Work Text:
Matthew's POV
The dorm felt too quiet these days. The kind of silence that clung to your skin, made your lungs work harder. Something waiting to break. The inevitability of ZB1’s end loomed over everyone.
Matthew sat cross-legged on his bed, the heater buzzing dully in the corner. His fingers hovered above the wallet he rarely brought out anymore. Tonight, the weight of it felt unbearable.
He flipped it open, and there it was. The letter. Folded so neatly, just like Hanbin always did when he took things seriously. The edges had softened with time, but the paper still held memories of Cube.
God, Cube. A lifetime ago now.
Matthew unfolded it carefully, creases aligning like old wounds. Hanbin’s handwriting hadn’t changed – clean, deliberate, every stroke like he meant it. And he had. Back then, everything between them had been uncertain. They didn’t know if they’d ever see each other again. Debut, the future – all of it had been shots in the dark.
And yet Hanbin had written this letter like a promise.
Matthew swallowed. It had sounded so full of hope then. Now he only saw the fragile ifs scattered through every line.
The walls blurred. His vision stung at the edges. He didn’t cry – not fully. Just let the ache sit there, familiar.
He didn’t hear the door open, just the shuffle of footsteps after. When he looked up, Hanbin was standing there. His eyebrows lifted, gaze dropping immediately to the letter.
Matthew froze, the paper half-folded in his lap.
“You kept it.” Hanbin’s voice was soft, almost wondering.
Matthew looked down. His fingers smoothed over the fold, again and again.
“I didn’t know it would still hurt like this,” he admitted. “Back then I thought if we made it… if we actually debuted together, it’d be enough. That we’d have time.”
Hanbin stepped into the room, closing the door with a quiet click. He didn’t sit, just stayed near the doorway, watching.
“But we do have time,” he said carefully.
Matthew let out a dry laugh. “Not enough.”
Hanbin’s shoulders dropped. For a second, he looked like he might reach for Matthew but he seemed to stop himself. He didn’t answer. And Matthew hated that too – that even Hanbin had nothing.
“I think,” Matthew said slowly, “what I hate the most isn’t that it might end. It’s that it’ll end while I’m still not ready. I’m not even close.”
“I know.”
Matthew looked up. For a moment, they just stared at each other. No pretending. Just the two of them, stripped down to this.
Hanbin crossed the room and sat beside him. He didn’t try to take the letter.
After a long pause, Matthew spoke. “Do you regret it?”
“Writing the letter?” Hanbin asked.
“No. Everything after.”
Hanbin shook his head immediately, firm and sure. “Never. Not even once.” His hand found Matthew’s wrist, fingers curling around it. “Not one second of it.”
The letter went back into the wallet that night. Matthew tried not to look at it again.
Time didn’t stop, even when it felt like it should.
The countdown to disbandment wasn’t loud. No headlines, no dramatic speeches. Just slower goodbyes. Tighter hugs. Everyone pretending not to notice how long the silences stretched.
Managers started mentioning ‘future plans’ and couldn’t quite meet their eyes. Members lingered after practice, no one willing to be the first to leave. Someone always brought up maybe when they talked about next year.
Maybe we’ll still work together.
Maybe we’ll stay close.
Maybe.
Matthew hated ‘maybe’.
He hadn’t meant to turn bitter. But every time someone mentioned the future like it was already written without them in it, something inside him twisted.
Gunwook noticed first, tried reaching him in quiet corners. Caught him after practice several times. They’d started staying up later together, talking about nothing and everything. But there was only so much he could do.
It started small. Snapping at a vocal coach. Gripping his mic too tight. Tossing his water bottle against the practice room wall. Then it seeped into how he talked to Hanbin.
Hanbin wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was just being himself – focused, serious, calm in a way that used to ground Matthew. Now it just made him feel like he was the only one losing his mind.
“Again, from the second chorus.” Hanbin’s voice was clipped. Everyone was trying to get through final rehearsals the best they could.
Matthew’s jaw clenched, tugging his sleeve up roughly. “Why? That wasn’t even the problem.”
“It’ll feel smoother if we link that section again.”
“Or we could not waste time redoing something that’s fine.”
The room went quiet. The other members glanced between them.
“I’m just trying to make it better.”
“Yeah? You think you can do that? Fix everything?” The words came out harsher than Matthew intended. He knew it the second it left his mouth. He wasn’t even talking about practice anymore.
Hanbin stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s nothing, my bad. Can we just–”
“Outside, please. Now.”
Hanbin didn’t wait, just walked towards the door because he probably knew Matthew would follow.
He did.
In the hallway, Hanbin stopped, turned to face him. “What was that back there?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Come on, Matthew.”
“I’m just tired.”
Hanbin’s gaze softened slightly, “I know you’re scared.”
“Aren’t you?”
Hanbin was quiet for a moment. “Do you want to go for a drive?”
“What?”
“Like we used to. Just drive.”
Matthew hesitated. That used to be their thing – when everything got overwhelming, Hanbin would grab the keys and Matthew would follow. They hadn’t done it in months. Maybe longer.
“Okay.”
They drove in silence for almost an hour. Out of Seoul, past the same stretches of road they used to take after late-night training.
Hanbin’s hands stayed steady on the wheel. Matthew stared out the window, watching the lights blur into streaks.
“Talk to me,” Hanbin said quietly, eyes on the road. “I don’t– I don’t know how to reach you.”
Matthew wanted to say something again. But the words wouldn’t come.
Hanbin didn’t push.
They eventually pulled over at a lookout point they hadn’t been to since trainee days.
Matthew got out as soon as the car stopped. Hanbin wasn’t far behind.
They stood side by side against the railing, looking out at the glittering city below. Matthew wasn’t really seeing it.
The question had been building in him for weeks.
“Why did you make me stay, hyung?”
Hanbin’s head jerked in surprise. “What do you mean?”
Matthew slammed his palm against the railing.
“I could’ve gone back to Canada. Maybe that would have hurt less than this. But you–” His volume was getting louder. “You said we could do this together. You asked me to try one more time, and I did. I thought if we made it through that, we could make it through anything.”
“We are making it through this.”
“Are we?” Matthew laughed sharply. “Debuting with you was supposed to make it easier. But it made it worse, hyung. I see you every day and now all I think about is how much it’ll hurt when I can’t anymore.”
Hanbin’s forehead creased. “Why would you think we wouldn’t still see each other?”
“Because it happens! Okay? Groups disband and people drift apart.”
Matthew reached up and tugged the chain around his neck, revealing two silver rings. Two matching sets that they’d made together. He held them up like evidence, accusatory. “And why did we make these? Why did we even agree to this?”
“Because they mean something,” Hanbin’s voice cracked. “What are you trying to say right now?”
“These promises! Why did you suggest making them if you knew we couldn’t keep them?”
Hanbin looked at him then. Eyes wide and hurt. “That’s not why– that wasn’t the point. They were supposed to remind us– it was something special, just between us. I thought that was enough.”
“If I were Hao,” Matthew laughed again, bitter now. “Your perfect other half. Would this be enough? Would you be as scared as I am now?”
“Don’t do that,” Hanbin’s voice shook, anger and disbelief all at once. “You really think that’s what– that’s not fair.”
“You don’t understand!”
“Maybe you should go to Gunwook then! He seems to understand you so much better than I do these days.”
“Do you know why?”
“What are you even talking about?”
“Because you–” Matthew gestured helplessly. “I’m losing my mind. I’m scared, and you keep pretending like everything’s gonna be fine! Like none of this matters.”
“I’m not pretending!” Hanbin snapped, but his voice broke at the end. “But I can’t– I can’t be everything for you. I can’t carry this alone. I can’t always be the one keeping us together.”
And then:
“I can’t always be responsible for you, Matthew!”
Something inside Matthew crumbled there and then, and he went still. He’d never heard Hanbin sound like that.
Hanbin looked at the ground, breathing hard. He didn’t take it back. When he looked up again, his eyes were wet. “I can’t do this right now. I can’t–”
He turned and walked back to the car, fast.
Matthew stared after him. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know!”
Hanbin climbed into the car and slammed the door.
Matthew stayed rooted in place.
The engine started. Headlights flicked on.
That’s when Matthew finally snapped out of it. The car was already pulling out slowly, tires crunching over gravel.
“Hyung! Wait–” He started running, “Don’t leave me here!”
Through the windshield, he could see Hanbin’s hands gripping the steering wheel. For a second, the car halted. Matthew thought maybe he’d change his mind, come back.
Then it rolled forward.
His footsteps slowed… then stopped.
He could’ve chased – would’ve probably caught up. But his feet wouldn’t move.
The taillights disappeared around the bend.
Hanbin had never walked away from him before. Not once. Not even during their worst days.
And now he was standing alone, shaking. The cold cut through his jacket, but he barely felt it.
He didn’t know if Hanbin was coming back.
Hanbin's POV
Hanbin drove with something constricting his lungs. Streetlights swept across the windshield in rhythm – on, off, on, off – like seconds ticking.
He didn’t know where he was going. Just away.
A kilometre passed. Then another.
The road curved, the tunnel of his headlights cutting through nothing he recognized.
He’d thought the anger would cool once he was alone. It didn’t. His breath came faster instead, shallow. His knuckles tightened until his hands ached.
Matthew’s face kept flashing in his head – hurt, so hurt. Frozen in the rearview, growing smaller until Hanbin couldn’t see him anymore. The sight had twisted Hanbin’s stomach, but his hands stayed stubborn on the wheel. He wasn’t going to stop. Not after he’d already left.
But every second away felt more wrong, the cold weight of what he’d done crawling up his spine.
Then it hit him all at once, stealing his breath–
What did I just do?
Why didn’t I stop?
He should’ve stopped. Should’ve slammed the brakes and run back. But he hadn’t. He’d left Matthew behind. After everything they’d built, everything they’d fought for and survived – he’d just driven away.
His words still rang in his ears. I can’t always be responsible for you, Matthew.
But he was, wasn’t he? He’d carved out that position in Matthew’s life with his own hands.
His foot slammed on the brake. The tires shrieked, and the seatbelt bit into his neck as the car lurched to a stop. Hanbin sat there panting, heart crawling up his throat. He whipped the car around and sped back toward the lookout.
His pulse hammered in his ears.
The parking area was empty.
No silhouette against the railing. No movement in the shadows.
Then he saw Matthew’s phone in the cupholder. Shit.
Hanbin drove back the way he came from, slower now, eyes raking over every sidewalk, every shadow pooling under streetlights. He rolled past empty bus stops, dark storefronts, a park with no one in it. Anywhere Matthew might’ve gone.
Nothing.
Ten minutes turned into twenty. Thirty.
He drove the same stretch three times, throat getting tighter each pass.
Where the hell did you go?
He rolled the window down. Cold air rushed in, biting at his face. “Matthew!” His voice was swallowed by the wind. He sounded desperate. He was desperate. Hoping the universe would throw him a bone and just point him in the right direction.
The road curved again.
His headlights caught something up ahead – red taillights, too many of them, clustered together. People standing on the shoulder.
A dented car. A toppled scooter. A small crowd gathered around something – someone – on the curb.
His whole body went cold, fingers going numb. He just… had a feeling.
He didn’t even pull over properly – just jerked the car to the side, engine still running, and threw the door open. His legs were moving before his brain caught up, bolting toward the scene.
Please be okay. Please, please be okay.
The prayer looped in his head, frantic and aimed at no one.
Don’t let that be the last thing we said to each other.
“Excuse me–” Hanbin pushed past someone’s shoulder. “Sorry, can I just– I need to–” He grabbed onto a stranger’s arm, “What happened? Is someone hurt? Plea–”
And there he was.
Matthew. Sitting on the curb, shoulders hunched under a foil blanket, face pale in the flashing lights. A paramedic crouched beside him, but Matthew wasn’t looking at her.
“He’s my best friend,” Hanbin explained quickly as he ran past an officer who tried to stop him. His legs nearly gave out as he reached Matthew. His knees hit the ground the moment their eyes met.
“Hyung?”
“Are you hurt?” Hanbin’s hands moved on instinct – checking Matthew’s head, knees, arms, his wrists. Turning them over to look for cuts, blood, anything broken. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.” Matthew’s voice came was barely louder than the idling ambulance behind them. “It wasn’t bad. The car clipped the curb. I was just in the way.”
“Don’t–” Hanbin choked out. “Don’t ever disappear like that again. I was coming back. I was always going to come back.”
Matthew’s eyes were red-rimmed, and his lips quivered. “But you just drove away.”
“I know,” Hanbin whispered. “I know. I shouldn’t have. I’m so sorry.”
“I really thought you didn’t care anymore.”
Matthew’s quiet sob hit him harder than anything else.
Hanbin took Matthew’s hands. They were freezing. “No,” His grip tightened. “I care so much it scares me. I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.”
“I’m sorry… for how I’ve been acting.” Matthew’s voice wavered. “For what I said. For– I don’t even know why I said it. I didn’t mean any of it.”
“I didn’t mean any of it either,” Hanbin shook his head, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m scared too. I just didn’t want to say it out loud. I’ve been terrified this whole time. Of losing this. Of losing you.” In ways I don’t know how to face yet.
Matthew collapsed forward then, and Hanbin caught him, arms wrapping tight around his back. He could feel Matthew shaking. Around them, the paramedics were still talking, radios crackling, but all of it felt far away.
“You’re not just anyone, Seokmae-ah. You and me – we’re just different.”
“It means we’ll find a way, right?”
Hanbin pulled back just enough to look at him. “Right. And I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future, but I know this.” His voice went hoarse. “Hyung will always come back for you.”
Matthew nodded, voice steadier now. “Then I’ll wait.”
His hand drifted to the chain around his neck, fingers brushing the rings. They caught the light from the ambulance, spinning slightly. Hanbin saw it and now they felt like a reminder. Not of permanence, but of the certainty of choosing each other time and time again.
They didn’t talk about it afterward.
Not because it didn’t matter – it did. Of course it did. They just didn’t need to.
The silence between them changed. It wasn’t heavy anymore.
It was just like… before.
Hanbin would catch Matthew’s eye in the mirror during rehearsal and feel something ease in his chest. Matthew would lean into him during water breaks, shoulder pressing against his, and neither of them would move away.
The end was still coming. Every stage, every practice – they all had an expiration date now. No one wanted to say it aloud, but that didn’t make it less true.
The waiting room before their last pre-recording was quiet. Hanbin sat in the corner, picking at a loose thread on his jacket. His mind kept drifting forward – past tonight’s stage, past the final bow, past the point where ZB1 would exist only in memory.
Movement across the room pulled his attention.
Matthew, standing by the mirror, fingers wrapped around his necklace chain. He was looking down at it, turning the rings over in his palm.
Then he looked up. Caught Hanbin watching.
And smiled.
It was small, a little shy – unmistakably his. It reminded Hanbin of home.
Hanbin pulled his own chain from his pocket. The rings were warm from being pressed against him all day. He thought they’d feel different now – heavier, maybe, after everything.
But they didn’t.
They just felt like they were his to wear again.
Neither of them said anything.
They just put the rings on. Not for show. Not for the fans. Just for them.
Matthew’s fingers grazed his wrist as he passed as they headed to the stage – light, quick, probably accidental.
But Hanbin felt it down to his bones.
The lights dimmed. Hanbin moved to his mark, the rest of the group filing into formation around him.
Matthew was just behind him, close enough that Hanbin could feel him there even without turning around.
The crowd was a blur of blue light and noise, faces indistinct under the glow of their light sticks.
Their final intro echoed through the arena, and the crowd roared.
Just before the lights came up, Hanbin glanced back.
Matthew was already looking at him.
Their eyes met, and Matthew’s lips moved – too quiet for anyone else to hear, but Hanbin caught it.
“I’ll choose you, hyung. Even after the lights go down.”
Hanbin’s chest tightened, but this time it didn’t hurt.
He smiled.