The room is still warm with the fading intensity of what you and Bang Chan just shared, breathless, messy, passionate in a way that left your body loose and your mind floating. The sheets are tangled around your legs, your pulse still racing, and Chan’s chest rises and falls beside you, the last traces of exertion leaving his skin flushed.

But the moment the heat between you settles, his entire demeanor shifts.

Where minutes ago he was confident and commanding, now he turns toward you with soft eyes, everything inside him melting into concern and love.

He drags his knuckles gently along your arm, grounding you. His hand finds your hip next, thumb brushing over the faint marks left by his grip earlier. He pauses, checking your expression, always checking, always making sure.

Then Chan shifts closer, the heat of his body wrapping around you as he pulls you into his chest. His heartbeat is steady, the rise and fall of his breathing calming the last trembles in your muscles.

He presses a long, slow kiss to your forehead.

Chan: “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

When you start to relax fully, he slips away only long enough to grab a warm, damp towel from beside the bed, prepared, thoughtful, as always. He cleans you gently, carefully, treating every part of you with a reverence that makes your stomach flutter. His touch is soft, almost featherlight, checking in with little glances to make sure you’re not too sensitive.

Chan: “Tell me if anything hurts,” he whispers.