The plane touched down in Seoul with a dull thud, the grey afternoon light spilling through the cabin windows like static. The other members were already stirring, grabbing bags, stretching, muttering about schedules and sleep. But Bang Chan hadn't moved.

His jaw was tight. His knee hadn't stopped bouncing since the seatbelt sign came on. Not because of the flight. Because of the phone in his hand, screen dark, but burning with everything he knew was waiting inside it.

A few days ago, Y/n and him had gone public. Some fans were kind. Some were curious. Some were happy. And some... weren't.

The death threats had started within hours. The hate posts. The warnings. The promises to "fix" Y/n if they ever saw them in person. Chan had read every single one. He couldn't stop himself.

The airport was a wall of noise the moment they stepped through the arrival doors. Cameras flashed like lightning. Phones were shoved in their faces. Fans screamed, bodies pressing close, security doing their best to form a moving barricade.

Chan's eyes didn't stop moving. Scanning faces. Watching hands. Looking for one person in particular.

Y/n was beside him, close, just like they'd planned. But the crowd was thick. Too thick. The barricade buckled.

A fan slipped through. Not smiling. Not reaching out with a gift or a poster. Moving fast. Too fast. Hand already raised.

Chan's body moved before his brain caught up, one arm sweeping Y/n behind him, the other catching the fan's wrist mid-air. His eyes were cold.