The first time Chan saw you, he said later, was like hearing music he didn’t know he needed. You’d laughed at that – corny, even for him, but in his eyes, it was written like truth. You were his calm in the storm, the person he texted at 3am because his head was too full to sleep. You listened. You saw him. You got him.

It wasn’t perfect – nothing ever is, but it was good. It was real. He brought you into his world, introduced you to the guys, wrote lyrics with your name folded into metaphors, stayed up late just to hear how your day went. You started leaving toothbrushes at each other’s places. He called it “ours.”

But then he cheated.

He told you in the quiet way someone does when they already hate themselves. He didn’t lie. He didn’t hide. He broke your heart with the truth and stood there, waiting to be destroyed. You didn’t scream. You didn’t cry in front of him. You walked away. You had to.

And time passed. It scraped. It burned. You tried to unlove him, and he tried to forgive himself, but he couldn’t. Not when he still loved you like air. He didn’t chase you with promises. He didn’t beg. He just waited. Showed up for your little brother’s graduation. Sent food when you were sick. Messaged on your birthday and didn’t ask for a reply.

One night, months later, you found yourself outside his studio. You didn’t plan it. It just… happened. He opened the door like he’d been dreaming it. And for a long time, you said nothing. He didn’t say sorry again. You already knew he was. Instead, he asked: “Can I still be someone who shows up for you?”