Work Text:
“Just this once”....
“Can’t you choose me?”
The more Matthew begged, the more desperate he sounded, each plea eroding what little dignity he had left. Jin had already punched him, shoved him away, and even kicked him when he tried to cling to his leg in a last-ditch effort to stop him from leaving. But it wasn’t the physical pain that cut Matthew the deepest—it was the sheer, utter rejection that each blow implied. Jin’s actions were a stark declaration that Matthew’s presence, his love, his very being, was something Jin couldn’t bear to endure any longer.
Jin’s face was turned away, his steps urgent as he headed for the door. That refusal to even look at him, to acknowledge his pain, was what truly tore at Matthew. It filled him with an inexplicable agony, one that went beyond the physical bruises. If Jin walked out that door, it might be the last time Matthew ever saw him. And the thought of that, of losing Jin forever, made the rejection feel like a wound that would never heal.
His mind flashed back to the chapel—the moment that had changed everything. Jin had killed the warden to protect him, an act so violent and decisive that it sparked something deep within Matthew. In that instant, Matthew felt like he mattered, like he was important enough to Jin to evoke such a powerful, visceral reaction. It was as if Jin’s fury was proof that Matthew was more than just a burden, that he had somehow become essential to Jin’s world.
That moment marked the beginning of Matthew’s fixation on Jin. Even as a child, seeing Jin—bruised and battered, yet still willing to go to such lengths to protect him—planted the seed of something deeper. The age gap between them was significant, Jin being nearly a decade older, but that only amplified the impact. To young Matthew, Jin wasn’t just a protector; he was a figure of strength and safety, someone who cared enough to fight for him when no one else would. It made Matthew believe that there was something special between them, something real, even if he didn’t fully understand it at the time.
But now, as Jin prepared to walk away, that belief was crumbling. This time, Jin didn’t make any promises. There were no reassurances, no signs that he would ever return. And with each step Jin took toward the door, the hope that had once burned so brightly within Matthew began to fade, leaving behind only a hollow ache where his obsession had taken root.
This time, Jin didn’t even try to understand why Matthew had done what he did. There was no attempt to see past the anger, no effort to grasp the desperation that had driven Matthew’s actions. Jin’s anger was justified, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. What devastated Matthew most was the way Jin looked at him—as if he were no better than a stranger with ill intentions, someone not worth the time or effort to understand.
The disappointment cut deep, but it was the fear that truly paralyzed him. If Jin walked away now, Matthew knew he might never return. The thought of living without Jin again, of being left behind to wait for someone who might never come back—someone who might not even care enough to try—was unbearable. It gnawed at Matthew’s very core, a cold realization that maybe it had all been one-sided from the start. Maybe he had never been that important to Jin. The possibility that he was just another face in a sea of forgotten people left Matthew feeling hollow and alone, more so than ever before.
His mind drifted back to that intimate moment, the one where they were tangled together in a desperate need for each other. Matthew had dared to whisper Jin’s full name, hoping it would bridge the gap between them, making the moment more than just physical. But instead of the connection he craved, Jin had responded with a cold, detached “Boss.”
The word hit Matthew like a slap, shattering the fragile illusion he had been holding onto. In the heat of the moment, Jin’s mind was probably hazy, his guard down. But Matthew knew that the slip wasn’t just a coincidence. Jin had called him “Boss” because Matthew had used his full name, just as Brandon, Jin’s former boss, used to do.
Matthew felt a sharp pang of hurt, realizing that even in their most vulnerable moment, Jin’s thoughts had drifted to someone else—to a man who had once held more than just Jin’s loyalty. It was as if, in that instant, Matthew had been replaced by the ghost of Brandon, the one who had a history with Jin that Matthew could never fully understand or rival.
Calling him boss wasn’t just a slip; it was a reminder that no matter how much he tried, he could never escape the shadow of Jin’s past. Jin wasn’t just putting up walls—he was keeping Matthew at a distance, reminding him of his place, reminding him that he would never be the one Jin longed for. The realization twisted like a knife in Matthew’s chest, leaving him to wonder if he would always be a mere substitute for someone Jin had truly cared about.