#wold

warnings : chan being a cutie patootie and this being cuteness over load

word count:787

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The melody lingered long after the last note faded. Bang Chan lowered his violin and exhaled, shaking out his tense fingers. Another long night of busking in the subway, playing for hurried commuters who barely spared him a glance. But she was different.

You always were.

Every night for the past two weeks, you had come. Standing just beyond the yellow safety line, your eyes fixed on him with an intensity that sent chills down his spine. You never spoke, never clapped, never moved closer. Only listened.

And you always requested the same song.

Tonight was no different. As the last echoes of the bow against strings faded into the hum of the station, you turned on your heel and walked away, the train rushing past you as if you were part of the wind. Chan had never followed you before.

But tonight, something urged him to move.

He slung his violin case over his back and stepped off the platform, weaving through the late-night crowd. Your silhouette disappeared up the station’s stairs, and he quickened his pace, his heart drumming against his ribs.

Out into the city, the neon lights cast a glow on the damp pavement. He caught a glimpse of you turning down a quieter street, away from the late-night rush. Chan hesitated for only a second before following.

You walked with purpose, unaware—or perhaps unbothered—by his presence behind you. He kept a few steps back, trying to figure out what he was doing. What would he even say if you noticed him?

Finally, you stopped in front of a small café tucked between two taller buildings. Its lights were still on, but it looked nearly empty. You pushed the door open and stepped inside. Chan lingered for a moment before deciding to follow.

The bell above the door jingled as he entered. The warmth of the café was a stark contrast to the crisp night air outside. You were already at the counter, speaking softly to the barista. Chan hesitated, then took a seat by the window, pretending to study the menu.

After ordering your drink, you turned—and your eyes met his.

Surprise flickered across your face, quickly replaced by something unreadable. For a long second, neither of you spoke. Then, with an exhale that seemed almost amused, you walked toward him.

"You followed me." It wasn’t a question.

Chan sat up a little straighter, his fingers tapping against his knee. "Yeah… I guess I did."

You studied him, then glanced down at the violin case by his side. "You’re a little late, you know."

He frowned. "Late for what?"

You smirked, setting your drink on the table. "For our first real conversation."

Chan felt his lips curve into a smile, his nerves settling just a little. Maybe tonight wasn’t about a mystery at all. Maybe it was just about you.

The café was quiet, save for the faint hum of a jazz song playing from an old speaker in the corner. The two of you talked for what felt like hours, the conversation flowing effortlessly. Chan learned that you had first heard him play by accident one night, and after that, you kept coming back. He told you about his love for music, how the subway had become his stage when he had nowhere else to perform.

At some point, you reached for his violin case, fingers trailing over the worn edges. "Do you ever get tired of playing the same song?"

Chan shook his head. "Not when it means something. And it did… every time you asked for it."

You looked up at him then, something unreadable in your expression. The café had emptied out, the barista cleaning up behind the counter, but neither of you moved to leave.

Chan’s gaze dropped to your lips for half a second before he caught himself. He let out a quiet laugh. "I, uh… I feel like I should’ve done this sooner."

You tilted your head. "Followed me?"

"No." His voice softened. "Talked to you."

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, the space between you felt too small and too vast all at once. Then, with a slight smile, you leaned in just enough for him to understand.

Chan closed the gap, his lips brushing against yours, hesitant at first, as if making sure this was real. But as soon as you kissed him back, his hand found yours on the table, fingers lacing together. The café, the world outside, everything else faded into the background.

When you pulled away, your forehead rested lightly against his. "So… what now?"

Chan grinned, thumb brushing against your knuckles. "Now? You tell me what song you want to hear next. And this time, I’ll play it just for you."

Horned crocodilians