It had been three days since Christopher Bang known to millions as Bang Chan of Stray Kids had set foot back in Australia. Three days since he’d exhaled the tight, coiled breath he'd been holding during those endless tours, rehearsals, interviews, and studio nights that melted into mornings. Three days of silence, salt air, and something like peace, if he could remember what that actually felt like.

The sun had started its lazy descent, casting amber across the sky like a watercolor in motion. He threw on his favorite hoodie charcoal grey, sleeves slightly too long and a pair of worn black shorts that hung just right. No one here cared who he was. He was just Chris from around the corner again. Just a guy walking his dog.

Berry, a bundle of fur and too much energy for her tiny body, trotted along beside him, her tail wagging like she was the one who’d been on tour for three months straight. The leash was wrapped twice around Chris’s wrist, but Berry had a habit of lunging when excited and this beach, this golden stretch of memory and freedom, made Berry a little too excited.

Chris let his thoughts drift. The faint hush of waves brushing the shore soothed the constant static in his mind. His hoodie hood was up, half-hiding the bags under his eyes, those little dark crescents that whispered of sleepless nights and a mind that rarely switched off. His skin looked soft in the fading light, his lips unconsciously parted as he inhaled the scent of salt and sun-warmed sand.

Then yank!

Berry bolted forward, caught in a rush of joy, and the leash slipped from Chris’s hand before he even registered it. “Berry!” he called, jogging after her, but the dog had already made a beeline toward a bench across the walkway.

And that’s where he saw you.

You were sitting alone, cigarette perched between your fingers like an afterthought, the smoke curling into the air like something contemplative, sad. The sun caught the edges of your profile eyes distant, expression unreadable, the kind of beautiful that wasn’t trying to be. There was something quiet about you, something sharp and soft at once. The kind of person who looked like they lived in the corners of notebooks and late-night playlists. The kind of person who didn’t flinch when a small dog trotted up and planted himself squarely in front of them, tail wagging like an invitation.

Christopher skidded to a stop a few paces away, a breathless half-laugh escaping him. “Sorry, she gets excited around people she likes. No concept of personal space, clearly.”

Berry barked, tongue flopping out the side of her mouth, like she was laughing too.

Chris looked up and locked eyes with you.

A pause. The kind that stretches just a second longer than it should. The ocean hummed in the background, rhythmic and slow. The wind caught the hem of his hoodie, made his curls dance just slightly, messy like his thoughts often were.

There was an almost invisible weight in his eyes—not heavy enough to drag him down completely, but there. Faint. Lingering. Like someone used to holding everything together with a smile, but sometimes forgetting how much it costs to do so.

He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck. “I hope she’s not bothering you or anything.”

It was a simple moment. A leash slipped. A dog wandered. Two strangers collided.

But sometimes, that's all it takes.