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🦋🦋🦋
Matthew might have told a tiny, minuscule, itty-bitty little gray lie during his Boy’s Planet star level test. He’d wanted to impress the judges and what he’d said had technically been true— he does speak French.
Just, not very well. Not fluently, that’s for sure, but really that isn’t Matthew’s fault. He blames the Canadian education system and the fact that French class was always during the period before lunch so he was too hungry to concentrate on vocabulary or verb conjugations.
But now millions of people have seen that clip of him introducing himself in three languages and he’s sitting on a variety show, bright lights shining down on them, and being asked to say something in French.
Matthew blinks quickly and rubs his sweaty hands on his knee and wishes the floor would open up and swallow him.
“Matthew-ssi,” the MC says, a wide smile plastered across his face, “can you speak in French for us?”
“Sure,” Matthew says in Korean, forcing a grin. All his band mates are looking at him and the lights are blinding and way too hot, the collar of his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his neck. “Uh, what should I say?”
“Anything you like!” The MC announces cheerfully, giving him an encouraging nod. All the members lean a little closer and Matthew can feel the cameras zooming in as he thinks and thinks, wracking his absolutely empty brain for something, anything to say.
He glances side to side, looking for any hint of encouragement, but Taerae is playing with his microphone. On his other side Jiwoong leans in a little, his hand warm and comforting on Matthew’s shoulder, just like how he’s touched the younger boy so many times.
Suddenly, looking at Jiwoong’s calm smile and feeling his reassuring presence, Matthew knows what to do.
“Bonjour,” he says, focusing only on Jiwoong and trying not to let the trembling of his heart show in his voice, “je m’appelle Matthew. Je suis enthousiaste d’être ici avec vous.”
“Wow!” The MC exclaims, clapping along with the female host. “Amazing! Say a bit more for our audience, Matthew-ssi.”
Matthew darts a nervous glance at the hosts and then turns back to Jiwoong, looking at his hyung to help him get through this. The older boy gives him an encouraging smile and squeezes his shoulder a little, bracing and warm.
The bright studio lights seem to turn up a notch, blotting out the background and the other members until all Matthew can see is Jiwoong. There’s almost a halo of bright white around his dark hair and the sharp cut of his jaw, his pretty face all that Matthew can see.
“T’es joli,” Matthew says softly without even really meaning to. All he can do is look at Jiwoong and think about how handsome his hyung is, how the warmth of the older boy's hand is bleeding into his shoulder. “T’es vraiment joli et j’adore tes cheveux.”
Jiwoong tilts his head to the side a little, dark hair shifting, but he doesn’t stop smiling at Matthew. The loud clapping of the hosts and the other members are what break him out of whatever reverie he’s fallen into, Matthew blinking away the dazzling white lights as he turns back to the cameras.
He’s so sweaty and nervous that he doesn’t say much for the rest of the interview, quietly listening to the other members speak and counting down the minutes until they can leave.
Matthew has no idea what came over him in that moment or why he chose to use his limited French skills to compliment Jiwoong and his hair. His heart keeps beating too fast in his chest and he can’t look the older boy in the eye even as they finally make it backstage, the blinding studio lights mercifully shut off.
The other members start to change into their regular clothes, chattering about the show and the game they’d played, but Matthew slumps against a cool wall and closes his eyes. He can’t believe that happened. He really, really has no idea why he did that.
“Matthew-yah,” a warm voice says and Matthew curses whatever higher powers might exist before he opens his eyes to Jiwoong leaning over him. The older boy has a hand braced beside his head on the wall, boxing Matthew in with his body.
“Are you alright?”
Matthew sighs, feeling limp and sticky with cooling sweat. He wants to curl up in a ball and hide away in his bed from the humiliation of what he’d said, but if there’s one thing he can be grateful for it’s that Jiwoong didn’t understand him.
“I’m okay, hyung,” he reassures, smiling slightly at Jiwoong so the older boy will stop looking so concerned. “Just tired— you know how it is.”
Jiwoong hums in agreement and straightens up, allowing Matthew to duck under his arm and head towards his own clothes.
It isn’t until they’re bundled up in the sleek black car and heading back to their dorm that the members seem to remember Matthew’s moment of trilingual skill.
“Hyung,” Yujin asks curiously, twisting in his seat to poke Matthew. The Canadian boy grumbles and opens his eyes sleepily, refusing to pick his head up from Zhang Hao’s shoulder. “What did you say, when you talked in French?”
Suddenly Matthew is very grateful that Jiwoong is in the other car. His stomach squirms uncomfortably but he fakes a yawn, pulling his hoodie up over his hair. “I just introduced myself,” he tells Yujin, settling back down to continue his nap, “nothing interesting.”
Matthew feels a little guilty and stressed for the next two days but when none of his members ask him more about the interview or what he’d said, he starts to settle down. They seem to have forgotten all about it and really, he’s barely said two sentences in French.
Matthew, foolishly, decides that that’s the last of it. Speaking French is a fun party trick he’d pulled out for Boy’s Planet but it’s over, now, and he and everyone else can move on.
🦋🦋🦋
“Matthew-ssi,” the host of today's show says, leaning in conspiratorially towards Mathhew like they’re sharing a secret. “I heard you have a special talent.”
“Haha,” Mathhew says, pretending to laugh even as his stomach wrenches, “and what could that be?”
“Oh, don’t be shy!” The host exclaims, wagging a finger at the camera like Mathhew really is being coy. “I heard your fans are crazy to hear you speak more French!”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Matthew says, turning red and sincerely hoping that everyone watching will genuinely think he’s shy. “I haven’t practiced in a long time.”
“Nonsense!” The host, who seems to be powered by the devil himself, chortles. “I saw a clip of you speaking French just the other day— we want a demonstration too!”
“Yeah, Matthew-hyung,” Ricky joins in, reaching over and poking him. “The fans want to hear you speak French.”
Matthew grits his teeth and vows to put Nair in Ricky’s shampoo bottle later. Smiling through the pain he straightens up, clearing his throat as he desperately searches for something to say.
Glancing around the colorful studio his eyes land on Jiwoong, the older boy sitting across from him in their circle of cushions. Jiwoong is wearing a pale pink shirt today that he looks particularly handsome in and there’s something about the way he’s leaning back on his hands, all relaxed grace, that makes Mathhew want to run his fingers through the older boy's dark hair.
He’s so pretty, Mathhew thinks, and before he knows it he’s opening his mouth and speaking directly to Jiwoong. “ T’es une fleur ,” he says, his mind blank, “ et je pense que t’es beau en rose .”
Jiwoong grins at him, a dimple low on his cheek, and Matthew flushes first hot then cold all over. He can’t believe he just said that— he can’t believe it.
“Matthew-ssi, that was amazing!” The host exclaims loudly, cheering along with the rest of the members. Matthew shudders and wrenches his eyes away from Jiwoong, staring at the host as his stomach drops into his toes. “I’m sure the fans will be so happy!”
“Yeah,” Mathhew agrees weakly, pushing his hair off his sweaty forehead and drawing his knees in towards his chest, “I hope so.”
Thankfully Zhang Hao raises his hand and pouts about the fact that he and Ricky also speak multiple languages, distracting the host successfully. Mathhew tunes everyone else in the room out even as Ricky and Zhang Hap give a demonstration of their native language, staring down at his clasped hands and wondering what the hell he’s just done.
He has absolutely no idea what possessed him to compliment Jiwoong or even say that specific sentence. Compliments like that definitely weren’t part of Madame Moore’s regular curriculum and even though the sentence hadn’t been particularly complicated, it still shouldn’t have risen so naturally to Matthew’s lips.
Why did he do that, he wonders as he sits on the cushion and barely participates throughout the rest of the interview. What drove him to say those specific words and to Jiwoong of all people?
Yes, their oldest member is kind and lovely and very handsome. He looks good in every color of the rainbow but especially pink— it makes his skin glow and his eyes sparkle. And his hair is so silky and soft, and he always smells like coconut and almond butter…
Mathhew shakes his head like a dog emerging from a bath, trying desperately to dislodge the strange thoughts. He has no idea what’s come over him— maybe he has low blood sugar.
The minute they’re backstage Matthew paws through the assortment of snacks laid out for them and opens a Snickers bar like his life depends on it, sighing when chocolate and caramel hit his tongue. After devouring the candy he does feel a little better, less shaky on his feet.
Still, he can’t help tugging on the back of Jiwoongs shirt as they file out into the parking lot. The older boy turns around, resting his hand on Matthew’s hip like it belongs there, instantly leaning into him.
“Hyung,” Mathhew breathes, a little taken aback at their sudden closeness. He can see the curl of Jiwoongs pretty eyelashes, the mole under his eye that just begs to be touched, “ah, hyung, I just— I like your shirt.”
He can feel his cheeks heating up with a blush but now that he’s been silly enough to share his thoughts, Mathhew just has to stand here in the hot summer sun and squirm under the weight of Jiwoongs eyes on him. He wishes the cement would open up and swallow him whole, or that he’d pass out from low blood sugar.
“Thanks, Mathhew-yah,” Jiwoong says easily, ruffling his hair with his free hand, “me too. Want to borrow it some time?”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Mathhew squeaks, very studiously not thinking about how Jiwoongs clothes would hang off his shoulders and slip down to his thighs. “I don’t know if pink is my color.”
“Of course it is,” Jiwoong laughs, slipping his arm around Mathhews shoulders and guiding him towards the approaching cars. “You look good in everything you wear.”
Matthew makes a weak little noise and easily allows himself to be pulled into the car and settled next to Jiwoong. The older boy even buckles his seatbelt for him.
🦋🦋🦋
Matthew makes it just long enough without speaking French that he gets lulled into a false sense of security. Once is a bit odd, twice even stranger but surely— surely he won’t be asked to demonstrate the language a third time.
As it turns out, he’s absolutely wrong. And this time is even worse. They’re on Eunchae’s Star Diary, the younger idol having managed to sneak into their dressing room before a M-Countdown performance.
She has a pretty woven picnic blanket laid out on the floor and she’s looking up at him with enormous, shiny eyes that remind him painfully of Yujin when he wants something.
“Please, Sunbaenim,” Eunchae is saying with a smile that looks like sunshine, “can you speak French?”
The other members, who Mathhew thinks sometimes have come into his life purely to torture him, poke him and add their own voices to Eunchae’s pleading.
“Okay, okay,” he relents at last, laughing a little because Hanbin is still tickling him. “I’ll do it! What do you want me to say?”
“Hmmm,” Eunchae says, her eyes sparkling, “compliment your members!”
Eight voices lift high in a chorus of agreements but Matthew pulls a face, pointing at his members. “Them?” He asks Eunchae, “are you sure? I don’t know if I can think of eight separate compliments.”
Gyuvin protests loudly and Yujin starts to grumble that he’s the cutest and Ricky starts giving his young and rich, tall and handsome speech, but Eunchae laughs.
“Okay, not all of them,” she agrees, “what about— Jiwoong sunbae?”
Jiwoong, who is perched on the arm of the couch next to Matthew, lifts his eyebrows. “Me?”
“Okay,” Mathhew agrees quickly, his heart quivering and doing strange little flips in his chest. “Jiwoong-hyung it is.”
Eunchae claps her hands, practically bouncing on the floor as they all quiet down and wait for Mathhew to start. He sucks in a steadying breath and twists to look up at Jiwoong, proud of himself when he only blushes a little.
The older boy looks curiously back at him, a half smile on his mouth. He’s as calm and composed as ever, extra handsome in a creamy white sweater with glitter dusted over his eyelids.
“Hyung,” Mathhew says and then hisses when Gyuvin pokes him and reminds him to switch to French. “I know, give me a second to think!”
“Hyung,” he repeats, tilting his head back a little more as he looks up at Jiwoong. Their hands, where they lay on the back of the couch, are almost touching; Mathhew would only have to twitch his fingers a little and then their pinkies would be kissing.
“ T’as de beaux yeux ,” he says quietly, staring and staring into Jiwoongs eyes. He knows he’s starting to blush, can feel his cheeks and ears turning pink, but he steadfastly looks only at the older boy. “ Je pense que t’es très mignon .”
Jiwoongs brows furrow a little in confusion but he’s still smiling at Matthew, still looking at him with his beautiful dark eyes. He leans forward a bit, into Matthew’s space, and their fingers brush atop the couch.
“Thank you, Mathhew-yah,” he says even as the rest of the boys whine behind him to find out what he said. “I don’t know what you said, but it sounded nice.”
Matthew hums, tilting his chin up a tiny smudge more as Jiwoong curves into his space. He thinks he might not be breathing anymore.
“That sounded so sweet, sunbae!” Eunchae chimes in, somehow smiling even brighter. “What did you say to compliment Jiwoong sunbae?”
“I,” Mathhew falters, his brain feeling like it’s lost in a haze of dark eyes and pretty features, “I just… I said hyung smells nice.”
“It’s so cool that you can speak three languages,” Eunchae continues, turning back to her handheld recorder and widening her eyes. “Awesome!”
“I speak three languages too,” Ricky pipes up from the other end of the couch. Eunchae turns to him and asks for a demonstration of his English, the rest of the members swiveling around too, but Matthew keeps looking up at Jiwoong.
The older boy’s fingers lie ever so lightly over his, warm skin pressed together atop the couch. His dark eyes are focused on Mathhew and he’s doing that thing where his lips curl up and he emanates absolute affection from every inch of his face.
“You think I smell nice?” Jiwoong asks softly, still leaning into Matthew.
Matthew, struggling to keep his heart inside his chest, nods a little jerkily. “Like coconut,” he whispers, swallowing loudly. “It’s nice.”
“Nice,” Jiwoong murmurs, his smile spreading and growing larger. “I’m glad.”
🦋🦋🦋
Matthew bangs his head against the wall in the bathroom after Eunchae leaves and then he goes on stage and sings alongside Jiwoong and he feels his heart slip a little deeper into love.
After that third time it seems that news of Matthew’s trilingual skills spread like wildfire within the idol world. Soon every interviewer, MC and host is asking him to show off his talent, clapping with joy when he actually manages to do it.
Matthew always kindof wants to clap for himself too. He’d only taken French for four years and really, he hopes somewhere in the world Madame Moore finds some videos of him speaking the language because then she might regret the B+ she gave him.
He hasn’t managed the future tense or passé composé and he doesn’t even consider trying to use reflexive verbs, but still Matthew thinks he’s doing quite well all things considered.
Sometimes during interviews or games he’s asked to teach the host or viewers a little French and so he brushes up on his colors and basic phrases. He remembers all the different ways to say hello and goodbye, and he even remembers the correct way to say how old he is.
Really, Matthew would be successfully pulling off his little gray lie— if it weren’t for Jiwoong.
He doesn’t know what makes him do it or what comes over him, but whenever he’s given freedom to speak in French he ends up complimenting the older boy.
It’s as if someone’s cast a spell so that when Matthew speaks French, he absolutely must tell their hyung how pretty he is, how much he likes his eyes and his smile. Matthew can’t defend himself because he has absolutely no control over what comes out of his mouth.
All he knows is that he looks at Jiwoongs handsome face or feels the warmth of the other boy's hands on him and suddenly he’s using his limited French vocabulary to compliment him and call him cute.
“ T’es charmante ,” he tells Jiwoong in front of a live audience of at least sixty people, bright lights shining on them and all their members watching attentively. “ J’adore ton sourire .”
The audience claps wildly and the hosts exclaim over his talent but all Matthew can see is the way Jiwoong smiles even brighter at him, dimples cratering his cheeks. Miserably red and sweaty, embarrassed all over despite the way he wants to kiss those dimples, Matthew looks away.
“ T’es tellement beau , hyung,” he whispers into the microphone of an ASMR interview, peeking up at Jiwoong from under his eyelashes. The older boy has his hair slicked back and is dressed in all black today and he’s so devastatingly handsome that Matthew aches to grace the sharp line of his jaw.
Jiwoong smiles softly at Matthew like he always does whenever he speaks in French and murmurs into the microphone in Korean. “I can’t understand, Matthew-yah, but that sounded so pretty. Everything you say in French does.”
You’re so pretty , Matthew thinks, but he manages to bite down on the words and keep them between his teeth.
Jiwoong reacts the same way to Matthew’s little party trick each time he demonstrates the language. He’s always smiling, always supportive, but he never asks Mathhew to tell him what he’s said. If the younger boy offers a translation he accepts it with a nod and another gentle compliment, but he never presses.
The rest of the members soon start to do the same, their curiosity about what Mathhew says fading away as he’s asked to show off the skill over and over. They believe him when he tells them he just says boring things and really, who’s going to know? It’s not as if any of them or their staff speak French.
Matthew grows bolder the longer the ruse goes on, becoming more creative with his compliments because he’s getting a little bored. Also, if he’s being honest, it’s fun to call Jiwoong beautiful straight to his face without worrying about any consequences.
“ Je pense toujours à toi ,” Matthew tells Jiwoong one morning as they sit in a game show booth, everyone around them watching quietly. His chin rests in his hand and he looks straight at the older boy as he says it, smiling a little. “ Tout le temps .”
Jiwoong, who is meant to be guessing what Matthew has just said, hums and shakes his head a little. “One more time?”
Matthew smiles wider and repeats himself, enunciating each syllable, speaking clearly and slowly. His heart hammers in his chest but he has no fear of being understood, not when Korean and French are so different.
Jiwoong hums again, tapping his fingers on the table as he thinks. He’s studying Matthew like he’s hoping for a hint but the younger boy just smiles at him, assured in his secrecy.
“I don’t know,” Jiwoong confesses at last, his shoulders slumping. “I really have no idea.”
The rest of Matthew’s team cheers as they’re awarded a point but he has eyes only for Jiwoong, the older boys' pretty lips pressed together as frowns.
“It’s okay, hyung,” Matthew comforts, reaching out and laying his hand atop Jiwoongs. “It was a hard sentence.”
“Someday,” Jiwoong threatens jokingly, flipping his hand over so he can lace their fingers together atop the table, “you’re going to have to tell me everything you’ve said in French.”
“Sure, hyung,” Matthew agrees, his stomach swooping as the feeling of their palms pressed together. “Someday.”
🦋🦋🦋
Matthew, without even realizing it, starts to allow his little moments of French to bleed into the rest of his life.
As he’s sitting down to watch a movie with Gunwook and Taerae, Jiwoong walks into their living room wearing an oversized sweatshirt and with his hair tied up into two ridiculous pigtails. He’s barefaced and he looks silly and young and so, so pretty.
The older boy flops on top of all of them, laughing as Gunwook and Taerae protest and try to shove him off, but Matthew’s heart is squeezing and fluttering in his chest.
“ T’es ma joie de vivre ,” he says under his breath, curling his fingers around one of Jiwoong’s shoulders and helping the older boy stay on the couch. Above the laughter their hyung doesn’t hear him but Matthew, immediately thinking through what he’s just said, turns a brilliant shade of red.
He’s quiet for the entire movie and feigns being sleepy when the three boys want to watch the sequel, stretching and yawning dramatically as he leaves the room. He brushes his teeth and splashes his still hot face with water, refusing to look at his reflection.
Matthew doesn’t want to face himself or think about what he’s just done— what he’s been doing. It’s so embarrassing, is the thing. And what if, someday, someone finds out? What if his members decide to learn French or look up translations for what he’s been saying?
Matthew shudders at the thought, his stomach going all quivery. That feeling only intensifies when he finds Jiwoong lingering outside his bedroom door, the older boy's hands tucked into his sweatshirt pocket.
“Hyung?” Matthew asks, a little confused as he stops walking. Jiwoong turns around and immediately his face softens, hands untucking to reach out for Matthew.
“You seemed a little off,” he explains as he gently reels Matthew in, tucking the younger boy into his broad chest. He smells wonderfully of coconut and laundry detergent, fresh and warm. “I wanted to check on you.”
“Ah, um,” Matthew says, burying his red face in Jiwoong’s chest and inhaling. Despite his worries he starts to relax, their busy day catching up to him as he goes slack in Jiwoong’s arms. “I’m okay. Just really tired.”
Jiwoong hums against the top of his head, one arm around Matthew’s shoulders and the other cuddled up against his waist. It’s a lovely way to be held, warm and comforting and intimate— Matthew only wishes Jiwoong would see him as more than a friend.
But really, he shouldn’t be greedy. His hyung is lovely and Matthew is so grateful to know him, so lucky to be in a band with him and be his friend. That’s enough for him. It has to be.
“You said something,” Jiwoong murmurs after a while, “in French. Why?”
Matthew freezes, his liquid muscles tensing. He blinks his eyes open and stares at the gray fabric of Jiwoongs sweatshirt, breathing light and raspy as he debates what to do.
“Really? Did I?” Matthew doesn’t feel great about lying but compared to the alternative— telling the truth and admitting to weeks of compliments— he’ll take dishonesty. “I didn’t notice.”
Jiwoong hums again, the hand around Matthew’s waist massaging his hip in what is probably meant to be a soothing gesture. It just makes the younger boy want to sink his teeth into Jiwoong’s collarbone. “My smart boy,” he murmurs, “speaking three languages.”
Matthew wants to sink to his knees and cry into his hands at being called my boy by Jiwoong, but he pulls himself together with force. His hyung doesn’t mean it that way and he knows it— Jiwoong is affectionate and sweet with all of them.
It doesn’t mean anything. Matthew’s traitorous heart has no reason to be fluttering like a butterfly.
Carefully he extracts himself from Jiwoong’s arms, wishing he could linger a little but knowing it isn’t right to do so, not when the embrace means different things to them. Matthew feels almost sad when he looks up at the older boy, barely able to twitch his mouth into a smile.
“Good night, hyung,” he murmurs, “ je vais rêver de toi. ”
And with that he enters his room, shutting the door softly behind himself. Matthew doesn’t see the way Jiwoong stands outside his door for a minute or two more, frowning at the piece of wood like it will answer every question in the universe for him.
🦋🦋🦋
One morning as Matthew sits slumped over their kitchen island, barely awake, his thoughts are so blurry and muddled that he starts to speak to Jiwoong in French without even really realizing it.
“ Tu me rends heureux ,” he says gratefully as Jiwoong sets a cup of perfectly made coffee in front of him, steam gently curling off the drink. He takes a sip and sighs loudly, working hard to keep his tired eyes open.
Jiwoong huffs a laugh and leans over the island on his elbows, smiling at Matthew and tipping his head to the side. His hair, just a bit longer, slides artfully over his pale neck and oh, Matthew badly wants to suck a bruise there.
He takes another gulp of coffee instead, scalding his mouth a little but at least the pain chases away any horny thoughts.
“You sound so different when you speak French,” Jiwoong murmurs, still watching him fondly. “Your voice gets deeper.”
“Really,” Matthew mumbles, hunching over his coffee cup. He desperately does not want to continue down this line of conversation.
“Say something else,” Jiwoong orders him, curling his long fingers around Matthew’s wrist. His touch is very warm in the cold morning kitchen, almost startlingly so, and Matthew jerks a little.
“Uh,” he says, coloring and blinking wide eyes at the smiling older boy, “uh, okay. Je…je suis le tien .”
“Pretty,” Jiwoong breathes, his smile widening. He’s still holding onto Matthew, still looking at him as if the younger boy is a beautiful flower. “And much deeper.”
Matthew ducks his pink face and considers going back to bed or pretending to be sick just so he can leave. Thankfully, Hanbin walks into the kitchen and saves him by immediately starting to loudly cook breakfast.
It’s only as Matthew sits at the island and stews in his own embarrassment that he has time to really think about what he’d told Jiwoong.
I’m yours , he’d said, I’m yours.
How mortifying. How absolutely embarrassing and awkward. How horrible, tragically true.
🦋🦋🦋
Matthew falls into an unfortunate habit of calling Jiwoong pet names in French whenever the older boy does anything even remotely cute. It starts off with just calling him mignon , over and over, because he likes the way his hyung smiles and ruffles his hair whenever he hears the word.
But then Matthew figures out that if he calls Jiwoong mon ange , the older boy will blink and look around and then grin at Matthew until his dimples are on display. The words taste lovely in his mouth— my angel— and if saying them means he gets to see Jiwoongs dimples, well.
The next pet name he tries is chouchou and it fits Jiwoong so well when he’s sitting on the floor of Matthew’s bedroom, bundled up in blankets and complaining about how he can’t breathe through his nose.
“ Mon chouchou ,” Matthew says fondly, pressing the back of his hand against Jiwoongs forehead as he feels for a fever, “you need to drink your tea. It’ll help.”
Jiwoong, who had been fervently resisting up until now, blinks at Matthew for a few seconds and then nods.
“Okay,” he says and raises the mug to his mouth, sipping the tea without any arguments.
Matthew’s so surprised that he forgets to take his hand away from Jiwoongs face, just letting his fingers stay pressed against the older boy's sticky skin. They sit like that until the mug is empty and Jiwoong sets it aside, sniffling heavily.
Even sick he’s so pretty; all flushed cheeks and bright eyes and ruby red lips that Matthew wants to kiss despite the risk of germ transmission. He thinks having a bad cold would be worth it if he got to kiss Jiwoong.
“What’s that mean?” Jiwoong asks, sniffling again and pulling his layers of blankets tighter around himself. “ Chouchou ?”
“My cabbage,” Matthew announces, holding back a giggle at the way Jiwoongs face immediately scrunches up. “What, you don’t think it’s cute?”
“No,” Jiwoong huffs, now trying to slither across the floor and away from Matthew. “Not at all. I like the other ones better.”
“Wait,” Matthew says through his giggles, grinning at a petulant Jiwoong. “Come back, my little cabbage. You have to take the rest of your medicine.”
Jiwoong huffs again and makes a very rude gesture with his hands even as he stops trying to escape, waiting patiently for Matthew to catch up.
🦋🦋🦋
Matthew slips up a little too much during one afternoon dance practice, but he’s tired and running low on energy and Jiwoong looks especially beautiful when he’s dripping with sweat.
The older boy is struggling a bit with a particular section of their choreo and so while everyone else goes to gulp water, Matthew stays at his side to help him. He studies Jiwoongs foot position and gives him careful instructions, guiding him slowly at first through the steps.
He watches the older boy run through the moves slowly twice and then turns his gaze to the mirror, studying Jiwoong as he dances. He tries very hard not to become distracted by the way the older boy's sweat-damp hair flicks over his face or the way his muscles pull the fabric of his shirt.
“ Chéri , not like that,” Matthew says when Jiwoong accidentally turns in the wrong direction. “Spin to your right, not the left.”
Jiwoong flashes him a smile in the mirror and then goes back to his dancing, Matthew watching attentively and continuing to correct any small mistakes. Really, though, the older boy has already improved a lot and Matthew’s sure he’ll be fine after a few more repetitions.
“Great job, hyung!” He says happily when Jiwoong finishes, holding his hands up for a double high five. “That was way better!”
“You’re a good teacher, Matthew-yah,” Jiwoong compliments, ruffling the shorter boy's hair. He wipes along his shining neck and collarbones with a towel, breathing hard, his hair still falling in his eyes.
He’s so attractive that Matthew really, really wants to lean into him and kiss him. He wants to feel the softness of Jiwoongs lips on his, wants to taste the salt of the older boy's sweat.
“I think I recognized that one,” Jiwoong tells him as Matthew brings two bottles of water over for them and flops down on the practice room floor beside his hyung. “That nickname? Chéri ?”
Matthew chokes on his water, barely managing to swallow it. His throat goes tight and he has to cough for a long while before he can breathe normally again, his eyes damp, but all of that pales in comparison to the panic in his chest.
“Really,” he manages to wheeze, squinting at a very pretty Jiwoong, “you did?”
Jiwoong hums, his throat working as he sips his own water. His legs are spread open in a wide V, feet thrown to either side of Matthew’s hips so that he’s bracketing the younger boy with his body. It’s a nice feeling.
“I think I heard it in a movie once,” he says, “what does it mean? You’ve never called me that before.”
“Uh,” Matthew says, his eyes twitching as every word he knows in every language escapes his brain, “uh, it means. It means— cherry!”
Jiwoong frowns, giving him a skeptical look. “Cherry?”
“Yeah,” Matthew says firmly, hoping cerise and chéri sound similar enough that Jiwoong won’t know the difference. “Cherry. Isn’t that better than cabbage?”
Jiwoong hums, still seeming a little disgruntled. “I guess,” he says at last, draining the last of his water and reaching out for Matthew’s bottle, “but I’d prefer something sweeter. What’s jagiya in French?”
Matthew feels like his heart has been pierced by an arrow. He stares at Jiwoong with enormous eyes as the older boy drinks more water, unsure if he’s understood correctly.
“Uh,” he stutters, pinching the inside of his wrist just to make sure he isn’t dreaming, “uh. Jagiya ?”
Jiwoong nods, staring at Matthew over the rim of the water bottle as he sucks hard, draining the last drops. The image elicits such a strong swell of heat in Matthew that he thinks he might have to leave the practice room and take a very, very cold shower.
“Something sweet,” Jiwoong repeats as he lowers the empty bottle from his red, red mouth. A bead of sweat trickles down the curve of his jaw and he wipes it away unconsciously, not noticing how it makes his skin shimmer. “And cute.”
“I don’t,” Matthew starts, wondering if his heart can survive this, “I don’t know. I’ll have to— I have to do research.”
“Hmm,” Jiwoong says, his eyes dark as he scans Matthew’s flaming face and reads whatever expression he’s making. “You do that, Matthew-yah.”
Matthew escapes the practice room a few minutes later when the rest of the members come back, muttering something to Zhnag Hao about the bathroom as he slides out the door. It takes him a long time to cool down and his shirt is soaked in icy water by the time he can finally, finally breathe without panicking.
🦋🦋🦋
Matthew leans back against Jiwoongs legs where they sit waiting for their turn to perform. They’re at Inkigayo and he’s incredibly nervous, in need of some comfort right now.
That’s why Taerae is holding one of his hands and Jiwoong is massaging his shoulders, the older boy projecting his air of calm to all of them. It isn’t enough to combat the nervous energy but Matthew would still rather be stuck like glue to Jiwoong than anywhere else.
“Mon cœur,” he murmurs as Jiwoong squeezes his shoulders one last time and then lets go, “don’t stop.”
Jiwoong bends over him, warm air brushing over Matthew’s air. The younger boy shudders and turns his head a little, instinctively leaning into Jiwoong. He’s desperate for the warmth of his body, desperate for his hyung’s steady presence.
“What did you say, Matthew-yah?”
“Don’t stop,” Matthew repeats, leaving off the nickname because it’s so affectionate that saying it had felt like scraping his insides raw. “Please.”
Jiwoong hums, considering. His warm hands drop back into Mathhews shoulders but he doesn’t sit up, their cheeks almost brushing together. “Say something else in French,” he orders, “compliment me and I’ll keep going.”
Matthew huffs a little and rolls his eyes and does a good job of pretending to be annoyed, but inside he’s excited. His heart flutters whenever he thinks about or speaks to or looks at Jiwoong and being granted the chance— no, commanded— to compliment him feels like a gift.
There’s a thousand things Matthew could say about Jiwoong and by the end of all those sweet words he would still have more praises to sing for his hyung.
“ Tu fais battre mon cœur, chéri, ” he murmurs softly, turning his head the tiniest inch more so that his cheek truly brushes against Jiwoongs. He can feel the scrape of the older boys stubble where he missed a bit of hair shaving, the warm inhales and exhales of his breath. “ Je veux être avec toi tous mes jours .”
Jiwoong makes a soft sound but his long, capable fingers start to massage Matthew’s shoulders and neck once more, dispelling all his tension. It feels lovely, made even better by the fact that he’s gotten to pour a little bit of his heart out to his hyung.
“That sounded so pretty,” Taerae says from his other side, looking up from his phone. “What did it mean?”
Matthew opens his mouth, no idea what he’s about to say, but then their manager opens the door and tells them it’s time to go. He’s never been happier to walk towards the stage and the fact that Jiwoong keeps his hands on Matthew’s shoulders, guiding him and holding him close through the crush of people, definitely helps.
🦋🦋🦋
At the end of their interview with Jonathan, Matthew is asked to show off his special skill. He groans a little as he stands up, then starts laughing when Jonathan plops a beret on top of his head and hands him a miniature French flag.
“You are now French,” the host declares, grinning as everyone else laughs, “speak your language!”
Matthew makes an exaggerated little bow and waves the flag around like his life depends on it, glancing around the room as he tries to think what to say.
As always his eyes are naturally drawn to Jiwoong and he softens at the sight of the older boy laughing with Yujin, both of them leaning into one another for support. Still looking at Jiwoong, admiring his broad shoulders and the sound of his happy laugh, Matthew starts to talk.
“ Je m’appelle Matthew, ” he says to the gathered men in the room, “ et je ne peux pas vivre sans Jiwoong hyung. Il est la lumière de mes rêves et de toutes les étoiles. Il est mon meilleur ami. ”
His heart thunders in his chest as he finishes speaking, the weight of the confession heavy on his tongue even if no one else understands the gravity of what he’s just said. Matthew forces a smile and bows once more before taking the beret off and returning to his seat.
Jonathan gets up and starts to make his clothing remarks, praising Matthew for his French skills even as Ricky and Gunwook do the same on either side of him. He can’t smile though, can barely even look up from his lap and his clenched hands.
He can’t believe he’s just bared his heart like that. Even though he knows no one in the room understood it’s still an awful feeling, scary and vulnerable.
And worst of all, Matthew knows— he knows that Jiwoong doesn’t return his feelings. The older boy might be his best friend and his dearest confidant, the person who can always make him smile or cheer him up, but that’s all they’ll ever be. Friends.
Matthew is so busy staring at his white knuckles and refusing to speak that he misses the way Jiwoong watches him.
The older boy is no longer laughing, no longer playing around with Yujin. All of his attention is entirely concentrated on Matthew, a bright awareness in his eyes.
🦋🦋🦋
One night, very very late, Matthew curls up in his bed across from Jiwoong and stares at his sleeping hyung. They’d had an absolutely exhausting day, dance practice and two interviews where he’d been asked to speak more French and then a meeting with management before dinner.
He’d said nonsense during the interviews, rattling off random basic facts about himself and then listing colors. He hadn’t left a single compliment or confession for Jiwoong and the older boy had been strangely quiet for the rest of the day, more withdrawn than usual.
Matthew knows it isn’t because of him but he’s still coaxed their hyung into his bed after dinner, asking for a nighttime cuddle. Now Jiwoong lies fast asleep under his blankets, his mouth parted as he breathes slowly.
He’s so beautiful. Matthew is so in love with him and so, so fucked.
“ Amour de ma vie, ” Matthew murmurs as he pillows his head on his hands, gazing at Jiwoong’s face. “What am I going to do?”
He’s answered by silence and soft breathing, one of Jiwoongs arms thrown haphazardly across the sheets. Matthew reaches down for it, ever so gently intertwining their fingers because he absolutely doesn’t want to wake Jiwoong up.
He’s too tired to hide the raw affection on his face and he has no way to explain it away if Jiwoong asks. Half of the time Matthew is only one bad decision away from kissing Jiwoong and so now, late at night and worn ragged, he isn’t sure he’d be able to lie.
Matthew takes a deep breath that’s only a little shaky and steadies himself, sweeping his thumb back and forth across Jiwoongs soft hand. He loves him— this beautiful man before him, this lovely person who is his friend and his hyung and his coworker.
Matthew is in love with Jiwoong and he’s finally going to tell him.
“ Je t’aime, ” Matthew murmurs, his heart shaking and trembling in his chest. He’s become so used to expressing his affection for Jiwoong in French that it's a habit now, the words natural on his lips. “ Je t’aime toujours. ”
Hot tears tremble on his lashes for a moment and then spill down his cheeks, soaking into the sheets and then disappearing as if they’d never existed. Matthew doesn’t bother to wipe them away— he just holds Jiwoongs hand and tells him throughout the night how much he loves him, how perfect he is.
🦋🦋🦋
Matthew smoothes his hands over his shirt as he examines himself in the full length mirror, feeling a little excited for this newest interview. It’s their first Elle Korea and from previous ones he’s watched, they seem fun and not too difficult.
He sees Jiwoong approaching in the mirror but stays still, not moving even as the older boy comes up behind him and wraps his arms around Matthew’s waist. He drops his chin to rest on the younger boy's shoulder and together they stare at their reflection, enjoying the moment of closeness.
“Ready, Matthew-yah?” Jiwoong asks, nuzzling a little against the side of the younger boy's neck. He shivers slightly and turns in Jiwoongs arms, leaning back against the hands on his waist as he glances up at his hyung.
“Always,” he reassures, the last of his nerves slipping away now that he’s being held by his favorite person. He scrunches his nose at Jiwoong and then laughs when the older boy pokes it, both of them smiling softly at one another.
Filing into the white room where their interview will take place, Matthew ends up sitting next to Jiwoong in the second row of stools. He’s more than happy about it and that happiness only grows when Jiwoong settles his hand on Matthew’s thigh, holding onto the younger boy just as he had during Boy’s Planet.
The interview starts with large questions flashing across a screen and mostly Hanbin and Gunwook and Zhang Hao answer them, the other members chiming in occasionally. Matthew is more than happy to sit there and enjoy the warmth spreading across his leg, leaning a little into Jiwoong as he takes advantage of how close together their seats are.
“What is your favorite nickname for each other?” Gyuvin reads off the screen a few minutes later and Matthew’s shocked when they all turn to look at him expectantly.
“What?” He says, genuinely confused. “Why am I answering?”
“C’mon,” Taerae says with an eye roll, “ you call Jiwoong-hyung fifty million different names in French. This question is obviously for you!”
“Oh,” Mathhew says, blinking and glancing over at Jiwoong who looks annoyingly calm. “Um… I don’t really have a favorite.”
“I do!” Yujin pipes up, wriggling around excitedly in his chair. “I like it when Matthew-hyung calls hyung chouchou ! It sounds cute!”
“Ooh, I like that one too,” Gyuvin agrees as Matthew blinks in astonishment. He hasn’t realized the other members had heard him use the pet names enough to actually remember them and have favorites.
“I think it’s cute when he calls hyung chéri, ” Ricky says, “it sounds like cherry.”
“That’s because it means cherry,” Yujin says, “duh, hyung.”
“I don’t know,” Hanbin says slowly, a devious smile spreading across his mouth as he twists back to look at Mathhew. “The best nickname might just be mon ange. It reminds me of ang—.”
“Okay,” Mathhew says hurriedly, waving his hands at his members who he hates (loves) and never wants to see again (can’t live without). “That’s quite enough. The question was for me, right?”
They all nod. Matthew considers not murdering them and instead, maybe, just not ever buying them dessert again.
“My favorite nickname for Jiwoong-hyung is mon chaton, ” he tells the camera, working very hard to keep a straight face.
He’d actually only called the older boy that name once and then had proceeded to turn such a bright shade of red that they’d had to delay a whole photo shoot; it hadn’t been his fault, though, not when Jiwoong had been wearing fluffy white cat ears and an honest to god collar.
Beside him Jiwoong hums and they all turn to look at the older boy where he sits comfortably on the stool, managing to almost recline. His side is pressed against Matthew’s thought and he’s still holding his thigh, pressing his fingertips in ever so lightly.
“I think my favorite nickname that Matthew-yah calls me,” Jiwoong says slowly, obviously considering, “is papillon .”
“Oh, yeah, that one’s pretty,” Gunwook agrees and everyone else nods, seemingly finally having reached a consensus. Hanbin reads the next question and the interview continues but Matthew is absolutely not paying attention anymore.
He’s too busy staring at Jiwoong. The older boy still seems very calm but he won’t look at Matthew either and the tips of his ears are a very pale rose.
Could he? Matthew wonders, hardly daring to allow the thought. Is it possible?
He’s only ever called Jiwoong papillon — butterfly— twice, and both times the older boy had immediately reached out and held his hand. It isn’t the most romantic of all the nicknames out there but it’s Mathhew’s favorite too, if he’s being honest, because it fits Jiwoong so well.
The older boy is as lovely and precious and unique as a butterfly. He is meant to be surrounded by flowers and sweetness and sunshine and, like a butterfly, Matthew’s time with him is fleeting.
After the interview is over Matthew allows Jiwoong to tug him off his stool and guide him back into their changing room, both of them quiet where their members are loud. Matthew settles on the couch in the small room and waits for Jiwoong to sit next to him, turning to the older boy with large eyes.
“Hyung,” he says quietly as Jiwoong settles in, their thighs and hips and knees pressed together. “Why did you say that?”
“Say what, Matthew-yah?” Jiwoong asks, tilting his head a little. He’s wearing a pale blue and white striped shirt today, a silver necklace glimmering at his throat, and he’s so pretty that Matthew’s hands ache to touch him.
“That— that you like it when I call you papillon ,” Matthew manages to choke out, his heart hammering like a drum in his chest. He’s so scared and so nervous and, more than anything, his chest is swelling with horrible hope.
Jiwoong blinks, long lashes casting very faint shadows on his cheekbones as he considers. “Because I do,” he says at last, reaching out and settling a warm hand over Matthew’s knee, “I like it. It’s my favorite name you call me.”
Matthew swallows even though his mouth is dry as a desert, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Around them the other boys are almost done getting changed, their stylists and managers already gone from the room.
“Do you—,” he starts, breathless and trembling, “do you know what it means, hyung?”
Zhang Hao swings his backpack over his shoulder and grabs Yujin, tugging the younger boy out of the room with promises of candy from the vending machine. Gunwook and Gyuvin, both scrolling on their phones, perk up at the idea and follow quickly, the door banging shut behind them.
Jiwoong’s other arm settles on the couch beside Matthew’s hip, his arm incredibly warm where it brushes against the younger boy's side.
“Should I know what it means?” He asks and Matthew almost screams in frustration.
“Hyung,” he murmurs instead, curling his shoulders a little as he unconsciously readies himself for the blow of rejection. “It— it means butterfly.”
Ricky slides quietly past them and out of the door, his headphones over his ears. Taerae follows after him, waving cheerfully at Matthew and Jiwoong on the couch but they don’t even notice. They’re too wrapped up in looking at each other, leaning into one another.
“Butterfly,” Jiwoong repeats, the corners of his mouth curling up as he looks at Matthew. “You’ve been calling me your butterfly?”
His stomach heaving like he’s about to be sick, Matthew nods jerkily. His hands are tangled together so tightly in his lap that they’ve turned white and bloodless, a horrible quivering in his chest that feels like dying butterfly wings.
He’s about to be rejected, he’s sure of it. Jiwoong is going to place him firmly back in the friend zone and this will all have been for nothing and he won’t ever, ever get to call his hyung any of those pretty French pet names ever again.
Hanbin is the last to leave the room, studiously ignoring his two members on the couch. He’s tapping furiously at his phone, telling the managers that they need to wait a while longer because one of them is stuck in the bathroom for an unmentionable reason.
On his phone is another chat thread, this time with Zhang Hao, and all Hanbin has to do is send a series of butterfly and fox emojis with a single heart. His hyung will know what that means.
Matthew stares at Jiwoong with enormous eyes, sick with waiting and sick to his heart with how much he loves the older boy. He knows all his hopes and dreams are about to be destroyed and yet— and yet…
“You can call me your butterfly whenever you want, Matthew-yah,” Jiwoong says softly, lifting Mathhew’s clenched hands to his mouth and kissing the cold, pale skin. “You can call me anything you like.”
It’s not exactly a rejection but it’s also not exactly a glowing admission of affection. Jiwoong is still just being a good friend, a good hyung.
“Sure,” Mathhew whispers very weakly, closing his eyes for a second when Jiwoong’s face becomes too painfully, overwhelmingly beautiful to look at. He can’t bear the softness in his eyes or the smile on his mouth, not when they’re all given in friendship. “Sure, hyung. Whatever you want.”
Jiwoong hums low in his throat and carefully lowers Matthew’s hands to his lap again, instead using his hand to cup the younger boy's face. His thumb strokes over Matthew’s jaw and the softness of his cheek, pressing in a little.
“Matthew-yah,” he says very softly, “ mon cœur . Look at me?”
Matthew is so startled by the touch that he opens his eyes on instinct, not really thinking at first about what Jiwoong had just said to him. Then he processes the words and jerks, his eyes flying wide in shock.
“What,” he gasps, his heart racing like crazy in his chest, “what did you say? What did you just call me?”
Jiwoong tilts his head a little, that same warm smile on his mouth. His eyes are practically dripping affection and he’s still holding onto Matthew, cradling his face like he’s the most precious thing.
“ Mon cœur ,” he murmurs, the syllables more beautiful in his mouth than Mathhew’s ever managed to make them sound, “my heart. Isn’t that what you are?”
Matthew stutters and gasps and feels his eyes fill with hot, prickly tears. “You—,” he says, almost hyperventilating, “you understand? You understand me?”
Jiwoong hums, lifting his other hand so he can cradle Matthew’s face between his palms. The action is full of so much gentleness and affection that Mathhew’s tears spill, wetting the older boy's fingers.
“I understand,” he murmurs, leaning in to very carefully kiss the salty wetness off Matthew’s cheeks. “I started learning French for you.”
Matthew almost sobs, finally untangling his freezing, numb fingers and lifting his hands to cover Jiwoong’s. Together they hold his face and Jiwoong gives him the time he needs, murmuring sweet words as he kisses away each of Matthew’s tears.
“ Mon amour, I’m sorry,” he whispers, nuzzling their noses together, “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I only wanted to surprise you.”
“You,” Mathhew gasps, so overcome he can barely see or speak, “you learned French? For me?”
Jiwoong hums, pressing his thumbs lightly into Matthew’s cheeks. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he says and there’s a little bit of amusement in his voice, “but if I’d known you’d react this way, I would have learned English.”
“No,” Mathhew hisses, clamping his hands down atop Jiwoong’s fingers and ignoring the older boy's slight laugh, “don’t even say that. This is the best— the best thing someone’s ever done for me.”
“Anything for you, ma fleur ,” Jiwoong whispers against his temple, pressing a light kiss to the cool skin. “ Je t’aime .”
Matthew makes a broken sound and slumps into Jiwoong’s chest, dropping his hands to the older boy's shoulders. He cries for what feels like ages, letting out the emotions he’s been bottling up for months now and keeping all to himself.
Jiwoong loves him. Jiwoong loves him. Jiwoong is holding him and rubbing his back as he cries, murmuring to him in French, using all the pet names on Matthew that Matthew had called him.
“I love you too,” Matthew manages to say through his tears, wiping his face on Jiwoong’s shoulder and then lifting it up. He’s sure his eyes are red and puffy and he knows that he doesn’t look pretty right now, but Jiwoong loves him.
And Matthew loves him back. His hyung, his best friend, his band member, his butterfly. Matthew loves him.
Jiwoong’s smile trembles a little but he just ducks down and presses a kiss against Matthew’s forehead, then the tip of his red nose, pulling him closer to his chest.
“ Mon amour ,” he whispers, “Matthew-yah, jagiya. Please don’t ever cry again.”
Matthew tries to laugh and instead ends up making a disgusting snorting sound that involves a fair bit of snot, but it doesn’t matter. Jiwoong loves him. He is Jiwoong’s love, his sweetheart, his Matthew.
“Kiss me?” Matthew murmurs, tipping his head back a little and blinking damp lashes at Jiwoong. “Please, hyung?”
Jiwoong nuzzles their noses together and then angles his face, pressing his mouth against Mathhew’s. They’re both a little damp with tears but still their first kiss is soft— soft and warm and sweet.
Matthew and Jiwoong lose themselves on the couch in the small dressing room for an indeterminable amount of time. They don’t worry about anything as they press their lips together again and again, as they murmur sweet words of endearment to each other in two languages.
Outside their members sit by the vending machine and pass around bags of candy, Zhang Hao and Hanbin hushing the younger members each time they ask when they can leave. Yujin falls asleep against Zhang Hao’s shoulder and Ricky and Gyuvin start to scroll through Twitter, their heads leaned close together.
“Hyungs,” Gyuvin says after a while, Ricky giggling at his side. “There’s a compilation on Twitter of all the times Matthew-hyung has talked in French— with translations.”