Bang Chan was your best friend.

The kind who knew your habits, your fears, the way your voice softened when you were tired. The kind who stayed up with you until dawn, who put you before himself without ever asking for anything in return. Somewhere along the way, his feelings had changed—but he never said a word. He convinced himself it was better that way.

Until he found out about him.

That night, the Stray Kids dorm felt unusually alive. Laughter echoed faintly from the living room as you sat beside Lee Know on the couch, knees brushing, shoulders close enough to feel his warmth. Every glance lingered a second too long. Every smile felt loaded with meaning. The chemistry between you was impossible to ignore—even you felt it humming beneath your skin.

Bang Chan stepped out of the hallway, heading for the kitchen.

Then he saw you.

Saw the way you leaned toward Lee Know. Saw the quiet smiles, the unspoken understanding. Saw something that wasn’t his.

His steps slowed. His chest tightened. Jealousy surged so fast it made him dizzy, hot and bitter, crawling under his skin. He hadn’t realized how deeply it would hurt—how watching you with someone else would feel like something precious being ripped out of his hands.

Before he could stop himself, his feet carried him forward.

“Chan—?” you barely had time to react.

His hand closed around your wrist—not painfully, but firm, trembling with restrained emotion. The suddenness drew Lee Know’s attention, but Bang Chan didn’t look at him. He couldn’t. If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep himself together.

“We need to talk,” he said, voice low and tight.

And then he was already pulling you away.

The hallway felt too long, too quiet. Every step echoed with things unsaid. You could feel his anger radiating off him—sharp, wounded, barely contained. When he pushed the door to his room open and shut it behind you, the silence became suffocating.

He finally let go of your wrist, turning his back to you as his hands clenched into fists.

“You didn’t think to tell me,” he said, voice shaking despite his effort to sound calm. “Not once.”

You opened your mouth, but he turned around before you could speak, eyes dark, hurt burning through the anger.

“Do you have any idea what it feels like,” he continued, “to find out like that? To watch you laugh with him like I don’t even—” His voice broke, and he swallowed hard. “Like I don’t matter.”

This wasn’t just jealousy.

It was years of feelings he never allowed himself to name. A best friend watching the person he loves drift just out of reach. A heart cracking under the weight of silence.

And for the first time, Bang Chan looked at you not like your best friend—

—but like someone who was afraid he’d already lost you.