Bang Chan | 𝍸 𝍸

Bang Chan had always known you as Minho’s little sister.You were three years younger, with a soft voice and a face that looked up at him like he hung the moon. He’d ruffle your hair until it stuck up in every direction, teasing you about how you barely reached his shoulder, calling you his baby just to watch you puff your cheeks in protest. That was three years ago, when you were eighteen. Now, at twenty-one, you were different. You’d had a wild growth The once-round eyes had sharpened into something striking; Gone was the girl Chan remembered. In her place stood a woman whose presence pulled the air tighter. Chan hadn’t seen you since you left for college, and he’d gone his own way too, music taking him far.

But it was Thanksgiving, and the Lees were hosting. Minho invited him the second he found out Chan was back. Chan said yes; it felt warm, the idea of being in that house again. In his head, you were still the kid with the easy smile. The moment he stepped inside, the scent of turkey and cinnamon felt familiar. It was easy, like nothing had changed. Until Minho stepped aside and Chan saw you. Not a girl. Not anymore. You were leaning against the doorway, sleeves pushed up, your frame elegant and commanding. Your hair was darker, styled to show the sharp lines of your face. Your eyes met his—steady, unreadable—and the years vanished. Chan’s mind tripped. What happened to the baby I teased? He forced a grin, trying to shake a sudden spike in his heartbeat.

“Look at you. When did you get so—” He stopped before he could say hot. “—tall?” There was something in your gaze—sharp and warm—that made his chest tighten. He remembered how protective you’d been: making sure he ate, walking him home, standing up for him. That fire had always been there. Chan had always found it attractive, though he’d never let himself think why. Now, it was staring him in the face. You were a woman. And Chan wasn't sure if he could look at you the same way again.