The sun peeked through the thinning clouds as Chan pulled you into the backseat of a black car, the driver already knowing where to go.
He didn't tell you the destination. Just held your hand the whole ride, fingers threaded tight, like letting go would make time move faster.
Outside the windows, the New York skyline unfolded like a dream—wet pavement glowing in golden light, steam curling from sidewalk grates, yellow cabs honking with nowhere to be. It felt like the city knew what today meant. And gave you its softest version.
Chan looked over with a smile, eyes warm. "You've never seen the city from above, have you?"
Your heart skipped. "No..."
The car dropped you both off at the base of the Rockefeller Center.
"I wanted to bring you somewhere that feels... timeless," he said, squeezing your hand as you stepped into the elevator for Top of the Rock. "This place... it holds everything at once. Like us."
When the elevator doors opened, wind kissed your skin.
You stepped out onto the observation deck, the city stretching wide beneath you—Central Park to the north, the Empire State Building behind you, bridges like veins across the edges of the island.
But it wasn't the view that made your breath catch.
It was him. Standing there under the golden sun, wind in his hair, soft denim jacket hugging his frame—he looked at peace. Like this moment had pulled every scattered piece of him back together.
You walked toward him, and he turned just in time to catch you in his arms. "No cameras," he whispered. "No fans. No pressure. Just us."
And then he kissed you.
Slow. Deep. The kind of kiss that soaked into your ribs and stayed.
Tourists moved around you. The city hummed beneath you. But in that moment, you were in a world of your own.
From there, the afternoon blurred into beauty.
You shared a hot pretzel near Bryant Park. Took polaroid photos with the sun flaring behind your heads. Walked hand in hand through streets buzzing with life.
At one point, Chan bought you a rose from a sidewalk vendor and tucked it behind your ear. "That's staying in for the rest of the day," he grinned.
You took a photo in front of the subway wall—him kissing your cheek while your smile threatened to split your face. "Just in case we forget this is real," he'd said.
By the time the sun began to set, painting the skyline in amber and lavender, you both stood on the Brooklyn Bridge, leaning against the railing, watching the lights of the city flicker on one by one.
"I don't want this day to end," you whispered.
Chan's fingers brushed along your spine. "It doesn't have to," he said. "Not yet."
**********
Later, back at the hotel, the room was quiet, the world holding its breath again.
Chan stood in front of the desk, setting up his phone on a small tripod. The glow of the ring light cast a halo across his features.
He looked over his shoulder at you, sitting against the bed, the rose still tucked behind your ear, one of his shirts draped over your frame.
"You ready?" he asked.
You nodded, heart fluttering.
He walked over, kissed your forehead, then sat down beside you on the floor, legs crossed.
"Hey," he said softly. "Let's just do this together."
Before he hit "go live," he pulled you into one last embrace—forehead to forehead. "This isn't for approval," he whispered. "It's for truth."
And as his thumb hovered over the screen, he whispered your name one more time with a smile.
"Let them see what love looks like."