Chan hates that this is what you are. Just friends.

He hates the way he knows your routine better than your boyfriend does. The way you always call him when things go wrong. The way you text him late at night, telling him you feel lonely, sending a soft goodnight with an emoji like it doesn’t ruin his sleep every time.

You’re sitting next to him now, close enough that your knees almost touch. Too close for friends, not close enough for what he wants. He listens while you talk—about your day, about him, about how distant your relationship feels—and Chan swallows everything he wants to say.

He’s seen your timeline. The pictures. The forced smiles. Your boyfriend posting like everything’s perfect, like he’s actually there for you. It makes Chan’s jaw tighten every time.

“You deserve better,” he says quietly, eyes fixed ahead instead of on you. “Someone who actually stays.”

The air between you feels heavy. Warm. Charged. When you look at him, it’s sweet—too sweet—and it makes his chest ache. He knows you feel it too. The way the room heats up over nothing. Over shared glances and unfinished sentences.