefully, your gaze flicking to Chan before darting away, “he’s handsome too.”

Chan’s head snapped up, eyes wide. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then let out a strangled laugh. “You… you didn’t have to answer that.”

“I think honesty was safer than arguing with her,” you teased, standing up again. “Besides, kids always say what’s on their mind. She’s just brave enough to say it out loud.”

Hana, satisfied, skipped off toward Felix again, leaving Chan and you in a bubble of embarrassed silence. He rubbed the back of his neck, still pink. “I’m… really sorry about that. She doesn’t have much of a filter.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you said gently, your smile still tugging at your lips. “Honestly, I think it’s sweet. She clearly adores you.”

Chan exhaled, the tension easing slightly. “Yeah… she does.”

For a moment, your eyes met, something unspoken passing between you. Then Hana returned, dragging Felix by the hand, already launching into another story. The spell broke, but the warmth lingered.

As Chan guided Hana out after goodbyes and see-you-next-times, he caught himself glancing back at you one last time. You were laughing at something Felix said, sunlight streaming in from the windows and catching in your hair.

And though he would never admit it aloud—not yet—his daughter might not have been entirely wrong.

---

The next class day arrived with the usual morning chaos. Chan was running on coffee and willpower alone, juggling Hana’s school bag, the neatly folded blue uniform, and his phone buzzing with messages from work. By the time they reached the dojang, Hana was humming happily, swinging her small duffel back and forth like the weight of the world didn’t exist.

Inside, you were already there, clipboard in hand, chatting with another parent. When you spotted them, your face lit up instantly. Hana ran forward to wave, and Chan trailed behind, trying to look less tired than he felt.

“Good afternoon,” you greeted, crouching to give Hana a high-five. “Ready for another awesome class?”

“Yes!” Hana beamed, bouncing on her toes.

Chan cleared his throat. “Actually, um… I need to let you know something. I won’t be able to stay this time.” He shifted uncomfortably, glancing from you to his daughter. “There’s some last-minute work I need to handle. Would it be okay if I just… picked her up after?”

You straightened, giving him a reassuring nod. “Of course. We have plenty of parents who drop off. Don’t worry—she’ll be just fine.”

Hana clung to his arm suddenly. “You’re leaving?”

“I have to, sweetheart.” He crouched to her level, brushing a strand of hair back from her forehead. “But you’ll be safe here. Teacher Y/N and Felix will take care of you. And I’ll be back before you know it.”

Her little lips puckered, but she gave a firm nod. “Okay. But you have to come fast.”

“I will.” He kissed the top of her head, gave you a sheepish smile, and hurried out, phone already buzzing again.

The class passed like the others—stretching, laughter, Hana’s tiny voice ringing above the others whenever she managed to land a kick just right. But when the last bow came and the mats emptied, Hana lingered.

The other children filtered out with their parents, leaving her sitting cross-legged near the edge of the mat, fiddling with the knot of her belt. Her usual spark was dimmed, her shoulders slumping.

You noticed immediately and knelt down beside her. “Hey, Hana. You okay?”

She pouted, her small voice softer than usual. “Appa’s always busy. He works and works and sleeps late. I don’t want him to be so tired all the time.”

Your chest tightened at the raw honesty in her tone. For all her cheerful boldness, Hana was perceptive—maybe more than Chan realized.

You smiled gently and reached into your pocket. “I think I have something that might cheer you up.” With a little flourish, you pulled out a wrapped piece of strawberry candy and offered it.

Hana’s eyes widened. “For me?”

“For you,” you confirmed.

She took it carefully, as if it were treasure. As she unwrapped it, she leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “Do you want to know a secret?”

You played along, lowering your voice. “Of course.”

“My appa likes you.” She popped the candy into her mouth, speaking around it matter-of-factly. “He looks at you funny. Like when he looks at me when I do something good. But different.”

Your breath caught. A surprised laugh escaped before you could stop it. “Oh, Hana… I think you might be imagining things.”

“Nope.” She shook her head with conviction. “Hana knows.”

The flutter in your chest betrayed you. You tried to brush it off, but her words clung stubbornly.

It wasn’t long before the door opened and Chan appeared, slightly breathless, hair ruffled from running. “I’m so sorry I’m late.” His eyes went straight to Hana, who by then had curled into your side, candy wrapper crinkled in her fist. He scooped her up immediately, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Were you okay, sweetheart?”

“She was perfect,” you assured him. “A little tired, but she did great.”

Chan gave you a grateful smile, relief softening his features. “Thank you. Really. For staying with her.”

“It’s no problem,” you said honestly. “I enjoy it.”

He glanced down at his daughter, already nodding off against his shoulder, and then back at you. “Let me at least give you a ride home. It’s the least I can do.”

You hesitated. “That’s really not necessary—”

“Please,” he insisted softly. “I’d feel better knowing you didn’t walk home late.”

Your heart wavered, and finally you nodded. “Alright. Just this once.”

The drive was quiet, Hana’s soft breathing filling the car. You gave directions, and when he pulled up outside your place, you reached for the handle.

But Chan’s voice stopped you. “Hey… I owe you a coffee. For today. For helping with Hana. Maybe sometime this week?”

Your hand froze, pulse skipping. Coffee. Simple, harmless. And yet his gaze held a nervous hope that made it feel like more.

You swallowed, offering a small smile. “Yeah. Coffee sounds nice.”

The grin that spread across his face was boyish, relieved. “Great. I’ll text you.”

You stepped out, watching as his car pulled away, your heart oddly light. Later that night, lying in bed, you replayed the moment again and again. Coffee. His smile. The way Hana had whispered her “secret.”

And somewhere across town, Bang Chan lay awake with his daughter curled against him, thinking about your laugh, your kindness, and the way saying goodnight had felt like the start of something he hadn’t dared to imagine in a long time.

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CHAN:

• babygirl – everyday casual

he says it like it's your name. like breathing.

“hey babygirl, did you eat yet?” he’s not even looking up from his laptop, just reaching over to pull you closer while typing. natural instinct.

• babbbyyyy~ – when he wants something

voice goes soft, dragged out, puppy eyes activated.

“babbbyyyy,” he flops onto your lap dramatically, arms hanging off the couch. “i don’t wanna edit this song anymore. can you please distract me? with like… affection?”

• y/naaaahhh – when he’s bored or dramatic

extra long and whiny for no reason.

“y/naaaahhh,” he kicks his feet like a kid while lying on your bed. “i’m bored. let's go get snacks. or rob a bakery. either or.”

• angel – when you’re being sweet

low and warm like he means it with his whole chest.

“you’re such an angel, you know that?” he says it while fixing your hair gently, eyes full of soft stars.

• boss – when you take charge

used when you're organizing things, and he's just admiring.

“yes boss,” he mock salutes you while watching you plan the trip. “remind me never to argue with you.”

• shortstack – playful teasing

he says it even if you’re taller.

“what’s up, shortstack?” grinning as he rests his chin on your head from behind. you elbow him. he just laughs. “hey hey, you’re still bite-sized to me.”

MINHO:

• little demon – when you annoy him (but he loves it)

he says it with a smirk and slight judgment.

“yah… little demon.” you just stole his hoodie again. he watches you run down the hall and sighs like a tired dad. “do you ever stop?”

• jagiyaaaa~ – when he wants something

sings it like a kdrama villain about to make you fold.

“jagiyaaaaa~” he peeks his head into the kitchen, pout ready. “let’s go get chicken. now. i’m starving and you love me.”

• brat – affectionate insult

used when you sass him. always followed by a kiss or smirk.

“you little brat.” you teased his dance move and now he’s chasing you across the room like a cat after a laser.

• my headache – sarcastic, but he’s smiling

used when you're being dramatic or clingy.

“you are my actual headache.” he says while letting you hang off his arm like a koala. “but the cute kind.”

• princess – flirty, teasing

used when you’re demanding or acting spoiled. he loves it.

“yes, your highness?” he bows dramatically as you hand him a shopping bag. “anything else for the royal princess?”

• boo – serious and low-key intimate

just soft and calm, used when he’s feeling close to you.

“hey, boo.” he whispers it while brushing your hair out of your face before kissing your forehead. “missed you.”

CHANGBIN:

• baby – classic, everyday love

simple but sweet, always in that deep soft tone.

“hey baby, come here for a sec.” he pulls you into a hug outta nowhere, face squished into your shoulder. “just needed a recharge.”

• tiny – teasing, even if you’re taller

used when you wear his clothes or act shy.

“aww, look at my tiny.” he laughs as you try to reach something on a high shelf. “need help, shortie?”

• troublemaker – when you prank or sass him

half annoyed, half proud.

“what did you do now, troublemaker?” he finds glitter in his shoes. again. you grin. he groans. and grins too.

• cutie patootie – used to annoy you

he says it in a baby voice on purpose.

“my little cutie patootieeee~” you squawk. he cackles. “you’re lucky i like you this much.”

• pookie bear – peak cringe on purpose

he’s messing with you but also kinda serious.

“pookie bear, hand me the remote?” you stare in betrayal. “you said you liked it yesterday!!”

• muscle stealer – when you steal his gym shirts

used with fake anger.

“stop being a muscle stealer, that’s MY pump shirt.” he pouts while you wear it like a dress. “actually… you look cute. fine.”

• princess – when he’s being sweet or flirty

he uses it to spoil you or when you act clingy.

“you’re my princess, okay?” he says it while feeding you snacks during movie night. “no royal duties. just cuddles.”

HYUNJIN:

• loverrr~ – dramatic & whiny

he stretches it out like he’s in a play.

“loveeerrrrr~ where’s my hug?” he drapes himself over the couch like he’s dying. you roll your eyes. he fake sobs. “this is emotional neglect.”

• darling – soft and poetic

used when he's feeling ✨artsy✨ or touchy.

“darling,” he tucks your hair behind your ear, dead serious. “your eyes are prettier than any painting I’ve ever seen.”

• y/n-ssi – fake formal, playful teasing

used when you act bossy or call him out.

“y/n-ssi, you are very scary today.” he bows dramatically and hands you your coffee like a waiter. “please have mercy.”

• peach / pretty thing / my muse – full flirt mode

he says these in front of everyone, no shame.

“you see that pretty thing over there?” he points to you while talking to staff. “yeah, they’re mine. my muse. my walking heart attack.”

• queen / king / your majesty – when you act spoiled

he goes extra with it.

“your majesty requests snacks?” he bows with a fake crown he made out of paper. “i shall deliver. your wish is my command.”

• starshine – softest nickname, barely whispered

used when you’re alone or half-asleep.“night, starshine.” he kisses your shoulder and wraps an arm around you. “don’t let the dreams be mean tonight.”

HAN:

• babe – used every 5 seconds

classic, fast, automatic. it’s his default setting.

“babe look at this meme—no wait, babe don’t scroll yet—babe I love you—babe I’m hungry.” you: 🧍

• goose – completely random

he just says it and never explains.

“come here, my little goose.” you: “what??” him: “you honk when you laugh. it’s cute.”

• gremlin – when you match his chaos

used with the biggest grin.

“we’re just two gremlins in love.” he clinks juice boxes with you while sitting on the kitchen counter at 2am.

• snack – when you look extra good

also used to fluster you on purpose.

“ohhh who let this snack out the pantry?” he fans himself dramatically. “you trying to kill me???”

• boo thang – used in front of others

he wants everyone to know you’re his. goofy style.

“that’s my boo thang.” he points at you like you’re the prize in a game show. “back off, civilians.”

• my silly – when he’s soft and clingy

real feelings hiding under jokes.

“you’re my silly, y’know that?” he hugs you from behind, swaying side to side. “my favorite lil weirdo.”

FELIX:

• honeybun – soft voice, clingy moments

used when he hugs you from behind or gets sleepy.

“honeybunnn~” he whines into your shoulder, arms squeezing tight. “stay right here. forever. please?”

• sunshine – used when you smile

he says it like it’s the most obvious truth.

“look at you, my sunshine.” he cups your face gently. “you’re literally glowing.”

• baby – casual and clingy

he uses it nonstop when you’re cuddling or half-asleep.

“baby… can we nap again?” he's curled up on your chest like a kitten. “i’m not done being your blanket.”

• cutie – hypeman mode

used when you do literally anything.

“cutieee~ you poured juice without spilling?? legend behavior.” he claps for you like you won the Olympics.

• angel – when he’s admiring you

said with sparkly eyes and a soft tone.

“you’re such an angel.” he watches you help someone out and grabs your hand after. “i love you so much it’s insane.”

• sweet cheeks – peak cheek-kisser mode

said right before or after he attacks your face with kisses.

“c’mere sweet cheeks!” he kisses both sides of your face and giggles like it’s the best thing ever.

• squish – when you wear oversized clothes

used when you look extra cozy and soft.

“my lil squish!!” he sees you in his hoodie and practically tackles you to the bed.

SEUNGMIN:

• idiot – default setting

used 24/7 but full of love (…deep down).

“idiot.” you tripped over nothing. he smirks but helps you up. “my idiot though.”

• my problem – fake annoyed but clingy

he says it like you ruined his life, but he won’t let go of your hand.

“you’re my biggest problem.” he sighs while pulling you into his hoodie. “and i’m never solving it.”

• miss thing / sir – formal and sassy

used when you’re dramatic or act like royalty.

“okay miss thing, calm down.” he gives you the side-eye while handing over your coffee. “your highness forgot their straw.”

• genius – sarcastic as hell

used when you do something dumb but think you’re smart.

“wow, genius.” you put a metal spoon in the microwave. he claps slowly. “science major, huh?”

• cutie – soft voice, rare moment

he says it when you’re vulnerable or sleepy.

“you’re such a cutie sometimes.” he whispers while brushing your hair out of your face. “don’t tell anyone i said that.”

• sunflower – barely ever, but it breaks you

used when he’s being his softest self.

“you’re my sunflower.” he says it like it’s a secret, tracing circles on your hand. “you always turn toward the light, even when it’s dark.”

• puppy – when you’re pouty or clingy

he calls you this while trying to act unbothered (he’s obsessed tho).

“stop following me, puppy.” he says while letting you hold his sleeve. “ugh… fine. come here.”

JEONGIN:

• bun / bunny – soft and affectionate

used when he’s in a cute mood or you’re being extra sweet.

“come here, my little bun bun.” he cups your cheek and smiles like you just won a prize.

• y/n-noona / y/n-hyung – respectful and teasing

used depending on who’s older; he switches easily to tease or show care.

“y/n-noona, you forgot your phone again.” he smirks, holding it up like a trophy. “can’t keep up with you.”

• babyface – when you look younger or pouty

said with an amused grin, but full of fondness.

“aww, why the babyface today?” he ruffles your hair lightly. “you’re still the boss, don’t worry.”

• goofball – when you’re being silly

used with laughter and a shake of his head.

“you’re such a goofball, y/n.” he laughs as you make weird faces trying to cheer him up.

• cuddlebait – when you look extra soft or inviting

he uses it to tease but also to hint he wants hugs.

“stop being such cuddlebait, it’s unfair.” he pretends to pout but then grabs your hand.

• my fav – casual but lowkey special

he drops this one when he’s just chillin’ and feels close.

“you’re my fav, no cap.” he says while tossing popcorn at you during movie night.

• foxie – when you’re sly or playful

used with a sly smile or a wink.

“look at you, my little foxie.” he says after you outsmart him in a game.

• bread – because he’s obsessed with your softness

said like it’s the best thing in the world.

📍 Beginning: District 9 – The Birth of Self-Awareness

The story starts in “District 9”, a world where everything is meant to be perfect, uniform—almost robotic. People live under a strict system that expects total conformity. But Stray Kids begin to notice glitches:

Bang Chan sees a glitch in the sky.

Minho (Lee Know) scribbles “I Am NOT” while others scribble meaningless words—this is the first spark of rebellion.

I.N sees a clone of himself—possible foreshadowing of the clone arc later?

Chan checks something on people’s wrists and secretly passes notes to the members.

They realize something is wrong with the system. United by this awareness, they find a bus and escape the dimension.

💽 I Am Series – Discovering Identity

🔹 I Am NOT

Now out of District 9, they realize: “I’m not who they told me I was.” This is their first step toward self-awareness and defiance. They're questioning the system, exploring individuality.

🔹 I Am WHO

They start to question their real identity. The song “My Pace” reflects this: “I want to move at my own pace, not by the world’s expectations.”

🔹 I Am YOU

They finally begin to find themselves—but it could also hint at a connection to another universe or version of themselves. The theme becomes more introspective and emotional.

🔑 Clé Series – Unlocking New Dimensions

🔹 Clé 1: Miroh

“Clé” means “key” in French.

In the “Miroh” MV, they throw themselves into a maze-like city.

They begin recalling memories of their true selves (in “Maze of Memories”).

The elevator scene: They go up and land in a city/jungle ruled by French-like figures.

A mysterious key appears (origin unknown), which leads to the next destination.

🔹 Clé 2: Yellow Wood

They arrive on a floor where everything is yellowish.

A familiar bus appears (like in District 9).

The bus driver offers to take them to their destination—but they choose not to follow.

They decide to take the “Road Not Taken”, symbolizing individuality and defiance.

🔹 Side Effects

The journey is hard. They face conflict and confusion—a side effect of choice.

Seungmin’s camera, Hyunjin’s reaction, and the chaos they face show the emotional consequences of freedom.

🌬️ Levanter – Transformation

In “Levanter”, they reach a crucial turning point.

They see two moons, symbolizing two paths.

Hyunjin finds the key to the final door of change.

Levanter (wind of change) represents transformation.

All members go through the door—except I.N, who hesitates but eventually follows.

Bang Chan notices I.N's delay—significant?

🔹 Gone Days

Symbolizes reflection. Maybe they’re finally reclaiming the time and innocence they lost.

🍽️ Go Live – Self-Confidence and Expression

🔹 God’s Menu

Now in the "real world," they’re serving their identity to others.

“We’ve found our flavor. Want a taste?”

They’re no longer questioning who they are—they're confidently expressing it.

⚔️ NOEASY & The Sound Monster

🔹 NOEASY Trailer

They battle a Sound Monster—only Stray Kids can stop it with their unique sound.

🔹 Christmas Evel

They continue fighting this Sound Monster—even in a holiday setting!

🎭 ODDINARY – The Parallel Begins

🔹 Oddinary Trailer

Felix enters a bizarre shop and sees different versions of SKZ.

Hyunjin eats a red apple (Snow White vibes?)—then pushes Felix off a building.

🔹 Maniac

They’re now fully in their odd world. They don’t hide their differences anymore. “We’re all Maniacs.”

🔹 Venom

A palace-like setting.

Everyone eats poisoned food and dies—except Lee Know.

🔹 Lonely St.

Again, Lee Know is the only one awake. (Why is he always the lone survivor?)

🎪 Circus – Clone vs Real

There are two SKZs:

Real Stray Kids runs the circus.

Clone Stray Kids enters.

Clone Stray Kids gives real Jeongin a matchbox to burn it down.

Confused, he sets the place on fire.

Real SKZ escapes—except real Jeongin.

Real Jeongin is replaced by his clone.

This heavily supports the Parallel Universe / Clone Theory.

🎶 The Sound – Return of the Monster

The fight continues against the Sound Monster, reinforcing the theme of SKZ using their voice as a weapon.

🌟 Five Star

No solid theories yet, but it's full of power and SKZ energy.

🌍 Social Path (feat. LiSA)

A raw and symbolic MV.

BP (Bag People) represent hate, judgment, toxic media, inner demons.

Every member is shown in surreal, personal battlefields:

Bang Chan’s flare, hoodie, and cross = peace + persistence.

Felix reflects fire in his eyes = duality.

Chains, mazes, fire = the struggle of fame, doubt, and pressure.

LiSA, suspended by chains, represents how even fame is imprisoning.

Message: Despite the world’s judgment, we walk our own path. We rise.

🕰️ THE SOUND, GIANT, & HOLLOW – Full Circle

🔹 Stray Kids (Song)

They return to their past: the bus from District 9, Wings, and more. A time-travel / memory MV.

🔹 Giant

They’re not small anymore, like in Social Path. They’re giants—strong, unstoppable, empowered.

🔹 Hollow

They gained everything—fame, power—but lost themselves.

“We’re successful, but we feel… hollow.”

A callback to “Social Path” and “Giant”—this time, it’s the cost of success.

💭 Theory Summary

So, here’s the theory: There are two timelines / universes in the Stray Kids lore.

🧩 Universe 1: Identity & Rebellion Arc

From District 9 to Levanter:

Self-discovery

Escaping the system

Emotional growth

Freedom and individuality

🎲 Universe 2: Parallel / Clone Arc

From God’s Menu to Hollow:

New identities

Sound Monster

Power, fame, greed

Duality of SKZ (real vs clone)

Loss of self

📍Book Recommendation For Lore Lovers!

The evening sky was a soft gradient of gold fading into lavender when Chan texted you.

[Chan]: Felix’s taking Hana for a sleepover tonight. You free for that “coffee again” we talked about? Except maybe at my place this time?

You’d stared at your phone for a long second before replying.

[You]: Only if you promise not to burn it. [Chan]: No promises. [You]: Then I’m bringing backup. [Chan]: Deal.

Now, standing on his porch with two cups of takeout coffee in hand, you weren’t sure why your heart was beating so fast. Maybe because this wasn’t just coffee anymore. Maybe because you knew what tonight might mean.

The door opened before you could knock. Chan stood there in a plain black hoodie, hair slightly messy, warm light spilling from behind him. He looked… soft. Unarmored.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey,” you echoed, holding up the drinks. “Peace offering. In case your brewing skills haven’t improved.”

He laughed, stepping aside to let you in. “I’ll take that as a fair assessment.”

The house was quiet—eerily so without Hana’s constant chatter echoing through the rooms. Her shoes were neatly by the door, her toys stacked in a box in the corner. For once, the place didn’t feel like a whirlwind of crayons and cartoon jingles.

It felt… calm.

“You know,” you said as you followed him into the kitchen, “I’ve never actually seen your house this quiet.”

“Yeah,” he said with a faint grin. “Feels weird, doesn’t it?”

“A little.”

He set the mugs on the counter, gesturing toward the couch. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll, uh… try not to burn anything.”

You laughed softly, curling up on the couch while he busied himself in the kitchen. The smell of instant ramen drifted through the air, oddly comforting. You’d seen this version of him before—careful, tired, devoted—but not like this. Not relaxed, not easy.

When he joined you a few minutes later, two steaming bowls in hand, it felt less like a dinner and more like… home.

“Gourmet meal,” he said dryly, passing you a bowl.

“Gordon Ramsay would be proud,” you teased.

He snorted. “Gordon Ramsay would probably cry.”

You both laughed, and the sound filled the empty house in a way that felt too perfect to question.

For a while, you ate in comfortable silence. The only sounds were the quiet clink of chopsticks and the hum of the old refrigerator. It was so ordinary that it almost didn’t feel real.

After dinner, he washed the bowls while you lingered nearby, sipping your coffee. There was something about watching him move—calm, methodical, sleeves rolled up—that tugged at you in ways you didn’t expect.

When he turned around, drying his hands, your eyes met. And for the first time all night, neither of you looked away.

“You’re staring,” he said quietly.

“So are you,” you replied.

He smiled faintly, stepping closer. “You know… I wasn’t sure if asking you here was a good idea.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to confuse things,” he admitted. “You’re… you’re special to Hana. And to me.”

You tilted your head, voice soft. “And that’s confusing because?”

He hesitated. “Because I’m not exactly… the easiest person to be with. I work too much. I forget to rest. I spend half my life worrying if I’m doing enough. And most days, I feel like I’m still figuring out how to be a dad, let alone anything else.”

He laughed under his breath, the sound rough and self-deprecating. “I’ve messed up relationships before. I didn’t want to drag you into that chaos. You deserve better than—than someone who’s still trying to hold everything together.”

You stood there for a moment, the weight of his words settling in the quiet. Then you took a step closer.

“Chan,” you said softly, “you think love’s about having everything together. But it’s not.”

He looked at you, unsure.

“It’s about choosing to keep trying,” you continued. “To keep showing up. You already do that—every day—for Hana. You already know what love looks like. You just don’t believe you deserve it back.”

His breath hitched slightly.

You smiled, small and steady. “And I’m not scared of your chaos. If it means I get to be here—with you—then I’ll take it.”

For a long second, he didn’t move. He just looked at you, like he was memorizing every word, every breath. Then, slowly, he reached up and brushed his fingers against your cheek.

“Do you have any idea,” he whispered, “how easy it is to fall for you?”

Your heart stumbled in your chest. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He chuckled quietly, thumb tracing the edge of your jaw. The space between you dissolved. His breath mingled with yours, slow and hesitant, the moment teetering between what was and what could be.

And just when he leaned in, just when everything was finally about to fall into place—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You both froze.

Chan exhaled a groan, pressing his forehead to yours briefly before pulling back. “Of course.”

You bit your lip to hide a smile. “The universe has perfect timing.”

He rolled his eyes but smiled anyway, heading toward the door. When he opened it, Felix stood there—disheveled, exhausted, and holding a fast-asleep Hana against his chest.

“She knocked out halfway through the movie,” Felix whispered. “And she may or may not have demanded I bring her home because she missed you.”

Chan blinked. “I thought you said she wanted a sleepover.”

“She did,” Felix said dryly. “Until she didn’t. Classic kid move.”

Then, as Felix stepped inside, his gaze flicked between you and Chan—and though he didn’t say anything, the look said oh, I see.

You felt heat crawl up your neck.

Chan rubbed the back of his neck, muttering, “Thanks, man. I owe you.”

Felix waved it off. “Nah. She’s a sweetheart. Talked about you two the whole time. Something about her ‘favorite teacher’ and how her appa smiles more lately.”

That earned Felix a quiet glare from Chan and an embarrassed laugh from you.

“Here,” Chan said quickly, taking Hana into his arms. “I’ll put her to bed.”

“I can do it,” you offered instinctively.

He blinked, surprised. “You sure?”

You nodded. “Go—sit. Rest.”

He hesitated, then handed her over gently.

You cradled Hana carefully, her small head resting on your shoulder. She smelled faintly of strawberry shampoo and sleep. As you carried her upstairs, her little fingers clutched your sleeve automatically, and your heart melted.

In her room, you laid her down, brushing stray strands of hair from her face. She stirred, murmuring softly, “Miss Y/N…”

You smiled, whispering, “Shh. Sleep, Hana.”

She sighed contently, slipping back into dreams.

And for a moment, standing there in the warm lamplight, it hit you—the feeling of belonging. Of being part of something that already felt like home.

When you came back downstairs, Chan and Felix were in the living room. Felix was sprawled on the couch, half-asleep, while Chan stood near the stairs, waiting.

“She’s out,” you whispered.

Chan smiled softly. “You’re good with her.”

You shrugged, teasing lightly, “Someone’s gotta make sure she brushes her teeth.”

He chuckled. “You looked… right at home up there.”

“I guess I felt that way,” you admitted.

Felix groaned from the couch, rubbing his eyes. “Okay, I can’t keep pretending I don’t see what’s happening here.”

You and Chan froze.

Felix sat up, grinning tiredly. “So… are you two, like, a thing now? Or are we still doing the ‘coffee and tension’ phase?”

You glanced at Chan. He looked equally flustered, but then something softened in his expression. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and took your hand.

Fingers intertwined.

The answer was clear.

Felix smirked. “Finally. Took you long enough.”

Chan groaned. “You’re not gonna make this easy, are you?”

“Of course not,” Felix said, standing and stretching. “But I am gonna leave, because the couples”—he made exaggerated air quotes—“probably need some time together.”

You tried not to laugh, but failed miserably. “Goodnight, Felix.”

“Goodnight, lovebirds,” he called over his shoulder as he slipped out the door.

The moment it clicked shut behind him, the house fell quiet again. Just you and Chan.

And this time, no interruptions.

You turned toward him, smiling softly. “He’s never gonna let us live that down.”

“Never,” Chan agreed.

A pause.

Then he stepped closer. “But maybe he’s right.”

You tilted your head. “About?”

His hand came up to rest against your cheek again, gentle but sure. “About us.”

Your breath caught as he leaned in—not too close, just enough that you could feel the warmth of him. Then, with a shy smile, he brushed a soft kiss against your cheek.

It was quick. Barely a whisper of contact. But it was enough to send your heart racing.

You blinked up at him, flustered. “That was…”

“Too much?” he asked quickly.

“Too little,” you said, before you could stop yourself.

His eyes widened, and then your hands were in his hoodie, pulling him down. The kiss that followed wasn’t hesitant—it was certain, slow and deep, the kind that spoke of everything left unsaid between two people who had finally stopped running from what they felt.

When you pulled back, both of you were smiling like idiots.

Chan exhaled a quiet laugh. “You know, I was gonna say something romantic first.”

You brushed your thumb against his jaw. “You can save it for next time.”

He chuckled, forehead resting against yours. “Next time, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Next time.”

The clock ticked softly in the background. Upstairs, Hana stirred in her sleep, murmuring something incoherent before settling again.

Chan’s hand found yours once more, fingers fitting perfectly between yours. He didn’t speak, and he didn’t need to.

Because for the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

Not perfect. Not easy. Just right.

And as the night wrapped around them—warm, quiet, whole—neither of you noticed the faint smile lingering on Chan’s lips when he whispered, just before the lights went out:

“Welcome home.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tag list:

@kathaelipwse @sunfk88 @kiracchii @keiraryan 

The dojang was buzzing long before the event even started.

Tiny feet pattered across the mats, squeaky sneakers slid against the polished floor, and proud parents tried to wrestle ribbons, snacks, and half-tied belts all at once. The air was a mix of nervous excitement and the faint smell of disinfectant that every training hall seemed to have.

Chan stood by the entrance, clutching Hana’s duffel bag like it was a lifeline. His daughter, in contrast, was spinning in circles near the water cooler, her white belt fluttering around her knees.

“Appa, look!” she said proudly, holding up her wristbands. “Miss Y/N gave me these! She said they’ll make me punch better!”

Chan’s lips twitched. “They’re just wristbands, munchkin.”

“They’re special wristbands,” she insisted, planting her fists on her hips. “Miss Y/N said so.”

Before Chan could reply, a familiar voice chimed from behind him.

“She’s right, you know. They’re lucky.”

He turned to see you walking toward them, clipboard in hand, hair pulled into a neat ponytail. You wore your uniform—crisp white dobok, black belt tied with practiced ease—and somehow, it looked better on you than any outfit ever could.

Chan straightened unconsciously, his grip on Hana’s bag tightening. “Hey,” he greeted, voice coming out a little rougher than he intended. “Big day, huh?”

You smiled, that same calm, grounding kind of smile that made people feel safe. “The kids have been practicing for weeks. I think they’re more excited than nervous.”

Hana piped up, “I’m not nervous!”

You crouched to her level, adjusting the hem of her uniform. “Good. Because I know you’ll do amazing. Remember what we practiced—strong stance, clear focus.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Hana saluted dramatically, earning a laugh from both adults.

As you walked off to gather the other students, Chan exhaled slowly. His heart thudded against his ribs, and not because of the crowd. He hated how easily his focus drifted toward you—the way you bent down to talk to the younger kids, your steady patience, the way you smiled even when the toddlers tripped over their belts.

It was dangerous. It was human. It was both.

He moved to the bleachers, trying to distract himself by setting up his phone to record.

When the demonstration finally began, the crowd quieted. Parents shuffled into seats, teachers lined up, and the tiny warriors of the dojang stood in neat rows. The banner above the mats read:

“Spring Dojang Demonstration: Strength. Discipline. Balance.”

And there, front and center, was Hana—chin high, eyes sparkling, wristbands bright against her white sleeves.

Chan’s chest swelled with pride and something else—something tender and sharp at the same time.

Music played softly in the background as each group took turns. The beginners performed their basic forms, sometimes missing a step, sometimes freezing mid-kick. But every time someone stumbled, the room filled with applause instead of laughter.

Then it was Hana’s turn.

You called her name, and the little girl stepped forward. Her small hands clenched into fists. She bowed perfectly, just as you’d taught her. Then she began her form—each movement deliberate, her voice sharp and clear as she called out, “KIYAH!”

Chan couldn’t breathe. That was his kid. The same one who once hid behind his legs during open houses. The one who refused to join team activities at school. The one who, not too long ago, clung to him at bedtime because she was afraid of being left, too.

And now she was standing in front of a crowd, confident and brave, punching the air like she owned it.

His throat tightened.

Beside him, another parent murmured, “That little one’s really good.”

Chan smiled faintly. “Yeah. She’s mine.”

When the routine ended, Hana bowed again, grinning wide as applause filled the room. You gave her a subtle thumbs-up from the side, and she lit up like the sun.

Chan clapped until his palms stung. He didn’t even notice the tears gathering in his eyes until he blinked them away quickly, hoping no one saw.

After the group photo and medal ceremony, the crowd began to disperse. Kids crowded around the snack table, showing off their certificates and ribbons.

Chan lingered near the exit, watching Hana bounce around with her friends. She had chocolate smeared on her cheek, her medal crooked, her hair wild from all the excitement—but she was glowing.

“She’s really changed since the first week,” you said quietly, appearing beside him.

He turned, surprised. “Yeah… she used to hate coming here.”

“She didn’t hate it,” you corrected gently. “She was scared. She thought everyone was stronger than her.” You smiled softly. “But she worked hard. You both did.”

Chan looked at you for a long moment. “You know,” he said, voice low, “when she started, I wasn’t sure I was doing any of this right. Being her only parent. I kept thinking… what if I mess it up? What if I can’t give her everything she needs?”

You met his gaze, steady and sure. “She doesn’t need everything, Chan. She just needs love and safety. You’ve already given her that.”

He swallowed hard. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—it was full, like the air before a confession. The noise of the crowd faded around them, replaced by the sound of kids laughing and the hum of the overhead lights.

Chan’s phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking the moment. He pulled it out. A text from Felix:

[Felix]: How’s the big day, Appa of the Year? 😎 [Felix]: Tell Hana she owes me a slime rematch.

Chan chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s hopeless.”

You smiled, curious. “Felix?”

“Yeah. He’s been like an uncle to her. Hana adores him.” He paused. “Though I think he’s still finding glitter in his apartment from last time.”

You laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. Chan found himself staring again—at the curve of your smile, the crinkle near your eyes, the way you made joy look effortless.

Before he could stop himself, he asked, “Do you ever get tired?”

You blinked. “Of what?”

“Of giving so much to everyone else,” he said softly. “The kids, the parents, the classes…”

You hesitated. “Sometimes. But then I remember why I started. I wanted to help people find what I almost lost—peace. Purpose. I guess that still keeps me going.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get that.”

Hana ran up then, breaking the quiet with her usual enthusiasm. She held up her medal proudly. “Miss Y/N! Look! I didn’t mess up!”

You crouched down to her level. “You were perfect, Hana. I’m proud of you.”

“Appa cried,” she announced loudly.

Chan froze. “Hana—”

“It’s okay,” she added seriously. “I think it’s because he’s happy.”

You tried not to laugh, but the corners of your mouth twitched. “That’s probably it.”

Before Chan could protest again, Hana threw her arms around both of you in an overzealous hug. “You’re my two favorite people!”

You blinked, startled, as her small arms squeezed your neck. Chan laughed helplessly, caught between embarrassment and something dangerously warm blooming in his chest.

“Okay, okay,” he said, pretending to pry her off. “You’ll crush us, little monster.”

“Never!” she giggled, tightening her grip. “You’re stuck!”

And in that moment—sandwiched between laughter, medals, and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights—something shifted.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t a sudden realization. It was simple. Soft. A quiet acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, they all belonged in this small, unexpected moment together.

Eventually, you managed to untangle yourself from Hana’s grip, still laughing. “You’ve got quite a hold there.”

“She gets it from me,” Chan said, smirking.

“Mm. I bet she does.”

The teasing tone lingered, and suddenly the space between you felt charged again—not with uncertainty, but with possibility.

Chan scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “So… uh. About coffee.”

You tilted your head. “Coffee?”

He smiled, that familiar dimple appearing. “You know. Like last time. But maybe this time, without the kid matchmaker setting it up.”

You laughed, cheeks warming. “I think I can agree to that.”

Hana tugged on his sleeve. “Can I come too?”

Chan ruffled her hair. “Not this time, munchkin.”

She pouted dramatically. “Fine. But only if Miss Y/N promises to come over and watch a movie with us soon.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’re quite the negotiator.”

“She gets that from me too,” Chan said proudly.

“Then I guess I’ll have to accept,” you said, smiling.

Hana beamed, satisfied, before running off toward her friends again.

Chan watched her go, then turned back to you. For a second, neither of you spoke. The noise of the crowd dimmed.

Then, quietly, he said, “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for her.”

You shook your head. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“Yeah, I do,” he said, voice sincere. “You’ve done more than you realize.”

You held his gaze for a long moment before looking away, the faintest blush creeping up your neck. “She makes it easy. You both do.”

The moment lingered, soft and unspoken, until the dojang lights began to dim and the last of the families packed up.

Chan gathered Hana’s things while you helped the staff clear the mats. And though nothing more was said, the glances you shared said enough.

When you walked out together into the cool evening air, Hana skipping ahead of you, the sky was streaked with orange and gold—the kind of sunset that made everything feel possible.

Chan watched Hana chase her reflection in a puddle, her laughter echoing off the empty street. Then he looked at you beside him, wind tugging at your hair, and something in his chest felt like it finally, finally settled.

You caught him staring and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He smiled faintly, shaking his head. “Nothing. Just… thinking.”

“About?”

He hesitated, then said simply, “How lucky I am.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in his tone. But before you could respond, Hana called out for them to hurry, her small voice carrying across the parking lot.

You both laughed, starting toward her.

And as the laughter echoed under the fading light, Chan realized it wasn’t just Hana who’d found her balance today—it was him too.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tag list:

@kathaelipwse @sunfk88 @kiracchii @keiraryan 

Y/N had never meant for this to happen.

When she signed her name on the audition sheet outside the theater department, it was out of pure desperation. The flyer had practically screamed at her—“College Play: Big Roles, Bigger Credits!” She needed those credits. Badly. Her schedule was drowning, and if she didn’t pick up an extra elective this semester, she’d fall behind.

So she figured, Why not audition? No one took these things seriously anyway. Some upperclassmen put on their tragic monologues, the professors applauded, everyone got a participation grade, and that was that.

She hadn’t expected to actually… land the lead role.

And she definitely hadn’t expected to land it alongside the one person on campus she would willingly fight to the death with: Kim Seungmin.

It started with the auditions.

The room was hot, filled with folding chairs and nervous chatter. Students milled around clutching scripts like lifelines. Y/N scanned the room, and of course—because fate hated her—Seungmin was there. Sitting tall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable except for that little crease of disapproval he always wore when looking at her.

Their eyes met. His lips curled into a smirk.

“Oh, great,” Y/N muttered under her breath. “Robot boy made it.”

“Excuse me?” he called from across the room, his voice cutting like a knife.

“You heard me,” she shot back, louder this time. A couple of students glanced between them, already sensing the tension.

Seungmin rolled his eyes and went back to staring at his script like it was a holy text. His posture screamed “I’m better than all of you.”

Y/N wanted to throw her pen at his head.

When her name was called, she strode onto the stage with her chin high. I just need to pass this. No need to be impressive.But as soon as she opened her mouth, the words flowed smoother than she expected. Her voice carried across the stage, her emotions sharp and clear. She threw herself into the scene without holding back.

The director leaned forward in his chair. The assistant scribbled notes furiously.

When she finished, there was a long silence. Then the director clapped once, loud. “Excellent. Excellent! You have fire, girl. Real stage presence.”

Y/N flushed, surprised at herself. Okay… maybe that wasn’t too bad.

Then came Seungmin.

He walked on stage without a shred of nerves, script tucked under his arm like he didn’t even need it. His delivery was crisp, confident, the words rolling out as if he’d written them himself. His tone had layers—cutting sarcasm, tender emotion, even vulnerability.

Y/N crossed her arms, hating that he was good. Not just good—too good.

When he finished, the director practically leapt to his feet. “Marvelous! Just marvelous. You two—yes, you and the girl from before—stand together, let’s see some chemistry.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped. No. Please, anyone but him.

But there she was, standing next to Seungmin, script in hand, glaring at his smug profile.

The scene was romantic—of course it was. Something about star-crossed lovers meeting in secret. Y/N tried to pour every ounce of loathing she had into her lines, while Seungmin delivered his like he was born to play a tragic hero.

At one point, he looked at her with this piercing gaze that made her heartbeat stutter. She quickly recovered, lifting her chin and snapping her next line like it was a weapon.

When the scene ended, the director clapped so loudly Y/N nearly dropped her script.

“Perfect! Perfect, perfect! The raw energy! The tension! The audience will eat it up.”

Y/N blinked. “Wait—you mean—”

“Yes, yes, the both of you. You’ll play the leads. It’s decided!”

Seungmin smirked down at her, clearly enjoying her horror.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Guess you’ll be stuck with me, loudmouth.”

Her jaw clenched. “Better than being stuck with a robot.”

The director, oblivious to the venom dripping between them, spread his arms wide. “Ah, look at that! Natural chemistry already. This play will be a masterpiece.”

Y/N wanted to scream.

By the time rehearsal schedules were handed out, she was already plotting a dozen different ways to survive. But one thing was clear: if she wanted those credits, she’d have to endure Kim Seungmin.

And if the glares he kept throwing her way were any sign, he was thinking the exact same thing.

Rehearsals started off exactly as Y/N expected: a disaster.

The moment she and Seungmin stepped on stage together, the air practically crackled with hostility. They hit every line, yes—but the tone was wrong. Instead of lovers fated by destiny, they sounded like two lawyers in a heated lawsuit.

“You’re the only one I could ever love,” Seungmin delivered one evening, voice smooth and eyes boring into hers.

Y/N snorted mid-line. She couldn’t help it. “Right, because you sound so convincing. Like a Siri voice update.”

Gasps rippled through the cast members watching from the wings.

The director slammed his script onto the floor. “Cut! CUT!”

Everyone froze.

He pinched the bridge of his nose like he was carrying the weight of the theater world. “You two… are going to kill me. You understand that, yes?”

Seungmin crossed his arms, unbothered. “We’re hitting the lines, aren’t we?”

“Lines, yes. Love, no,” the director groaned. “This isn’t Courtroom Drama 101. This is a romance! Where is the yearning? The fire? The—kiss-her-like-she’s-your-last-breath energy?”

Y/N’s cheeks burned. “Maybe cast someone else, then.”

The director’s head snapped up. “Don’t you dare tempt me, girl. You’re both far too talented to waste.”

Seungmin raised a brow, clearly pleased with himself. Y/N wanted to throw the nearest prop at his head.

The director began pacing, muttering like a mad scientist. Then he stopped abruptly, his eyes widening with revelation. “That’s it. I know exactly what you need.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped. “Oh no. What do you mean?”

He clapped his hands once. “You two must spend time together outside rehearsal. Dates. Walks. Coffee. Anything to make you see each other as… human beings instead of sworn enemies.”

“What?!” Y/N yelped.

“I’m not fake-dating her,” Seungmin said flatly, pointing at Y/N like she was a contagious disease.

“Good,” she shot back. “Because the idea of spending extra hours with you makes me want to hurl.”

The director’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You want this credit, don’t you?”

Silence.

Y/N’s shoulders sagged. She did want the credit. She needed it. Bad.

Seungmin glanced away, jaw tightening. He needed it too, clearly.

The director smirked like he already had them cornered. “Then it’s settled. You’ll go on dates—call it method acting, if you want. Get close, get comfortable. When you’re back on stage, you’ll burn with romance instead of hatred. Yes, yes, it will be perfect.”

“This is insane,” Y/N muttered.

“Insane, but effective,” the director said, already scribbling notes in his script. “Now, off with you. I expect to see genuine sparks by next week.”

They left rehearsal in stiff silence. The campus night air was cool, but Y/N felt hot with frustration.

Finally, she turned on him as they walked down the path. “You know this is ridiculous, right?”

Seungmin shoved his hands into his pockets. “Trust me, I’m not thrilled either.”

“Then quit.”

He glanced sideways at her, eyes sharp. “And let you get all the credit? Not a chance.”

Y/N groaned loudly, throwing her head back. “Ugh, why couldn’t I have been paired with literally anyone else?”

He smirked, infuriatingly calm. “Because none of them are on my level.”

Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me? You’re not even that good!”

“Director seemed to think otherwise,” he said smoothly, stepping ahead of her.

Y/N stomped after him, muttering under her breath. “Robot. Absolute robot.”

Behind them, the theater building loomed, faintly glowing with stage lights. Inside, their director was probably laughing maniacally at his own genius plan.

And as much as Y/N hated to admit it… if she wanted to pass this semester, she was now officially stuck fake-dating Kim Seungmin.

The first “date” was a nightmare.

Not the fun, quirky, rom-com kind of nightmare. The realistic, awkward, “why did I agree to this” nightmare.

They chose a café just off campus—neutral territory. Y/N showed up first, determined to look unfazed. She picked a small corner table, scrolled aimlessly through her phone, and rehearsed the list of reasons why this didn’t count as a real date.

Then Seungmin arrived. Right on time, of course. He slid into the seat across from her without even a hello, like this was some sort of business meeting.

“You’re late,” she said automatically, even though he wasn’t.

He gave her a flat look. “It’s 4:00 on the dot.”

“Exactly. You should’ve been here five minutes ago. It’s basic date etiquette.”

“This isn’t a date.”

“The director thinks it is.”

Seungmin sighed, flagged down the barista, and ordered the plainest thing on the menu: black coffee. No sugar, no milk, no fun.

Y/N blinked at him. “That’s it? Just… bean water?”

“It’s called coffee,” he replied, deadpan.

“Yeah, but it’s supposed to taste good. That’s like… robot fuel. Fitting, actually.”

He shot her a withering glare. “What did you order, then? A milkshake disguised as caffeine?”

“Caramel latte with extra whipped cream,” she said proudly, sipping it with an exaggerated hum of delight. “At least my drink has personality.”

“That explains a lot,” Seungmin muttered.

The second “date” was somehow worse.

They agreed to meet at the park, since the director suggested they do something “picturesque.” Y/N showed up in sneakers, ready for a walk. Seungmin showed up in a pressed button-down like he was headed to a business interview.

For twenty solid minutes, they walked in silence. Birds chirped. Children laughed. Somewhere, a dog barked. Y/N was losing her mind.

Finally, she cracked. “Do you… ever talk about anything that isn’t homework or lines?”

“I talk,” he said simply.

“Really? To who? Your reflection?”

He didn’t bite back this time. Instead, he surprised her by saying, “Baseball.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“I like baseball,” he said, a little firmer. “I watch games. I used to play in high school.”

She raised her brows. “You? Sports? No way.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice sharpened, indignant for once.

“You just seem like the type who thinks running is undignified. You walk like you’re in a cologne commercial.”

For the first time all day, he actually laughed. A small, reluctant sound, but genuine. “You’re ridiculous.”

And then he started talking. Really talking. About teams, stats, the way he missed the thrill of being on the field. He wasn’t monotone or robotic—he was animated, passionate, even a little nerdy. His hands moved when he explained, eyes sparking in a way she’d never seen before.

It was… kind of cute.

“Wow,” Y/N interrupted at one point. “You really do have feelings. Look at you, all fired up.”

He glared, cheeks tinged pink. “Shut up.”

But he kept talking. And she didn’t interrupt again.

By the third “date,” something had shifted.

They ended up at a bookstore downtown—her idea this time. Y/N wandered between shelves, pulling out titles and teasing him for his painfully serious taste.

“No way you’re actually reading Philosophy of Logic for fun,” she said, holding the book like it was radioactive.

“It’s interesting,” he defended.

“It’s boring. Here.” She shoved a fantasy novel into his hands. “This one has dragons. Way cooler.”

He rolled his eyes but tucked the book under his arm anyway.

Later, while they sat on the shop’s worn leather couch, she caught him smiling faintly at a passage. Not mocking. Just… enjoying.

Y/N didn’t point it out. But she noticed.

Back in rehearsal that week, the difference was obvious.

When Seungmin delivered his lines, there was softness under the sharpness. When Y/N replied, there was warmth in her eyes that hadn’t been there before.

The director nearly wept with joy. “Yes! Finally! This is romance! Keep this up and we’ll bring the house down.”

Y/N caught Seungmin’s eye across the stage.

He smirked, just slightly.

And for the first time, she didn’t immediately want   to smack it off his face.

It was supposed to be fake.

That was the line Y/N kept repeating in her head every time Seungmin brushed past her during rehearsal, every time his hand lingered too long on hers when they “practiced” stage blocking. Fake. Practice. For the play. That’s all.

So why did her chest feel so tight when he smiled—really smiled, not the sarcastic little smirk he usually wore?

The director praised them for their sudden improvement. “Finally! That’s the kind of tension I need! You two are glowing!”

Glowing. Y/N nearly choked at the word. Because it wasn’t acting, not entirely. Something underneath the rehearsed lines and practiced gestures was bleeding through, something she couldn’t shove back down.

And judging by the way Seungmin kept avoiding her eyes after scenes, she wasn’t the only one feeling it.

Seungmin lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling of his dorm. He hated this. Not the play—he was good at that, of course. Not even the fake dating—that he could stomach if it meant passing the class. What he hated was how real it was starting to feel.

Y/N’s laugh, loud and unrestrained, echoed in his ears even now. He’d always found it annoying, but lately it tugged at something deep in him, something warm and unwelcome.

This wasn’t part of the plan. He didn’t do messy feelings. He liked order, logic, neat little categories. Y/N was the opposite—chaotic, infuriating, unpredictable. She shouldn’t fit into his life, and yet…

His phone buzzed with a text from her. “Don’t be late to rehearsal tomorrow, Romeo. 🙄”

He stared at the screen longer than he should have before typing back a dry: “Wouldn’t dream of it, Juliet.”

His heart betrayed him with its pace.

They both felt the shift but pretended not to. In rehearsals, their banter slipped too easily into playfulness. During “dates,” they caught themselves enjoying each other’s company longer than necessary.

Every time their hands brushed, Y/N reminded herself, It’s fake.Every time she caught Seungmin looking at her when he thought she wouldn’t notice, his jaw tense, his gaze softer than he meant, he told himself, It’s acting. Nothing more.

But both of them were starting to lose the line between what was staged… and what was theirs.

The theater smelled faintly of paint and dust, velvet curtains hanging heavy in the air. Backstage was alive with chaos—costumes rustling, actors whispering last-minute lines, the director pacing like a general before battle.

Y/N’s stomach churned. She had done rehearsals a hundred times, knew her lines forward and backward. But today, every word felt heavier, sharper. Because today, it wasn’t just practice. Today, hundreds of eyes would be watching.

And Seungmin—he was watching too.

He stood across the greenroom in his costume, posture impossibly straight, expression unreadable. He was always unreadable, but Y/N could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed at his sides.

The director clapped her hands. “This is it! Don’t hold back. Feel every word, every emotion. You’ve got this.”

Her words buzzed like static in Y/N’s ears. All she could think about was the kiss. The one scene they had carefully avoided in every rehearsal. The one moment she had both dreaded and secretly, shamefully anticipated.

The curtain rose.

The lights were blinding, the audience a blur of faces in the dark. Y/N slipped into her character, her voice carrying, her steps measured. Beside her, Seungmin was flawless—calm, magnetic, every line delivered with the kind of precision that made people hang on his words.

Their banter sparkled with unusual sharpness. The crowd laughed where they were supposed to, gasped when the story darkened. And yet, beneath the script, there was something else—something raw, unscripted. Every time Seungmin touched her hand, Y/N felt it burn. Every time she looked into his eyes, she forgot the next line for half a second.

And then, the moment arrived.

The kiss.

Y/N’s heart thundered as the scene unfolded exactly as written—confession, hesitation, step closer. Seungmin’s face inches from hers. She could feel the heat radiating off him, his breath mingling with hers.

This was supposed to be acting. They had promised each other once, almost jokingly, “We’ll save it for the real thing.”

Now the real thing was here.

Seungmin’s hand slid to her waist. Her own hand lifted to his chest without thinking, feeling his heartbeat hammer as wildly as hers. And then—

Their lips met.

It was supposed to be brief. Professional. Just long enough to satisfy the script. But the second their mouths touched, Y/N knew this was no stage direction.

It was real.

Her chest ached with the intensity of it. His lips were soft but sure, moving with a tenderness that didn’t belong to enemies or fake dates or scripted roles. For a moment, the stage melted away—the lights, the audience, the play itself vanished. There was only him, only them, only this.

When they finally pulled apart, the audience erupted in applause. The director beamed from the wings, mouthing “Perfect!”

But Seungmin’s hand lingered at her waist. Her hand still pressed against his chest, feeling the frantic thud beneath his costume. Their eyes locked, wide, searching, as if both were silently asking the same impossible question.

And then the curtain closed.

Backstage was a blur of congratulations and noise, but Y/N barely registered any of it. She could still feel the kiss on her lips, her skin buzzing like static electricity. Seungmin stayed close, unnervingly quiet, but his gaze kept finding hers across the room, sharp and unshakable.

When the crowd dispersed, when the costumes were half-hung and the director had left with a satisfied grin, they were still avoiding words. Only silence, thick and loaded.

Until Seungmin finally spoke.

“Meet me after class tomorrow. By the fountain.”

His voice was calm, but his eyes weren’t. They were burning.

And Y/N could only nod, her heart hammering in answer.

Campus gossip traveled faster than wildfire.

By Monday morning, the kiss scene had transformed into legend. “Did you see the way they looked at each other?”“That wasn’t acting.”“Are they actually dating?”

Every hallway Y/N walked down felt heavier, whispers trailing behind her like shadows. She wanted to roll her eyes, deny it, laugh it off—except she couldn’t. Because if she said it was all fake, she’d be lying to herself too.

And she couldn’t stop thinking about the fountain.

All day, her stomach churned with nerves, fingers drumming on notebooks, professors’ voices fading in and out. By the time her last class ended, her legs carried her before her mind could catch up.

The fountain sparkled under the late afternoon sun, the spray catching streaks of light. And there he was. Seungmin. Hands in his pockets, shoulders stiff, but face… softer than she’d ever seen it.

He turned when he heard her footsteps. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them hummed, thick with everything they’d refused to say.

Finally, Seungmin broke the silence.

“That kiss…” His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed him—nervous, searching. “…it didn’t feel like acting.”

Y/N’s breath caught. She wanted to joke, to deflect, to call him a robot again just to make the tension crack. But she couldn’t. Not now.

“It wasn’t,” she admitted, her voice quiet but certain.

A beat passed. His jaw flexed, like he was fighting himself, then he stepped closer. “So what do we call this, then? Us?”

Y/N’s heart pounded so loud she was sure he could hear it. She reached for his hand, fingers trembling but firm as they laced through his.

“We stop pretending,” she whispered.

Seungmin exhaled, almost a laugh, almost a sigh of relief. His other hand lifted to her cheek, thumb brushing her skin gently—so different from the boy who once treated her like the loudest annoyance in his life.

And then he kissed her. Not for the audience, not for the play, not for credit or practice. Just for them.

It was slower this time, sweeter, but just as electric. A promise.

When they finally broke apart, Y/N grinned, breathless. “Guess the director was right. We did have chemistry.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes, but his smile betrayed him as he pressed his forehead to hers. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “And you like me anyway.”

The fountain splashed behind them, the campus buzzed somewhere in the distance, but in that moment, it was just them—finally, honestly, no scripts, no pretending.

Real.

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Bang Chan stared at his phone like it was a ticking bomb.

The screen glowed with the empty text box, your name sitting neatly above it—something Hana had proudly shoved into his hands after practice.

“Felix gave it to me!” she’d announced, grinning wide. “I asked super nicely and did the pretty-please-eyes. He said okay because I’m irresistible.”

Chan had groaned into his palms, though secretly he hadn’t been mad. Not at Felix. Not at Hana. Not even at himself, though he wanted to be. Because the truth was, he’d been thinking of asking for your number anyway. Now that he had it, he just… couldn’t figure out what to say.

He typed one line. Deleted it. Typed another. Deleted again. Hana had long since gone to bed, but Chan was still sitting at the kitchen counter like a lovesick teenager.

Finally, after what felt like hours, his thumbs tapped out:

This is Chan. Don’t freak out—Hana got your number from Felix. And… I’m looking forward to the coffee today.

He hit send before he could chicken out again, tossing the phone onto the counter like it had burned him. His heart raced until the soft chime of a reply lit up the screen.

Glad you texted. I’ll see you after class.

That was how, later that afternoon, Felix waved off both adults with Hana hanging onto his arm like he was her favorite uncle. “Don’t worry, hyung. I got her. We’re gonna make slime or something.”

“Slime?” Chan raised an eyebrow.

Felix shrugged. “Kids love slime.”

Hana bounced excitedly. “Don’t be boring, Appa. Go have your coffee date.”

Chan nearly choked, while Felix laughed so hard he had to lean on the doorframe.

By the time you and Chan found yourselves tucked into a corner booth of a quiet café, the embarrassment had settled into nervous laughter.

“Sorry about her,” Chan muttered, sliding his coffee between his hands. “She… doesn’t really have much of a filter.”

“I don’t mind,” you said, smiling faintly. “She’s honest. It’s refreshing.”

The conversation began simply. Age, where you’d both grown up, little details about favorite foods or music. Small talk to soften the edges of nerves. But slowly, inevitably, the questions deepened.

“So…” you stirred your latte slowly, eyes flicking up to meet his. “If you don’t mind me asking, is it just you and Hana at home?”

Chan nodded, lips pressing together. “Yeah. It’s just us.” He hesitated, then exhaled. “Her mom… she left when Hana was about two. Said she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t be tied down. And I…” He gave a small shrug, but his voice tightened. “I couldn’t let Hana grow up thinking she wasn’t wanted. So I decided to do it myself.”

You stayed quiet, letting the weight of his words hang. Finally, you said softly, “That must’ve been so hard.”

“It was,” he admitted. “Still is, sometimes. But… she’s worth it. Every sleepless night, every panic attack when I think I’m failing. She’s the best thing in my life.”

Your chest ached at the raw sincerity in his voice. You took a sip of your drink, gathering courage before saying, “I know what that feels like. Not the same, but… losing family.”

He looked up at you, his expression softening with unspoken understanding.

“My parents,” you said quietly. “There was a fire when I was in high school. I… I lost them both. For a long time, I thought I’d never feel safe again. Taekwondo became my anchor. It gave me strength when everything else felt like ash.”

Chan didn’t say anything right away. He simply nodded, his eyes kind but heavy with empathy. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “That’s… that’s a lot for anyone, let alone a teenager.”

You smiled faintly, though it wobbled. “It’s life, right? We just… keep going.”

He leaned forward slightly, voice gentle. “And now you’re teaching kids like Hana. Giving them that same strength. That’s… really incredible.”

The sincerity in his tone made your throat tighten. You ducked your head, trying to blink away the sting in your eyes. “Thank you.”

For a while, you sat there, two cups cooling on the table between you, sharing stories and silences that felt surprisingly natural. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t small talk. It was two people laying down pieces of themselves and finding they fit together.

By the time Chan drove you home, the air between you buzzed with something unspoken. Hana was still at Felix’s, so for once, there was no interruption. No distraction. Just you, Chan, and the soft hum of the car engine.

When he pulled up in front of your building, neither of you moved right away. He glanced at you, you glanced at him, and suddenly the silence was too full, too loud.

You both knew.

But neither of you moved.

Finally, you cleared your throat, forcing a smile. “Thanks for the coffee. And the ride.”

“Anytime,” he said softly, his eyes lingering on yours just a little too long.

You hesitated, then reached for the door handle, heart thundering. “Goodnight, Chan.”

“Goodnight.”

When the door clicked shut behind you, you leaned against it, pressing your palms flat to the wood. You couldn’t be falling for him. He was a client. A parent at your studio. Lines weren’t supposed to blur. And yet… your heart betrayed you.

Across town, Chan sat in his car gripping the wheel, frustrated. Not at you. Not at what hadn’t happened. But at himself—for even wanting it to. For letting the idea of you creep into his heart when he knew better.

He drove straight to Felix’s apartment, schooling his face into a smile before knocking. Felix opened the door, looking exhausted, slime speckles still on his shirt.

“Hyung,” Felix groaned. “Your kid talks more than anyone I’ve ever met. But… she’s a good kid. We love her.”

Chan chuckled, the tension in his chest easing slightly as he scooped Hana up from the couch, her small body already asleep against his shoulder. He kissed her hair, whispering, “Yeah. I love her too.”

But as he carried her out, your smile, your laugh, your story lingered stubbornly in his mind. And he knew—whether he wanted it or not—he was already in trouble.

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