Chapter Text
It was raining…..of course it was raining.
Chan pulled his jacket tighter, one hand holding an umbrella that was fighting for its life against the wind, the other clutching a grocery bag threatening to rip. He’d just finished a late-night recording session, brain fried and stomach grumbling, when he saw it.
A tiny figure sitting on the curb outside his building, soaked through.
Chan blinked. Maybe it was a trick of the streetlight, or maybe sleep deprivation was finally catching up to him, but no, when he took a step closer, the figure flinched. A kid, shivering, hugging his knees to his chest.
“Hey,” Chan said softly, crouching down so he wouldn’t tower over him. “You okay there, little man?”
The kid looked up, blinking through the rain. Big brown eyes, cheeks blotchy from crying. He couldn’t have been older than six.
“I…-I lost my house,” he hiccuped.
Chan’s heart cracked. “You lost your house?”
The boy nodded. “Mama went to the shop and didn’t come back. I waited. Then the rain came.”
Chan swallowed hard..
“Okay….okay. Let’s get you somewhere dry, yeah?” He held out his hand. The boy hesitated for half a second before grabbing it, tiny fingers curling around Chan’s like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.
“..’m Han,” the boy mumbled.
“Hi, Han. I’m Chan,” he said, smiling as reassuringly as he could. “Guess we rhyme, huh?”
A watery giggle. Mission accomplished.
Back in Chan’s apartment, Han sat bundled up in one of his oversized hoodies, sleeves swallowing his hands. The boy’s head barely poked out from the collar, and Chan tried not to melt entirely.
“You hungry?” Chan asked, setting a bowl of instant ramen in front of him.
Han nodded, eyes wide as he watched the steam curl up. “It smells nice.”
“’Cause it is nice,” Chan said, grinning. “Careful, it’s hot.”
They ate in silence for a while, the only sounds the clink of chopsticks and the occasional slurp. Han’s eyelids began to droop halfway through, exhaustion winning over hunger.
“C’mere,” Chan said softly, scooping him up before he could protest. The boy was feather-light, all bones and warmth and trust he hadn’t earned yet.
Chan set him down on the couch, tucking a blanket around him. Han stirred, mumbling something in his sleep.
“Don’t go,” he whispered tiny hand reaching out grabbing Chan
Chan froze. His throat tightened.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly, brushing damp hair off the boy’s forehead.
For a long moment, he just stood there, watching the rise and fall of tiny breaths. Then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
He’d figure it out in the morning, call someone, find out where the kid belonged. But right now, as the storm raged outside and Han slept curled up in his hoodie, it felt like the world had dropped something fragile and precious into his hands.
And for once, Chan didn’t want to let go.