8+1

1.

The first time Chan saw him, he didn’t expect to care.

He had seen plenty of people fail auditions before. It wasn’t unusual, not everyone made the cut, and he knew firsthand how brutal the process was. So normally, he wouldn’t give much thought to another hopeful stumbling out of the audition room, shoulders stiff, hands clenched at his sides like he was holding onto the last shred of composure he had.

But this boy… something about him stuck.

Chan didn’t even know his name then. He was young—too young, really—but there was a… glimmer in him that pulled Chan in.

It wasn’t just the way he sang—though that was impressive, even with the nerves bleeding into his performance. It was the sheer want in every note, the way he pushed through his mistakes without crumbling. He had seen it before, in people who needed this, who couldn’t imagine doing anything else. 

So when the boy was told he hadn’t made it, Chan saw the exact moment his world tilted—saw the way his entire body reacted before his mind could catch up.

He had wanted to say something. What, he didn’t know. ‘Hey, you were great,’ maybe, or ‘You’ll get it next time.’ Something stupid and useless, probably. But before he could decide, the boy was gone—rushing past him, practically bolting toward the bathrooms.

It was instinct, the way Chan followed. Prudent, careful, a quiet kind of urgency in his steps. He stopped outside, debating whether he should even be here, when he heard the sound of heaving and retching coming from inside. 

His stomach twisted in on itself.

The next thing he knew, he was pushing through the door and crouching beside the boy.

He was hunched over the toilet, gripping the edges like they were the only thing keeping him upright, shoulders shaking with every shuddering breath. Chan hesitated for a second before placing a hand on his back, soothing him through it.

The boy tensed, as if only now realizing he wasn’t alone, but he didn’t pull away. Chan kept his touch light, steady, and after a moment the heaving stopped, though his breath still hitched with little hiccups.

Chan helped him move to the sink, reaching into his bag for a bottle of water. He handed it over, watching as the boy rinsed his mouth, his movements slow and careful.

And then, finally, he looked up.

His face was pale, his lips parted as he took a shaky breath. But his eyes—light brown, shimmering even under the fluorescent lights—sparkled with an amused glimmer when Chan admitted he was a trainee, his lips forming a little 'o' in surprise when he shared he was from Australia.

Chan had to fight the urge to smile.

Something about that fascinated him. This kid had just gone through one of the worst experiences of his life, and yet, hearing something as casual as that made his eyes light up. The sadness hadn’t completely left his face, but for a moment, there was something vulnerable there—a flicker of light before a flame caught.

It was so innocent. So… genuine.

Baek Seyoung.

God, even his name was pretty.

Chan barely remembered the rest of their conversation. He had been too caught up in committing every detail to memory—the curve of Seyoung’s lips when he spoke, the way his voice softened when he said ‘ thank you , ’ the lingering warmth on his palm even after they parted ways.

It wasn’t until he was back in the practice room that he realized he never got his number. Or his social media.

Nothing.

Just a face and a name that refused to leave his mind.

Days passed. Then weeks. Then months.

Still, Chan found himself looking for him in every new trainee that walked through the door. He even asked around—subtly at first, then maybe not-so-subtly, when subtlety didn't get him anywhere. He went snooping around nearby agencies, hoping to hear whispers of a kid who fit Seyoung’s description, until Jisung started calling him a stalker. 

Eventually, he let it go. Or, at least, tried to.

Then, one night after practice, during a random snack run to the nearest convenience store—

There he was.

Chan swore the universe was playing a joke on him.

Jisung, the little devil, immediately noticed and started grinning like he’d just caught him doing something illegal.

“Dude. You’re staring.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh my God, it’s him, isn’t it? The bathroom kid.”

“Jisung—”

“I can’t believe this. You—”

Chan’s hand clamped over his mouth. “Not. A. Word.”

His heart was hammering. Seyoung was here. After a year of wondering where he had gone, of assuming their paths would never cross again, he was standing barely five feet away, reaching for a cup of ramen—

—and promptly knocking over half the display.

The crash echoed through the store, and that alone had Chan’s feet moving. He rushed forward before he could second-guess himself, crouching down beside him, but the moment Seyoung looked up—when their eyes met again—

He froze.

Something had changed.

The light that had made Chan stop in his tracks had dulled. That bright, unshaken determination had been replaced with something heavier, a quiet exhaustion that hadn’t been there before.

Swallowing his nerves, Chan offered to help.

Yet, he could only focus on the way Seyoung’s long lashes fanned over his cheeks when he blinked, light brown eyes flickering to Chan’s —just for a second— before dropping back down.

“…Thanks,” he mumbled, barely above a whisper.

Neither of them spoke as they moved, carefully stacking the fallen cups back onto the shelf.

Chan’s gaze kept switching between the back of Seyoung’s head and his friends, who stood a few feet away, barely containing their amusement. Jisung, the little menace, even let out a low whistle.

He immediately shot him a sharp glare, subtly gesturing for them to shut up before they embarrassed him any more than they already had.

But then—

A quiet sigh.

Chan turned just in time to see Seyoung grab a single cup of ramen, his fingers tightening around the dented edge before he scurried off without another word.

His hand twitched, half-reaching to stop him —wait— but he caught himself at the last second, jaw clenching as he pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, frustration curling in his chest.

Jisung snickered as he walked back to his group. “Wow. That was painful to watch.”

“Han Jisung, I swear—”

Hyunjin smacked his arm. “No no, he’s right. That was so bad.”

Chan scowled but held his tongue from arguing further. He was too busy watching Seyoung shuffle toward the register, his posture closed off, his shoulders curled inward.

What happened to him?

He wanted to ask. Wanted to know what had happened to the boy who had stared at him with wide, starry eyes in that bathroom? Who had been so full of drive despite the rejection?

Chan clenched his jaw, something curling around his heart like a vice.

“Hyung, why are you just standing here? Go talk to him," Jeongin muttered, nudging him forward.

Yeah.

He couldn’t just leave it like that.

Without thinking, he snatched a pair of popsicles from Jisung’s hands, barely paying attention to the younger's protests as he grabbed a cup of noodles off the shelf, striding forward with purpose.

He didn’t know exactly what he was going to say, only that he was going to do whatever it took to bring back that shimmer to the boys eyes.

Because the truth was, Chan had never stopped looking for him.

2.

Friendship came fast for them—effortless in a way that still surprised Chan sometimes. There was no grand declaration or formal agreement, they just… gravitated toward each other, filling whatever gaps the other had.

Their lives as trainees kept them busy, yet every spare moment they found, they spent together—usually over a shared cup of ramen at the convenience store, where Seyoung always picked the mildest flavor and still found it too spicy. Where he always tried to peel open his cup too fast and ended up splashing broth onto his sleeve, or got distracted stirring the noodles and let them turn mushy before actually eating them.

Chan found it all endearing, drawn in by every detail he uncovered.

Seyoung never mixed his food, eating one section at a time. He hated cherry-flavored candy but loved actual cherries. He always carried an extra pair of earphones in his bag—not because he needed them, but just in case Chan did.

When he was anxious, he picked at the loose threads of his sleeves, and whenever he was deep in thought he walked a little slower, forcing Chan to either match his pace or call his name to snap him out of it.

Seyoung also loved American sitcoms and romance novels, often recommending titles that he knew Chan wouldn't read. He had learned to play the piano when he was five and had always wanted to learn how to play the guitar.

The way his eyes lit up when Chan offered to teach him —soft, hopeful, trusting— was something the older knew he’d never forget.

His passion for music and songwriting was one of the things they shared. Dancing came less naturally to him, so he usually stayed late after practice, refining his moves, watching other trainees for tips, determined to close the gap between where he was and where he wanted to be.

And his voice.

God, that voice.

Chan could listen to him sing all day and never get tired of it.

There was a softness about the way he carried a note, making even the simplest melodies sound like something personal, like he was telling a secret only the music could understand. Sometimes he didn’t even need a backing track—just his voice alone was enough to fill a room.

Like these, there were countless other reasons why Seyoung was so easy to like—small things Chan had picked up over time, whether by accident, observation, or because Seyoung had chosen to show him. Each time, Chan was grateful, especially knowing how reserved the younger boy could be.

Every little thing felt like a proof of his trust, an implicit confirmation that Seyoung felt safe enough to share with him. But just as there were things Chan was allowed to know, there were also things he had learned not to ask about.

Seyoung rarely talked about his family. When he did, there was a quiet fondness in his voice that always carried a heaviness Chan didn’t know how to unpack. He knew his mother still lived in Jeonju, that his sister studied in Seoul, though their schedules rarely aligned. But his father—

All Chan knew about the man was that he had passed away, that the apartment Seyoung lived in had once been his.

And that Seyoung, at fifteen years old, had been left alone in a city he barely knew.

To his understanding, Seyoung's mother had come to an agreement with his company to take care of him—arranging everything from necessities to online schooling, making sure he had what he needed. Yet there was this itch under Chan’s skin that sometimes urged him to ask: Do you miss your home? Your family? Don't you ever feel lonely?

He never did. He figured if Seyoung wanted to talk about it, he would.

Still, the thought of the younger going home every night, stepping into an empty apartment with no one waiting for him—

It made his chest ache.

So, like that day at the convenience store, he made another vow—to make sure Seyoung never had to be alone.

He introduced him to his friends, little by little, one by one, steady enough so Seyoung wouldn’t feel overwhelmed. And honestly, he had expected the younger to struggle a bit—with him being more quiet in comparison to Chan's usual crowd—but somehow, he fit in seamlessly.

Especially with Felix.

The loud, boisterous Aussie was the perfect contrast to Seyoung’s more calm energy, and before long the two had become inseparable.

It shouldn’t have surprised him—how naturally Seyoung matched Felix’s mood, how effortlessly they clicked.

Felix was the one who always smuggled Seyoung into their dorm, slipping past their manager’s watchful eye with the kind of mischief only he could pull off. They’d stay up late, playing games or watching anything on Felix's laptop, their quiet laughter spilling into the hall.

Chan always turned a blind eye to it. Though his heart nearly imploded every time he walked in to find them curled up on Felix’s bed, tangled in a mess of blankets, their slow, even breaths filling the space between them.

He couldn’t explain why it warmed his chest to see them get along so well—it was like watching his younger siblings back home, as if his two worlds were colliding in the best way possible.

Felix also dragged Seyoung out more, calling their hangouts “dates” with a teasing grin, just to mess with him. He introduced him to other trainees, pulled him into group outings, occupied so much of his time that there were days when Chan barely saw him at all. 

It wasn’t like he could complain—he was happy that Seyoung was opening up, finding his place, making more friends—although the restless feeling in his chest said otherwise.

So, whenever they had time alone again, Chan would make the most of it, joking that Felix was stealing him away—just to see the younger fluster.

It always worked.

“N-no! That’s not—” Seyoung would stammer, wide-eyed and pink-faced. “Chris, you’re—! I mean, you’ll always be important to me. Really!”

And that—the way he panicked, how he blushed—

Chan never admitted how much he liked hearing that.

It was during one of those times that something shifted.

They had been on a call, with Chan stuck on a track for hours, frustration creeping in as he looped the same section over and over, something about it sounding off. He was about to give up for the night, until Seyoung offered to come over and help him break through his creative block.

As soon as he arrived, the younger curled up on the couch, watching over Chan’s shoulder, humming softly along to whatever melody played through the speakers. His presence alone was grounding, his mellow tone slipping into the mix, steadying Chan’s thoughts enough for him to push forward.

He got so caught up in it that he didn’t notice when Seyoung went quiet.

It wasn’t until he glanced back that he realized the younger boy had fallen asleep, his head resting against the couch arm, mouth slightly open as short, steady breaths left his lips.

Chan's fingers stilled over the keyboard.

It wasn’t unusual—he’d watched him doze off from exhaustion plenty of times before. But maybe it was the way his frame looked too small, swallowed by the oversized hoodie he had borrowed from him. Maybe it was the way his hand was still curled near his chest, like he had been mid-gesture before drifting off.

Or maybe it was the realization that he didn’t want him to ever leave.

The thought stirred something in his chest, something that felt too big to acknowledge, so he shook himself out of it, running a hand through his hair before nudging Seyoung’s foot lightly.

“You’re gonna wreck your neck sleeping like that.”

Seyoung barely stirred, his voice thick with sleep. “M’fine. Just resting my eyes.”

Chan huffed a quiet laugh. “Uh-huh.”

Still, he let him be—for a while. But when Seyoung started slipping sideways, dangerously close to toppling off the couch, Chan sighed, shutting his laptop.

“Hey, let’s go to bed."

That woke him up.

Seyoung sat bolt upright, blinking at him, his groggy brain catching up a second too late.

“Oh. Uh. Right.” he scrambled to his feet, swaying a little from exhaustion. “I-I can just, um, crash on the couch—” 

Chan scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Aw don’t be silly, we can share.”

That almost made Seyoung's entire face explode. He turned a brilliant shade of red, his entire body stiffening as if Chan had suggested something completely scandalous.

Biting back a smirk, Chan leaned against the bunk, arms crossed. He hadn’t meant to tease him, not really. Still, the reaction was cute.

“You’ve shared with Lix before, haven’t you?” the older mused, stretching his arms over his head. “Unlike him, I’m a light sleeper—I won’t kick you out of bed.”

Seyoung still looked deeply unconvinced. But after a long moment, biting his lip and mulling over the offer, he reluctantly followed.

Chan let him take the inside of the bed, making a conscious effort to give him space—not that there was much to begin with. The single bunk barely fit him alone, let alone the two of them. Still, he did his best not to make it awkward, even foregoing the habit of taking his top off like he usually would.

But when he glanced over and saw Seyoung curled up stiffly, posture awkward, face turned toward the wall like he didn’t know where to put his limbs, Chan couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

Without thinking, he reached out and threw an arm over him, tugging him closer until his back was pressed against his chest.

The second he did, he felt Seyoung freeze. Then his heartbeat —quick, sharp— picked up speed beneath Chan’s palm, a frantic rhythm betraying just how much this affected him.

Chan’s lips twitched. How adorable.

“Relax,” he murmured, already feeling the pull of sleep tugging at his consciousness. “Not gonna bite you.”

Seyoung let out a weak, nervous laugh. “R-right.”

And maybe Chan had meant to tease him about it the next morning.

But then he woke up, with Seyoung still curled against him.

Snug. Small. Perfectly calm.

Chan liked how easily his broader frame accommodated the younger boy against him, how his weight melted into his arms, breathing slow and steady. He liked the faint cherry scent of his shampoo as he nuzzled his nose into his hair, a lingering sweetness that made him want to hold him closer.

More than anything, he liked how serene Seyoung looked—completely at ease, tucked against his chest like he belonged there, fingers curled around his wrist, like even in his sleep he was holding onto Chan—trusting the older to keep him safe.

And that —the comfort, the warmth, the ease of it— made Chan realize he had never slept so comfortably before.

3.

Time only pulled them closer.

There was something about growing up alongside someone who just bonded with you—to share a dream, to work for it every single day, to rely on each other when things got tough—like the universe itself had meant for your paths to cross, for your lives to be entangled with one another. 

Make no mistake, their friendship wasn’t always smooth sailing. There were moments when the pressure became too much, when they argued and needed space to breathe. But no matter how overwhelming things got, neither of them could stay away from the other for more than a few days.

Not even puberty had managed to put a wedge between them.

Sure, their interests shifted—Chan got into working out, partly because of his father’s insistence, partly because he liked the results. His shoulders broadened, arms and chest filled out with firm, defined muscle, and he learned quickly that a little confidence went a long way.

He didn’t shy away from using it to his advantage either, rolling up his sleeves to flex in front of his friends, or throwing casual winks when he caught someone staring. Flirting came easy for him—fun, effortless, a way to burn off steam between training and the chaos of debut preparations.

Seyoung had bloomed in his own right too.

Once he threw himself deeper into dance, picking up contemporary lessons to refine his movements, his once-soft features developed in all the right places.

If before Chan had thought he was pretty —delicate, even— now it was almost unfair. His body had grown leaner, his lines more fluid, every small, precise motion carrying an unintentional grace that never failed to amaze him.

The younger boy had always carried himself quietly, never one to seek attention. But now, people were starting to notice.

Trainees approached him at parties, lingered too long in conversation, strangers at cafés stole glances at him as if waiting for the right moment to make a move. Some were subtle about it, others were about as discreet as getting hit in the face with a baseball bat. And yet Seyoung, being Seyoung, never seemed to realize—always blinking in surprise whenever someone tried to flirt with him.

Chan hated them all. And he made sure they knew it.

More often than not, he stepped in before they could get any ideas, slinging an arm over Seyoung’s shoulders, a well-timed smirk—anything that would send a clear message. Their friends would sigh and call him overprotective, but no one actually did anything to stop him.

And if Chan played up his flirtatious side whenever those so-called admirers were around—well, that was just a coincidence.

Not that Seyoung ever seemed to mind anyway.

Despite everything—the changes, the new habits, the growing pains—they always found time for each other. It was the one constant, the anchor that kept them grounded amid the relentless demands of the path they had chosen to walk together.

It also helped that their closest friend group was solidifying around them too. Felix and Minho were a given—the two members of Stray Kids Seyoung was closest to. Ryujin was like Chan’s annoying little sister, naturally he had wanted the younger to meet her, never mind that he was dating one of her friends at that time. Chanhee had come into the mix through Minho, though Seyoung's first impression of him had been rocky—Chanhee’s sharp, almost blunt attitude had rubbed him the wrong way, but they had quickly patched things up.

Then there was Yeonjun.

Felix had introduced them at a party, though Chan hadn’t paid much attention to their interaction at the time. He already knew of him—a golden trainee from Big Hit and the kind of guy who had a reputation for making hearts race. Some of Chan’s own friends had even joked that Yeonjun was his rival in that department, a statement he fervently denied.

In reality, he had never thought much of him.

Until suddenly, he had to.

One afternoon, while lounging around their dorm’s living room, Felix casually mentioned he was heading out, nothing out of the ordinary for the younger aussie. What caught Chan by surprise wasn’t the where—it was the who.

Yeonjun and Seyoung.

Chan blinked. “Wait. What?”

Felix glanced up from his phone, completely unbothered as he rummaged around their room, gathering his things in a bag. “Yeah, we’re heading to Yeouido for a bit. Might catch a movie after that. Why?”

Chan’s brows furrowed, fingers fiddling with the water bottle in his hands. “Seyoung didn’t mention anything when we talked earlier.”

His response made Felix pause, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. “You do know he doesn’t have to tell you everything he does, right?”

Chan opened his mouth—then promptly shut it.

Okay. Maybe that was true. But still—it was out of character for Seyoung not to tell him. Had he just… forgotten? Or had he actually meant to keep it from him?

The thought just didn’t sit entirely right with him.

“Is it gonna be just you three?” he asked, his tone casual—too casual.

Felix nodded, stuffing his wallet into his pocket.

Chan felt his stomach sink. “Since when did he start hanging out with Choi Yeonjun?”

“Since Minseok hyung’s party, I guess?” Felix shrugged, then glanced up, catching Chan’s puzzled expression. “You know, the one a couple weeks ago? Where you ditched him to make out with some random girl?”

"I didn’t ditch him." Chan frowned, choosing to ignore that last part. “The girl asked me to dance, and besides—Seyoung said it was fine.”

Felix raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And you actually believed that?”

“Well… yeah," Chan scoffed. "Why wouldn’t I?”

Felix let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Ah hyungie, how can you be so charming but so insufferably dense at the same time?”

Chan scoffed in response.

He hadn’t thought twice about it at the time. Seyoung had said he was okay. And yeah, maybe Chan had been… preoccupied with how ridiculously hot the girl was, but if it had actually bothered Seyoung, he would have mentioned it… right? They told each other things—that’s just how it was.

Then why did the idea of him going out with Yeonjun —without telling him— made Chan’s chest tighten? It wasn’t just because of the secrecy; it was the fact that Seyoung had chosen to keep it from him.

His grip on the bottle tightened, jaw flexing as a new, unfamiliar feeling curled in his stomach.

He hated it.

Before he could stop himself, before he could even think it through, the words were already out of his mouth.

“…Mind if I come too?”

4.

Questioning whether he had feelings for his best friend was, without a doubt, one of the most daunting moments in Chan’s life—right up there with the survival program, his debut and losing a member of his group.

And what had triggered this earth-shattering realization, you may ask?

Well, he was a little embarrassed to admit that it wasn't the countless times their friends pointed out that their friendship bordered on something beyond platonic —nor the exasperated complaints from past hook-ups about his bizarre obsession with Seyoung’s love life, or complete lack thereof.

No. It was something far simpler than that.

It started with an invitation.

Chan had wanted to do something to cheer Seyoung up. The past few days had been rough on the younger—his agency was apparently having money problems, and though Seyoung hadn’t said much, Chan could tell it was weighing on him.

So, he planned a distraction.

He brought Seyoung to see his company’s brand-new studio—state-of-the-art equipment, sleek design, the kind of setup that made his eyes wide. He knew Seyoung would love it. And just as he expected, the second he stepped inside, his entire face lit up with pure, childlike wonder.

“No way, ” Seyoung breathed, running his fingers over the console, barely touching the buttons like he was afraid they might break under his hands. His gaze flitted across the room, taking in every last detail, lips parted slightly in awe. “You get to work here?”

Chan barely heard the question over the pounding in his chest. He leaned back in his chair, grinning from ear to ear. “Pretty sick, right?”

Seyoung turned to him then, excitement sparkling in his gaze. “Can I…?”

He let the words trail off, but his intent was clear. The way he looked at the equipment—hopeful, eager, practically itching to test it out.

Chan had to physically restrain himself from tackling him onto the couch.

God, he was so cute when he got like this.

“Knock yourself out.”

They spent the next hour going through some of the songs Chan had lined up for Stray Kids’ new album, slipping effortlessly into a rhythm that had become second nature for them. Moments like this reminded Chan why he and Seyoung went so well together—his sharp ear for melody, his instinct for flow, the way he effortlessly picked out areas to refine, offering insights Chan hadn’t even considered.

He always loved working with him.

Because when Seyoung got caught up in music, really caught up, he lost the reservations that usually held him back. It was when Chan got to see a different side of him —pure, free, uninhibited.

Of course, that level of comfort came with its downsides, so much freedom made Seyoung feel bold enough to say whatever random thought popped into his head.

“You know,” the younger started casually, twirling a pen between his fingers. His tone alone had Chan already bracing himself for whatever out of pocket thing was about to come out of his mouth. “This setup almost makes me want to sign with JYP. I mean, the studio’s nice, the equipment is amazing, you are a decent producer—”

Chan scoffed. “Decent?”

“—but,” Seyoung continued, smirking, “I’d have to deal with your rizzless flirting all day, and I’m not sure I could handle that.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, I don’t even know how you get around so much,” Seyoung mused, wiggling his eyebrows. “Half the time, it’s just flexing your arms and throwing in a deep ‘hey mate’ like you think that’s enough.”

Chan huffed out a laugh, turning his chair to slide closer, arching a brow. “That is not all I do.” He smirked. “You forget that I’m also irresistibly charming, attentive, and a hell of a good kisser. Lots of people can testify to that.”

“Sure they can,” Seyoung deadpanned, trying to come off sarcastic, but Chan could see the way his cheeks were already tinting a subtle shade of pink. 

Amused, Chan watched the younger turn his head to the side, eyes dropping back to the music sheet in front of him—like he could pretend he hadn’t seen the reaction.

And then, just under his breath, Seyoung muttered, “Manwhore.”

Chan gaped. “You little—”

With no better comeback forming in his completely betrayed brain, he did the only thing he could think of—he attacked.

Seyoung barely had a second to react before Chan lunged, hands flying to his sides, fingers digging into his ribs. The reaction was instant—Seyoung shrieked, laughter spilling out of him as he twisted desperately, trying to escape.

“Wanna say that again?” Chan taunted, ignoring the way Seyoung kicked wildly, trying and failing to push him off as his hands shoved at his shoulders.

“I take it back!” Seyoung wheezed between giggles, eyes squeezed shut as his body twisted beneath him. “I take it back, oh my God!”

The younger managed to slip off the chair, scrambling away, barely taking two steps before Chan was on him again. An arm looped around his waist, dragging him back with a startled yelp before he could gain any real distance. He bucked in protest, twisting like a fish out of water, but Chan was relentless.

They tumbled across the room, knocking into the sofa and nearly toppling over the chairs in the process. Seyoung made another break for it, nearly reaching the door this time, but Chan caught him by the back of his hoodie, yanking him back with a triumphant laugh.

“Nowhere to run now.”

Seyoung whirled, hands up in defense, breathless. “Chris—!”

Too late.

Chan tackled him again, the momentum sending them stumbling backwards. Seyoung’s back hit the desk with a sharp bang, Chan bracing himself just in time to keep from completely crushing him.

Then—

Stillness.

Chan wasn’t sure how exactly they ended up like this—only that, suddenly, his hands were wrapped around Seyoung’s wrists, pressing them against the wood. Their bodies were flush, legs tangled together, breaths still heaving from exertion.

And their faces—

Too close.

Way too close.

From this distance, Chan could see everything—every tiny, delicate detail that he had somehow never paid attention to before. The way Seyoung’s bangs had fallen over his forehead, soft strands framing his face just right. How his lower lashes curled just slightly, the warm brown of his eyes reflecting the lighting overhead, the subtle curve of his cupid's bow. A small, faint beauty mark, nestled just at the corner of his left eye. Had that always been there?

Seyoung blinked—just once—before meeting his gaze.

There was something about the way he looked at Chan in that moment—uncertain, expectant, like he wasn’t sure what was happening but wasn’t about to pull away either.

His cheeks were flushed, breath shallow and uneven as it ghosted warm against the older’s skin. His chest rose and fell beneath him, heartbeat pounding a frantic, unsteady rhythm that Chan swore he could feel through the inches between them.

Chan swallowed thickly.

He should move. He should laugh it off, push away, make some dumb joke—

Yet he didn’t.

For some godforsaken reason, he couldn’t look away.

Seyoung was just so—

Fucking pretty.  

The air between them thickened, heavy and charged with something different—or maybe it had already been there, waiting for him to finally see it.

To see him.

Chan's eyes flickered—once, twice—to Seyoung’s lips, and for the first time in the six years they had known each other, he had this sudden, overwhelming urge—

To kiss him.

His grip on Seyoung’s wrists tightened slightly before he realized what he was doing, before his brain caught up to the way his body had already started leaning in—

What the fuck was he thinking?

His phone vibrated violently against the desk, the screen lighting up with an incoming call.

At first, he ignored it—too caught up in Seyoung’s gaze, in the charged stillness between them. But then Seyoung’s eyes went downward.

Chan followed his gaze. The caller ID flashed at them, along with the photo he forgot he had set—

Him and Daehwi.

Seyoung’s expression barely shifted, but it was enough. There was something off in the way his jaw shifted, tensing ever so slightly, the brief part of his lips before pressing them into a thin line.

Chan hesitated. His brain screamed at him to flip the phone over, let it ring out—to not let this moment slip away, but before he could move, Seyoung shifted beneath him, tilting his head slightly with a small, easy smile.

“You should get that.”

Chan didn’t move. “I—”

The phone buzzed again, insistent.

Seyoung’s eyes met his once more, and this time, his voice was light, almost amused. “Seriously. It’s fine.”

It clearly wasn't.

Chan knew something had changed. Even if he couldn’t fully grasp what, he could feel it—something slipping through his fingers before he even had the chance to hold onto it.

All he knew was that his heartbeat was still racing, and it wasn’t because of the call. It was because of the boy beside him—the one who now stared at the floor with a downcast expression, his shoulders just a little too still.

5.

The days following the incident at the studio were… weird, to say the least.

Something had shifted inside Chan, and no matter how hard he tried to shake it off, the thought —the possibility— lingered, stubborn and unrelenting, settling deep in his chest like an ache he couldn’t reach.

A seed had been planted, and every single day, just by having Seyoung near, it grew.

He had always looked out for the younger, that wasn’t new. Making sure he ate, shooing away bad people who were obviously crushing on him, ensuring he got home safely—those were just things he did because he cared, like he would for any of his dongsaengs.

It was simply natural. Or at least, it had been.

But now? Now all the little things he once brushed off suddenly felt very different.

Like how he caught himself watching Seyoung whenever he laughed —really laughed, the kind that made his eyes scrunch up and his whole body shake. Or how he noticed the younger instinctively leaning into his touch, whether it was a casual hand on his back or a playful ruffle of his hair.

He started noticing everything.

The way Seyoung's voice softened when he was tired, something warm and stupidly gentle curling in Chan’s stomach whenever he heard it. The way he fit against his side during movie nights, head resting lightly on his shoulder, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Before, Chan had never thought twice about these things. Now, it was all he could think about.

It wasn’t just brotherly concern.

Because a “brother” wasn’t supposed to get lost in the shape of his best friend’s lips. He wasn’t supposed to want to touch him, to be near him more than necessary. And he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to feel something twist inside him whenever Seyoung smiled because of someone else’s joke.

Then what was this?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t like anything he’d ever felt with any of his partners. He wrestled with it, fought against every logical explanation he could come up with, but in the end, it took one conversation with the last person he expected to make him finally admit the truth.

Daehwi.

They had met at a restaurant per the younger man's request. And Chan had known, even before he opened his mouth, that something was off.

“You don’t have to try so hard anymore,” Daehwi had started, stirring his drink absentmindedly. “I already know this isn’t going anywhere.”

Chan blinked. “What?”

Daehwi sighed, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat. “You and me. This. Whatever you wanna call it.”

“I thought we were having fun," Chan answered with a frown.

“We were, don’t get me wrong. You're great, hyung, really great,” Daehwi continued with a small smile. “Except when you’re not here, which is more than half the time we spend together. You always seem to be miles away, thinking about something or someone else.”

"Look, I know I've been a bit distracted the past few days—"

“Distracted?” Daehwi scoffed before shaking his head, amusement flickering across his face. “Hyung, I can’t even get you to focus when we're having sex.”

Chan opened his mouth to argue—but no words came out.

Because—

Shit.

What could he say against that?

Daehwi exhaled softly, watching him with a look that was far too understanding for someone who was technically in the middle of a breakup.

“It’s Seyoung sunbae, isn’t it?”

Hearing the name made Chan's whole body lock up. “I —what?”

“Come on, don’t give me that, I’m not blind.” Daehwi let out a soft laugh, his tone free of judgment, just a quiet certainty, like this had been obvious to everyone except Chan. “You can’t go a day without mentioning the guy, when you don’t it’s painfully clear you’re still thinking about him. And don’t even get me started on all the times I’ve caught you stealing glances at him whenever we hang out together.”

Chan wanted to deny it. Yet the refusal got stuck in his throat.

And that—that silence, that hesitation—was answer enough.

Daehwi smiled, like he had just won a bet. “I thought so.”

“I’m not—I swear, whatever you're thinking, Seyoung and I—” Chan started, then stopped.

One look at the younger’s expression told him it was pointless. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face as a groan ripped from his chest. “Fuck.”

His frustration only seemed to amuse Daehwi further. He chuckled, reaching out to pat Chan’s hand—a fleeting gesture of comfort before he leaned back, studying him with an almost fond look.

“You know,” he mused, tilting his head. “I always wondered why people say you go through relationships like you’re running a marathon.” His lips quirked into a grin. “I think I finally got it.”

Chan frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Daehwi hummed, resting his chin in his palm. “It means that maybe you weren’t actually looking for someone.” His eyes gleamed with quiet amusement. “You were just doing everything you could to fill a space that was already taken.”

Chan stiffened, but Daehwi didn’t stop.

“Kind of sad, if you ask me,” he continued, voice lighter now. “Being so used to loving someone that you don’t even realize you're doing it.”

Oh.

Oh.

He was—

He was in love…

With Seyoung?

…

Well, fuck.

Daehwi watched the realization hit him, smirking before grabbing his bag. “Anyway, now that I got that out of my chest, I should get going.”

“Wait—" His nonchalance seemed to snap Chan out of his daze. "That’s it?”

"What, were you expecting some dramatic breakup speech? Wanted me to hit you with my bag and beg you not to leave me?" Daehwi scoffed, rolling his eyes as he stood and slung said bag over his shoulder. "Please. We both knew this was never that serious."

“Still, I—”

“Relax, there's no hard feelings.” Daehwi glanced back, smile teasing. “You’ve got bigger things to deal with now.”

Chan groaned. “Don’t say it like that.”

The younger just laughed, clapping him on the shoulder as he walked past. “Just don’t be a coward about it, yeah?”

And with that, he was gone.

Chan sat there for a long time, staring blankly at his untouched plate, his thoughts spiraling into a tangled, inescapable mess.

So, he had feelings for Seyoung.

Not the casual, fleeting kind. Not a mild crush that he could brush off or laugh about. No, this was worse.

This was I-want-to-kiss-you-until-you’re-breathless feelings. I-want-to-hold-you-closer-just-to-see-if-you’ll-let-m e feelings.

Okay.

Okay.

Shit.

Accepting it was one thing, but actually doing something about it? That was a whole other disaster waiting to happen. 

Seyoung wasn’t just anyone. He wasn’t some random fling, some short-lived infatuation that Chan could entertain and move on from when it ran its course. He was—

He was his star.

One of the most treasured people in his life. The one person he knew he couldn’t afford to lose.

So, no. He couldn’t handle this the way he did with every other relationship, couldn’t flirt recklessly and see where things went. Couldn’t act without thinking, without considering the consequences.

Because there were consequences.

His career was only starting. Stray Kids’ popularity was soaring, and the weight of expectations pressed heavier than ever. And Seyoung? He was growing by leaps and bounds, transforming into an incredible performer—it was only a matter of time before he debuted.

One wrong step, one reckless decision, and it wouldn’t just be his heart on the line—it would be everything.

If he was going to bet on these feelings—if he was going to act on them—then he had to be sure.

Sure that Seyoung felt the same way.

That he wouldn’t be jeopardizing the dream they had bled for, sacrificed for, built from the ground up.

Because if he was wrong—

He wouldn’t just be losing a chance, he would lose everything.

Seyoung deserved more than that.

He deserved something real—to be loved without hesitation. Not some half-assed confession thrown out in the heat of his realisation, not an uncertainty wrapped in longing.

Seyoung wasn’t a risk to take—he was a choice Chan would have to make every single day, knowing exactly what was at stake.

And if Chan wasn’t ready to give him that—

Then he had no business touching this feeling at all.

The last thing he would ever do was bring pain to Seyoung.

Not because of him. Not because of this.

So, yeah.

If Chan was going to love him, he had to be damn sure.

6.

Turns out, confessing your feelings to your best friend of eight years was just as complicated and tragically drawn out as every movie and drama made it seem.

There was no guideline or handbook —Chan had looked everywhere— on how to navigate this kind of situation without making a complete fool of yourself.

The best advice he could find? Be confident and charming, trust your instincts, wait for the right moment.

As if he hadn’t already thought of that a thousand times over.

Also, the “right moment”? Yeah, whoever came up with that concept could go fuck themselves.

Because in the time since Chan had realized he liked Seyoung—not platonically, not protectively, but in the I-want-to-hold-your-hand-and-kiss-you-senseless kind of way—there had been plenty of times where he thought, This is it.

Late nights spent curled up together, just the two of them, bodies pressed close, whispering about everything and nothing. Little outings, orchestrated by their friends, where they ended up practically dating without the label—sharing meals, walking side by side while holding hands.

Every single time, Chan almost did it. Almost said something.

And every single time, something stopped him.

Sometimes, it was just nerves—his own damn overthinking tripping him up. Other times, his schedule and responsibilities got in the way. But more often than not, it was that voice in the back of his head, whispering about the inevitable. About how, no matter what, their relationship would change.

So instead of confessing, he’d end up rambling about something completely unrelated, his ears burning with shame.

He had to admit—having so many failed attempts was starting to drive him insane.

It wasn’t that he doubted himself— he knew he had game. And it wasn’t like Seyoung was subtle, either; the way he reacted to Chan’s flirting, the soft pink dusting his cheeks whenever he got too close, the way he instinctively gravitated toward him—it was all there, clear as day.

But this wasn’t some random fling he could charm, spend the night with and then move on as if nothing happened.

He knew Seyoung deserved more. So much more than that.

Then there was the other, much bigger problem.

Stray Kids had rapidly become one of the most recognized K-pop acts in the country—on the verge of breaking internationally. It wasn’t just his life anymore. Every move his group made was under a microscope, scrutinized from every angle.

And no, Chan wasn’t bragging.

Okay, maybe he was. But that wasn’t the point.

The point was that it was an outside factor that he constantly needed to consider.

He wasn’t new to dating in secret —hell , he had practically mastered it. Slipping under the radar, avoiding the press, keeping relationships out of sight, even from his own manager. But lately? That had gotten harder and harder. With every milestone they hit, privacy felt thinner, like he was walking a tightrope that only got narrower with each step.

Before Daehwi, he had already considered giving up on dating entirely. Then the younger had dropped the mother of all truth bombs on him, effectively ending his libertine lifestyle for good.

Which brought him to this moment.

Sitting on a rooftop diner two years later, once again trying to find the courage to just fucking say it, while Seyoung sat across from him—looking entirely too perfect under the dim glow of fairy lights.

Felix and Wonjun had come up with the whole thing—one of their overly sentimental, dramatic schemes, because apparently their friend group wasn’t already nosy enough about them.

A “celebration,” they called it.

Something about unwinding after Stray Kids had won yet another music award—an excuse to eat good food, enjoy the night, and bask in their success. As if their entire group hadn’t just done the same thing a few nights ago.

Chan saw right through it.

Still, he took the bait.

Partly because he knew fighting the two little menaces was pointless, but mostly because the date of their second meeting was coming up, and he could pass it off as one of their usual private hangouts. God knows he’d never miss an opportunity to have Seyoung all to himself.

So yeah, here he was.

Halfway through his food, sipping his drink, completely lost in the way Seyoung’s eyes shimmered almost golden beneath the lights. The way his smile stretched wide and easy, eyes scrunching up as he animatedly recounted something—something Chan should probably be listening to.

He had stopped paying attention long ago.

In his defense, all he could think about was how the hell had he missed this for so long?

How Seyoung had been there, always there—through every failed relationship, every high and low, every moment that mattered. He had given so much to Chan, stood by him without hesitation, never asking for anything in return.

And Chan had been too blind, too stupid, to see it.

Now, it was up to him to give Seyoung everything.

The world, if he wanted it. Because if anyone deserved that, it was him.

He just had to say it.

Just open his mouth and—

“Chris?”

Chan blinked, jolted out of his thoughts.

Seyoung had stopped talking, head tilted slightly, looking at him with quiet amusement. “You’re staring.”

Chan’s throat went dry. “Huh?”

“Is there something on my face?” 

Yes. Beauty.

Chan’s brain short-circuited.

Say it. Say it now.

He needed to snap out of it.

“Yeah,” Chan murmured, voice coming out lower than he intended. His hand lifted instinctively, reaching out, fingertips hovering by Seyoung’s cheek. “You do have something over here.”

Seyoung’s brows furrowed. “Huh? Where?”

Chan let his fingers ghost beneath Seyoung’s jaw, the pads of his fingers tracing the line before he smirked. “Right here.” Then, casually—like his heart wasn’t trying to escape his ribs—he added, “Beauty. It’s all over you.”

Seyoung froze.

For a split second, Chan saw it—the way his lips parted just slightly as he blinked, eyes unfocused, like he wasn’t sure where to look.

Then, as if on cue, a soft flush crept up his neck, rapidly spreading across his cheeks. He buffed, batting Chan’s hand away. “Oh my God, you’re unbelievable.”

Chan only chuckled, leaning back in his seat, very pleased with himself.

No.

It still wasn’t time.

Not yet.

Instead, he let the conversation drift, steering them into safer territory.

He brought up how his group was gearing up for their next project—an upcoming world tour that would take them across the globe.

“I’ve taken a peek at the schedule,” Chan said, running a hand through his hair, fingers threading through the strands just to do something. “I’m telling you, it's gonna be insane. The budget, the venues, the production—everything’s bigger than last time.”

Seyoung hummed, nodding along as the leader rambled on about everything his company had already planned—until something seemed to click in his head.

His eyes widened slightly. “Wait. That’s next month, isn’t it?”

Chan chuckled, grabbing a bite of his food. “Yeah. We’re even going to the States. Can you believe that?”

A pause.

Chan glanced up just in time to catch the shift.

The way Seyoung’s fingers stilled against his plate, how his shoulders sank just slightly. He wasn’t frowning, but there was something about the way his fingers absently picked at the ceramic edge, gaze lowered—

“Don’t tell me you forgot.”

Seyoung bit his lip, looking sheepish. “Kind of? I mean… I knew it was coming, I just didn’t realize it would be so soon.”

Chan’s teasing smirk faded.

Because this wasn’t about forgetting. It was about the countdown they hadn’t really talked about.

One more month. Then he’d be gone for a few—maybe even longer.

Chan watched as Seyoung stared down at his glass, fingers absentmindedly tracing the condensation as he slowly turned it in his hands.

“That’s gonna suck,” the younger murmured.

Something tightened in Chan’s chest.

He knew they’d be apart—knew it would be hard, as it always was. But hearing Seyoung actually say it—seeing the way he frowned, the slight furrow of his brows, like he was already missing him.

Yeah. That did something to him.

“It’ll be over before you know it.” Chan nudged Seyoung’s foot under the table, mustering a grin that didn’t feel quite right. “You’ll have your chance to get back at me when you debut.”

Seyoung scoffed, but it lacked his usual bite. “Whenever that happens.”

His grip tightened around his glass, gaze lost in the melting ice cubes as his teeth worried his bottom lip—so intensely that Chan half-expected to see a bead of blood bloom against the skin.

“Jieun told me the board still thinks I’m not ready yet,” he muttered after a while, voice quieter now, carrying a note of resignation—a quiet, self-deprecating tone that made Chan’s heart twist. “Even though I’ve pretty much aced all of my evaluations.”

Way to go, Bang Chan.

Here he was, rambling about his group’s success, completely forgetting the fact that Seyoung was still stuck in limbo, waiting for a future that should have been his years ago.

Like a serpent, a merciless vice squeezed around Chan's heart as he thought of the countless hours Seyoung had spent polishing his performance. The exhaustion, the dedication, the raw talent —all of it undeniable.

His training period had already stretched longer than most trainees his age, and it wasn’t because he wasn’t good enough. Far from it. Anyone who had seen him perform could vouch for him. Vocals, dance, stage presence—Seyoung could pull a crowd without even trying. 

Beyond that, his manager had managed to secure sponsorships, bringing in attention, exposure, resources—everything an idol needed to succeed.

So why were they stalling? What the hell were they waiting for?

Chan had his theories, though none of them sat right with him.

He remembered something Felix had mentioned once—a throwaway comment from years ago, back when they were just kids practically living in the practice room, running on caffeine, cups of noodles and the dream of debuting. They had been talking about getting something to eat, debating between tteokbokki or fried chicken, when Felix had casually mentioned that Seyoung couldn’t come.

"He has PT today, remember?"

Physical therapy?

Chan had been so taken back by how casually the younger Aussie had said it—like it was something he should have known, but he clearly didn’t.

When he had asked Seyoung about it —offhandedly, careful not to pry— the younger had brushed it off, insisting it was nothing serious, just something he did to improve his flexibility.

And that was it, Chan had let it go.

Now he wondered if he should have pushed harder. If there was something he had missed.

However, he filed that thought away, focusing instead on the person in front of him.

Right now, Seyoung didn’t need him to dig into old events or theories, and certainly didn’t need him overanalyzing. He just needed support.

Without thinking, Chan reached out, his hand easily covering Seyoung’s own. His thumb traced slow, soothing circles over the younger's knuckles—an instinctive motion, small, comforting, and yet completely insufficient.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice softer than he intended. “They’ll realize what a star you are. And when they do, they’re gonna kick themselves for not debuting you sooner.”

Seyoung’s fingers curled slightly under his touch, his breath hitching just for a moment. A slight tremor ran through him—so brief, so subtle, that if Chan hadn’t been touching him, he might’ve missed it.

And fuck, did that make his heart ache in a way he couldn’t even begin to articulate.

He wanted to say more.

Wanted to tell Seyoung that if it were up to him, he would have already debuted, thrived, taken over the world. That no company, no executive, no bullshit industry politics should have the power to delay someone like him.

But what could he do—except be here, now, for him?

Maybe that was enough.

Because Seyoung’s fingers relaxed slightly beneath him, his eyes flickering up—soft, grateful—something unspoken lingering in his gaze, like he understood exactly what Chan wasn’t saying.

“…Thank you, Chris.”

Chan’s heart soared.

It was so unfair, the way Seyoung could do that, disarm him completely with just a few words, with just a look.

His eyes, warm under the glow of the fairy lights, the way his lips parted just slightly, like he wanted to say more but chose to hold back—

It woke up that urge again. That same reckless impulse that had been eating him alive for months now.

To throw himself over the damn table and completely devour him, consequences be damned.

But instead, he did the next stupidest thing. He intertwined their fingers, squeezing Seyoung’s hand gently.

And God, it felt so right.

The fit of their hands, the press of his thumb against Seyoung’s pulse, the slight hitch in the younger’s breath. His brain was turning to mush, his chest a mess of emotions, and before he could even think—

“That’s what friends are for, right?”

…

Oh.

Oh, you absolute fucking idiot.

7.

One would think that leading seven other boys to become one of the most famous groups of his generation required Chan to be confident, patient, dependable, and caring.

And sure—he was all of those things, but that was only half of it. Because to get anywhere in this industry, sometimes one had to be brash, impulsive, stubborn, and a little bit reckless too.

Chan had learned that quickly.

The fuck it, let’s do it mentality had carried him through a lot—negotiating better deals for his members, refusing to back down when they deserved more, throwing himself into songwriting when his body screamed for sleep, taking risks with their music when everyone else told him to play it safe. Even in the smaller things—like dragging his members out for late-night drives when the pressure got too heavy, or buying that ridiculously expensive keyboard just because it felt right under his fingers.

Most of the time, those instincts worked in his favor.

Other times? Well… they backfired spectacularly.

Like right now, as he stood outside of Seyoung's apartment, regretting every life decision that had led him to impulsively invite himself over for a movie night.

Why exactly had he done that?

Because of one damn photo.

It had started innocently enough. Chan had been aimlessly scrolling through social media during a photoshoot, waiting for his turn—half-distracted, barely registering what he was seeing—until a new post from Seyoung appeared on his feed.

The first picture? Stunning, as always. Seyoung looked ridiculously good—hair and makeup styled to perfection, his outfit hugging his lithe frame in all the right places. He stared at it for a bit longer before swiping to the next image, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Oh, Yunjin was there too, and he recognised the familiar backdrop of the Music Core hallway.

At least Seyoung had someone familiar to ground him before stepping on stage—not that he had anything to be nervous about. He looked so damn good, Chan doubted anyone would even notice if he messed up a step or missed a note.

Seriously, how the hell could someone look that perfect during their debut? Chan was still haunted by the photos from his early years—his lanky teenage frame, his awkward styling, the way his oversized clothes never quite fit right. Meanwhile, Seyoung looked radiant, mesmerizing, like he was meant to be there.

So good that Chan could just—

He cut that thought off immediately, clearing his throat as he quickly swiped to the next picture. That was when the smile was wiped clean off his face.

Because there, in the next frame, was Yeonjun.

The cheeky bastard had draped himself over Seyoung like a damn koala—arms circling his waist from behind, head resting on his shoulder, their cheeks pressed together so closely that Chan didn’t even have to zoom in to know there was no breathable space in between.

His eye twitched.

Before his brain could fully process it, his thumb slammed against the screen, scrolling past it.

He had to breathe. Had to remind himself that it was just a photo. A photo that Seyoung had posted of his own volition. To his personal account. For everyone in the world to see. With a caption that read, "In the embrace of a friend, the heart finds its warmth. 🤗💕"

...

Somebody shoot him right now.

The rational part of his brain said it was nothing. Just an innocent picture, a way to draw in a crowd and create more engagement for Seyoung's debut.

The other part— the one that raged like a banshee— wanted to launch his phone across the room.

He had spent the rest of his schedule sulking, didn’t even bother to hide it either. His bandmates had definitely noticed the shift in his attitude but thankfully, chose to let him stew in it.

By the time they headed back to the dorms, his mood had fully soured. The moment they arrived, he immediately holed himself up in his studio—throwing out some excuse about working on a track. When really he put on his most depressing playlist, sat in his chair, and stared at those photos for an ungodly amount of time.

Then came the video call—and Yeonjun’s obnoxiously smug smile.

The shit-eating grin plastered across his face told Chan everything he needed to know—he had seen the reaction to the post, seen the way the public was eating it up, and, of course, he was thriving off it.

Chan had hung up before he could say something he’d regret, chucking his phone onto the sofa with a little more force than necessary.

He turned to his PC, attention locking onto the unfinished track on his screen. Better to drown himself in work than deal with the actual problem.

That plan had worked—for a while.

Until Minho stormed into the studio at 2 a.m., took one look at him, and yanked him out of his chair before he could even protest.

"Go home. Get some actual sleep. And get over yourself,” he said, voice flat with zero patience as he dragged him toward the door.

Chan grumbled, trying to pry Minho’s hands off him. “I am over it.”

Minho raised a brow, his deadpanned expression showing he didn't believe him one bit. "If you're that pressed about one photo, do something about it instead of sulking like a rejected high schooler.”

Which—fine. Whatever.

That was how he ended up in this mess.

Dressed up more than usual—because his members had insisted he had to “put in effort” if he was going to confess. Buying snacks on his way over, double-checking that he got all of Seyoung’s favorites. Fussing over his appearance in every reflective surface he passed—store windows, his phone screen, the side of a parked car—suddenly, nothing felt right.

His jacket? Too stiff. His hair? A mess, no matter how much Hyunjin had styled it. His face? Well, that was always fine, but still somehow not enough for this.

Curse his stupid impulses and his bandmates for encouraging them.

With every second that passed, he was dangerously close to rolling out of this entire plan. His confidence was crumbling like a stale cookie, and every time he replayed exactly why he was doing this in the first place, it only made him feel more ridiculous.

Should he just… turn around? Come up with some excuse to cancel?

Seyoung, something came up, let’s reschedule.

Seyoung, I forgot I have to submit a demo by tomorrow.

Seyoung, I suddenly realized I’m a fucking coward and can’t do this tonight.

No.

He could never do that to him.

So, with hesitant fingers, he raised a hand to ring the doorbell—ignoring the electronic lock, even though he already knew the code. Because as much as Seyoung liked to tease him for it, Chan always preferred to let him open the door.

It was stupid. Self-indulgent.

But the image of it—the younger opening up his home, welcoming him inside—fed the domestic delusion Chan had been clinging to for years.

Then the door cracked open, and there was Seyoung.

Hair slightly damp, fresh-faced, wearing one of those soft, oversized cardigans he loved so much. He was smiling so brightly, face lightning instantly at the sight of him, entirely unaware of the absolute storm raging inside the older idol's head.

Before Chan could even get a word out, Seyoung was pulling him in, wrapping his arms around him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Warm. Familiar. Everything.

Chan melted into the embrace before he could think better of it, his arms winding around the younger's frame, hands gripping the fabric of his cardigan. Basking in the way Seyoung’s arms fit around him, in the clean, fresh scent of his shampoo, in the gentle squeeze of his fingers against Chan’s back.

God, he was so gone for him it was down right embarrassing.

He barely had time to fully absorb the moment before the ping of the elevator echoed through the hallway, startling them both.

They reacted immediately, pulling away. Seyoung averted his gaze slightly, clearing his throat before stepping aside, motioning him in.

Chan nodded, stepping over the threshold.

Yeah.

He was so screwed.

His gaze swept over the living room the second he stepped inside, and his heart swelled at the sight. Everything was set up for the night—the throw pillows arranged just right, blankets draped over the sofa like they were meant to be shared. But what really caught his attention were the fairy lights strung along the walls, casting a soft, golden glow over the space. They looked familiar, like he’d seen them before—but he couldn’t quite place where.

Casually, he shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the back of the sofa.

“Are the lights new?” he asked, glancing toward Seyoung, who had already moved into the kitchen. “I don’t remember seeing them last time I was here.”

The younger hummed as he placed the snacks on the counter. “I got them a while ago while I was out with Ryujin and Yeonjun. They’re cute, aren’t they?”

Chan’s grip tightened on the back of the couch, his eye twitching once more.

Great. Fantastic. Another win for Choi Yeonjun.

He forced a smile, shoving down the irrational irritation creeping into his gut.

“Yeap,” he said, voice even. “Pretty cute.”

Focus, Bang Chan.

With that, they slipped into their usual rhythm, falling into easy conversation as they decided on dinner, moving through the kitchen as they had done a hundred times before.

Chan focused on the food, hands moving automatically through the familiar motions—chopping, stirring, seasoning—but ignoring Seyoung’s gaze?

Yeah. That was impossible.

He could feel it, trailing over him, lingering just a little too long. And if he said that didn’t inflate his ego, he’d be lying through his teeth.

Okay, sue him— if Seyoung was staring, then he might as well give him something good to look at.

A little flex here and there whenever he reached for ingredients, rolling his shoulders so the fabric of his shirt strained just right over his back muscles. 

He made a show of tossing the pan, flipping the ingredients mid-air with effortless ease, catching the way Seyoung’s lips parted slightly, admiration flickering across his face before he could mask it.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Tonight he wasn’t going to let anything stop him—even if he had to use every damn trick in the book to get Seyoung to see him the way he saw him.

Throughout dinner prep, he kept sneaking glances, flashing small grins whenever their eyes met, letting their hands casually brush together when they reached for the same thing. At one point, he even dared to link their pinkies for the briefest second, watching closely, searching, for a reaction.

It must have worked, because soon enough, Seyoung was leaning into his side, lightly resting his weight against him.

Chan felt the smile bloom across his face before he could stop it.

It was kinda pathetic, if he was being honest, how something so small made his heart feel like it was going to burst out of his chest.

He couldn't care less though.

Once dinner was ready, they took their seats at the table across from each other, laughter spilling between bites, the tenderness of their dynamic settling in like a second skin while they reminisced—about first meetings in bathrooms and convenience stores, about all the stupid, insignificant little moments that had somehow led them here.

With each passing second, the air enveloping them shifted, turning into something heavy, charged, the kind of thing that Chan had spent hours overthinking.

How, in the quiet that settled between them, their eyes always searched for each other.

How he felt pulled in by Seyoung's sole presence, caught in the current of something he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to escape, not that he wanted to.

"I could never forget that, Chris."

Golden light flickered across the soft brown of Seyoung’s gaze, and in it—Chan saw himself, his own feelings, laid bare.

Pining. Yearning. Longing.

Affection. Care. Love.

Seyoung’s hand moved—uncertain, tentative—reaching across the table.

And Chan—stupid, lovesick Chan—met him halfway, his fingers curling around the younger's in a gesture that felt as natural as breathing, like they were meant to fit. 

Like he’d been waiting for this his whole life and just hadn’t realized it.

Rough callouses brushed against soft skin, the contrast sending a sharp, dizzying jolt straight to his chest. His heart slammed against his ribcage, the weight of the moment pressing down on him all at once.

How had he ever convinced himself this was just friendship?

He gathered every ounce of courage in his body.

This was it. The perfect moment.

He was going to say it.

He had to say it.

His phone rang.

The harsh, vibrating buzz came from somewhere in the living room, shaking the quiet into pieces.

Ignore it, his brain screamed.

Seyoung’s eyes seemed to implore the same.

But the shrill tone kept going, relentless, slicing through the perfect spell that had settled over them like a blade.

Fuck.

Mentally cursing whoever was on the other end for having the absolute worst timing in the world, Chan reluctantly pulled his hand away, already feeling the moment drift out of his grasp as he pushed back from the table.

Frustration burned white hot in his chest, simmering beneath his skin as he walked over to where he had left his jacket, yanking his phone from one of the pockets to see Minho’s caller ID flashing on the screen.

With a sharp exhale, Chan swiped to answer, pressing the phone to his ear.

"Hey."

“Did you kiss him yet?” Minho’s voice came through, deadpan and blunt as ever.

Chan choked on air, barely holding back a cough. “No, we were having dinner,” he hissed, shooting a quick glance back at Seyoung, praying to every higher power that he hadn’t heard any of that.

“You’ve been there for two hours.” Minho clicked his tongue. “With how fast you usually work, I assumed you’d be all over each other by now. What’s taking you so long, hyungie?”

The teasing lilt in his tone made Chan pinch the bridge of his nose, lowering his voice as he struggled for a response that wouldn’t make him want to die inside. “I think we’re gonna watch a movie now.”

Minho went silent for a second, and Chan could practically hear the dancer's mind catching on.

"Ohhh." Minho dragged out the word, his tone shifting as realization clicked into place. “So you’re going with the slow-burn bullshit—taking your sweet time, setting the mood, making it all romantic instead of just saying you like him. Got it.”

Chan grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut at how deep that dig had cut.

"Yeah," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Everything’s fine. I’ll text you when I get back."

"Fine, I’ll let you be," Minho chuckled, clearly too amused. "But you better hurry up, Romeo. Manager-nim came by and noticed you were gone, so be ready for his lecture tomorrow."

Chan groaned, hanging up before Minho could add anything else.

With a deep breath, he turned back to Seyoung, mustering a smile like he hadn’t just considered hurling his phone at the wall.

Alright, back to the plan.

They settled onto the couch after clearing the table, blankets wrapped around their bodies like barriers—physical, intentional, a clear line meant to keep them apart. And yet, Seyoung chose to sit a considerable distance away from him, just far enough that it felt intentional, strange enough that it sent Chan’s mind spiraling.

Was he imagining things or was Seyoung avoiding him?

Had he been too obvious? Had Seyoung noticed how weird he was acting? Had he heard anything Minho said?

Good God, Christopher, get a grip.

Pushing the thoughts away, he forced himself to focus on the screen—to ignore how the space between them felt far too wide, like a gaping chasm he didn’t know how to cross.

He was too caught up in his own head to notice how, with each passing moment, that distance started to shrink.

Slow. Subtle.

A gravitational pull—so ordinary and typical of them, that neither seemed to realize it was happening. Not until their knees brushed. Not until Chan felt a hand land on his leg, fingers toying with the frayed threads of his ripped jeans.

For a split second, he considered saying something, maybe teasing Seyoung about it, anything to distract himself, to ease the spiral of thoughts spinning out of control.

But instead—

Before he could overthink himself into oblivion, he mumbled something about Seyoung shivering, barely processing the younger’s response about the thermostat not working before he draped an arm over his shoulders, pulled him closer, and wrapped them both in the blanket.

Okay.

Okay.

Perhaps not the smartest move.

Now he was hyper-aware of the scent of Seyoung's body wash—sweet like juicy berries. It filled his lungs, invaded his senses and flooded his brain, wrapping around him like a drug.

And just like that, his brain decided to be an absolute menace.

All he could think about was Seyoung washing up, getting ready for their impromptu ‘date,’ with steam curling over his skin, droplets of water sliding down his collarbone, the damp strands of his messy hair sticking to his forehead as he dried it with a towel.

Jesus Christ.

Next time, he’d gladly offer to—

Nope.

Nope.

He bit his lip, willing his overactive brain to shut the fuck up while keeping his eyes glued to the screen, pretending that this—this whole situation, this whole night—wasn’t completely wrecking him.

Notting Hill.

Chan had never been big on romantic films, but this one? This one had rapidly become a favorite ever since Seyoung had first shown it to him years ago, maybe because the more he watched it, the more he realized that it hit too close to home.

The burden of fame. The suffocating weight of media scrutiny. The constant push and pull of wanting something —someone— while knowing the world would never make it easy.

And, most importantly, the power of second chances.

Chan had spent countless hours agonizing over the what-ifs. Was confessing to Seyoung worth the risk? Would the complications, the inevitable shift in their dynamic, be too much to survive?

If he took the leap and shattered what they had, would he get a second chance? Or would he be left with nothing at all?

There was no doubt in his heart that he wanted Seyoung.

Fuck, he had never wanted someone more in his entire life, but raw want wasn’t enough. Not when the whole world was watching them, not when a relationship like theirs could never be as simple as the love story playing out on the screen.

Still, he did his best to keep his inner turmoil at bay, to file away the thoughts clawing at the edges of his mind and focus on the present.

He kept up with Seyoung’s commentary on the film, matched him beat for beat in their playful banter. It was easy, like always, letting himself be swept into their dynamic, letting the movie fill the gaps of silence between them. But time was moving too fast, and no matter how hard he tried to stay here, his mind kept pulling elsewhere—to the words he still hadn’t said, to the truth sitting on the tip of his tongue, to the reasons why he kept holding back.

By the time the credits rolled, his thoughts were a wreck.

He glanced down, finding the younger curled up against him, face relaxed, breath slow and steady as he rested his head on Chan’s shoulder.

So peaceful.

So close.

For a moment, all the noise in his head just… stopped. His grip on reality slipped, heart stumbling over itself as he took it in—how natural it felt, how easy it was to just exist like this.

A gentle nudge had Seyoung stirring, stretching with a quiet yawn before blinking up at him, half-asleep, teasing, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. And just like that, their effortless back-and-forth picked up right where they left off.

It didn’t take long before the teasing remarks escalated, turning mischievous, laced with something more. Something knowing, provoking, leading Chan exactly where Seyoung wanted him.

"Between the two of us," the younger murmured, tilting his head ever so slightly, voice dipping just enough to make Chan’s stomach twist, "there's one person who fits my tastes too well."

He knew it was a trap.

Knew it and still fell right into it.

Restraint hung by a thread, every impulse begging him to do the thing he had been dying to do for years now, to just take. Take. Take.

Keep it together.

He needed to control himself if he wanted to get the words out, but a single word pulsed in his head, drowning out every ounce of logic.

Want.

His pulse thundered, heat creeping up his throat. In his distraction, in his silent war between reason and desire, he missed the way Seyoung’s expression shifted. From expectation to resignation. Didn’t register it until the younger started to pull away.

That was when Chan stopped thinking altogether.

Before he knew what he was doing, his hands moved of their own accord, flying to Seyoung’s waist, hoisting him up in one swift motion to pull him onto his lap.

A bowl of snacks hit the floor, but Chan barely registered the mess. Because, holy shit.

He had Seyoung right there, straddling his thighs, hands gripping his shirt, with his face hovering only inches apart. Close enough for Chan to count the flecks of gold reflected in his darkened eyes. Close enough that he could feel the younger’s breath —soft, uneven— ghosting across his lips.

Close enough that Chan swore he could feel the heat rolling off his skin, seeping into him, into every inch of his body and setting him on ablaze.

The atmosphere shifted, thickened, as they stared at each other, locked in a silent battle—a question, a dare, a waiting game to see who would break first.

Chan felt on fire, every nerve in his body attuned to the weight on his lap, the heat seeping through layers of fabric, the unspoken tension coiling between them like a live wire. His fingers flexed where they rested on Seyoung’s waist —narrow, delicate, perfect— and for a split second, he swore he could encircle the whole thing in his grip.

No matter how many times he had been in this position before, hands on a lover’s body, breath mingling, eyes heavy-lidded with expectation, this felt so different.

This was Seyoung, his best friend, his closest friend… his star.

Shit— he felt like a goddamn teenager again, nerves tangled in his chest, hands shaking and unsure. He didn’t even know what to do with himself. Every thought in his head was colliding, reason unraveling as Seyoung sat there, waiting for him.

His eyes begged him to move, while his body screamed at him to just do something, anything, but hesitation had always been his greatest weakness when it came to Seyoung, to this. So when he didn’t—when he got stuck at the edge of something neither of them could take back—Seyoung did it for him.

Leaning in, lips grazing against his in the lightest, softest touch. Featherlight and trembling. A question masquerading as a kiss.

Chan forgot how to breathe, his heart dropping straight to his stomach.

“I’m about to do something really stupid,” Seyoung murmured, voice raw against his mouth. Chan could hear him swallow, could feel the way his fingers curled against his chest.

“Hit me after. If you want.”

8.

Let the whole world know—Bang Chan was a coward.

There was no other way to put it. No excuses, no explanations, nothing.

He was a fucking coward.

For failing to voice his feelings. For feeding Seyoung a narrative, letting him believe in something, only to rip it apart in front of him. For not staying —not insisting— when the younger had thrown him out.

Which, to be fair, was the least he deserved.

The image of Seyoung’s expression burned behind his eyelids, carved itself into his brain like a scar that would never fade. The way his face had crumbled, how his voice had been on the verge of breaking, like he was trying so damn hard to hold back tears, and fuck, Chan had never hated himself more than in that moment.

He had spectacularly messed everything up.

A grey cloud had loomed over him when he made his way back to the dorms, suffocating, pressing against his chest like an immovable weight. Minho and Jisung had greeted him as he walked in, but he ignored them completely, heading straight for his room, shutting the door with too much force before locking himself inside. He had pressed his back against the wood as he exhaled sharply, dragging both hands through his hair.

With nothing left to do—he had let his mind play back the entire thing, over and over, searching for what he could have done differently.

What he should have done.

Like—kiss Seyoung, for starters.

Let himself give in and take what he wanted, instead of letting his stupid brain win the battle. Instead of hesitating, overthinking, ruining everything.

Now regret ate him alive, gnawed at the edges of his sanity, kept him staring at the ceiling as the hours bled into morning, as exhaustion pulled at his limbs but refused to let him rest.

He had stayed up countless nights before—pulled all-nighters in the studio, spent hours obsessing over a single track, running himself into the ground for the sake of perfection. But never like this.

This was him, keeping himself awake, because the second he closed his eyes—

He saw Seyoung, alone in his apartment, crying.

All because of him.

That thought alone was enough to make him feel like he was drowning.

It was no surprise that the next morning felt like he was carrying a bag of bricks on his back, each step heavier than the last.

His body was on autopilot—dragging himself through the morning routine, nursing a headache that had nothing to do with a lack of sleep and everything to do with the massive fuck-up still weighing on his chest. 

“Jesus, hyung,” Seungmin deadpanned, barely looking up from his phone as Chan shuffled into the practice room. “You look like shit.”

“Good morning to you too,” Chan muttered, dropping his bag onto the floor with a dull thud, the sound echoing a little too loud in the otherwise quiet room.

Changbin, already leaning against the mirrored wall with his arms crossed, gave him a slow once-over, his gaze settling into something far too knowing for Chan’s liking. “So… are you gonna tell us why you look like you haven't slept in days, or are we supposed to just guess?”

Chan exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “Just a bad night.”

“A bad night? That’s the best you’ve got?” Seungmin snorted, finally putting his phone down as he exchanged a look with Changbin. “Yeah, no. This definitely has ‘Seyoung hyung’ written all over it. What did you do this time?”

At the mention of his name, Chan’s jaw clenched, gaze immediately dropping to the floor.

Busted.

Seungmin arched an eyebrow, eyes glinting like he knew exactly what his silence meant. “Must’ve hit the nail on the head if you’re sulking this much.”

Chan shot him a flat look, to which Seungmin only smirked, entirely unbothered. He definitely should’ve faked sick and stayed home.

Changbin sighed beside him, the teasing edge in his voice softening as he clapped a firm hand on the leader's shoulder. “You gonna fix it?”

That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it?

Swallowing down the bitter taste at the back of his throat, Chan glanced away—he still didn’t have an answer. At least, not one that didn’t make him sound like a complete moron.

But before either of them could press further, their manager’s voice cut through the room, sharp and unmistakable.

“Bang Chan. With me.”

Chan barely held back a wince as he pushed himself up, dragging his feet toward the inevitable.

The second they stepped out of the training room and the door clicked shut behind them, the lecture began.

“Care to explain what could have possibly been so important that you had to be out so late last night?” His manager’s tone was accusing, edged with frustration. “No escort, no bodyguard —nothing? Do I have to remind you how reckless and irresponsible that is?”

Chan straightened on instinct, schooling his expression into something neutral. “I was—”

“—supposed to be setting an example for your members, not running around while the rest of your group actually follows the rules,” the manager interjected, arms crossed, voice firm but not unkind. “What happened? I thought you had grown out of the debauched teenager phase already.”

Chan bit his tongue, swallowing down the immediate urge to snap back, to defend himself—even if there was nothing to defend.

What could he say? That he had acted on impulse? That he had let his emotions override logic? That he had run out knowing it wasn’t the smartest move, knowing damn well that it would only lead to this?

And the worst part? At that very moment, he didn’t regret it, not even a little.

Because all he wanted —all he needed— was to leave. To ditch the entire day, to find Seyoung, to fix this, fix them —schedules and manager be damned.

He knew he couldn’t. He was the leader after all.

And a leader had to be professional, mature. A leader had to endure.

So he stood there, took it, nodded at the right moments, accepted the reprimand like he always did. Like he was supposed to.

It wasn’t like he could talk to Seyoung anyway, the younger had been very clear on that—if the way he had thrown him out was anything to go by.

Still, the urge was there—itching under his skin, buzzing in the back of his mind like a relentless bug he couldn’t swat away.

Because of course it was.

Old habits were hard to break. And the habit of chasing after Seyoung? That was one Chan had never been able to shake.

He was always the one to reach out first after an argument, always the one who fucked up. A disagreement over a track, forgetting to message when Seyoung had clearly been waiting for him, or missing one of their so-called dates because he had been too caught up with a different kind of date .  

Every time, Chan had been quick to recognize his mistake, quick to apologize and make up for it, because even when the younger didn’t hold it against him, he couldn’t bear the thought of them being at odds for too long.

But this? This wasn’t just some stupid mistake he could fix with a couple of nice words and a casual hangout.

He decided to wait—more like forced himself—to give Seyoung a few days, told himself he needed space, that it would be better if he just let him breathe. That, in the meantime, he’d find the right way to explain, to make Seyoung understand why he had done what he did.

Nothing he came up with felt right.

His Notes app was a graveyard of half-written apologies, messages typed and erased so many times that his screen might as well have been mocking him. Nothing was enough to fully capture just how sorry he was.

Between that, his packed schedule, and preparing for their next comeback—hours bled into days. And still, he hadn’t reached out.

It was eating him alive.

So, like the goddamn coward he was, he buried himself in work, drowned in music because it was the only thing that kept him from thinking about the hole Seyoung had left behind, how it hurt like hell to be separated from him, to feel the distance this deeply.

It clearly showed.

Anytime someone so much as mentioned Seyoung’s name, he’d tense up, grip tightening around whatever was in his hands, either muttering a clipped response or outright snapping before storming off.

But Chan had done this to himself, he had no right to complain.

Maybe... it was for the best.

Maybe he needed to stop messing with Seyoung’s head, stop dragging him into this mess —his mess.

Maybe Seyoung would be better off without him.

Maybe it would save them both a whole lot of heartache if Chan just stepped away now.

If he just—

…

No.

That was a lie.

A complete, utter lie.

Because fuck, he couldn’t.

He couldn’t stay away.

It was during one of those endless nights—caffeine in his veins, stress weighing heavy on his shoulders, locked in the studio in an attempt to convince himself that if he kept busy enough, he wouldn’t think about him.

But, of course, there was a little goblin who finally had enough of his attitude.

“Channiiie, you need to get out of here. This whole place smells like depression and sadness,” Felix whined, already halfway through dragging him out of his chair.

Letting out a tired sigh, Chan tried to resist, plating his feet into the carpet. “Lix, I’m busy.”

“You’ve been ‘busy’ for days!” Felix shot him an unimpressed look, grabbing his wrist before yanking him upright. Sometimes Chan forgot how buff he was now. “We’re going to Myeongdong. You need food—real food, not just instant ramen—fresh air, and actual human interaction. Let’s go.”

After much grumbling and protesting, Chan found himself in the middle of a busy street in Myeongdong, the crisp night air cooling his skin as he wandered alongside Felix, Ryujin, and Minho.

And honestly? It was nice.

They ate way too much, stuffing themselves at a restaurant until their stomachs ached, cracking jokes between mouthfuls, barely pausing to breathe between bites. Then came the aimless wandering—ducking into random stores, trying on ridiculous sunglasses, making fun of overpriced fashion. The kind of easy, mindless fun that didn’t require effort, distracting him from the past few days of self-inflicted misery.

For a few precious hours, he managed to forget, to push the ache in his chest aside and just exist.

That was, until they passed by a particular store.

Chan hadn’t been paying attention at first, hands stuffed into his pockets as they strolled down the street. Felix was rambling with Ryujin about some mutual friend dating an actress from Minho’s favorite drama, and he was only half-listening—then Felix suddenly stopped short, nearly causing Minho to walk into him.

"Oh my god, that’s so pretty,” the younger Aussie gawked at a window display, eyes glimmering with interest.

It was a small antique shop, its front lined with a wide array of ornate trinkets and delicate jewelry that caught the glow of the streetlights, intricate and shimmering enough to steal their attention.

Chan’s gaze drifted over the display absently, eyeing some of the pieces until his gaze landed on a silver chain, with a crescent moon pendant cradling a star. Beside it, a matching ring, both pieces nestled against a bed of black velvet, the contrast making the metal gleam even more under the display lights.

It was beautiful. Delicate, simple yet elegant. The kind of beauty that didn’t need to try too hard. For some reason, all he could think about was him.

The way Seyoung’s eyes glittered when he smiled, that glow he radiated even when he wasn't trying, when he was happy just to have Chan near him.

Noticing his sudden stillness, Felix sidled up to him and followed his gaze. "Something catch your eye, hyung?"

Chan only hesitated for half a second before nodding, fingers twitching at his sides, his mind already running a mile a minute before he could even think to stop himself.

Next thing he knew, he was inside, the store clerk greeting him warmly, nodding along as he made his purchase on autopilot. By the time the items were neatly wrapped and a small black box was pressed into his hands, an idea had already taken root.

He wanted to engrave them with the date of their second meeting.

The day their paths had crossed again after a year apart. The day he had thanked every deity in existence for bringing Seyoung back to him. The day he had vowed, silently, to do whatever it took to bring that light back into his eyes.

The thought sent a strange kind of warmth surging through his chest, a giddy little thrill curling in his stomach that he hadn't felt in so long—until, just as quickly, doubt crashed over him like a tidal wave.

What the hell was he doing?

His grip tightened around the box, heart suddenly warring with his brain.

Was he really trying to buy Seyoung over with pretty jewelry? Like a necklace was going to magically fix everything?

The tenderness curdled, twisting into something ugly, wrapping around his ribs and squeezing tight. The shift in his mood was so abrupt that Minho was already eyeing him suspiciously by the time he stepped out of the store.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Chan forced a smile, shoving the box deep into his pocket. “Just tired.”

Minho didn’t look convinced. But, thankfully, he didn’t push.

Still, Chan felt off for the rest of the night.

The laughter, the conversations—everything around him felt muted, like he was watching it all happen from behind a glass wall.

It wasn't long before he was making excuses, brushing off Felix’s disappointed pout and Minho’s unimpressed sigh as he peeled away from the group and headed straight back to the studio.

The second he stepped inside, he let out a long breath, slumping into his chair like his body had finally given up pretending. He rubbed his hands over his face before pulling out the small black box and setting it on the desk.

Half-written music sheets were scattered across the surface, lyrics crossed out and rewritten so many times they blurred together. Forgotten, abandoned, much like everything else lately.

For a long moment, he just stared at it.

He had wanted to give Seyoung something. Needed to. A tangible piece of what he couldn’t say out loud, a reminder of what they were, what they could be.

But was this really about that? Or was it just another selfish impulse, another way to make himself feel better?

What if he was just—

His hand closed around one of the pages, knuckles whitening as he crumpled it into a tight ball, hurling it into the corner of the room. The dull thud as it hit the floor did nothing to ease the frustration coiling in his chest.

Chan exhaled sharply, forcing himself to push the thoughts away before they could drag him under.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he picked up the box, flipping it open. The necklace and ring nestled inside gleamed under the dim studio lights, mocking him with their quiet elegance.

He should return them.

Or at the very least, put them away somewhere he wouldn’t keep looking at them like this, like they held some kind of answer he wasn’t ready to face.

After a long moment, he snapped the box shut, dropping it into one of the desk drawers before sliding it closed.

Out of sight.

But definitely not out of mind.

The day after, the whole Chanhee vs. Minho fiasco blew up in the group chat. Tense didn’t even begin to cover it.

Chan sat back, eyes scanning the rapidly firing messages, thumb hovering over the keyboard, but he didn’t type a single thing.

A part of him was grateful —so damn grateful— that Minho had stepped in, that he had shut it down before things could spiral even further. Especially when Seyoung’s half-hearted denials only made the whole thing worse.

He knew the dancer well enough to know that he hadn't just done it for Seyoung—he was protecting him too. Right now, Chan was in no mood to explain himself, to justify anything, to open himself up for discussion when he barely had a grip on his own emotions as it was.

At the same time, there was the other part of him, the one that knew Chanhee had a point. They were letting their personal problems spill over onto the others. The tension between him and Seyoung wasn’t just affecting the two of them anymore—it was bleeding into everything, dragging their friends into the fallout. 

That reality hit especially hard a couple of days later when he chewed Felix’s out, of all people, for simply trying to talk some sense into him while they were at the studio. 

So, he did the only thing that made sense at that moment —he threw money at the problem.

A dozen boxes of pastries from Wonjun’s favorite bakery. A Prada bag for Yunjin. A new lens for Ryujin’s camera. A Celine jacket for Yeonjun. Two massive Lego sets for Seonghwa. A high-end gaming headset for Felix. Three of Minho’s favorite novels, hardcover editions, of course.

If he couldn't fix things with words, then the least he could do was to make it up to everyone in the form of extravagant apologies.

By the time he was done, his wallet had never felt so light, but if it meant keeping the peace, it was worth it.

The final boss, though, was Chanhee.

Chan’s dynamic with him had always been a little different from the others, since they didn’t talk much outside the group chat—except for the occasional message of encouragement whenever their groups released something—but somehow, every other interaction between them felt like a mother berating her dumbass son.

Unlike the others, Chanhee wasn’t one to hold back. Sharp-tongued, brutally honest, and completely unbothered by the fact that Chan was a year older, he had no problem calling him out on his bullshit when he thought it was necessary.

Buying him something wouldn’t cut it—not unless Chan wanted to be on the receiving end of one of his withering looks of judgment, the ones that could make even the most confident person reconsider their life choices.

No, the only way to fix things with him was to face the music and take the scolding head-on.

Which was exactly why he should have known this conversation wasn’t going to be easy.

They sat across from each other in a café—the kind that cared more about aesthetic ambiance than actual substance, and the exact type the younger had a weakness for.

Chan idly stirred a steaming cup of americano, barely taking a sip, while Chanhee nursed a much fancier caramel macchiato, eyes pinned on him with the unimpressed look of a parent who had just found out their kid had flunked math.

"So?" Chanhee prompted, taking a slow sip of his drink. "You dragged me out here, bribed me with coffee, and for what? So I wouldn’t call you an idiot?"

"Pretty much, yeah." 

His attempt at humor fell flat. Chanhee didn’t even bother responding, just kept staring back at him. Chan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Look… about yesterday. I wanted to clear the air and apologize for all that drama in the chat. I know I’ve been—"

"An idiot?" 

"You literally just said you wouldn’t call me that," Chan pointed out, though the corner of his lips twitched upward.

Chanhee raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And… you'd be right."

That got a reaction. Chanhee blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before a smirk tugged at his lips.

“Huh. Didn’t expect that level of self-awareness from you, thought you’d put up more of a fight, considering how you’ve been biting everyone’s heads off.” He set his drink down, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Good to know you’re not completely hopeless.”

Chan rolled his eyes, but the smile growing in his face betrayed his amusement.

Chanhee leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Tell me, what’s your plan? Are you gonna sit around and mope forever, or actually do something about it?”

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do?”

“Throwing money at our friends like some rich divorcée trying to win custody doesn’t count.” Chanhee clicked his tongue, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the table. “Let’s be real, you’re both making this way harder than it needs to be.”

Chan shot him a flat look. “Yeah? Enlighten me, then.”

“Just. Talk. To. Him.” Chanhee punctuated each word like he was explaining the alphabet to a particularly slow child, his eyes widening with every syllable until it was almost comical. “You like Seyoung, he likes you. You screwed up, he’s pissed. You’re miserable, he’s miserable. Talk.”

Chan huffed out a dry laugh, arms crossing over his chest. “You know it’s not that simple.”

“For God's sake, it is that simple,” Chanhee deadpanned, completely unimpressed. “You’re acting like you have to move mountains when all you have to do is pull your head out of your ass and apologize. What, did you think buying him something pretty would magically fix everything?”

Chan stiffened.

Chanhee blinked, then dragged a hand down his face with an exasperated groan. “Oh my god. You actually bought him something, didn’t you?”

Chan didn’t answer, the tip of his ears rapidly turning red as his eyes dropped to his barely touched drink. Which, of course, was answer enough.

A pause settled between them, the kind that stretched just long enough to make Chan shift in his seat. Across from him, Chanhee was still boring holes into him, like he was debating whether to pat his shoulder or smack him upside the head.

Then, with a sigh, his tone lost its sharp edge. “You do realize you could lose him, right?”

That made Chan look up.

"I know you do." Chanhee huffed, propping his chin on his hand as he studied the older carefully. "We talked yesterday about this whole mess, and let me tell you—Seyoung might be emotionally inept most of the time, but at least he's making an attempt to sort things out.” He paused, allowing the words to linger in the air before adding, "He's moving forward, even with you shutting him out like this.”

Chan swallowed, some of the tension in his shoulders easing despite himself.

It was a relief to know that Seyoung was doing even a fraction better than him, that he wasn’t just spiraling in the same way. And yet, the thought of the younger learning how to be okay without him only fed into the gnawing insecurity that had been eating at him for weeks.

Maybe Seyoung didn’t need him at all. Maybe Chan had been holding on too tightly to the idea that he was the one keeping him afloat.

Chanhee tilted his head slightly, watching the gears turn in Chan’s mind as he pressed on. “Honestly? I think he’d be better off moving on.”

He glanced down at his nails, tone so light it sounded almost bored, like he was commenting on something as mundane as the weather. Too casual for words that cut so deep, or maybe that was the intention.

“Watching Seyoung scrape by on the breadcrumbs you’ve tossed him over the years has been exhausting enough. I can’t even imagine what it’s been like for him —waiting, hoping, convincing himself that a glimpse of what he wanted from you was enough.”

Chan exhaled sharply through his nose, the matter-of-fact delivery hitting him like a gut punch, like the pain was so obvious it wasn’t even up for debate. Whether Chanhee meant to make him feel a fraction of what Seyoung had gone through or was just stating the truth—it didn’t matter at the moment.

“Can we not do this right now?” Chan muttered, jaw tight as frustration began bubbling up in his chest.

“No, you need to hear this.”

“Hee,” Chan’s voice dipped, a strained plea threading through it, “I’m serious. Drop it.”

“Tough luck. I’m serious too, so shut up and listen,” Chanhee shot back, leveling him with a look that left no room for debate. 

Chan bit the inside of his cheek, holding his tongue from arguing further as his grip tightened over the cup in his hands.

“No matter how much I want Seyoung to get over you, he won’t. Not anytime soon,” Chanhee continued, settling back in his chair, shaking his head like he genuinely couldn’t believe he had to spell it out. “He’s ridiculously in love with you—for reasons that are still beyond me. But whether you realize it or not, that means his happiness has, is, and will always be tied to you.”

Then, with no warning, he slammed a palm against the table. The sharp sound made Chan jump in his seat, drawing a few curious glances from nearby patrons, but Chanhee didn’t seem to care.

“So,” he pressed, eyes locked onto Chan’s, “are you finally going to get over whatever the hell is holding you back and give him the happiness he’s been waiting for? Or are you just going to keep wasting both your time?”

Chan swallowed hard, fingers tightening around his coffee cup. He knew Chanhee was right—had known it since his argument with Minho—but hearing it laid out so bluntly didn’t make it any easier to face.

Because he wanted to apologize. God, did he want to.

But was it really that simple?

His gaze dropped to the swirling liquid in his cup, mind drifting back to the promise he had made to himself all those years ago—to make Seyoung happy, no matter what. And yet, here he was, the one hurting him the most.

No. That wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

Chan exhaled, slow and steady, letting the weight of the vow settle in his chest once more. He still didn’t know exactly what he would say, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was going to fix it. No more running, no more excuses.

“…Yeah,” he finally muttered, resolve solidifying. “Yeah, okay.”

Chanhee smirked, satisfied. “Good. Now, let’s get you something to eat. You look like you're about to pass out, and if I let you starve to death Minho would never let me hear the end of it.”

+1.

Chan had written more songs about Seyoung than he could count.

Some were tucked away in folders never meant to be opened again, others disguised under metaphors and layers of production, hidden in plain sight for the whole world to hear but only for him to understand. It was his way of managing the weight of feelings he had no courage to voice, a quiet confession sealed within melodies and lyrics.

If he couldn’t say it outright, then at least he could put it out there in the only way he knew how.

But now, with Chanhee’s wake-up call still ringing in his head, something felt different. The words weren’t just a way to cope anymore; they were beginning to feel like preparation. Like a long held promise he was finally ready to fulfill.

With this newfound clarity, he had thrown himself back into his work, the energy surging through him unlike anything he had felt in a long time. His eyes always drifted to the small black box that had become a fixture in his studio, a tangible reminder of what he wanted—of who he wanted. Every time doubt crept in, whispering that he was still stalling, that he was still too much of a coward to take that final step, the sight of it reeled him back in.

He had spent so long convincing himself that writing was enough, that what they had right now would somehow be a substitute for the real thing. But it wasn’t. It never had been. Seyoung deserved more than a song left to interpretation, more than fragments of love hidden behind his actions.

He deserved to hear it from Chan himself.

That realization never failed to send a shiver through him, a mix of exhilaration and fear that kept him going. Because it wasn’t just about knowing he loved Seyoung—it was about finally admitting he wanted to do something about it.

He wanted to be the reason for his happiness, to give him everything he had spent years denying them.

And yet, beneath all of his determination, there was still that voice in the back of his mind, the one that reminded him time wasn’t infinite. That every moment he hesitated, he risked losing the chance altogether.

Seyoung wasn’t going to wait forever.

The idea of that, of turning around one day to find Seyoung had moved on, made his stomach twist painfully and his heart cry out in agony.

So, when their comeback rolled around, and Felix mentioned that Seyoung’s last day of promotions would be at Music Bank as well, Chan knew —this was it. There wouldn’t be a better chance. 

He had already made up his mind about reaching out once the show ended—wouldn't want to risk messing things up before Seyoung had to perform. He just had to get through the day first without completely unraveling.

Sitting in the makeup chair, back turned to the room, he watched everything unfold through the mirror. Changbin and Seungmin were bickering in one corner, Felix lounged on the sofa with Jeongin and Hyunjin, while Minho and Jisung stood by the entrance. The familiar chaos of preparing for the stage, the presence of his members around him, offered a small comfort—something steady to ground him amid the storm in his head.

Until movement by the door caught his eye.

His manager stood there, speaking in hushed tones with someone on the other side, posture oddly rigid as he blocked the view outside. Chan didn't pay attention to it at first, assuming it was just another staff member with last-minute updates. But then the man visibly tensed, eyes turning toward him, as if weighing a decision, before finally stepping aside and opening the door wider.

A glimpse of purplish-blue hair, the curve of a familiar face. Chan’s heart slammed against his ribs, pulse spiking and mind going blank the second he saw him.

“Chan?”

His name, spoken so softly, yet ringing so clearly through the room, sent a tremor through him. Their eyes met through the mirror, and in that instant, everything else ceased. The buzz of conversation, the hum of the hairdryers, the soft rustling of fabri c—white noise. Chan forgot how to breathe. 

Shit.

Seeing Seyoung after so long felt like daylight breaking through a storm, like the first sip of cold water after walking miles under the relentless heat of the sun. Chan's eyes traced every detail—the crisp white of his shirt, the deep red beading that stood out like fresh wounds, bleeding outward from the heart-shaped cutout at his chest.

Hauntingly beautiful. Arresting. And utterly impossible to look away from.

Chan didn't even notice the room had gone quiet as he stood from his chair. The stylists froze mid-motion, his members had stopped whatever they were doing—everyone’s attention locked onto them. But Chan didn’t care. He couldn’t afford to care.

Because Seyoung looked nervous. No, not just nervous —scared . His fingers curled tightly into the hem of his sleeve, his lip caught between his teeth.

“I... I need you today. By my side. I need you to tell me that we—" Seyoung approached, hesitant yet desperate, and Chan’s hands clenched into fists to keep from reaching for him, "that everything is going to go perfectly, that everything is going to be... fine.”

Tell him.

Say it.

Have him.

The words clawed at Chan's throat, fighting to get out, but his mouth refused to cooperate. They were close now, so close, not close enough. He felt cold sweat forming at the back of his neck, every fiber of his being screaming at him to move, to wipe away the tears pooling in those light brown eyes.

His restraint cracked.

"Seyoung—"

"You can say it, and I’ll go." The younger audibly swallowed, his voice breaking on the last word. "I just need you—"

The unfinished sentence sent Chan's mind reeling. His heart flipped, twisted, clenched tight in his chest.

I just need you.

"I need you to say it. Please."

Fuck it.

That last word, that last plea—broke through the last of his willpower.

Before he could think, before he could second-guess himself and doubt could creep in, Chan closed the distance, pulling Seyoung into his arms. The younger tensed for the briefest moment—a heartbeat—before giving in, fingers curling into the fabric of Chan’s shirt like he was terrified of letting go.

“I’m sorry,” Chan whispered, voice hoarse, thick, every ounce of his buried longing pouring out. "I’m so, so sorry."

Seyoung buried his face against his chest, shoulders trembling with the force of emotions neither of them had the words for. Chan only held him tighter.

"It will be fine, everything’s going to be fine," he murmured, his cheek pressing against Seyoung’s hair. A shaky breath. A small nod. "We are going to be fine.”

The tightness in Chan’s chest loosened once they agreed to have a proper discussion—just enough for him to breathe again.

One last shot to make things right.  

He’d been so eager, so desperate to hold onto that sliver of hope, that he didn’t even hesitate before offering his place. They needed to settle this tonight.

After Seyoung left the waiting room, everything else faded into a blur. Chan went through the motions while the usual pre-show chaos continued around him, nodding when spoken to, moving when directed, but his mind was elsewhere.

Their manager pulled him aside at one point, his expression resigned as he reminded Chan —again— not to stay up too late, to be mindful of his responsibilities, to be careful. The warning was subtle, but the implication was clear.

Chan knew the man was aware of what was going on between him and Seyoung—maybe not of everything, but enough to tread cautiously around the subject.

He had never outright forbidden relationships within the group, as long as they stayed discreet, but when it came to Seyoung… there was always something different in his tone, like he wasn’t just concerned about them but about what the younger was capable of doing to Chan, or more importantly, his career.

Not that any of that mattered right now. The second Seyoung was announced next on stage, everything else fell away.

He had expected to hear the familiar intro of Seyoung's debut single, but instead, a mellow piano drifted through the speakers, filling the venue with his soft melody.

A new song?

Chan sat up straighter, transfixed, as the younger idol stepped into the spotlight, his voice weaving an enchanting spell through the air.

This clueless heart of mine, it's reaching out to you,

Hoping that you'll understand, my love is true.

Can't you see that I'm crazy over you?

In this song of longing, my feelings shine through.

 

Each lyric hit him like a slap on the face. The bittersweet ache of love tangled with friendship, the desperate search for clarity, the fear of losing something precious —it was all laid bare, exposed to the crowd and the cameras without hesitation.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Felix and Jisung visibly tearing up, wiping their eyes more than once.

And Chan? He was paralyzed, barely able to keep his expression neutral, even as the words clawed at the guilt already festering inside him. 

Was this what Seyoung had been holding back all these years? Had Chan really been so blind to the pain he had caused?

He knew what it was like to suppress emotions, to lock them away where no one could see—but this? Hearing the younger sing through it, his voice raw with longing and heartbreak, made Chan question if he even had the right to dwell on his own pain.

No, he was the one who had put Seyoung through this. The one who kept him waiting, hoping, hurting.

Now, watching him pour his heart out for everyone to see, Chan had never felt like more of a piece of shit.

By the time they got back to the dorms, all the courage and bravado Chan had built up throughout the night had fizzled out. Now Seyoung was in his room, sitting on his bed, looking at him with those expectant eyes, and—was it just him, or was it suddenly way too hot in here?

Get a grip, you idiot.

What happened next would be etched into Chan’s memory forever. 

The conversation started with the misunderstanding from the movie night at Seyoung’s apartment—how they had both assumed the other’s feelings, how Seyoung blamed himself, though Chan was quick to shut that down.

From there, everything unraveled. Years of unresolved emotions, the constant dance of push and pull they had never dared to name, the way they always gravitated toward each other, never quite able to stay away.

Every buried feeling came rushing to the surface, spilling over with no way to stop it now.

Chan tried to hold onto his excuses—the risks, the consequences, everything that could go wrong—but Seyoung managed to dismantle them all with the one thing Chan couldn’t argue against.

"Tell me, don’t we deserve to give this a chance? To be happy?" Seyoung’s voice was steady, but his eyes gave him away. They burned with desperation, something raw and aching driving his words. "Just for once, stop thinking about the worst case scenario and think about us."

The words hit like a wrecking ball, knocking the breath out of Chan alongside the last of his resistance. His carefully constructed defenses, the logic he had clung to for so long—it all crumbled in an instant. 

Because underneath it all, there was nothing left to hide behind. Just the truth. Just this feeling that had been growing inside him for years.

Chan had spent so much time and energy trying to be careful, overthinking every step, every gesture, convincing himself that keeping his distance was the right thing to do. That it would protect them both.

But the reality was, no amount of logic, no hesitation or carefully constructed argument had ever stopped him from wanting Seyoung.

No— it was more than that. He didn’t just want him. He needed to belong to him.

Like the tides needed the moon. Like the stars belonged to the night sky.

He needed to give Seyoung everything —every part of himself, every moment, every ounce of love he had to offer.

This—this was the only right thing.

Him. Them.

"Us... I like the sound of that."

The words left his mouth before his old defenses could rebuild, sealing something that had been a long time coming. He had lost this fight, but for the first time in a long while, losing didn’t feel so bad.

For years, Chan had been just strong enough to resist the temptation that was Baek Seyoung, but tonight, that strength had crumbled—maybe from the moment their eyes met in the waiting room, maybe since the second he realized just how much he had really missed him.

The relief that came with finally admitting it was swift, undeniable, lifting the weight of years of restraint off his shoulders. And when Seyoung smiled —really smiled, that unguarded, eye-crinkling grin that made his whole face glow— Chan felt whatever doubts he had left dissolve completely.

Then he kissed him.

The first brush of their lips sent a jolt down Chan’s spine, the softness of Seyoung’s mouth, the intoxicating sweetness of his cherry lip balm—it wasn’t enough. Not even close.

Fingers tangled in fabric, in hair, in skin. Seyoung clung to him, fisting Chan’s shirt as if holding onto the moment as tightly as he was holding onto him.

Chan understood the feeling too well. He wasn’t letting go either.

Their bodies moved in sync, lips parting only to deepen the kiss, to steal air before crashing back together.

Seyoung kissed like he was making up for lost time, eager and unpracticed, like a kid tasting sugar for the first time. It was endearing, really—the way he tried so hard to match Chan’s pace.

So, being a good hyung, he was more than happy to teach him.

One hand found its place on Seyoung’s hip, fingers pressing firmly into the soft skin, tracing the shape of him, memorizing every curve. The other settled at the nape of the younger's neck, tilting his head just right, deepening their connection, making sure their mouths fit together perfectly.

Seyoung shivered beneath his touch, a quiet gasp slipping past his lips—lost between them, but not unnoticed.

Just like that, it all made sense.

Chan would set the whole world on fire just to hear that sound again.