The morning came gently—not with alarms, not with urgency. Just sunlight spilling through half-drawn curtains, the quiet hum of the city below, and the steady rhythm of Chan's heartbeat beneath your cheek.
You were still wrapped in him, bare skin tangled beneath the sheets, limbs intertwined like neither of you had any intention of letting go. His warmth had become your shelter overnight, and the way your thighs brushed, your bodies molded together, felt less like a leftover from last night and more like a promise.
His fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along your spine, dipping lower, then rising again. Not to provoke, but to keep you close. To memorize you.
You could feel his voice before you heard it—vibrating softly through his chest like a low hum. "Can I ask you something?"
You nodded without lifting your head, your cheek still pressed against his heart. "Of course."
He paused, his breath warm against your forehead. "Your job... what exactly do you do?"
You shifted slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. His hand settled on your hip, thumb stroking gently across the skin there, grounding you both. He looked serious—open, unguarded. No mask. No walls.
"I'm in the Air Force," you said softly. "Emergency Management. I help prepare the base for natural disasters, chemical threats... that kind of thing. It's a lot of planning. A lot of pressure. But it matters to me."
Chan nodded slowly, absorbing each word, his eyes flicking across your face like he was reading something sacred.
"I've got one year left," you added. "Then I'm separating. I've already started thinking about life after."
His fingers tightened just slightly at your waist, pulling you closer. "And where do I fit in?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Your breath caught. You hadn't expected him to ask so directly.
You sat up slowly, just enough to cup his face in your hand. Your thumb brushed across his cheekbone. "I want to be with you, Chan. I really do. But I'm scared."
His brows knit together. "Scared of what?"
"That I'll get in the way," you admitted. "That your world is so big and fast, and I'll be... another thing to manage. But I don't want to be something you carry. I want to be beside you. Backstage, in the crowd, at your worst and your best. I want to be your person, Chan. Because you already are mine."
His throat worked around something unspoken, his eyes burning—not with lust this time, but with a depth that made your chest ache.
"God," he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours, "you don't even know how much I want that too. Someone who sees me. Me, not the version onstage. You already do."
You blinked back tears, your fingers sliding into his hair, cradling him like he might vanish if you let go.
He kissed you then—not frantic or possessive, but slow and tender. Lips moving against yours like he needed the taste to anchor himself to the moment.
"So when do I get to see you again?" he murmured against your mouth.
You laughed softly, the sound breathless. "I'll have to check how many days off I've got left."
He smiled into your kiss. "We're touring the States for a while, you know..."
You looked up just as the idea formed on your tongue. "Maybe I could come to another concert," you offered, hope flickering in your voice.
His eyes lit up instantly. "I'll put your name on the list," he said, tugging you even closer until your legs slipped fully over his. "Every list. I want you there."
"You really want this?" you whispered, lips brushing his jaw.
"I want you," he breathed, his hand sliding across your bare back, "in whatever way life will let me have you."
You exhaled slowly, melting into his chest as he pulled the blanket back over you both.
And in that moment—skin to skin, hearts finally stripped of fear, the morning sun rising behind golden glass—you believed him.
This wasn't just lust. This wasn't just a beautiful night.
This was something to protect. Something to nurture.
Something worth fighting for.