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The first time it happened, it wasn’t even dramatic.
They were at a café after rehearsal, still in comfortable clothes, caps pulled low. It was supposed to be simple; coffee, something sweet, a moment to breathe.
Bang Chan - Christopher to the people who had known him before everything, was smiling at something the barista said. He always smiled like that. Open. Bright. Easy.
The girl behind the counter leaned in a little too far.
“You come here often?” she asked, even though she clearly knew who he was.
Chan laughed politely. “Sometimes.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear, gaze lingering. “You should come more.”
Changbin sat across from him, watching.
He told himself it didn’t bother him. Chan was kind. Of course people liked him. He was warm and attentive and handsome in a way that didn’t feel forced. He had that gentle leadership aura that made people gravitate toward him.
And Changbin…
Changbin stirred his iced americano a little too hard.
He knew he was strong. Talented. Passionate. But next to Chan, he felt loud. Blocky. Too much.
He caught his reflection in the café window; broad shoulders, thick arms, soft cheeks that never quite sharpened no matter how much he cut back on late-night snacks.
The barista giggled at something Chan said.
Changbin looked down at his cup.
It wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t have been.
But it planted something small and sharp in his chest.
The second time hurt more.
They were leaving the building after practice when a small group of fans across the street started calling out. Security kept it controlled, but voices still carried.
“Chan, we love you!”
“Marry me, Chan!”
Chan waved, smiling warmly, always appreciative.
Then…
“Why is he dating Changbin?”
The words weren’t shouted. They were whispered.
But Changbin heard them.
“He could do better.”
“Chan is so handsome. Changbin is just…”
The rest dissolved into muffled laughter.
Changbin kept walking.
He kept his head down. Kept his expression neutral. Years in the industry had trained him well.
Chan didn’t seem to notice.
Or maybe he did, and just didn’t react.
That night, Changbin stood in front of the mirror longer than usual.
He turned sideways.
Pulled his shirt tighter against his torso.
He knew he wasn’t fat. Logically, he knew that. He worked out constantly. He built muscle on purpose. He liked being strong.
But next to Chan’s lean frame and sharp features, he felt heavy.
Too thick.
Too ordinary.
He poked at his cheek, frowning.
“Ugly,” he muttered under his breath.
The word tasted bitter.
When Chan mentioned he was going out for drinks with some old school friends, Changbin smiled automatically.
“Oh, that’s nice,” he said.
Chan nodded. “Yeah, haven’t seen them in years.”
There was a pause.
Changbin waited.
Chan didn’t say anything else.
“You… want me to come?” Changbin asked lightly, pretending it didn’t matter.
Chan hesitated.
It was small. Barely there.
But Changbin saw it.
“I don’t know if it’ll be your vibe,” Chan said carefully. “It’s just… old classmates. Catching up.”
“Oh.” Changbin nodded quickly. “Yeah, no, that’s fine.”
He tried to sound casual.
But his brain was already filling in the gaps.
Old classmates… including girls.
Girls who had known Chan before fame. Before schedules. Before pressure.
Girls who probably looked effortless next to someone like Changbin.
“It’s not like that,” Chan added quickly, misreading his silence. “It’s really just a reunion.”
Changbin forced a grin. “I know.”
But the thought lingered.
If Chan was proud of him, wouldn’t he want to show him off?
Unless…
Unless he didn’t.
The next two days were unbearable.
Every interaction felt amplified.
At the studio, one of the staff members laughed a little too loudly at something Chan said, touching his arm briefly. Chan didn’t pull away, because Chan never wanted to be rude.
Changbin noticed.
At lunch, someone joked, “Chan could literally date anyone.”
Changbin’s stomach twisted.
On social media, edits flooded his feed. Comments under photos.
“Chan deserves someone prettier.”
“They look mismatched.”
“He could do better.”
Changbin tried not to look.
But he always did.
He started eating less without meaning to. Pushing food around on his plate. Telling Chan he’d already eaten when he hadn’t.
He trained harder in the gym, longer hours, staring at himself in the mirror between sets.
Still too bulky.
Still wrong.
Meanwhile, Chan seemed unaware.
Or maybe he trusted Changbin enough not to think twice.
Which almost made it worse.
By the night Chan was supposed to go out, Changbin felt hollowed out.
He stood in the bathroom, staring at his reflection again.
“You’re embarrassing,” he whispered.
His throat tightened.
He imagined Chan at some dimly lit bar, laughing easily, girls leaning closer. People asking why he was dating someone like Changbin.
Maybe Chan would start wondering the same thing.
Maybe he already had.
At the bar, Chan wasn’t having fun.
The moment he arrived, he remembered.
The way his old classmates talked over each other. The subtle digs masked as jokes. The competitive energy.
And then…
“Still with that rapper guy?” one of the girls asked.
Chan stiffened slightly. “His name’s Changbin.”
She shrugged. “You could do better, Chris. You always had options.”
Chan’s jaw tightened.
It wasn’t playful. It wasn’t teasing.
It was the same tone they’d used back in school when someone didn’t fit their idea of perfect.
He glanced at his phone.
No new messages from Changbin.
But that almost worried him more.
Changbin had been quiet. Distant. Smiling too quickly.
Chan suddenly felt sick.
“I’m actually going to head out,” he said abruptly.
“So soon?” someone protested.
“Yeah. Something came up.”
He didn’t explain further.
He didn’t need to.
Changbin didn’t hear the front door open.
He was sitting on the bathroom floor, back against the bathtub, knees pulled to his chest.
The spiral had finally broken into something uncontrollable.
He hadn’t meant to cry.
It just… happened.
Hot tears slid down his face, silent at first, then uneven. His breathing hitched painfully in his chest.
“I’m so stupid,” he choked out.
He imagined Chan surrounded by better options. Prettier options. Softer options.
People who wouldn’t embarrass him.
He pressed his palms into his eyes, but the tears kept coming.
The bathroom light felt too bright. The air too thin.
He didn’t deserve someone like Chan.
The door creaked open.
“Bin?”
Changbin froze.
Chan’s voice was closer than it should have been.
Footsteps approached.
Then Chan appeared in the doorway.
And everything in his expression changed.
Changbin tried to wipe his face quickly, but it was useless.
Chan crossed the room in seconds, dropping to his knees in front of him.
“Hey. Hey.” His voice was soft but urgent. “What happened?”
“You’re supposed to be out,” Changbin mumbled, not looking at him.
“I left.”
“Why?”
Chan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached out slowly, carefully, like approaching something fragile.
“Can I touch you?”
Changbin nodded faintly.
Chan pulled him forward, wrapping his arms tightly around him.
Changbin broke.
The sob that escaped him was raw, pulled from somewhere deep.
Chan held him closer.
“Talk to me,” he whispered into his hair.
It took several minutes before Changbin could form real words.
“You could do better,” he said finally, voice trembling.
Chan stilled.
“What?”
“Everyone says it. They say you’re too good for me. That I’m ugly. That I’m fat. That I don’t match you.” His breathing hitched again. “And you didn’t want me to come tonight and I thought-”
“Bin.”
Changbin shook his head, tears soaking into Chan’s shirt. “I thought you were embarrassed.”
Chan pulled back just enough to look at him.
“Embarrassed?” His voice cracked slightly. “Of you?”
Changbin couldn’t meet his eyes.
“I didn’t want you to come because they’re toxic,” Chan said firmly. “They were awful back then. Judgmental. Competitive. I didn’t want you around that.”
Changbin blinked.
“One of them literally said I could do better,” Chan continued, anger flickering beneath his calm tone. “And I left.”
Changbin looked up sharply. “What?”
“I left,” Chan repeated. “Because I don’t need people like that. And I don’t need options. I chose you.”
The words landed heavily.
“You chose me,” Changbin echoed faintly.
“Every day,” Chan said.
He cupped Changbin’s face gently, thumbs brushing away tears.
“You are not embarrassing. You are not ugly. And you are definitely not fat.”
Changbin let out a weak, humorless laugh. “Have you seen you?”
“Yes,” Chan replied. “And I’ve seen you. You’re strong. You’re beautiful. You’re real. I love that you’re solid. I love your cheeks. I love your shoulders. I love that when you hug me, I feel safe.”
Changbin’s breath caught.
“I don’t want delicate,” Chan said quietly. “I want you.”
Silence filled the bathroom, but it wasn’t suffocating anymore.
“I didn’t know it was this bad,” Chan admitted softly. “You’ve been hurting alone.”
Changbin swallowed. “I didn’t want to seem insecure.”
“You’re allowed to be,” Chan said. “Just not alone.”
They stayed on the bathroom floor until Changbin’s breathing steadied.
Eventually, Chan helped him up.
“Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get you comfortable.”
They changed into softer clothes. The apartment felt quieter now, safer.
In bed, Changbin hesitated before sliding closer.
Chan didn’t hesitate at all.
He opened his arms.
Changbin tucked himself against Chan’s chest, face pressed into the familiar warmth.
Chan wrapped himself around him fully, one hand resting on his back, the other in his hair.
“You’re stuck with me,” Chan mumbled.
Changbin huffed weakly. “You’re the one who could leave.”
“I don’t want to,” Chan said simply.
There was no grand speech. No dramatic declaration.
Just certainty.
Changbin traced small patterns against Chan’s shirt.
“I’m sorry I spiraled.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”
They were quiet for a while.
Then Chan tilted his head down, pressing a soft kiss to Changbin’s temple.
“You’re it for me,” he whispered.
Changbin’s chest tightened, but this time, not from insecurity.
From relief.
“I’m working on believing that,” he admitted.
“We’ll work on it together.”
Chan tightened his hold slightly.
Changbin let himself relax fully for the first time in days, weight settling comfortably into Chan’s arms.
Outside, the city carried on.
Inside, the noise in his head finally quieted.
He wasn’t too big.
He wasn’t too much.
He was loved.
And as sleep slowly pulled him under, wrapped securely in Chan’s warmth, that felt like enough.