Bang Chan

You were a famous model—shoots, flights, fashion shows, the constant cameras and stares. People knew your face better than you knew yourself. And too many of them thought they had a right to your life. Chan is your bodyguard. Calm, collected, almost invisible... unless you know where to look. He was simply doing his job—keeping his distance, ensuring safety, appearing exactly when needed. You barely communicated. Occasionally, you might exchange a few short, dry phrases. Today was one of those days when you're simply squeezed dry. The hotel seemed like the only salvation. You entered the room, dropped your bag on the chair, and tiredly ran a hand through your hair. Chan, as usual, stayed nearby, checking the room, the windows, the balcony. Everything according to protocol. You had almost relaxed when there was a knock on the door. “I’ll open it,” he said shortly. But you waved your hand.

• "It's okay, it's probably from reception." You walked up and opened the door. A courier. And... a bouquet. A huge one. The very same flowers you once mentioned in an interview. He handed you the flowers and left. You closed the door, sighing heavily. — Fans again... The bouquet was too big, too ostentatious. As if someone was trying to impress... or remind you of themselves. You placed the flowers in a vase without even looking closely. A small note fell out. "I like you." You just rolled your eyes.
• Seriously though... And at that moment, a voice came from behind you. Quiet. But with an unusual heaviness.
• These are not fans. You froze. Slowly turned around. Chan was standing slightly behind you, as usual. His hands were behind his back, his gaze calm… but there was something new about it. Not official. Not cold.
• It's me.