The salty breeze of Sydney's coastline brushed against your face as you stepped off the plane, the sun dipping low on the horizon and casting golden hues across the sky. Chan’s hand found yours, his fingers interlocking with an ease born of countless moments like this—small but grounding amid the whirlwind of his career.

The past few weeks had been grueling for him, with dark circles under his eyes and a tension in his shoulders that even your soothing words couldn’t fully ease. But now, as he looked at you with a soft smile, you saw the exhaustion begin to melt away. "Feels good to be home," he murmured, his voice raspy yet warm.

The drive to his family’s house was quiet but filled with unspoken emotions. You gazed out the window, the familiar eucalyptus trees blurring by as you reached for his hand resting on the console. He gave a gentle squeeze, a silent promise that this time away was for both of you.

When you arrived, his younger siblings greeted him with squeals of joy, their arms thrown around his neck. The sight brought a pang of warmth to your chest, a glimpse of Chan in a setting that made him feel most like himself—just Christopher. You exchanged a shy hug with his mum, who welcomed you like an old friend, her kind eyes sparkling as she whispered, “Thank you for looking after him.”

Later, as the stars dotted the inky sky, the two of you sat on the wooden deck overlooking the beach. The waves lapped gently at the shore, their rhythmic sound blending with the distant hum of cicadas. Chan leaned back, his head resting against the railing, his arm draped over your shoulders.

"I didn’t realize how much I needed this," he admitted softly, his voice carrying a vulnerability he rarely showed. Turning to face him, you saw the flicker of gratitude in his gaze, mingling with something deeper—love.

You tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and teased, "You? Needing rest? Shocking." He chuckled, the sound low and rich, and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Only with you,” he whispered.