#wolfiefic

DATING : FOUR MONTHS

10:52 p.m. ; Chan's bedroom 📍

Chan is in bed playing on his phone, waiting for to finish your night routine. You now came over to spend his few days off with him. Try and find some quality time in between both of your hectic schedules. So, most of the times, you'd see each other just to have dinner, and sleep together.

You climb onto your side of his bed, and he doesn’t tear his gaze from the game. “Channie?”

He continues to focus on the game on his phone. He replies to your question with a simple hum, signaling that he's listening even though he doesn't look up from the screen.

“I have a crush on you…” You say with a big smile. Chan freezes for a second, registering the words you have said and letting his phone drop. He turns to you with a grin, amused and endeared. He was your boyfriend now.

"You have a crush on me?" he asks, feigning cluelessness.

“A biiig, fat crush.” You nod. It’s implied you do—or did, considering you two have been dating for a few months now.

He laughs wholeheartedly as he realizes what you’re doing. He scoots a little closer to you, clearly enjoying this little joke. “Oh really? A big, fat crush, hm?” he teases. “And how long have you had this crush on me?”

Your smile grows wider when he plays along. “Oh, for such a long time.” You reply with feigned nonchalance. “But I couldn't keep it to myself anymore.”

He pretends to be deep in thought for a moment, before looking at you with a slow nod. “Hmm, I see. And you waited this long to tell me? You must really have it bad for me.”

His unexpected response wipes the smile off your face, only to create another one. “Idiot…” You mumble, rolling your eyes.

He laughs at your response. “Hey! I thought you had a crush on me. Don’t be mean to your crush.” He playfully pokes your side, still grinning. He knew was lucky you even looked in his direction.

“Do you have a crush on meee?” You whine with impatience. You wanted to hear it back.

Chan’s smile softens at your question, and he looks at you with utter affection. Heart eyes, you like to call them. “Of course I do. I mean, how could I not?” He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I have a big, fat crush on you too, baby.”

DATING : EIGHT MONTHS

03:17 a.m. ; Y/N's apartment 📍

It was no secret Chan snored. His members even teased him for it. While the snoring wasn't ideal, you had learned to ignore it as your years together went on. Your dad used to snore too, so in a way, you had grown a little inmune to it.

But sometimes it got bad. Like bad enough to be scary.

Chan’s breathing would just collapse, and he’d wake up in shock, with a big gasp and body stiff. His lung and heart area ached right after too. It burned from the lack of air and created a chest pain he had, unfortunately, become familiar with.

It happened tonight again, no different than any other time. Though it had been a while since it last happened.

It usually awakens you too. “Chris? Baby?” You rub his back gently. Your sleep seems to have vanished from the scare.

Chan was sitting upright, trying to calm his racing heart and the pain he felt. He was still breathing heavily, the pain in his chest slowly dulling. He didn't turn to look at you. "Hey... sorry. I’m okay." he said.

Your eyes are trained on him with so much concern. “you sure?” Your hand rubs up and down his back, inching a little closer to him.

Chan nods, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just had another one of those... episodes."

“C’mere,” you ask softly. “Lie on your side.”

Chan hated it. His shoulders were too broad, and it ached being in this position for long, but these things never happened when he laid like this, so he entertains your idea.

“Stay like this, okay?”

"Okay." he said softly, watching you as you got up.

You make a quick trip to the kitchen for a glass of water and painkillers, just in case. You really only take a minute or so, and he’s endeared by your efforts to care for him. Chan really needed someone to take care of him sometimes, and he was lucky to have you do it so selflessly.

“I got some painkillers too,” you take a seat by his side bed, watching him barely sit up to drink the water. “Not sure if you want them.”

Chan downs the water greedily, his throat dry from the snoring. He let out a small sigh of relief as he set the glass back down. However, when you mentioned the painkillers, his expression soured a bit. “I don’t like taking them. They make me feel all groggy.” he said, running a hand through his hair.

“That’s okay,” you reply gently. “You don’t have to take them." Chan nods. He appreciated that you understood his preference.

He laid back down, wincing slightly as his shoulders ached from the odd position. He reached out for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. You smile, eyes still glimmering with a little concern. “I'm sorry, I know you don’t like sleeping this way.”

Chan smiles a little tired. He did hate sleeping on his side, but he knew it was a necessary measure if he wanted to avoid it. "Yeah...” he said, shifting slightly to try and find a comfortable position. “But I guess it’s better than waking up gasping for air.”

“You need to stop giving me these scares.” you say quietly, nagging in a way, but always loving. “Maybe look into that surgery we’ve talked about.”

Chan’s expression sours a bit at the mention of the surgery. He knows it’s been a topic of discussion between the two of you for a while now, but he’s always been hesitant about the idea.

“I don’t know…” he said, still holding your hand. “It’s a pretty big surgery, and recovery time seems intense.”

You nod. “I know. But everything else can wait when it comes to your health.”

Everything meant his job, and he knew it. But he was too hard-headed.

Chan sighed heavily, knowing you had a point. His health should be his top priority, and yet he couldn’t help but worry about the impact it would have on his career.

“I know, but…” he said, his expression conflicted. “I'm so busy right now…it’s all so packed. I can’t just…disappear for a while.”

“I know, my love.” You gently pet his head, thumb running over his temple. “Just promise me you’ll listen to your body.”

Chan closed his eyes at your touch, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders ease. He knew you were right, that he needed to listen to his body and take care of himself.

DATING : ONE YEAR, SIX MONTHS

02:38 p.m. ; hotel room 📍

With time, naturally, your relationship had grown more serious. Sometimes you still wondered how you went from friends to this. Because this time you two were meeting in Milan for a few days. An impromptu vacation since Chris would be attending a Fendi show.

You had flown in separately, met him at the hotel, since your relationship was still secret. And you two had been talking about tonight. How he would attend the show, maybe a party afterwards. Whatever he needed to do as part of his job of being one of Fendi's ambassadors.

But even then, he still worried about you. Tried to care for you, leave things for when he wouldn't be around; a protector after all.

So he sat at the edge of the bed, holding you, standing in between his legs. “Promise me you’ll eat, okay?” He urges, bringing your hand up to brush a kiss on your knuckles. “Eat well,” he clarifies. For you had a sneaky way of turning that sentence and manage to skip your meals.

“You worry too much,” you say trying to pull away from his hold.

Chan's grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly, holding onto you. This could be your only flaw, how much you tried to get out of eating enough. It worried him every time. “Promise me you’ll eat well,” he insists, his expression serious.

“Yeah…” you say halfheartedly.

Chan sighs at your response, able to tell you’re not taking this seriously. “Y/N,” he warns.

“Not my name!” You whine.

Chan can’t help but huff out a small chuckle at your reaction. Despite the seriousness of the situation, your playful whine brings a soft smile to his lips. He only called you sweet names, so you knew it was serious when he called you by your name.

He tugs on your hand, wanting your full attention. “Not your name?” he echoes. “Well then, listen to me, baby girl.” His eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of worry and affection. “I want you to eat well, okay? No skipping meals.”

Something about the way he asks, or the way he looks at you makes you giddy. “Okay... I will.” You relent.

Chan’s expression softens as you agree, his worry visibly easing. He knows he can’t control everything, but he’s relieved you’re listening.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, his grip on your hand relaxing.

DATING : ONE YEAR, NINE MONTHS

08:21 p.m. ; shared apartment 📍

"Woah, woah, what are you doing?" He practically goes pale the moment you're grabbing your blanket and a pillow.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" You bite back.

Chan and you had never argued this bad. You had small stupid fights, like every couple did every once in a while. You two got along pretty well, so even those were rare.

"You're not sleeping on the couch." He states.

"Watch me," you say, mostly to push his buttons more.

And before you know it, he's in your way, towering above you, hand gently holding your arms. "Hold on!" He pleads, whiny. "I'm trying to understand why we can't communicate right now."

"Because you're not listening to me! Why do I always have to yell at you?" You exasperate. "It's like you want me to."

"I-I don't... honey," he stammers.

"No. Just let me be." You plead.

"No, no, no, hold on. Wait, baby." He pleads. "I'm... Just sit down and let's talk this through."

NEWLY ENGAGED : TWO YEARS TWO MONTHS

12:25 a.m. ; shared apartment 📍

"What are you doing, my love?" A warm voice rouses you awake. Chan had spent a late night in the studio, and was now just coming home.

You were dozing off in bed, phone propped up playing whatever video for some background noise. "hm... Chris?"

"I'm home, sweetheart." He says softly, his hands finding your left one; lips press to the ring on your finger.

It never got old. The rush he got from knowing you were engaged now, and bound to marry soon. It made him happy. Euphoric.

His nimble fingers gently find the accessory and pry it off with care. "You can't sleep with jewelry on, baby girl."

"It's my engagement ring." You coo, watching as he places it on your bedside table.

He smiles proud, leaning to press a kiss to your forehead. "Even so."

ENGAGED : TWO YEARS FIVE MONTHS

01:40 a.m. ; shared apartment 📍

"Why are you still up?" You murmur with voice rough, scaring him in the quiet room.

His head whips towards the door, surprised. His hair is messy from bed, headphones halfway on. "I'm..." He hesitates when he sees the look on your face. He knows you wouldn't be too happy to find out he was working late into the night. Especially when you had been working to fix his night-owl schedule into something a little more reasonable.

"Come back to bed." You mean to ask, but it's more of a gentle order.

He doesn't get up right away, computer still frozen on the newest project he was working on. He felt like a deer in headlights, though he was just a man being reprimanded by his soon-to-be wife.

"Please," you say a little annoyed.

Chan chews on his bottom lip as he saves and exits without any sort of retort. He never argued back, and he certainly wouldn't start now.

He quietly tucks the metallic device onto his work bag and turns off the lights as he exits the room. He then follows the hallway to your shared bedroom, where you had already gotten back into bed.

He climbs beside you, staring at your back for a moment before he dares approach you. His arm weighs on your waist, and a soft kiss is pressed to your shoulder. "Are you mad?" He whispers in the dark.

You take a moment to reply. "...no."

His hand apologetically rubs up and down your arm. "I'm sorry," he says despite your answer. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought—"

"You can't sleep because you constantly think of work." You say in a way that seems almost nagging.

Chan doesn't take it personally. He knows well the kind of man he is. "I know, I'm sorry, baby."

MARRIED : YEAR #1

06:22 p.m. ; living room 📍

"I want a baby." Chan says with a smile.

He had just gotten home a few minutes ago. Today he had a shoot with the kids for their new SKZ's code episode. One that involved babies.

You chuckle,"You want a baby." You say incredulous.

He smiles even wider. "C'mon, it'll be so cute."

"You have baby fever."

"Y/N.." he drawls out the last syllable. "You don't wanna have a baby with me?" He pouts.

"I do! But not right now." You respond.

"Let's have a baby," he coos, arms wrapping around you. "Imagine a mini us running around."

"Can I think about it?" You offer, but it's practically like you've said yes already. Smile wide, eyes closing. Chris is already excited about the idea.

You made a snarky comment, half laughing, half determined. You climbed onto the bed, reached for him in the same careless way you always did. You disturbed the game he was so engrossed in. He groaned with a playful smile, and, because it was so familiar, he reacted on instinct. He pushed back.

So you shoved him again, poking, prodding, trying to annoy him enough, he'd drop his phone and give you his attention.

What you didn't expect was the force with which he pulled you. It was quick, too quick. A little too rough, too. It made you stumble, falling onto the mattress beside him with a soft thud before you could catch yourself.

Your smile faded.

It wasn’t that it hurt. It was the way your body just.... stopped. The way it obeyed him without a fight. And suddenly, it dawned on you just how strong he really was.

He had always been this strong. He’d lifted you, tugged you closer, pinned you still when you tried to pull away. It had never scared you.

That was because you hadn’t realized how much he held back.

The thought settled uncomfortably in your chest. Not because you believed he’d hurt you, but because if he ever chose not to be gentle, you wouldn’t stand a chance. Not really.

"What?" Chan says, the smile fading when you don’t shove back.

"...Nothing." You straighten yourself, gaze drifting away.

"What?" He insists, eyes looking for yours. Like the weight of your sudden stillness finally hits him.

"Nothing!" You repeat. "I'm done playing."

You were never just done playing. Usually, it was him who had to tap out your little fights.

"What?" His phone slips from his hand, quickly forgotten on the bed. "Hey, hey, hey!" He stops you when you try to walk past him. "What happened?"

"I don't want to play anymore." You say with a voice a little too shaky for his liking.

"All of a sudden?" He asks, confused. "Did... did I hurt you?"

"No. I-I.. I dunno!" You sniffle, defensive now. "You're big and strong and I just—"

"Hey," he cups your face, guiding your eyes back to him. "I would never hurt you, you know that, baby girl."

"I felt how easy it'd be though." you admit. "If you really wanted to—" You swallow. "I'd stand no chance, Chris. I forget sometimes how much you hold back."

"I'm sorry." He says immediately.

His arms wrap around you in a slow, gentle, warm hug. "You're right, I do hold back." He admits. "Because I never want to hurt you. I'm sorry if I scared you tonight." His hand rubs over your back as he holds you, easing the sudden, unreasonable fear that had settled in you.

His lips press softly to your temple. "I don't care how strong I am. I could never, ever, touch you like that. We play. We fool around, but I would never use my strength against you."

You stay there for a while, tucked against him, listening to his heart beat slowly beneath your ear.

When he finally loosens his hold, you don’t pull away, wishing you could stay in the safety of his arms forever.

He takes the cue and pulls you in again. "Are you okay?" He whispers after a moment.

"Yeah," you murmur. "Sorry."

"Don't be." He sighs. "You should always tell me these things, yeah? I'd rather not play at all if it'll make you scared of me."

You nod against his chest. "Yeah, I will."

You still panic when you make a mistake, even if Chan would never react hostile or mean towards you. So today, when you have forgotten the very important gift for the wedding. You can’t help but start to freak out. Chan and you had flown in specifically for this wedding, and you had forgotten the gift thousands of miles away at home.

You take a seat at the edge of the bed, trembling. Chan’s in the bathroom finishing getting ready, using the mirror above the sink. The anxiety starts to bubble at your chest, your throat. How could you have forgotten something so important? You checked your bag millions of times. Chan had even reminded you about it.

Chan catches your reflection in the mirror. How stiff you sit on the bed, hands clenched, face tight with something unreadable. "Hey, baby?" He turns off the faucet, dries his hands and walks over to you without a word. He asumes it's your social anxiety. He knows you can't handle too many unknown people at once. So, maybe you just weren't prepared yet for the big event.

He kneels in front of you, warm palms gently covering your trembling ones on your lap. "Breathe f'me, okay? You're okay." His voice is soft and sweet; so much it makes you feel even more guilty.

“I... forgot the gift.” You whisper on the verge of tears. Quiet, scared; trying to hold back your tears so you won’t ruin your makeup, though deep down you just don't want to cause a scene.

Chan freezes, still kneeling before you, eyes scanning your face for a few seconds. Quiet, in shock. "...okay." He doesn't let go of your hands. Instead, he leans forward and rests his forehead gently on your knees.

He sighs. Very deeply.

And of course that makes you feel even more anxious. Because for once, maybe you had finally reached his limit, and he'd gotten angry, and he’d yell. Or even worse, he'd ignore you and be mean for the rest of the trip. You had ruined everything.

But you hadn’t meant to forget the gift, it just... happened. “I-I’m sorry.” You choke out. "I know.. I know you reminded me! I-I... I swear I checked. Please don't be mad."

He lifts his head slowly, eyes soft, and blinks at you like you’ve just said something heartbreaking. "Hey," he murmurs, voice thick with affection. "I'm not mad. Not even close."

He cups your face gently, thumbs brushing under your eyes before a single tear can fall. "I’m just... thinking… how we can fix this, okay?" He offers you a small, though slightly tense, smile. "We can fix this."

You shake your head. “I didn’t mean to forget it.” You practically plead. He's never seen you so terrified before; eyes begging like you'll... die from this. “I-I thought I had everything packed. I checked a million times—"

"Hey, hey. I know, baby. I know." He shakes his head quickly and presses closer, one hand sliding down to cradle the back of your head. "I know, okay? And it's fine. Everyone forgets things. You're okay." He murmurs, fingers tangling in your hair like he could somehow keep you from beating yourself up over something so small. "I'm not mad at you, baby. Just... stop, okay? Breathe."

His other hand presses flat against your chest, right above your heart. He can feel the way your panicked heart is racing. "Deep breaths," he says softly, his own breathing slow and steady and reassuring. "Just focus on me for a minute and breathe. In through your nose... out through your mouth."

He keeps his hand on your heart, measuring, like he's trying to reassure himself nothing will actually happen to you. “Did you bring your medication with you?” He asks, softly as you try following the breathing pattern he created for you.

“Um…” You hesitate. You feel too scared to think straight. You can’t remember.

Chan’s gaze softens. He can see your panicked, hazy eyes, how clouded your mind is. "Hey." His hand gently steadies your head. "Focus here. On me. Did you pack it in your bag like always?"

You stammer. “I-I.. think so. I'm not sure.”

He moves quickly but calmly, crossing to your suitcase and unzipping it with gentle hands. Your gaze is fixed on him. He doesn’t appear rushed, but you can see the quiet urgency in how his eyes scan each item. And then, there it is. Your little pill case tucked safely in your toiletry bag.

You, on the other side, are still overthinking the forgotten gift. “I really didn’t mean to forget it.” Your eyes still follow him across the room, voice wavering.

Chan appears in front of you again, fiddling with the small pill case. "I know," Chan reassures again, so kind, so gentle. And he's impossibly softer this time. "You're not in trouble, baby," he whispers, his eyes searching yours. "You really think I'm that upset?" Chan prods your mouth open gently, dropping the pill under your tongue. It works faster that way, he's learned.

It takes you a moment to reply.“It’s going to make us look bad...” The first tear finally rolls down, and Chan has to reassure you quicker now. He doesn’t want you to ruin your pretty makeup you put so much effort on.

With the gentlest of touches, Chan wipes the stray tear from your cheek, like he would pollen or a speck of dirt. His thumb lingers on your skin as he shakes his head. The mere thought of you thinking that way is heartbreaking to him. "It's not gonna make us look bad. They're gonna understand. It was an accident, okay?"

“But we’ll show up with no gift.” You insist. “Because I forgot it... I left it at home.” Your fingers tap at your chest; face scrunches up ready to cry.

"Hey, hey." He murmurs, thumb stroking over your cheek again. "Please, don't cry, baby." He shifts from kneeling to sitting beside you fully, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and guiding you closer. You can feel the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart against your cheek.

"It's just a gift. It's just one gift." He murmurs. "We can ship it to them when we get back home. C’mon, baby. Don’t cry.” He begs. “You’ll ruin your pretty makeup you worked so hard on.”

You pull away, sniffling, and immediately go check on the mirror. At least that had finally shifted your attention. Thankfully, nothing had smudged.

You take a piece of paper, and dry wherever your tears fell. Careful and gentle not to smudge it.

Chan watches with concern, staring for a minute before reaching out. His hands gently trace from your waist up to your shoulders and neck. Careful, loving. His fingers gently settle over your throat, kneading the tension ever so gently, like he knows exactly where it lives and stays. "You're okay," he whispers. "We're okay."

You nod, eyes meeting his through the mirror. His hand wrapped around your throat with no real strength to it.

His thumb moves with care, pressing soft circles that melt the tightness away. "You good?" he murmurs, leaning down to rest his chin gently on your shoulder, peering at you through the mirror. His eyes are soft. Full of love.

“Thank you for being so patient with me.” You say. “You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”

"I'll be patient with you forever, if you need it." He murmurs, his voice a soft vibration in his chest. He pulls back gently to cup your face, fingers cradling your jaw. He looks at you like you're the most perfect thing he's ever seen in his life. “I don’t ever want you to be afraid of me.” He adds.

You nod softly. “I know.” You reassure him. “I’m not. I just… get in my head still.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let him inside your apartment.

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

Maybe because neither of you knew where this stood.

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

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

Chris crouched beside you. "Y/N."

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

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

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

That was all it took.

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

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

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

[...]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You looked away. "Nothing to talk about."

His hand paused. "Y/N."

"I'm fine."

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

"I got overwhelmed."

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

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

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

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

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

Of course you knew. That was the problem.

"Y/N?"

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

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

Tears burned behind your eyes again.

"That's not fair."

"Why?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

He moved in about a month ago, middle of the afternoon, the kind of heat that makes everyone’s mood short.

You caught yourself watching from the window as he carried box after box up the narrow stairs, never breaking rhythm, never calling for help. He just worked through it, quiet and steady, the way your dad used to fix things around the house. Like there was no point in complaining, just doing.

He turned out to be the friendly neighbor who always greets you. No matter how many times you bump into each other in a day. He's in his mid-thirties, you guess. Tall, fit, and definitely handsome.

He also turned out to be a sweetheart. You learned that when he helped you with groceries. You don’t have a car at the moment, and he found you just down the road. Walking wearily, hands full of heavy bags. You have to remember to get groceries more often, and not everything once a month.

A truck stopped by your side. Dark grey, pickup style; riding slowly to match your walking pace. "Lemme help you with that." A warm voice speaks from the rolled down window, thick in an Australian accent. It startles you if you’re honest. You’re a young adult woman and this decade is way more dangerous that the last.

“Uh, that’s okay.” You give him a soft, polite smile.

“You sure? I live right next to you. Promise I’m not a creep or anything.” You hesitate to accept. Your parents said it all the time. Stranger danger, right?

The truck comes to a stop right next to you and he gets off, ready to help before you can decline the offer one more time. The weight lifts from your hands, and the tall, broad person appears next to you. It felt like some odd relief. "Thanks, really." You finally speak.

“All good, no worries. I’m Chris, by the way. Moved in right next to ya.” He placed the bags on the back seat as you climbed into the passenger’s side.

“Y/N. Nice to meet you.” You reply politely, almost rehearsed. Your seatbelt clicks as he gets into the driver's seat again. He was very attractive.

"Do you always walk from the supermarket?" He tries to make some small talk as he begins driving again.

"Uh... yeah." You chuckle. "I don’t have a car yet." You add with a trembling voice. You felt so nervous for no reason. You felt like a teenager, who’d stammer over any remotely cute guy.

"With all that heavy shit?" He curses in awe. "My respects."

You relax a bit and laugh. "I have this bad habit of waiting until I'm… quite literally out of food to go shop for groceries."

Chris chuckles with you. “I get’cha. You’d be surprised by the things I’d do during my college days. Adulting is hard.” You smile softly with a sheepish nod. You found him strangely charismatic.

The truck comes to a stop in front of your door; the handbrake clicks a few times. You’ve finally reached your house. "Thanks again."

He shakes his head. "No need. Glad I could save you the walk."

Chris helps with the bags again, leaving them right by your front door. And you see the resemblance with the way your father cared for you. “You can get'em inside, right?” He asks genuinely, yet with a slight teasing tone. He was so charming it made you giddy.

“Yeah, yeah.” You chuckle. “I got it. You've helped a lot, and… I've taken enough of your time." You reply humbly.

“Hey, I didn’t mind at all.” He smiles warmly at you, slightly shaking his head. His smile is warm, and your eyes naturally linger. “Have g’day yeah? I’ll see ya around.” You pretend to get busy, but your eyes follow him as he goes back to his own home. Literally next door.

After that small ride, you found yourself realizing how hard the walk actually is. But at least it helps you stay in shape, right?

Chris sees it though. He’s bumped into you several times when you get home with groceries, sweaty, arms struggling, but he isn’t the type to pry, so he limits himself to greeting you, as always.

However, he sees you enough times for him to question his morals. While he truly isn’t the type to pry, he is a kind soul, always willing to help out whomever needs it. He was taught that way by his father.

That’s how you strike a deal next time.

“Hey, uh. Y/N, right?” He approaches slowly, carefully offering a warm smile. He looks clean and attractive as always. Sometimes you even think there’s a whole plan behind his outfits, despite them looking so casual and relaxed.

“Oh, hi, Chris.” You, however, stand there, with reusable bags in your hands along with your wallet, keys and cellphone.

“Um… I don’t mean to pry, or be weird or anything, but uh. I could give you a ride to the supermarket.” He offers far more awkwardly than he had intended. “I’m sure the walk is lovely, but…” He tries to joke, grimacing at the thought of the long walk, even more so with added weight.

It makes you smile. “I really appreciate it, but you don’t have to do that.”

“No, I uh. I always see you struggle. Plus, I could take you when I go, that way we both benefit from it.” He adds, “and… you could stop getting groceries once a month too.” He remembers that little detail and you chuckle.

“Well, thanks. But I can’t ask you for such a big favor.” You refuse yet again.

Like the flip of a switch, his usual charm returns. “You’re not asking, I’m offering.”

Your gazes linger for a moment; a quiet stand off for you to accept—or decline as you’d wish. It’s not that you question his intentions, it’s just… a bit odd. Your generation isn’t one to be so friendly to their neighbors, but, naturally, Chris is still a bit old school.

“Fine.” You relent. “But only if you’re going too. Don’t do it just for me.”

Chris grins, nodding. “Got it.”

He has a little girl too. You've seen her around a few times, mostly during weekends or holidays. She's sweet, looks very sweet, and is polite like her father. She always offers you a smile too, shakes her little hand your way.

You’ve figured by now, from the frequent visits during weekends, that he must be divorced—separated at the very least. Not that it would matter. Why should it matter? He’s like five, maybe ten years older than you. But the way he comes in with his daughter at lunchtime on Fridays, and the way he leaves with her to come back alone during Sunday evenings…

Geez, you needed to get a life.

Oddly enough, you’ve bumped into him almost every day lately. Around eleven am or close to midday, when you’re coming back home for lunch and he seems to be finally going to work. He smiles warmly, waving just once your way before he gets in his truck.

It has caught your attention. His line of work, that is. A job that seems too demanding during weekdays, but not so much on weekends. One that starts around midday and ends around midnight. His casual style always gives you this idea. That maybe he was some sort of editor, maybe even a photographer of some kind, or something that doesn’t really require him to dress up much. He always carries that bag too. Black, leather, like a suitcase, but made with a softer structure. A laptop sleeve if you will, but with much more pockets.

You’ve tried refocusing your attention. You’re embarrassingly aware of how much of a stalker you have become; seemingly knowing all these little things from just being observant. You needed to stop gawking at your next-door neighbor and worry about your life instead.

[...]

It’s a boring Friday night for you. You’re watching TV in your plaid pajama pants, an old T-shirt that used to be your dad’s, when there’s a knock on your door. Being the young—anxious—adult you are, you ponder not to answer it. After all, you’re not obligated to open the door to your own house. However, when the second knock sounds a bit more urgent, you resign.

And there he stands. By your door in grey sweatpants and a white shirt, shoes that mimic Converse sneakers but chunkier. Now, you’re not an expert at body language, but you could see he was distressed. “Chris...” You mutter surprised.

“Hey, I’m so sorry.” He takes a quick look at his watch, and you can sense the urgency in his voice. “Uh, my babysitter bailed. Would you…” You know where this is going, and it’s honestly not your best plan after a long week of work. You weren't particularly fond of kids, but you didn't hate them either. “Just for a few hours? She just needs to be put to bed really.” He adds, now sheepish. “Fuck, I’ll—I can pay you.”

He sounds desperate, and you give him a forced smile. “I... uh.” You sigh, in a way, compromised. He drove you for groceries now, so maybe this was the universe’s way of making you pay him back. “Yeah, sure. I can do that.”

“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.” He sighs in relief.

It’s strange being at his place. It’s clean, even cleaner than yours. Simple, yet elegant décor, almost out of a Home magazine, everything placed in a calculated manner. You get this feeling that everything smells like man’s cologne. His cologne.

The living room is just as neat and organized. Light grey, matching couches, one larger than the other. A glass coffee table at the center of the room; everything placed to a millimetric degree to enjoy the TV.

You’re free to do pretty much everything, Chris said. Watch tv, read one of his many books, help yourself to anything in his fridge. He even left some cash on the dining table for you to order something if you wanted.

Gia, Chris’s daughter, was put to bed before he left, leaving you to—quite literally—just stay in case she would wake up. She seemed fine with the idea, considering she had met you a few times on the street. You were her friendly neighbor next door.

You try keeping the tv down, using Chris’s Netflix account to play something on the background. It’s getting a bit late and you’re tired, so you don’t need something that will pique your interest right now.

Gia is deep asleep, and you watch the minutes blend into hours. Your eyes feel heavy now as they focus on the tv screen. You finally take your shoes off and curl up on the couch. It almost feels like you’re too comfortable in a place that isn’t your home.

You yawn and for a moment you can imagine him there. Lying with you while watching TV, maybe even holding your head to his chest. It’s not that weird, you don’t think. You’re used to fantasizing all the time before bed. Mostly about cuddling, having someone to come home to. The weird thing is you seem to be finally putting a face to that mystery lover. Your older, next-door neighbor, that, as far as you knew, could still be married.

It’s one thirty am. Chris unlocks the door and steps in with a heavy sigh. His steps are light, already expecting the stillness of the place. His eyes immediately dart over to you, who had fallen asleep on his couch.

Unconsciously, he smiles softly. His feet scuffle on the wooden floor, approaching the living room. Are you still watching “Adventure Time”? shows on the screen. He chuckles. Unexpected pick, but he won’t judge. He is used to watching endless cartoons because of Gia. His hand is gentle as he takes the remote from your side and turns the device off, leaving the room almost in complete darkness. Almost.

He doesn’t think of waking you up. He’s not sure why. He came home late, tired, and he’d feel bad asking you to leave after he’s asked for this huge favor. Even if you lived next door. So, letting you stay the night on his sofa seemed like the right thing to do.

His clothes rustle as he reaches for the blanket by the sofa and ever so gently unfolds it. You probably weren’t cold, but it didn’t matter to him. Caring, like a father, he covers you with the soft blanket, making sure you’re tucked in. It’s muscle memory by now, after doing it for so many years with Gia. He even stares for a little, telling himself it’s a fatherly thing: to make sure you’re sleeping peacefully. With everything in place, he finally heads for his room.

He’s even quieter as he steps into the master bedroom where Gia lays sound asleep. It’s the only bedroom really, considering he uses the other one as a studio sometimes. He should accommodate it for Gia, he knows that, but he’s never really found the time to do a whole room makeover, and with how young she is, she still likes to sleep with him.

You stir at early hours in the morning. The sun isn’t fully out, but the living room is already lit up in some spots; others remain dark. You stretch your limbs slowly registering your surroundings. It hits you then. You stayed over at Chris’s place.

You’re positive he came home last night. For, you’re covered with a blanket, the tv and lights are off, and the remote was left strangely neat on the coffee table. You reach for your phone, 7:15 am.

You could catch some more sleep, but it feels like intruding. Then again, you couldn’t just leave when everyone was asleep. This feels like that awkward morning after staying over with your friends, and you wake up before them.

You stay on your phone for a little bit, scrolling mindlessly through social media. You skip most things, then stop to actually pay attention to some. Until it’s getting a bit later in the morning, the sun now filtering through the shades in the window.

“Y/Nie?” A small, hesitant voice surprises you.

You immediately rise from the couch. “Hey…” There’s Gia, in her little pajamas. Curly hair softly tousled, walking around in just her socks. “What’s wrong?”

“Daddy keeps snoring too loud.” She says so grumpy you have to stifle a laugh.

“Does he?” Gia nods.

You could imagine it. Him. A little grumpy like Gia in the mornings. His usual neat hair sticking out in a few different directions. Your mind wanders quickly. He’d be so warm under the covers, strong arms wrapped around you, raspy voice greeting you…

“Hm. Well, since you’re up, are you hungry?” You ask gently.

Gia nods again. “Are you making pancakes?”

Cliché, but you were a kid once too. “You want pancakes for breakfast?”

“Daddy always makes pancakes on Saturday.” She replies.

“Okay.” You agree. “I’ll see what I can do.”

You grew up in a similar situation. Divorced parents that led to weekends at your dad’s house. He’d also make pancakes for you. Or waffles. Plain, in different shapes, different flavors. You love the man, and you’d do so until the day you died.

Your mom wasn’t so kind. You grew up in a sort of ‘tough love’ relationship with her. It shaped the way you were now, and why you found this dislike for children, yet deep down you would care for them like the most precious thing ever. It was contradictory, you knew that.

Chris is awakened by the smell of butter, sweet and spicy like cinnamon. It makes him think of a warm coffee with milk; and in a nostalgic way, the cinnamon latte his wife loved.

He puts on a shirt before exiting his room. His kitchen is a bit messy, two girls standing around cooking. That delicious smell is even stronger now.

He stares at the scene for a bit. You’re by the stove, back turned to him as you cook the pancakes. Gia is sitting on a chair nearby, adding the toppings. Plain fruits and maple syrup. Lots of maple syrup.

He finally speaks. “Mornin’.” His voice rumbles deeply and it makes you both flinch. Well, it makes you flinch.

“Daddy!” Gia runs to him, and Chris catches her in his arms with ease, picking her up and hoisting her on his side.

“Good morning.” You smile. Now it sure does feel like you’re intruding. “We were just making some breakfast.” You’re quick to explain to what he nods softly.

“That’s fine.”

“Y/Nie let me help.” Gia murmurs proudly.

“Did she?” Chris engages in a soft conversation with her as he takes her to the living room. He plays something on the tv for her, then returns to you in the kitchen. “Thanks so much for yesterday.” He speaks.

You nod, now hyperaware of your movements. Make sure not to burn the goddamn pancakes. “Sure. She was knocked out since you left, so... I didn’t really do much.”

“I really appreciate it.” He insists. Chris stands close to you, staring at the way you flip the pancakes. It makes you fumble or at least distracted enough to fail if he keeps this up. “The cooking too.” He adds, now even stepping closer. He isn’t even that close, yet you can smell his faded cologne, feel the lingering warmth of his torso. It makes your heart race in your chest. “Sorry I ruined your Friday night.”

You shake your head. “Apology.. not accepted.” You respond with a soft playful tone. “I wasn’t doing anything, so… no need to worry about that.”

“No parties? Clubbing with the girlfriends?” You chuckle; eyes focused on the stove. It felt like he was saying something ridiculous.

“Uh, no… and no. I hate clubs, actually.” He nods as if memorizing the details you were sharing.

“Well,” he sighs. “Please get some breakfast and I’ll keep my end of the deal, yeah? Is a hundred bucks, okay?”

“Oh. You really don’t have to pay me.” You mutter sheepish. Also, a hundred bucks for doing nothing at his place seemed a bit excessive. A hundred dollars seemed excessive over all.

“That’s what I pay Caroline for a night shift.” He insists, not listening to your words.

You’re left standing with an awkward smile. You hadn’t even really cared for Gia, you practically just stayed at his place, ate his food, used his Netflix account and he’s willing to pay you a hundred dollars.

“Chris, really.” That seems to redirect his attention. “You… needed help, and I helped. You don’t have to pay me. It was no problem.”

He smiles warmly at your refusal. “Exactly. I needed help, so let me repay you.”

“You already do!” You reply. “You take me for groceries. So, consider it done. We’re even.”

Chris backs off. It looks like you won’t drop it, and you do have a point.

You end up joining them for breakfast before leaving. But back at home everything feels like a blur. You keep remembering the way he stood by you in the kitchen. Sleepy and warm, and yet so, focused and grateful.

Maybe it’s time for you to admit you do find him handsome. That there might be something more to just your friendly next-door neighbor.

"My love." You come to check on him around midday, just after finishing work.

Chan turns his head towards the sound of your voice, his expression a mix of exhaustion and relief. "Mhm?" He looks up at you with soft, weary eyes. He felt... icky.

You take a seat at the edge of the bed, next to him. "How are you feeling, baby?" You ask in a whisper, hand gently running through his hair. Your hand burns on his forehead, as you check for his temperature. "Wanna shower?" You ask softly, his fever had gone up a little. Chan winces. He wants to stay in bed, a shower sounding exhausting right now.

"I'd rather stay in bed," he mumbled, his voice weak. He knew a shower would help him feel better, but the thought of getting up and into the shower was overwhelming right now.

"I know you do. But your fever's going up." You explain. "C'mon. I'll even help you if you want me to."

Chan looks at you, his expression weary but reluctantly accepting. The thought of your help was both comforting and embarrassing. "Okay," he mumbles, slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position. His movements were sluggish; he still felt so weak.

You get in the shower with him and he tries to ignore his embarrassment. It's not like you've never seen him naked before, but this felt so much more intimate for him. While he usually loved being naked with you, now it made him feel self-conscious. His body was too weak and his illness made him feel way less desirable.

But as you washed him so gently, with such tender care, his worries started to fade away. He closed his eyes enjoying the feeling of your soft hands on his skin. Despite his discomfort, he felt so loved and cared for by you.

As you finish drying his hair, Chan can't help but feel grateful. Here you were, caring for him so tenderly, taking such good care of him when he was at his most vulnerable. Despite his usual character; trying to deal with everything by himself.

He watched you with round eyes, marveling at your kindness and patience. "You're my everything, you know that?" he said quietly, his gaze never leaving you.

Your eyes lock with his and you soften. "Baby," Chan would praise you often, but it was different today.

Chan's heart fluttered at the tender tone of your voice. He couldn't help but feel a wave of emotions wash over him. You were the love of his life, and definitely the woman he wanted to marry—he planned to marry.

He reached out, his hand gently caressing your cheek. "My angel," he murmured softly, his thumb tracing the contours of your face. "I don't deserve you."

"Don't say that..." You whisper.

"But it's true," he counters, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're so kind and caring and patient. Always taking care of me like I'm the most important thing in the world."

"You are the most important thing in my world."

Chris was a gentleman. Kind, caring, loving. Funny, tall (according to him). But most importantly, to you, he communicated. He was clear and emotionally intelligent most of the time. He was always clear about intentions, boundaries, you name it. He seemed like the whole package. So, you weren't too nervous about today.

You had taken a self care day yesterday. Chris loved it when you had those days. He'd even offer to pay even though he wasn't going along. Self care days meant getting a coffee by yourself. Getting your nails done, buying one or two pieces of clothing you had been eyeing for a while, and sometimes getting your hair done.

And this time, it wasn't a usual trim with some hair treatment. It was a big hair cut. A little above your shoulders. So different from your usual, long hair.

You had chosen to get a wolf cut, which you had been wanting to try again ever since you got it many years ago. And it looked better than back then. You loved it.

But today, Chris and you had planned an early-ish date. Having some brunch, with coffee, and exploring downtown. Either go into one of the museums or look around the small businesses. You liked that avenue. Local businesses lined up down the street like they were little houses. But they all sold different things. Dangerous because, you'd want to get everything you saw cute.

So at 10:30 on the dot, as you had agreed, your door was knocked on. You smile, shoving things into your bag as you walked towards the main entrance. Were you nervous? Maybe a little, but you knew Chris would like whatever you liked.

There's a moment of surprise when you open the door. From you, not him. He stood there, dressed casually, with a bouquet of flowers. He smiles, before his expression falls into surprise too.

"What are these for?" You ask softly.

"You cut your hair." He states in a gasp.

You chuckle, hand frozen mid air as it reached for the flowers.

"I did." You state. You never asked for his opinion in these things. Building confidence or whatever.

You watch the muscle in his jaw tick with a confused expression. Then, he breaks into one of those shy smiles, that make his eyes close. "Sorry, you look beautiful." You watch the tips of his ears grow red at the admission. "Really suits you."

You finally smile too. "Thank you."

He hands you the flowers, you walk back inside to put them in a vase, and reach for your bag again.

"What do you need your bag for?" He asks.

It catches you off guard, because you already knew what that meant. He'd be paying, so there was no need to take your wallet with you.

You ponder, before offering him a downturned smile. "My phone and lipgloss."

He nods, smiling proudly before offering you his arm. Your hand wraps around his bicep and you walk out of your apartment happily.

[...]

Chris can't stop staring as you walk together down the street. Or when you're eating, or as you sip your coffee. It makes you a little shy, but you try not to let it show.

You laugh when he reaches for you, hands framing your face without really touching you and he makes quick pants, eyes glimmering. "What is wrong with you?" you ask mid chuckle. He leans in to press an aggressive kiss on your cheek. "Ah."

"You're so cute." He says before leaning in again, cheek getting smushed from his forceful actions. "You look so pretty. Let's go back home."

"For what?" You ask like you don't know.

He grows sheepish, legs bouncing as he gives no answer. "You look sooo pretty," he says a little deflective. He's shooting heart eyes at you, his hand petting your head with love. "I want to kiss you," he says a bit quieter.

You look around for a moment, then lean in to give him a quick peck. When you pull back, his body leans with yours, unconsciously searching for you. "Y/N.." he whines.

"What?" You chuckle. "Baby, I don't want to cut the date short because you can't keep it in your pants."

Chris blushes deeply and he looks to hide in your neck. You two hadn't gone there. At least not all the way.

"I just want to kiss you," he mumbles a little muffled against your skin. “I can’t help it. You look… I don’t know. You look like you. But different. Like you unlocked a new version.” He pulls back to stare at you again, his thumb brushing the ends of your shorter hair, careful, reverent. “I feel like I need to memorize you.”

The comment hits deep. A year ago, you would’ve changed yourself hoping someone noticed. Hoping someone regretted leaving. Now, you changed because you wanted to. Because you liked it and felt comfortable with yourself.

And without even trying, Chris was completely gone over you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur. "What are you even saying?"

“I’m serious,” he insists softly. “You look so happy. It makes me want to—” He stops himself, chewing on his bottom lip. Eyes turning big and rounded.

“Want to what?” you challenge, smiling.

"Let's go home," he insists in a whisper.

You let yourself kiss him again before speaking, “Nope. Still going to the museum,” you say firmly.

He exhales dramatically, but gives in to whatever you say. As he always does. “Okay.”

“But,” you say, fingers threading through the ends of his hair, “when we get home…”

His swallows a groan. “You’re evil.”

“You started it.”

Chris never stops staring. Even as you two admire a new exhibition. As he laces your fingers together and stays close. Still stealing glances and murmuring praise whenever he can.

You realize this time, you didn’t change to forget someone or to get back at someone. You changed because you were ready.

And this time, love met you there.