You grew up always feeling a little out of place. Not because of your parents—your adoptive mom and dad gave you love in the language of warm meals, soft scolding, and the occasional too-long hug when they thought you were asleep. Not because of Korea either—you learned to blend in, learned the words, the rhythm of life there. But still… people never let you forget what your body reminded them of: too tall, too curvy, too much of something outside their tight little box of beauty.

The one saving grace of that world was your brother. He shone so bright as an idol that nobody questioned why you were there, tagging along. And by extension, you had access to his world—the one full of music studios, afterparties, laughter echoing through practice rooms. That’s how you’d known Bang Chan for as long as you could remember. He was always just there. Your brother’s friend, his leader, the guy who smiled too easily even when his shoulders carried too much.

You never thought much of the age gap. Like a decade, it was supposed to feel like different planets. But he never treated you like a kid, never brushed you off the way some of your brother’s friends did. Chan had this way of looking at you like you actually mattered in the room—like you weren’t just the little sister hovering in the background.

That holiday trip was supposed to be fun. Everyone booked a villa by the beach, half idols, half girlfriends, and you. The house buzzed with voices, music, drinks being poured, shoes left scattered by the door. And then, in a blur of perfumes and laughter, everyone decided to go out. Clubs. Bars. Places you were obviously too young for.

Chan stayed. Said he didn’t feel like it. You stayed too. Said you didn’t want to.

And suddenly the house was quiet. Just you and him, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room with snacks piled around you like you were both kids at a sleepover.

It was fun—ridiculously fun. Cards spread out between you, his accent tumbling clumsy English phrases into your laughter. Video games that turned competitive, ending with you tossing a pillow at him when he won too easily. Singing half-songs, making up the lyrics when neither of you remembered them. Dancing so badly it had both of you collapsing onto the couch.

Hours passed without either of you noticing. And when the laughter faded into comfortable quiet, tiredness slipped in.

You were sprawled across the couch, legs tucked under you, and Chan had his head tilted back against the cushions, watching you with that lazy, lopsided smile. The villa was dark except for the glow of the TV menu screen. Everyone else was gone. It was just you and him, and the kind of silence that hummed with something you couldn’t quite name.

"It's getting late," Chan murmured, shifting to look at the clock. "You should get some sleep."

You shrugged, eyes glued to the TV. "I'm not tired."

This was a lie, and you were pretty sure he saw right through it. But you'd rather be sleep-deprived than admit you weren't ready for this night to end. Chan chuckled, his gaze drifting to your face.

"Your eyes are practically closing," he said, teasing you softly.