Chapter 45

Sunday~

I wanna STAY with you 

"Alright, looks like we're done," I said, pinning up the last corner of the blanket with a grin.

I stood back, admiring our handiwork: Chan and I had cleaned up the mess of notes and Post-its in his room and fixed the wall, hanging the blanket back over it once more.

I hadn't known what Chan had wanted from me when he asked me to come into his room to help him with something half an hour ago, but now I understood. This was a repair in more ways than one: righting the things that had been knocked down, clearing the rubble and the ashes from that day that had broken all of them. I doubted Chan would ever forgive himself for failing the members—even though none of us thought of it as a failure. But, like all things, this was a start.

"You know I will never be able to thank you enough, right?" Chan asked in English, his gaze still surveying the wall above his desk.

I ducked my head, feeling a smile tug at my lips. "I know."

"Not just for that night," Chan added, turning to face me. "For everything."

I nodded, holding his gaze. "I'm the one who should be thanking you. You were the ones who let me stay in the first place."

The side of his mouth quirked. "Don't worry. You'll be a STAY long after you leave Korea."

"That's not what I meant," I said, but warmth spread through me at his words all the same. "I'm still not a STAY."

"You sure about that?" Chan asked me with a grin. "You know what the meaning of Stray Kids is, right? 'Stray Kids everywhere around the world; you make Stray Kids STAY'." His smile shifted, becoming sad. "You're the reason why we stayed, Yeji. If that doesn't make you a STAY, we're going to need to change our slogan."

I chuckled. "Then you're a STAY too, you know. Stray Kids wouldn't be here without you either."

He smiled, looking back at the wall. "Maybe we all are."

He frowned, suddenly, and stepped forward. Before I could ask him what he was doing, he'd grabbed the blanket and pulled it clean off the wall, baring the mess of post-it notes and sharpies for the world to see.

Chan looked down at the blanket in his hands, then let it go. "I think it looks better this way," he said to me, grinning. "Don't you?"

A laugh burst from my lips, and pride for him bubbled inside me. "Way better."

"Last thing," said Chan, grabbing a new post-it note. He uncapped a pen with his teeth, scribbling something down before slapping the note in the center of the wall, surrounded by all his other words and thoughts and pieces of his mind.

I blinked at it, confused.

1-4-3 I love you.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His smile widened. "You don't know?"

I frowned. "Should I?"

"I guess not." He seemed ignorant of my confusion, smiling wider than I'd ever seen, his eyes twinkling like stars. "It's alright. You'll understand soon enough."

My frown deepened, but before I could ask if he'd had some of Felix's brownies, he engulfed me in a hug. I was a bit thrown off, but I didn't complain; I was leaving in an hour, after all.

I felt something where his arms were wrapped around me, a slight press of his fingers. It was familiar, oddly so, but I couldn't recognize the feeling. Chan's curly blond hair pressed against my cheek, and then he pulled back, giving me a wink. "I'll see you soon, yeah?"

"Yeah," I said, still frowning.

It wasn't until I was at the boarding gate and my finger brushed Changbin's hand that I realized what it was that Chan had been doing when we'd hugged.

He'd been tapping his fingers in the same sequence of the tic I had of finger-tapping, the same sequence he'd transcribed on that Post-it note:

Pointer finger once, middle finger four times, index finger thrice.

Pointer finger once, middle finger four times, index finger thrice.

1-4-3.

I love you.

I gasped out loud. "Oh, that little—"

"Huh?" Changbin asked beside me.

I stopped, then laughed, shaking my head. "Nothing. Tell Chan I'm going to sue for plagiarism when you see him."

"Tell him yourself," Changbin said with a snort. "You'll see each other soon. Right?"

I smiled, though it tasted bittersweet. "Right."

I hugged Changbin one last time by the gate, wishing I could hold on to him forever. But I made myself let go.

"See you in four months?" Changbin asked, and I nodded. That was our deal—no matter where I was with my job, no matter where he was with his, we'd find a way to see each other at least once every four months.

Our uncle's corporation didn't allow their employees to hold other positions of management in outside companies. So, I'd withdrawn my application to the editorial journal this morning, with Changbin there for moral support. I would never know if I had gotten in or not.

But I was still writing. Every day now, even. That was something that could never be taken away from me.

"Pinky Promise."

I took one last look at him—memorizing every inch of his face, so different and yet so similar to my own—and turned, handing my boarding pass to the guy at the register. He waved me through; I began to walk into the hallway that would lead me to the plane, but stopped, turning around one last time.

Changbin waved at me, his smile sad. I lifted my hand to wave back and, at last, got onto the plane back to America.

My mind was ablaze the whole flight, replaying every second I'd had with Stray Kids. Eight faces flashed in my mind, again and again. I didn't know when I'd see them again, but I would. That was a promise I knew I would be able to keep.

Dancing to Antifragile around the coffee table at night, making fun of Changbin and Jisung.

Cooking breakfast for 3Racha in the mornings after one of their burnouts because I knew they hadn't eaten in too long.

Going out for fried chicken or Chinese food with the members, laughing at how they covered themselves up so much they were practically indistinguishable.

Huddled up on the couch together for movie night after watching Lilo and Stitch and realizing Chan had fallen asleep because of his snores.

Playing Go Fish with the maknaes and Minho and Chutes and Ladders with Hyunracha; losing constantly at group games of Uno.

I smiled, shaking my head to clear the memories, and pulled up my story on my computer, making a few final edits, and saved the draft. The story that no one would ever see.

I understood the member's decision, but at the same time I wanted to make a thousand copies. Post it on every billboard of every city, every social media page, every news platform until the world understood that these people—this group—was family, and they were the most amazing people I'd ever meet. I wished everyone could see all the boundless, unabashed love in their little circle, but I knew that love wasn't mine to share.

So I highlighted everything.

And deleted it all.

Every moment I'd written, every scene—gone. I swallowed, my finger still hovering over the delete button. Had I really erased all that work?

Yes.

Shit.

I quickly clicked command+Z, my shoulders slumping as the lines and lines of text returned.

Thank god for the undo button.

No, I wouldn't show this to the world. But I'd show it to Claire, and, someday, I'd show it to my kid—tell her or him or them about the eight people I'd met when I was younger who'd changed how I saw the world, and maybe—just maybe—introduce them in person.

Until then, this story would stay locked in my drive, unseen and unknown, just in case Stray Kids decided to let it out, decided they did want STAY to see them, for better or for worse.

I doubted they'd ever make that decision. But just in case, it was there.

And for now...

I closed my laptop, sliding it back into my bag, and looked out the window at the clouds rushing by. I was going home, finally. It felt like the end—and the beginning.

I settled into my seat, wishing the plane would fly faster: there was someone I needed to see.

And I knew that Claire was waiting for me.