Chan's POV
He didn't move as the terminal doors closed behind you. He just stood there, frozen in the space you'd left behind, like if he stayed long enough, the echo of your presence would wrap back around him.
No tears this time. No ache he couldn't name. Just... fullness. Warmth. The kind of quiet that comes after something sacred.
He stood at the curb in nothing but his t-shirt and jeans now—his favorite hoodie already wrapped around your shoulders. He didn't care about the chill settling into his skin. It was yours now. And it felt right.
You had everything. His letter. His necklace. His hoodie. His heart.
He watched the sliding doors a few seconds longer, just in case you turned around again.
But you didn't. This time, you didn't need to.
Chan walked across the parking lot toward the upper-level rail that overlooked the runway. It wasn't a designated viewing area, but he'd stood watching once before—back in Orlando, trying to hold back the tears when you first left.
Today, he came back to the same kind of space. But this time... something was different. He wasn't losing you. He was watching you go, knowing you'd find your way back.
His phone buzzed as he leaned on the cold metal rail, watching your plane taxi into position.
A single message lit up the screen.
You :
"I love you Chan!"
The smile that spread across his face was soft and unstoppable.
His thumbs hovered over the keys only a second before he sent:
Chan :
"I love you more!" "Let me know the second you land. And wear the hoodie on the place...it makes you part of me. Always!"
He hit send just as the engines roared. The plane picked up speed—slow, then fast, then lifting smoothly into the air. He tracked it with his eyes as it rose into the grey-blue morning sky, the blinking lights on its belly flickering against the clouds.
You were up there. And he didn't feel empty. He felt... grounded. Loved. Chosen.
Back At The Hotel
Back at the hotel, Chan moved slowly. The suite was still half-lit from the sunrise. His things were mostly packed, but he checked every drawer twice—more out of habit than anything else.
He showered, got dressed, and looped a delicate silver ring around his necklace chain before slipping it under his shirt.
For a second, he looked toward the door.
The quiet felt heavier now. But it wasn't loneliness—it was the kind of silence that follows something meaningful. Like the room itself had witnessed something worth remembering.
Downstairs, the members were gathered by the café, luggage piled beside them, all in various states of caffeine and conversation.
Felix was the first to look up. "How are you doing?"
Chan smiled and exhaled as he set down his duffel. "I'm good."
"Like actually good?" Han asked, half-joking, half-not.
Chan nodded. "Yeah. This isn't like last time."
Seungmin leaned back in his chair, sipping his drink. "Did she cry?"
"Nope."
"Did you cry?"
"Maybe."
"That's a yes," Lee Know said.
Jeongin grinned. "At least you're not wearing the hoodie again."
Chan smirked, rubbing his bare arms. "She's wearing it now."
The group fell silent for a beat. Then Hyunjin tilted his head. "Good. It looks better on her."
Changbin clapped him on the back. "You finally look at peace, hyung."
And he was. They all saw it.
An hour later, they were back at JFK—this time together, this time calm.
As they made their way to the gate for their flight to D.C., Chan walked a little behind the group, phone in hand, still staring at the message you'd sent.
Your plane was probably somewhere over Virginia by now. He couldn't see it. But he felt the string between you tighten like a tether.
And that was enough.