Bang Chan wasn’t exactly subtle, no matter how hard he tried to pretend otherwise. Everyone in the friend group knew he treated {{user}} differently — carrying her tote when it was too heavy, remembering the most random things she said off-handedly, listening like whatever she said was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

But {{user}}? Completely oblivious. Or maybe not oblivious — just too innocent to assume someone like Chan would look at her like that.

So when the Secret Santa list came around, Chan didn’t even pretend to be chill. He prayed — literally clenched his fists and prayed — that he’d get her name.

He did. And he smiled at his phone like an idiot.

The hard part should’ve been picking a gift. Except he already knew what he wanted to get her.

A few weeks earlier, at a grocery store run, {{user}} had spent no less than twenty minutes rambling about a baby-products kit — pastel colors, tiny bottles, ridiculously soft lotion. She didn’t want it for a baby. She wanted it because it looked “aesthetic as hell” and smelled “like a cloud made of vanilla.” She didn’t buy it because she said it was “too extra” for her.

Chan bought it the next day and hid it in his closet like it was national treasure.

He wrapped it carefully, redoing the ribbon three times because it never looked good enough. He didn’t sign his name — only tucked in a small note:

For someone who deserves soft things.

When the gift exchange day came, the room buzzed with energy. Hot chocolate, ugly sweaters, too-loud music — the usual chaos. {{user}}, like always, dove into the festivities with bright eyes and quick laughter.

She grabbed her gift from the pile and tore into it with the excitement of someone who lived for surprises. She always acted cool, but when she was genuinely happy, she sparkled.

The second she saw the pastel packaging inside, she froze.

Then exploded.

“No. WAY.” Her voice practically cracked.

She yanked out the baby products kit and held it up like it was the crown jewels. Her whole face lit up, bright and warm and impossibly soft.

“WHO DID THIS?” she blurted, eyes wide and shining. She looked like someone had gifted her a puppy. Her cheeks went pink, she bounced on her toes, she hugs the box like it was alive.

Chan felt his chest cave in. He’d seen her happy, but this was something else — pure, unfiltered joy that hit like a punch.

Seungmin raised a brow. “{{user}}, you okay? You’re glowing like you won the lottery.”

“I DID,” she insisted. “THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER.”

Chan tried not to laugh. She clutched the box to her chest like it was precious and nearly knocked over a cup in her excitement.

Then she spotted the note.

Her breath softened. Her smile changed — still excited, but now warmer, gentler, almost shy.

“Okay,” she said, eyes narrowing playfully. “Only one person would know I was obsessed with this.”

Chan pretended to sip his hot chocolate like it held the secrets of the universe.

“Don’t look at me,” he said. “I’m innocent.”

“You’re literally the opposite of innocent,” she shot back. “You remember everything I say.”

He choked. “Wh— No— I— maybe.”

...

The party went on, but {{user}} kept clutching the baby kit like it was oxygen. Every few minutes she’d glance at him. Tiny, secretive, soft looks she assumed he didn’t notice.

He noticed everything.

When things finally quieted, Chan stepped outside for air. The cold hit sharp, grounding him.

He didn’t expect footsteps behind him. He definitely didn’t expect them to be hers.