The van ride back to the hotel was quiet, but not in an empty way.
It was settled.
You sat beside Chan, your legs pressed gently together, his fingers curled softly around yours as if he still didn't quite believe you were real. His thumb moved slowly over your knuckles in quiet, rhythmic circles, and though neither of you spoke for most of the ride, the silence said everything.
Streetlights flickered through the tinted windows, casting shadows across his jawline. You glanced at him once—and found him already watching you.
His voice was low. Rough. "I kept thinking about you all night," he said.
You smiled softly. "I know. I could feel it."
He leaned in a little, like he didn't want the driver to hear, like this was just yours and his. "Can I walk you to your room?"
Your heart swelled. "Yes," you breathed. "Please."
The hallway was empty when you stepped off the elevator. Quiet. Dim. The hush of post-show exhaustion hung in the air. The rest of the group had scattered—probably to change or crash in their own rooms.
Chan kept hold of your hand as you walked side by side.
No rush. No performance. Just the echo of footsteps and two people who hadn't truly let go of each other since that moment backstage.
When you stopped in front of your door, he hesitated for a second. Then looked at you like he always did, like you were the one thing he'd never stop choosing. "I missed you more than I knew how to say," he whispered.
You reached up to brush your fingers along his cheek. "I know. Me too."
He leaned in slowly, his forehead resting against yours. "I'm so glad you came back."
You nodded. "I promised I would."
He kissed you then—soft and lingering. Less urgent than before, but no less deep. The kind of kiss that filled the cracks left behind from distance and doubt.
When you finally pulled back, neither of you wanted to move.
But Chan stepped back with a reluctant smile. "Okay. You need sleep. I need to shower."
You laughed. "Fair."
He walked backward down the hall, eyes never leaving yours. "I'll see you soon," he said.
"You already have," you called after him, heart full.
An hour passed.
You had just pulled on a tee and shorts, hair damp, phone charging, heart still spinning, when—
BANG BANG BANG—SLAM!
"ROOM CHECK!" Han shouted, throwing the door open like he owned the building.
You jumped. "You maniacs!"
Felix followed with a sheepish smile. "I told them to chill—"
Hyunjin waltzed in with a smug little shoulder roll. "We gave you a whole hour. That's grace."
Lee Know entered last, arms folded. "Just making sure he didn't pass out from emotional overload."
Then, without warning—
"EMOTIONAL DAMAGE!!" Jeongin shouted, leaping onto your bed with Olympic force.
You groaned, laughing despite yourself. "Do you guys do this every time someone falls in love?"
"Pretty much," Han said, flopping into your desk chair. "OH, wait. Hold up. You need to see this."
He turned his phone screen toward everyone. "I was scrolling through TikTok. There are already edits from tonight. Watch this one."
He hit play.
Onscreen: the final encore, Chan mid-stage. And then... the moment. He turns, sees you, goes rigid... and drops his mic.
The video rewinds in slow motion.
Mic. Drops. Clunk.
The caption read: "HE JUST SAW GOD #bangchan #straykids #micydrop"
Everyone howled.
"Hyung, not even subtle!" Jeongin laughed.
Felix was doubled over. "You folded! I knew you would!"
Chan appeared in the doorway, towel still around his neck, face bright red. "Can you not?!"
Lee Know pointed at the screen without mercy. "So much for composure, Mr. Leader."
Han hit replay. "You glitched."
Seungmin's voice piped up from the hallway, "You owe that fan your life for catching it in 4K."
You covered your face, cheeks burning—but you were laughing too hard to care.
Chan just groaned and walked in, stealing Han's phone. "This is illegal."
"It's love," Felix corrected. "And also, hilarious."
The chaos slowly settled as the boys scattered into corners, grabbing snacks and towels, talking over one another, throwing teasing looks your way.
But through it all, Chan sat next to you on the edge of the bed, shoulder pressed to yours.
And even in a room full of noise...He only looked at you.