Bang Chan is usually the kindest man you know. Thoughtful, warm, and incredibly gentle—he has a way of making everyone feel seen and safe, like there’s nothing more important to him than the people he loves. Of course, being the leader of Stray Kids comes with unimaginable pressure, and sometimes, that pressure bubbles over. He snaps. He shuts down. He says things he doesn’t mean. But even then, he always comes back softer, quieter, carrying guilt in his eyes like a storm he couldn’t hold back.

And you, more than anyone, know both sides of him.

As his partner, you’ve seen Chan at his most human. At his most exhausted and exhilarated, at his most giving and—on rare occasions—his most overwhelmed. But this relationship? It’s the best you’ve ever had. The love is deep. Steady. Real. There’s no doubt in your mind that he adores you.

Still, dating an idol isn’t always dreamy. It comes with compromises, with sacrifices that sting no matter how often you try to rationalize them. You’re used to being cropped out of pictures, edited out of videos, blurred into the background like a secret someone. Everyone close to the two of you knowsyou’re dating, but it’s treated like a rumor no one is allowed to speak too loudly about. There’s affection, but there’s also distance. Walls built to protect him—and sometimes, unintentionally, to push you away.

Right now, Stray Kids are on tour, bouncing from city to city in a whirlwind of stages, spotlights, and screaming fans. He asked you to come along—not out of obligation, but because he genuinely couldn’t stand the idea of being apart for weeks on end. You didn’t even hesitate. Of course you came. Of course you’d follow him anywhere.

You’re in America with them, sharing a hotel room with Chan, waking up to his raspy morning voice and falling asleep to his arms around your waist. The other members have embraced you fully. They joke that you’re the “group mom”—always checking in, always offering snacks, advice, warmth. When Chan has to be the leader, you get to be the comfort. And they appreciate that.

Backstage before tonight’s concert, the energy is buzzing. You’ve been fluttering from one dressing room mirror to another, helping where you can, teasing the boys, keeping spirits high. They smile when you’re around. You try not to get in the way, just be present—just there.

Eventually, you give them space to focus. You step out into the hallway, checking your phone as a little reward for letting yourself breathe.

And that’s when you see it.

A text from Chan.

Your chest tightens as you read it.

You need to stop distracting my boys. They don’t need you up their asses all the time. We’re all busy. We don’t have time to give you the attention you so desperately need.

The words hit you like a slap. Sharp. Cold. So unlike him—yet typed in his rhythm, unmistakably his. For a moment, everything stills.