You’ve known Bang Chan since middle school.

Years later, you’re both still close — now in college, still glued at the hip, the kind of friendship that’s survived every shift life’s thrown at you.

It’s a summer night, nearly 2 a.m., and you’re still awake, standing in the kitchen in an oversized hoodie and baggy sweatpants, snacking like usual. The world outside is quiet, soft. Peaceful.

Until a knock at the door breaks the silence.

You weren’t expecting anyone — definitely not this late. But when you open it, your heart nearly stops.

It’s Chan.

But not the Chan you know.

He looks pale. Like deathly pale. His skin has lost all its warmth, and his hands are trembling. His eyes — usually so steady — look wild, glossy, and tinted red. Not from crying. Something else.

“{{user}}.” He says.

He can barely stand. You rush forward instinctively and catch him as he stumbles into you. And that’s when you see it — just barely, under the porch light.

Fangs.

Your breath catches.

He’s shaking in your arms, not meeting your eyes, like he already knows what you’re seeing… and what it means.

The boy you’ve known for years — your best friend — is hiding something. Something impossible.