The city was still buzzing when Bang Chan slipped out onto the balcony of the hotel suite.
The others were asleep.
Or pretending to be.
Inside, the clock blinked past midnight —
one more heartbeat into a new day he couldn't quite feel.
The air was cool against his flushed skin, the hum of distant traffic weaving into the silence like a lullaby he didn't quite believe in anymore.
He leaned on the railing, phone cradled loosely in one hand.
The post had already gone live —
an impulsive photo he'd taken hours ago of the skyline, blurred and imperfect, the caption simple:
"Still chasing dreams."
He hadn't thought much about it when he posted.
Just a habit.
Another thread tossed into the endless web of connection he was always trying to hold together.
But tonight —
tonight felt different.
He tilted his head back, staring up at the fractured sky —
a few stubborn stars clinging to the darkness, peeking through the glow of the city lights.
Somewhere out there —
he thought of you.
And without meaning to, without wanting to hope too much, he opened the comments.
⸻
Thousands.
Tens of thousands.
He scrolled mindlessly, the familiar rush of affection and warmth from fans across the world washing over him in waves.
He smiled, grateful, letting the kindness wrap around the ache still clinging to his bones.
Until—
He saw it.
Buried deep.
A single comment.
Unremarkable, to anyone else.
Simple.
Small.
But to him —
it hit like a star collapsing into a supernova.
"I'm right here."
He froze.
Stared.
Blinking once. Twice. Three times.
But the words didn't disappear.
They shimmered.
They waited.
They found him.
His heart hammered against his ribs, a painful, joyous thing.
Because he knew.
He knew.
Somehow, without logic, without proof, without reason—
he knew it was you.
Not a fan.
Not a coincidence.
You.
The you who had smiled at him from the crowd.
The you who had brushed fingertips with him through a thousand broken dreams.
The you who had laughed just beyond his reach and left him aching for a face he had never touched in waking life.
Found.
⸻
He didn't comment back.
Didn't heart the message.
Didn't let the world know.
Some things —
the truest things —
weren't meant for a stage.
They were meant to be held quietly.
Reverently.
Like a prayer whispered into the hollow of a cupped hand.
He set the phone down on the railing, closed his eyes,and breathed.
Slowly.
Deeply.
The stars blinked overhead.
He smiled — a real smile, wide and raw and unhidden.
And whispered into the wind, just for you:
"I see you."
⸻
Second-Person Echo:
You fell asleep before you could see if he replied.
But as your phone slipped from your hands and the night wrapped itself around you,
you dreamed again.
And this time —
you weren't running.
You were waiting.
Hands outstretched.
Heart steady.
Because somewhere deep inside, you felt it:
He had found you too.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆
It was raining in the dream.
Not the kind of rain that soaks you.
The soft kind.
The kind that smells like new beginnings and forgotten memories.
The kind that makes you lift your face to the sky and feel everything.
BC stood in the middle of a cobblestone street, the world around him humming with the low, aching gold of streetlights blurred by mist.
Shadows shifted at the corners of his vision — not threatening.
Just waiting.
Waiting for him to remember.
The city was unfamiliar, but his heart whispered otherwise.
He knew these winding alleys.
He knew the cracked lampposts and the ivy curling over the bricks.
He knew the soft tap of your footsteps approaching before he even heard them.
He turned—
and there you were.
No crowd this time.
No distance.
No mirrors.
Just you.
Standing a few paces away, head tilted like you were studying a puzzle only your heart could solve.
The rain glazed your skin in silver, your eyes catching the faint light like they held their own constellations.
You smiled.
And something inside him —
something ancient and broken and aching —
snapped quietly into place.
"There you are,"he breathed.
The words escaped before he could think, as natural as breathing, as inevitable as gravity.
You took a step closer.
And the world —
the dream —
the mist and the stars and the rain —
held its breath.
"I've been looking for you,"you said softly, voice low, a thread of starlight through the fog.
He didn't ask your name.
He didn't need to.
Somehow, impossibly, he already knew it.
Just like you knew his.
It was there —
woven into the dream,
stitched into the very air between you.
Recognition.
Not the spark of meeting someone new.
Not the start of something.
The remembering of something that had always been there, buried just beyond the waking world.
He reached for you.
Not desperate.
Not rushed.
Just... sure.
Your fingers met his with a tenderness so profound it felt like the first breath after drowning.
The rain fell around you in a hush.
You smiled again — a small, knowing thing.
And this time, when you spoke, your voice felt like home.
"I knew you'd find me."
⸻
He woke with your name on his lips.
Still tingling from the touch of your hand.
Still breathing the taste of rain and stars.
Still remembering.
Not just a dream.
Not anymore.
You were real.
And this timeline ...
he wasn't going to lose you again.
⸻
Second-Person Echo:
You woke, too, heart steady in your chest, not racing with panic or fear —
but pounding with certainty.
Somewhere, somehow, you had found him again.
And this time, you weren't letting go either.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆