The livestream was chaos.
The good kind.
BC laughed, the sound spilling bright and easy as he dodged a flying gummy bear hurled by one of the other members.
The fans in the chat were wild — filling the screen with waves of laughing emojis, tiny colorful hearts, desperate demands for another throw.
He grinned, brushing a hand through his hair, damp with the aftermath of practice.
"Missed again,"he teased into the camera, winking playfully.
The comments flooded in faster now — a blur of usernames and jokes and confessions of love and admiration.
He loved this part —
this messy, joyful bridge between his world and theirs.
A heartbeat shared across thousands of miles.
Normally, he let the flood of comments wash over him, too fast to catch, trusting the warmth they carried even if the individual words blurred.
But tonight—
Tonight, something tugged at him.
A whisper beneath the roar.
⸻
He found himself leaning closer to the screen, scanning.
Not for anything in particular.
Just a feeling.
Just the electric hum under his skin.
The comments whipped past — bright, colorful, overwhelming.
And then—
he saw you.
A profile icon — small, almost hidden between the chaos —
but he knew it.
Your smile.
The tilt of your head.
Your eyes — burning soft and real even in a pixelated, fleeting moment.
It was you.
It was you.
His breath caught.
The world tilted.
For a split second, the studio lights dimmed, the voices around him faded, and it was just him — and you — and the ache that bloomed inside his chest so violently he almost forgot where he was.
He blinked.
The moment stretched thin.
Stretched thinner.
And then—
The comments surged again, a fresh flood.
Your icon was gone.
Buried beneath heart emojis, inside jokes, declarations of loyalty and affection.
Gone.
⸻
He blinked again, feeling unmoored, adrift.
The other member nudged him, laughing.
"Hyung, you look like you just saw a ghost."
Chan chuckled, shaking his head, playing along.
"Maybe I did," he joked, tossing another gummy bear weakly across the room.
The fans roared with laughter, and themoment passed — outwardly.
But inside him, something remained.
Something raw.
Something stubborn.
Something that whispered:
You're not imagining this.
He carried that feeling long after the livestream ended.
Even as he collapsed onto the practice room floor, exhausted and exhilarated.
Even as he dragged himself back to the hotel, eyelids heavy with sleep.
⸻
Later that night, lying awake again,
he found himself staring at his phone, scrolling aimlessly, the glow painting him in soft, lonely light.
He wasn't looking for a notification.
Not really.
He was looking for you.
Again.
And somewhere deep down —
he believed that you were looking for him too.
⸻
Second-Person Echo:
You watched the livestream too.
And when Bang Chan leaned closer to the screen —
when he squinted as if he was searching —
your breath caught.
For a moment — just a moment —
you thought he was looking at you.
You laughed it off.
You told yourself it was impossible.
But a part of you didn't believe it.
A part of you hoped.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The hotel room was silent, save for the faint hum of the city outside the window —
car tires whispering against wet pavement,
a siren wailing somewhere in the distance.
Bang Chan sat cross-legged on the bed, his phone cradled in his hands, the glow painting his features in soft, tired gold.
He wasn't scrolling anymore.
He wasn't even blinking.
He was waiting.
For what, he didn't know.
A sign.
A glimpse.
A whisper in the dark.
He exhaled a shaky breath and dropped the phone onto the bed beside him.
His body sagged with exhaustion.
But his heart —
his heart was wide awake.
Still chasing.
Still reaching.
He closed his eyes.
And this time, the dream took him before he could fight it.
⸻
The city wasn't mist now.
It was glass.
Skyscrapers like mirror shards stabbed into the sky.
The stars hung low and fractured, spinning lazily, reflected over and over in the polished streets.
The air smelled like rain that hadn't yet fallen.
He stood at the center of it all, barefoot, his reflection scattered a thousand times over —
a ghost in his own dream.
And somewhere ahead, he heard it.
Your laughter.
Soft.
Bright.
Real.
He moved toward it —
without thought, without hesitation.
The reflections shifted as he ran, showing him glimpses of you:
• A hand reaching toward him through a pane of glass.
• A smile blooming like sunrise behind mirrored walls.
• Eyes that held galaxies he had spent his whole life searching for.
He pressed his hand to one of the mirrors —
and for the first time, it didn't resist.
The glass rippled under his touch, warm and liquid and alive.
Through it, he saw you —
closer than ever.
You were reaching too.
Fingers stretched toward him, trembling slightly, as if you were just as afraid to break this fragile dream as he was.
He swallowed hard.
"Don't leave,"he whispered, voice cracking on the edges.
You smiled.
And your fingers brushed his.
The moment they touched —
the dream shuddered.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the glass city.
The stars above trembled.
The ground quaked beneath his feet.
Still, he held on.
Held your hand through the breaking.
Through the unraveling.
But dreams are delicate things.
And some wishes are too powerful to be contained.
The glass exploded outward —
shards of light and memory spiraling into the void.
And just before the world shatteredcompletely,
just before he lost you again—
You whispered something.
A word.
A promise.
⸻
He woke with a gasp, hand reaching out into the empty dark.
His palm was empty.
The bed was cold.
But his fingers still tingled —
as if your hand had never truly let go.
He pressed his trembling hand to his chest, shutting his eyes tight against the rush of grief and wonder swelling inside him.
You were real.
You had to be real.
⸻
Second-Person Echo:
You woke too, heart hammering against your ribs.
You didn't remember the dream clearly.
Only the feeling of fingers brushing yours —
of holding on, even when everything else fell away.
You smiled in the dark, cradling that warmth against your chest like a secret.
A secret meant only for you.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆