Eventually, one by one, the boys began peeling away.
Hyunjin was the first to tap out, muttering something about needing a face mask and emotional distance. Felix hugged you on the way out.
Lee Know raised two fingers in a mock salute with a smirk and a warning: "No breaking the leader. We still have a show tomorrow."
Han lingered, but Chan practically shoved him out the door, muttering, "I will block you."
Seungmin just waved from the hallway. "Be safe. Don't be weird."
And then... finally...
Silence.
You stood in the middle of the room, the bed a mess, half-drunk water bottles on the dresser, and Chan leaning against the door after locking it—his eyes never leaving yours.
It was quiet now. And charged.
You exhaled slowly. "They really don't hold back, do they?"
He grinned. "They don't know how."
You took a step toward him. "How long do we have before someone else breaks in?"
Chan's grin softened into something else. Something darker. Warmer. He pushed off the door and met you halfway. "I don't care," he said, his voice dropping. "This moment's mine."
Your breath hitched.
His hands found your waist, slipping under the hem of your oversized tee, fingertips brushing bare skin. "You wore this on purpose, didn't you?"
You blinked up at him, teasing. "What, this old thing?"
He laughed, breath warm against your cheek. "You're going to kill me."
"Not yet."
His hands moved slowly, trailing along the curve of your hips, anchoring there, just enough pressure to make your knees wobble. "You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, lips brushing your temple.
You tilted your head toward him, lips barely apart. "Then show me."
His mouth hovered over yours—but didn't close the gap. Not yet. He wanted to feel your breath. Feel your need. You could sense it in the way he tensed, the way his thumb traced slow, agonizing circles just under your shirt.
Then, finally—he kissed you.
Deep. Unhurried. Like he was memorizing the taste of you. Like he had time.
But the way he backed you slowly toward the bed said otherwise.
You let yourself fall back, knees hitting the edge, pulling him with you by the collar of his shirt. He caught himself on his hands, hovering above you, his breath ragged now.
You tugged his shirt up slightly, fingers skating across his skin. "Chan," you whispered.
He kissed you again, slower this time. His voice was breathless, gravelly against your mouth. "I missed you... in every way."
You arched up toward him, body burning under his hands, his mouth trailing just below your jaw.
But then—He stopped. Just enough to look down at you. His eyes were heavy-lidded, but sincere. "Tell me where your line is tonight."
The words melted something inside you. Because even now, even like this—he asked.
You touched his cheek, heart full. "Stay. Just stay with me."
His lips curved softly as he nodded. "I was hoping you'd say that."
He shifted beside you, pulling you into his arms under the blanket, wrapping around you like something sacred. His hand splayed across your lower back, keeping you close. Skin on skin. Slow breaths syncing.
And in the quiet glow of the room, you found peace, desire simmering under the surface, patience wrapped in every brush of fingers and whisper of breath.
You didn't need to rush.
Because he wasn't going anywhere.
And neither were you.