Jiji had checked every hallway, every practice room, every corner of the building Chan usually haunted when he was stressed. No replies to her texts. No calls returned. Nothing but silence.

She was already chewing her lip raw by the time she pushed open the door to Studio 3, the last place she hadn’t checked.

There he was.

Chan sat hunched over the mixing console, headphones discarded on the table, shoulders tight, head bowed. He wasn’t working—just sitting in the dark, the studio lights the only illumination. His breathing was uneven.

“Chan…?” she whispered.

He flinched. Just slightly. But he didn’t turn.

Jiji stepped forward, placing the gentlest hand on his shoulder.

Only then did he lift his head a little—just enough for her to see the wet streaks on his cheeks.

Her heart cracked.

Without thinking, she kneeled beside him. “Baby… hey, what’s wrong? Why didn’t you answer me all day?”

Chan pressed his lips together hard, as if trying not to break again. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

Her eyes softened. “Chan, you never bother me.”

He swallowed, shoulders shaking once before the words tumbled out in a small, wrecked voice:

“Please don’t leave me for someone younger than me…”

Jiji froze—not because she doubted him, but because she could hear the fear in his voice. Real, raw, painful fear.

This wasn’t leader Chan. Not even idol Chan.

This was Christopher Bang, the boy who loved her so deeply it terrified him.

“Oh, Chan…” she whispered, and before he could bury his face again, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into her chest.

He clung to her instantly—like he’d been waiting all day for that one touch. His hands fisted the back of her hoodie as though she might disappear if he let go.

“I saw the articles,” he said into her shoulder, voice shaking. “You and Jooyeon. The pictures. Everyone saying you’d be better with someone closer to your age and—” His voice broke. “I’m older, Ji… I’m not as fresh or exciting or energetic anymore. I just… I thought maybe you realized that too.”

She held him tighter, rubbing the back of his neck, grounding him. “Chan, look at me.”

He didn’t.

“Baby,” she said more firmly, cupping his jaw and guiding his face toward hers. “Look at me.”

His eyes were glassy, red at the corners, scared.

She wiped his cheeks with her thumbs. “I collaborated with Jooyeon for a rock album. That’s it. He’s a friend. A colleague. Nothing else.”

“But the pictures—”

“They were taken out of context. We were literally going over lyrics.” She stroked his cheek. “Chan… I wasn’t with him. I wanted to be with you.”

Chan exhaled shakily, forehead dropping against hers.

“I thought you were going to choose someone… better,” he whispered. “Someone younger, someone—”

“I don’t want someone younger,” she said, firm and soft all at once. “I want you.”

His breath caught.

“I want your late-night rambling. Your warm hugs. Your soft leadership voice. Your laugh when you finally relax. Your tired eyes that still light up when you see me. You, Chan. Just you.”

Slowly, cautiously—like he was afraid she’d slip away—he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her fully onto his lap, burying his face in her shoulder.

“And I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered into his hair. “You’re the only one I love. The only one I want. The only one I choose.”

His arms tightened, trembling.

“Promise?” he whispered.

She kissed the top of his head. “With my whole heart.”

Chan exhaled, a broken, relieved sound, melting into her completely as the tension finally left his body.

And for the first time that day, he believed her.