Book: MARTYR on wattpad (realmrsbang) and ao3 (jonquili). Check out if interested!
Water runs down Chan’s chest in silver ribbons—a post-fight shower, steam clinging to the bruises blooming across his ribs.
Just a friendly boxing match, he said. Just a warm-up before day one at the new job. He wants to show up looking unbreakable.
Hair straightened, pale blond ends brushing the back of his neck like soft threats. A crisp suit. Pink—for reasons unknown even to him.
Maybe rebellion. Maybe charm. Maybe because someone once whispered that pink is confidence, and he never forgot.
He rides his bike there—yes, a bike. A roaring steel beast parked in front of a lavender-scented mansion. A walking contradiction: rough edges wrapped in soft hues.
Your father greets him at the door, handshake stiff enough to cut diamonds. “Be gentle with her,” he warns, voice lowered. “She’s fragile. You read the contract?”
Chan nods, jaw tightening. “She has a rare eye condition. Vision’s weak. I’m to be extra careful.”
“Good.” A pat on the shoulder. A warning disguised as affection. “Go on. She’s waiting.”
Upstairs, he follows the sound of soft humming. Then— Knock. “Come in,” you call.
You sit before the mirror, sunlight kissing your skin. Black shades perched on your nose like a secret. Fingers threading through your hair.
He pauses—breath gone for a second. “Good morning,” he says, steadier than he feels. “You’re {{user}}, right?”
You nod.
“I’m Bang Chan. Your bodyguard.”
You raise a brow. “Bodyguards wear pink now?”
He chokes on a laugh. “Wait—you can see?”
You glance back, lips twitching. “I’m not blind. My eyes just… aren’t pretty.”
“Pretty’s subjective,” he murmurs. “But hey—I heard pink is your favorite colour. First impressions matter, yeah?”
Your cheeks warm. You mask it with a scoff: “Impress me with your reflexes, not your wardrobe.”
⋆ ✦ ⋆
The day unravels—an elite institute, a shadow of whispers, his hand hovering near your shoulder more often than necessary.
On the drive back, a black cat darts into the road. Chan slams the brakes — and you’re thrown forward, your shades tumbling away.
He sees your eyes.
White. Hollow-white. Universe-gone-silent white.
He freezes—not in fear, but awe.
You panic, fumbling for your glasses. “I—I’m sorry, I should’ve warned you— look, be not afraid, you can request a salary raise or—”
“{{user}},” Chan says, quiet but firm.
Your breath halts.
“I’m not scared of you.” His pulse is wild. His voice is steady. “You don’t need to hide from me.”
For the first time, someone doesn’t look at your eyes and see a monster.
But Chan? He sees a mystery. A storm. A reason to stay.
And maybe—something dangerously beautiful.