A Distraction // Bangchan

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chan sat in the quiet of his room, the darkness pressing in around him. He hadn't bothered turning on any lights. The shadows felt like a reflection of the weight he was carrying inside. His chest ached with an emptiness that refused to go away, and no matter how many distractions he threw at himself—work, music, endless hours in the studio—it didn't fill the void.

He ran his hand through his hair, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he leaned back against the wall. His phone lay on the bed beside him, taunting him, the faint glow of the screen casting a cold light in the otherwise dim room. His thumb hovered over the screen, the urge to text Lauren almost unbearable. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to reach out, to hear her voice, to feel some connection to her again.

But he knew he shouldn't.

He had made his choice. He had ended it for her sake, for the band's sake—for the sake of everything he had worked so hard to protect. And now, he was living with the consequences, even though it felt like those consequences were slowly tearing him apart.

Chan's heart ached with a deep, relentless pain, one that seemed to pulse with every beat of his heart. He hadn't expected it to hurt this much. He thought he could manage it—he thought if he kept himself busy enough, distracted enough, it would start to fade. But it hadn't. If anything, the ache had only grown more intense, more unbearable with each passing day.

He missed her. God, he missed her so much that it hurt to even think about her. He missed everything about her—the sound of her laughter, the way she looked at him like he was the only person in the world, the quiet moments they shared in the mornings when everything felt peaceful and right.

But now, all of that was gone, ripped away by the decision he had made. A decision he wasn't even sure he could live with anymore.

His hand drifted back to his phone, his thumb hovering over her name in his contacts. The urge to text her was overwhelming, like a constant pull he couldn't shake. He just wanted to hear her voice, to know if she was okay, to tell her that he was sorry, that he hadn't meant a word of what he had said when he ended things.

But he knew he couldn't do that. He couldn't give in to that urge, because if he did, he knew it would only make things worse—for both of them. He had already broken her heart once. Reaching out to her now, after he had been so cold, so distant, would only confuse her, would only make the pain worse.

She deserves better than this, he told himself, his fingers curling into a fist as he fought against the temptation to send her a message. She deserves someone who can be with her, who doesn't have to hide, who doesn't have the weight of a career pulling them away.

But even though he knew it was true, it didn't stop the crushing sense of loss that filled his chest every time he thought of her.

Chan let out another heavy sigh, his eyes falling closed as he leaned his head back against the wall. The weight of it all felt unbearable tonight. The studio hadn't been enough to keep him distracted, and now, sitting alone in his room, there was nothing to stop the flood of emotions from washing over him.

He thought about their last moments together, about the way she had looked at him with so much hurt in her eyes when he told her it was over. The memory made his stomach twist with guilt, and he clenched his jaw, trying to push the image out of his mind. But it wouldn't go away. It stayed with him, haunting him, a constant reminder of the pain he had caused.

His phone buzzed suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts. His heart leapt into his throat, and for a split second, he thought maybe—just maybe—it was Lauren. Maybe she had reached out to him. But when he looked down at the screen, disappointment settled heavy in his chest.