🖤 STRAY KIDS FANFICTION: The Witness (2) 🔥

You didn't sleep that night. Not after what he said.

"You won't want to leave."

His words wrapped around your brain like chains—heavy, cold, tight. And the worst part? You weren't sure if it was a threat, or a promise.

The warehouse was quiet now. Too quiet. Jeongin was stable, the others were scattered, and yet... your skin still buzzed like electricity was crawling under it.

All because of him.

Bang Chan.

He was everywhere, even when he wasn't. In the echo of your heartbeat. In the chill in your bones. In the way you still felt the ghost of his fingers on your cheek.

This wasn't normal. This wasn't safe.

But nothing about him ever was.

💣🖤

The next morning, you were brought breakfast by Felix again—soft smile, a little too warm for the hellhole you were in.

"You doing okay?" he asked quietly, setting the tray down beside your cot.

You nodded, even though it was a lie.

He sat next to you. "Don't let Hyunjin get in your head. He likes to scare people. But he wouldn't touch you."

"Because Bang Chan said so," you muttered bitterly.

Felix paused. "...Yeah."

You looked at him. "Why does he care?"

Felix gave you this knowing, almost sad smile. "Because you're not like the others. You didn't cry. You didn't beg. You looked him in the eye like he wasn't a monster."

But he is.

Right?

...

Right?

👁️

Later, when the sun dipped and shadows stretched across the warehouse like claws, Bang Chan found you again.

This time, you were in the hallway outside the med area, washing your hands at a rusted sink. You didn't hear him come up behind you—but you felt him.

That familiar presence. Heavy. Dark. Unshakeable.

"You did good with Jeongin," he said quietly.

You turned to look at him. His black hoodie was gone—he wore a fitted black button-up now, sleeves rolled, veins in his forearms prominent. Tattoos peeked from his wrist like secrets.

"Did you come to say thank you?" you asked, voice sharper than intended.

He smirked. "Do I look like someone who says thank you?"

"No," you said. "You look like someone who makes people disappear."

His smile widened. "That, too."

You should've walked away. You should've screamed. You should've fought. But instead...

You looked at him. Really looked at him. Not the criminal. Not the killer. But the man.

His eyes weren't just cold—they were tired. Haunted. Like he'd been carrying the weight of the world on his back and had long since stopped asking for help.

"I'm not scared of you," you said.

He stepped closer. "You should be."

You tilted your head. "But I'm not. Why?"

His gaze darkened, something flickering in it—desire, danger, obsession. "Because I won't hurt you."

"Is that a lie?"

"No," he said softly. "But it could be, if you ever give me a reason."

Your breath caught. There it was again—that thread between you. Tension. Magnetic. Suffocating.

He moved even closer now. Inches away. Close enough to feel his warmth, to smell the rich musk of his cologne.

"I think about you too much," he murmured. "More than I should."

"You kidnapped me."

"I spared you," he corrected. "I trusted you with one of my brothers. I'm trusting you now."

"And when you're done with me?" you whispered. "What happens then?"

His jaw tightened. For a moment, just one, his cold mask cracked. And you saw it.

Fear.

Not fear for you.

Fear of losing you.

"I don't know," he said.

And then...

He cupped your jaw again.

Soft. Careful. Addicted.

"But I don't want to let you go."

Your heart skipped, and something inside you twisted painfully—because you weren't sure if that scared you... or if a sick, dark part of you wanted him to say it.

You leaned into his touch without realizing.

And he noticed.

"Stockholm's a hell of a drug, huh?" he whispered.

You blinked, stunned.

"Don't," you breathed. "Don't mock this."

"I'm not," he said seriously. "I'm warning you. Because if you fall for me... I won't let you leave. Ever."

His thumb brushed over your lips.

And this time, you were the one who stepped closer.

"I'm not falling for you," you whispered, but your voice wavered like a lie.

Bang Chan smiled, slow and dangerous. "Then stop looking at me like you already have."

It was raining. Hard. The kind of storm that makes the whole world feel like it's drowning.

The warehouse's windows rattled, thunder cracked like a warning from the universe—and you sat near the back wall, staring out at the blurry world beyond. You weren't tied up anymore. Weren't technically a prisoner either.

But you hadn't left.

Couldn't.

Wouldn't?

You'd told yourself you were biding your time. Waiting for the right moment to escape. But deep down, you knew...

That moment had passed. And you hadn't run.

Not when Chan touched you. Not when he looked at you like you were his salvation and his ruin. Not when the fear started shifting into something unholy. Something intoxicating.

You didn't move when you heard the footsteps.

You already knew it was him.

"Thought I'd find you here," Bang Chan said, voice quieter than usual—rough around the edges, like he hadn't slept.

You didn't look at him. "Why do you keep coming to me?"

He walked over slowly. "Because you haven't run."

Lightning flashed. His face lit up for a second—sharp cheekbones, eyes like sin.

"And if I tried?" you asked.

He didn't answer.

He just stared at you. Long. Hard. The tension between you stretched again, electric, raw. And then—

He stepped closer.

You tilted your head to meet his eyes. "I'm not scared of you anymore."

Chan's mouth twitched at the corners. "You should be."

You stood up, body barely reaching his chest, but your spirit? Oh, it matched him blow for blow.

"Maybe I want to be," you whispered. "Maybe I'm sick, too."

He snapped.

Like something inside him finally cracked.

His hand shot out, grabbing your waist, pulling you flush against him. You gasped, but didn't pull away. Not this time.

His breath ghosted over your lips.

"You think this is a game?" he growled. "You think I'm safe just because I haven't broken you yet?"

"Maybe I want to be broken."

Oh.

Your words hit him like a punch to the gut—and for the first time, he was the one frozen.

But only for a moment.

Then—

His lips crashed into yours.

🔥💋

It wasn't soft. It wasn't sweet.

It was desperate. Violent. Like he'd been holding himself back for days and finally gave in. He kissed you like he hated himself for it.

And you?

You kissed him back.

You didn't shy away. Didn't flinch. Your tiny hands clutched his shirt, pulling him closer, rising on your toes just to feel more of him. You were drowning, but you didn't care.

You wanted more.

You needed more.

He spun you around, pushing you gently against the cold wall, lips still devouring yours. One hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist like he was afraid you'd vanish.

When he finally pulled away, breathless, eyes wild—he pressed his forehead against yours.

"You're mine," he whispered. "I don't care what I have to do. What lines I have to cross. You. Are. Mine."

You panted, lips swollen, heart slamming against your ribs.

"Then prove it."

His eyes darkened even more. "Be careful, Y/N. I'm not the hero in your story. I'm the villain you end up loving."

You looked up at him through your lashes. "Then ruin me."

And in that moment—he knew.

He was completely, hopelessly, violently in love with you.

You didn't sleep that night. Again.

Your lips still burned from the kiss, and your brain? A twisted mess of lust, fear, and a dangerous craving for more.

You kept replaying the moment in your mind—his grip on your waist, the raw need in his eyes, the way he looked at you like he'd never forgive himself for touching you—but would still do it a thousand times more.

You should've been running. Screaming. But instead... you were waiting. Waiting for him.

You were in the small corner of the warehouse that had become yours—a mattress, a few blankets, and a cracked mirror—and you felt it before you even heard him.

Chan's presence. That heavy, possessive aura that filled the room before he ever said a word.

You turned slowly, meeting his eyes.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, that black shirt clinging to his chest like a second skin. His gaze dragged down your body, slow and unapologetic.

"You're avoiding me," he said.

You tilted your chin. "I kissed you back. That's not avoidance."

His jaw tightened. "And then you ran off. Don't play games with me, Y/N."

"Why not?" you whispered. "Isn't that what this is? A game?"

In a second—a blur—he was right in front of you. One hand slammed against the wall beside your head, the other gripping your jaw just enough to tilt your face to his.

"This is not a game," he growled, voice low and sharp. "Don't you get it yet?"

You stared at him, heart pounding. "Then what is it?"

He looked like he was breaking from the inside. Like holding himself back was physically hurting him.

"It's you," he whispered. "It's always been you."

Your breath hitched.

"From the second you looked at me with those defiant little eyes, I was gone. I should've killed you that night. But I didn't. You know why?"

You swallowed hard.

"Because something in me needed to know you. To own you. To ruin you for anyone else."

Your knees nearly gave out, but his arm was already around your waist, pulling you closer, lifting you like you weighed nothing.

"You don't get to be untouched by me," he hissed. "Not anymore."

🔥💋

And then he kissed you again.

But this time?

It was slower. Deeper. Messier. Like he was learning the shape of your mouth, the taste of your defiance, the rhythm of your surrender.

You clutched his shirt with trembling fingers, letting yourself fall. Into him. Into whatever this was.

He pulled away just slightly, lips brushing yours.

"You're so damn small," he murmured. "So delicate. And I could crush you, but all I want to do is protect you. Isn't that twisted?"

You smiled faintly. "Everything about this is twisted."

"Then let it be."

And just like that—he lifted you off the ground and carried you to the mattress.

Not to do anything more yet. Not yet.

He just held you.

Arms wrapped around your body like chains. Face buried in your hair. Heart pounding against your back.

And you...?

You let him.

Because deep down, you didn't want to fight anymore.

You were his. And he was already yours. In the most broken, dangerous way imaginable.

--TO BE CONTINUED--

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