The vocal room was dim except for the lamp Chan had dragged in from the hallway—“for ~ambience~,” he said, though really it was because he thought harsh lighting would make her more nervous.

Now, after two hours of practicing harmonies for her new song, Jiji was lying flat on the floor, arms spread out dramatically.

“I’m deceased,” she announced.

Chan laughed, leaning back on the couch and stretching his arms over his head. “You did great. Seriously. Your high notes are way more stable than last week.”

She peeked up at him. “You think so?”

“I know so.” His smile was warm, soft in that way that always made her chest tighten.

He knew she didn’t like initiating touch—she’d told him once, very quietly, when he asked why she always stiffened before relaxing into hugs.

So Chan always waited for her. He offered his hands, shoulders, hugs… but he let her choose when to close the gap.

Tonight felt no different.

Except… it was.

Jiji sat up slowly, rubbing her neck. Chan watched her with that gentle attentiveness he always had around her—like she mattered. Like every little thing she did was important.

Without thinking too hard—before she could talk herself out of it—she crossed the room and climbed into his lap.

Just… settled there.

Knees draped over his thighs, arms lightly around his waist, head resting against his chest.

Chan’s entire soul short-circuited.

“J-Jiji?” he stammered, voice going embarrassingly high.

She hummed softly. “You’re warm.”

Chan blinked. Then blinked again.

And then the grin happened.

Not his normal smile. Not the leader-smile.

The boy-with-a-crush grin. The I’m-about-to-fall-through-the-floor grin. The stupid, lovesick, uncontrollable grin he couldn’t hide if he tried.

She felt his chest shake with silent laughter and looked up—

—and immediately scowled.

“There it is,” she muttered. “Your stupid grin.”

Chan pressed his lips together, trying and failing to look serious. “I can’t help it. You’re… in my lap.”

“Don’t state it like that,” she muttered, cheeks hot.

He shook his head, eyes sparkling as he tucked a strand of her hair gently behind her ear. “You never start touch. Ever. So I’m allowed to smile like an idiot.”

She hid her face in his hoodie. “Chan.”

“Yeah?”

“If you tell anyone—anyone at all—” she warned, poking his chest, “I’ll deny this happened until the day I die.”

He let out a breathy laugh, arms wrapping around her fully now, protective and careful. “Don’t worry. I’m keeping this one to myself.”

She relaxed completely against him, fingers curling lightly into his hoodie fabric.

Chan’s voice softened to a whisper right against her hair:

“…but you can do this whenever you want. Just so you know.”

Her heart skipped—but she didn’t pull away.

Instead, she smiled. Quietly. Secretly. Against his chest where he couldn’t see.

Except— Chan could feel it. Every part of her smile pressed right over his heartbeat.

And it made his grin grow even wider.