Chapter Text
Matthew scooted closer to his hyung. They were eating lunch together in the big dining room at the company. It was late—too late, really—but they’d gotten distracted in the practice room. After the lesson ended and their teacher and everyone else left, Hanbin and Matthew stayed behind. Hanbin looked up a song on his phone and played it quietly. Just for them. They practiced a bit of choreo together, even though their entire bodies begged for rest.
It was in these stolen moments they could be alone, truly themselves. And even though they didn’t speak much and didn’t touch at all, they both held onto the silence like it meant something.
The dining room was nearly empty too, but they didn’t dare misbehave in there. So Matthew just scooted over and pressed his thigh to Hanbin’s under the table. Hanbin smiled and lowered his head, suddenly very invested in his dinner.
Their time in Cube Entertainment was like this: training, lessons, little sleep, and even smaller chances of debuting—with a bit of joy tucked between the cracks. They shared a dream, but they both knew the chances of debuting together—or at all—were slim. More likely, they’d have to leave at some point and try to find themselves somewhere else.
“I can get you a job at my mom’s café. We can make coffee together,” Hanbin used to say.
Matthew knew he was half-joking. But the chance Hanbin was even a little serious warmed him somewhere deep in his stomach.
They were always close. Or maybe Matthew had crowded out the memories of his first days there. He remembered just a few things with precision: the exhaustion, and Hanbin sitting beside him, asking him questions, making him feel safe for the first time since his arrival. He fell for him a little that day. He used to tell himself it was just the strong connection formed when he was down and anxious and so very tired.
Frankly, if today’s Matthew could speak to that young, idiotic Matthew, he’d probably say, “Really? A little?” in a tone so mockingly exasperated it bordered on fond.
Even Hanbin had trouble remembering the first days. But he could pinpoint the moment he knew Matthew was going to be special to him. It was natural for Hanbin to care for others—he’s always wanted to be a teacher, and people often told him his voice was calming. The fact that Matthew had big eyes, soft hair, a beautiful tone of voice, and a very unusual sense of humor—and, in Hanbin’s opinion, a cute way of speaking Korean—had nothing to do with it.
No, it was the exact moment Matthew bark-laughed after missing a step in choreo. Instead of apologizing or bowing or appeasing the instructor in any way, he took off his sweatshirt, clapped, and exclaimed, “Let’s go!”
Frankly, if Hanbin could speak to that young and stupid Hanbin, he’d tell him to get a grip and be honest with himself.
***
And so the time passed. Hanbin excelled and was universally liked. Matthew excelled too, but struggled to fit in and keep up. It always seemed to him that Hanbin was born ready to debut, and he’d have to spend the rest of his life in Korean lessons before he could even think about stepping on a stage.
Matthew was sure Hanbin would debut soon, and he considered anyone who didn’t believe that a fool. Hanbin had everything—and sometimes, it made Matthew sad.
It didn’t take long—the story-lover that he is—to start imagining them debuting together. Hanbin would probably be the leader, and Matthew would be his protégé, his fav bro. Dongsaeng, Matthew reminded himself.
He enjoyed the special treatment he got from Hanbin. Of course, there were many who fawned over Hanbin and had his attention. Matthew just liked to imagine Hanbin liked him a little more.
Sure, some would call it sidekick behavior—cling to the best in the room and hope for scraps. Or at least hope someone notices you. But Matthew was honest with himself. That was only the second reason it was good to keep close to Hanbin. The first reason was just him. Just Hanbin.
He made Matthew feel good.
And Hanbin was so handsome. Matthew used to think sweaty boys in tracksuits were the least sexy humans alive, but here he was, ogling Hanbin dancing to a fast-paced English rap song—something about impressing women in bars and heading to expensive yachts.
Matthew swallowed when Hanbin touched his cheek, his neck, and dragged his hand to the neckline of his shirt as part of the choreography. Oh shit. Hanbin’s eyes were heavily lidded, staring into the mirror. His hair stuck to his forehead. He swayed his hips to the beat drop.
He was powerful but also delicate—like he could fight Matthew right here and win, pin him to the floor, but would also let himself be rolled over. Matthew would hold Hanbin by the wrists, move them above his head—Matthew was so overwhelmed by hormones.
“Seokmae!”
Hanbin’s gentle voice hit him like lightning on a spring morning.
He flopped to the floor next to him. Matthew automatically tugged his sweatshirt down over his legs. If Hanbin noticed, he didn’t say anything. He just patted Matthew’s cheek, casual.
It was normal between them. Matthew was clingy; Hanbin was touchy. They'd agreed—unspoken but solid—that this was their dynamic. They rolled with it.
The song’s slow outro still played, but Hanbin came to Matthew instead of staying in front of the mirror like the others.
“Caught you looking. Did you learn something from hyung?” he teased, ruffling Matthew’s sweaty hair. Then he scooted back, laughing.
Matthew wanted to tease him back but got stuck on the Korean again. Hanbin giggled without malice, and Matthew noticed the exact curve of his upper lip. Oh shit fuck.
***
Hanbin always thought Matthew was exceptional.
Even on the first day, he caught his eye. He was charming through the roof, and his way of speaking—unfiltered, honest—made people feel at ease. Hanbin loved that.
Matthew was a sight to behold, and Hanbin didn’t want to waste a minute of their shared time.
Luckily, they had a lot of classes together. Sometimes they even sneaked out to grab snacks and wander around the city.
Tonight, they had fewer roommates in the dorm, so Matthew moved to Hanbin’s room for an evening of games and movies with the others.
Hanbin knew being close to him helped Matthew make new friends more easily, and he loved seeing him smile and blend in. He hoped he’d made Matthew’s first shy days a little better.
Now, watching him grow in confidence, Hanbin felt proud. He always knew Matthew was strong. But anyone would feel lost in Matthew’s shoes.
“You make my days so beautiful,” Matthew said from the bathroom.
Hanbin froze. It wasn’t a common thing to say in Korean. What drama did he get that line from? His cheeks grew warm.
“Hyung?” Matthew’s head peeked out from the bathroom. His hair was wet, and he wasn’t in pajamas yet.
Hanbin smiled up at him, trying to act casual. Oh shit.
“Yeah, I… I’m glad. You make my days beautiful too,” he said softly.
Matthew grinned wide—eyes nearly shut—and ducked back inside. When he spoke again, it was with a toothbrush in his mouth. Hanbin understood none of it. He laughed anyway, breath catching a little.
He folded his clothes once, then again, heartbeat too loud. He was sure Matthew hadn’t meant anything by it, but the words sat in the air like something warm and heavy.
He needed to do something with himself. He placed the folded clothes in the section for laundry, bit his lip, and focused.
“Yaaa, Seokmae, who’s supposed to understand you with your mouth full?” he called out, stepping into the bathroom.
Matthew was brushing his teeth, wearing nothing but a towel. Oh shit fuck.
Hanbin slapped a hand over his eyes and started apologizing in over-the-top formal speech. He bowed. He was deep into his theater kid act.
That was Matthew’s term for him—and one Hanbin had embraced completely.
“You’re such a theater kid!” Matthew choked around his toothpaste.
“There it is,” Hanbin thought proudly.
“You’re indecent and wet!” he cried, dramatic.
Matthew’s eyes gleamed dangerously. That look always meant trouble.
Hanbin noticed it. He could have escaped to the top bunk.
He didn’t.
Matthew lunged, all wet chest and villainous energy, and rubbed himself all over Hanbin’s fresh pajamas. In the process, Matthew got drier. Hanbin got soaked. He protested—but he hugged him back.
They stood like that for a while. Matthew’s face rested against Hanbin’s neck; Hanbin’s arms circled his waist. Neither moved when Hanbin turned his face into Matthew’s hair and breathed in.
Then Matthew pulled back, sudden and firm.
Hanbin blinked, lips parted. Did I do something wrong?
Matthew flashed him that wide, shy smile. Hanbin felt himself flush.
He’s definitely going to debut, Hanbin thought, and he’s going to be the visual icon of a generation.
“You really make my days beautiful, hyung. Thank you. Let’s debut together! But first, bring me my clothes. I forgot them on my bed!”
Hanbin closed his mouth and scoffed.
“So young and so rude!” he muttered, voice full of fondness.
He fetched the clothes, just as the others began filing into the room.
This became their thing. Hugging very tightly and for longer than necessary—only, usually, they were both actually dressed. That earlier incident? A once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. Surely never again, Hanbin told himself, even as he hugged Matthew from behind and felt him flinch in surprise.
They both understood it was better to steal hugs in private. So that also became their thing: escaping the ever-present cameras, the crowd of boys, the noise, just to press into each other for a moment.
It was Hanbin who first held him by the sleeve and gently led him away. He took several deep breaths, smiled, and praised Matthew’s dance performance.
The second time, it was Matthew. He looked at Hanbin with tired eyes, waited for the others to leave, then crushed him in a hug so tight Hanbin gasped. He complained about classes and focus and how nothing felt right in his head. Hanbin stroked his hair and let him ramble until he sighed and let go with a small smile.
The third time, Hanbin again—just before quarterly tests.
The fourth, Matthew sneaked them away from noisy roommates gaming on the floor.
The fifth, Hanbin was homesick after a call with his mom.
The sixth, Matthew got bad grades in Korean.
The seventh and eighth—small victories—were after good grades on the rest of their exams.
The ninth came when Matthew learned the company wouldn’t be choosing boys for debut this year.
The tenth, when Hanbin just wanted to feel Matthew close.
It was getting harder to find places to hug without fear. Not because touching was forbidden—skinship happened all the time—but something in Matthew was always braced. Guarded. He didn’t want to look weak. And hugging another boy so tightly he had to stand on his tiptoes, resting his full weight in Hanbin’s arms—that felt like weakness. Or worse, like something else.
Matthew liked Hanbin a lot, but he wasn’t ready to call it anything beyond a really great friendship. With the occasional appreciation for Hanbin’s face. Or body. Or voice. Or laugh.
Calling it anything more wouldn’t be good for anyone.
Canada had felt less scary. There, hugging boys didn’t come with consequences. Here, though—so many hormone-drenched teenagers, and slurs tossed around like breath. “Skinship” was something that made boys wrinkle their noses.
Matthew had too much on his plate already. The last thing he wanted was for Hanbin to get in trouble because of him.
***
So when hugging wasn’t safe, they started holding hands instead.
It was simple. Easy to hide. Less likely to be mocked.
Matthew loved holding hands with Hanbin. He thought Hanbin liked it too.
They didn’t talk about it—didn’t talk about hugging or touching at all—but Hanbin initiated just as often, and that made Matthew happy.
It calmed him. Grounded him. When anxiety surged or stress crept in, all he needed was Hanbin’s hand. If not the whole hand, a finger. Two fingers. Enough.
When Hanbin wore a ring, Matthew played with it. Sometimes he stole it, slipped it onto his own finger, spun it to soothe himself while Hanbin was called away.
Hanbin had his own habits. He liked to trace circles into Matthew’s palm. Sometimes he pressed his fingernail into the lines, reading something in them, like a map or a song.
Most of the time, they just held each other and drew strength from it.
Standing side by side, fingers twined—Matthew hadn’t known how important that would be.
He told his sister once. Just that they held hands sometimes. She’d been thrilled he’d found a friend. He didn’t tell her the other parts—how Hanbin’s thighs and neck made him lightheaded. Or how he could pick out Hanbin’s laugh in a crowd without trying.
He stopped at the hands.
He remembered the look she gave him through the screen, eyes squinting like a detective. “I hope he gives you strength,” she said.
Matthew nodded. Smiled. Repeated how his days were bearable because of Hanbin.
Now, standing next to Hanbin, watching an older group of trainees dance through their routine, he slid his hand around Hanbin’s forearm and squeezed.
Hanbin looked down and smiled, snuggling into his side.
Matthew leaned in, letting Hanbin’s warmth settle into his skin.
It really did make him feel stronger.
***
Matthew never had someone he could call his own. But he knew—somewhere deep in his chest, beneath the nerves and the doubt and the longing—that Hanbin was that person.
He was usually a jealous friend.
But with Hanbin, it was different.
He just knew.
They were special to each other.
And that felt right.