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(Matthew’s POV)
Matthew assumed the best. Always had. That’s just the type of person he was.
When tension crept in, he’d laugh it away, fill the silence with something bright and harmless. But even he couldn’t smile past the way Hanbin had stopped seeking him out like he used to.
After practice sessions that left their muscles screaming, Hanbin would find him. After interviews where Matthew second-guessed every word, after long days that stretched into forever – Hanbin was there.
Sometimes they didn’t even talk. Just existed in the same space, close enough that Matthew could feel his best friend breathing, could feel that quiet understanding: we’re in this together.
That comfort had been his anchor. Reliable. Unquestioned.
But lately–
Hanbin lingered by Hao’s side when they returned to the dorm. He drifted toward Gyuvin during rehearsals. And that would’ve been perfectly fine, if it wasn’t also for his text responses growing shorter, stripped of warmth. His laughter becoming measured, like he was rationing how much of himself he could afford to give.
He was still there, technically. Still showed up for schedules, still participated in group chats, still ruffled Matthew’s hair during shoots. But there was a careful distance now.
Matthew figured he was overthinking it. Maybe he was creating problems where none existed.
But maybe he wasn’t.
Because distance didn’t always announce itself. Sometimes it just happened – quiet, gradual. You didn’t notice until you reached for someone, offering pieces of yourself the way you always had, just to find only air.
Weeks passed like that. Matthew stopped trying to decode it. Stopped waiting for someone to see what he was.
Until the night everything shifted again.
Their latest music show win had the whole dorm buzzing with energy.
The mood in the dorm was light – pizza boxes stacked high, snacks scattered across the table, someone blasting a half-finished playlist from the living room speaker. The kind of night where you could forget about the pressure.
It felt like old times.
Matthew nursed his soju slowly, the burn spreading throughout his chest as he watched his members laugh and joke around him. Even Hanbin seemed more relaxed, cheeks flushed pink from just two cans of beer.
“Lightweight,” Matthew said when Hanbin nearly knocked over his drink.
“Hey, I’m pacing myself.” But Hanbin’s words came out slightly slurred.
Matthew reached for a slice of pizza to offer him, but Hanbin just stared at it, glassy-eyed.
“You okay there, hyung?”
Instead of answering, Hanbin’s hand landed on his knee, gaze locked onto him – too focused, too steady for someone who could barely sit straight. Matthew almost choked on his breath.
“You know, I… I’ve been thinking…”
“Uh oh. What about?”
Hanbin leaned in just a bit, close enough for his breath to brush Matthew’s cheek.
“How come you never ask me stuff?” He mumbled.
Matthew blinked in surprise, half-dazed from Hanbin’s proximity, half-amused. “What do you mean? I ask you things all the time.”
“Not like… the important things. Like why I’ve…” Hanbin gestured vaguely, nearly hitting his own face. “You know. This.”
“I have no idea what you’re saying. You’re drunk. Maybe we should get you some water–”
“I’m only a little bit drunk.” Hanbin’s fingers tightened around his arm. “But that’s exactly… when I’m sober, I can’t– you make me want to say things I shouldn’t.”
Matthew wanted to laugh it off again. But there was something in Hanbin’s voice that had shifted – gone quiet and serious, that made him hesitate. “Like what?”
“Stuff that’d make everything worse. And like, you’re always here,” Hanbin said quietly, shaking his head. “With me. Even when I’m...” He trailed off, then giggled under his breath. “Sometimes it’s not easy. When you’re– you know?”
“No, I don’t. Because you’re not making any sense.”
“I… I notice. The way you wait up. The way you watch me… like you’re making sure I’m still breathing.” He looked at Matthew then, unguarded. “I see you.”
Matthew’s mouth went dry. He didn’t know what to say to that.
“You make it hard,” Hanbin murmured. “To keep things… the way they’re supposed to be.”
“Hyung, I’m so confused right now.”
Hanbin leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Do you ever think... if everything was different… if I were different–” he paused. “Do you think about us?”
Matthew’s throat closed. His hand, still holding the soju can, had gone numb. “What about us?” he managed to ask.
“Just you and me. That maybe we–” Hanbin’s eyes started fluttering shut as he listed sideways slowly. “Uh…”
“No, wait. What do you mean?”
“I think about it sometimes. What’s…” Hanbin’s head dropped heavily onto Matthew’s shoulder, then his hand tapped clumsily against his own chest. “What’s here.”
“Hyung?”
But there was no answer.
“Hyung?”
He was asleep within seconds, leaving Matthew alone with whatever that whole thing was.
Matthew sat frozen, their fingers tangled together. Didn’t even remember when they held hands.
He didn’t know what to do. Wake Hanbin up? Shake him and demand he say it again, make it impossible to misunderstand? Or forget he ever heard any of it?
But Hanbin’s breath had already gone slow and even against his neck, and Matthew didn’t move. He stared that Hanbin’s sleeping face instead, replaying every word. Trying to make them mean something.
He knocked back the last of his soju.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, maybe Hanbin would remember.
And things would be different.
Matthew woke with a stiff neck and Hanbin’s weight still pressed against his side.
He’d barely slept, maybe an hour or two. Just enough to make the headache dull instead of sharp. Not enough to get rid of last night – quiet words, slurred breath, all those things Hanbin had almost said. Half-assed and ambiguous.
He just sat there and willed Hanbin to wake up and remember. To turn to him right now and say: I meant it.
Hanbin stirred then. Stretched. Groaned and blinked blearily at the room. He rubbed his face with one hand and looked at Matthew with the same lazy smile.
“Morning.”
“Hey.” Matthew’s voice was carefully neutral.
“Ow, my head.” Hanbin winced, shielding his eyes against the light. “What happened? Why are we on the floor? Please tell me I didn’t do anything embarrassing.”
Something cold dropped through Matthew’s stomach. Hanbin didn’t remember yesterday. Or was pretending not to. He didn’t know which one would hurt worse.
Why would you say those things if you didn’t mean them? Were you scared? Was it a mistake? Or was it just the alcohol? Did you forget the second you fell asleep?
Questions upon questions built up, but the words stayed trapped in his head.
“Nah, hyung. You just rambled a lot. Nothing crazy.”
“Thank god.” Hanbin laughed, rubbing his temples. “You know I always get weird when I’m drunk.”
Matthew forced a smile. “Don’t worry about it.”
He needed to act normal, but he couldn’t forget how Hanbin had looked at him. How his voice went low.
So he stood. Started picking up empty cans and bottles, moving on autopilot.
Hanbin hummed something tuneless behind him, a plastic bag already rustling in his grasp. Unaware that anything had changed.
Maybe it was easier this way.
Maybe some things were always going to end like this.
The days that followed were quieter.
Not in volume because idol life never was. But in something more subtle. Something that sat beneath the noise. Barely visible. But spreading.
The drifting continued. Nothing from that night had changed anything. In fact, it just got worse.
Hanbin stopped sitting beside him in waiting rooms unless someone else called him over. He chose the chair across the table now. Not far, just… far enough. Their post-schedule walks back to the dorms grew shorter. The little shoulder bumps Hanbin used to give after a joke? Gone.
And it wasn’t that Hanbin was cold. He was still Hanbin – polite, smiling and laughing in the right places. But something in him had turned in on itself. Recoiled. Retreated.
And Matthew, who used to read Hanbin without trying, now felt like he’d lost the page entirely.
Maybe it had been a gradual thing, long before those drunken words. Maybe the world had made them cautious, careful. Maybe they’d both gotten too good at pretending.
Or maybe it was just Matthew.
Maybe he’d ruined it by saying nothing. Not the next day, not after. As time went by, the thought of confronting Hanbin seemed more and more like a gamble. And Matthew couldn’t bring himself to force it.
He told himself he could live with it. To take the silence for what it was and let it dull into the background. But every time Hanbin’s eyes slid past him like he was just part of the furniture, something inside Matthew twisted tighter. Snappier. Meaner.
He was angry. Not in the way that made you yell – but the kind that burned slow. Quiet. Like a fuse running out of road.
Because he’d done everything right. Stayed steady, didn’t push, let it go. And still, it felt like he was being punished.
He almost broke once.
They were crammed into the van after practice, legs tangled, windows fogged from the rain outside. Someone was playing a voice memo off their phone – lyrics for the new chorus – and everyone was offering half-baked feedback between yawns.
Matthew hadn’t said much. His head was leaning against the cool window, eyes half-shut, mind elsewhere.
Until Hanbin called for him.
Casual. Too casual. “Mashu, do you have the third version of your draft? I think the melody was different.”
Matthew looked up slowly. Hanbin wasn’t even facing him, just scrolling through his phone, distracted. And for a second, the words were right there. You don’t get to act like we’re okay when you’ve been disappearing.
But he didn’t.
Instead, his jaw locked tight. His hand curled into a fist around his jacket sleeve. And when he answered, his voice came out a little too brusque.
“I sent it to the group chat,” he said. “Days ago.”
Hanbin blinked at him. “Right. Sorry. Must’ve missed it.”
Matthew didn’t respond.
No one else in the van seemed to notice.
He turned back to the window and said nothing else.
Baking was supposed to be a distraction.
But the flour wouldn’t cooperate, eggshells kept breaking wrong, and his stupid hands were shaking and he just–
Matthew finally slammed his palm against the counter. Once. Twice. Then he shoved the mixing bowl hard enough that it rang against the sink, spinning before it clattered to its side. Too loud.
Footsteps came down the hall seconds later.
“Is everything okay?” Hanbin appeared in the doorway, hair sticking up, eyes squinting against the kitchen light.
Matthew just stood there, staring at the mess he’d made.
“What’s wrong?” Hanbin asked. He didn’t come closer.
“What does it matter?” Matthew spun around sharply. The words came out harsh, but he was past caring.
Hanbin blinked, taken aback. “Huh?”
“What does it matter if I’m okay?” Matthew repeated. He wiped at his face with the back of his hand, getting flour across his cheek.
“Of course it matters.”
“Well, you barely talk to me anymore. So I’ll give you an out. Just say you don’t really care and go.”
“That’s not true,” Hanbin started, defensive. “I do care–”
“Then why don’t you act like it?” Matthew’s voice rose. “Your words and your actions don’t match up, and it’s been driving me insane.” He took a breath, unsteady.
“Where is this even coming from?” Hanbin ran his hands through his hair in frustration.
“That night,” Matthew completely ignored him. “When you were drunk– you said things. Big things. Do you even remember?”
Hanbin’s face went blank.
“I guess not.” Matthew scoffed, shaking his head.
“I… I didn’t mean to say any of that.” Hanbin mumbled, almost regretful.
That was the worst thing he could’ve possible said, because that meant–
Matthew stumbled backwards, feeling like someone just reached into his chest and squeezed. “So you do remember,” he whispered. “I thought you got too drunk and forgot.”
“Not exactly.” He faltered, eyes darting around searching for something to help explain.
“Got it, hyung. It was a mistake.”
“No, I didn’t mean– I meant…” His hand lifted, then dropped. “I wasn’t planning to say anything like that. Not like that.”
Matthew clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“You don’t understand–”
“You’re right, I don’t! Because you won’t tell me anything.”
“It’s complicated, okay?”
“Why? Why is it complicated? Do you think I like feeling like this?”
“I’m trying, Matthew.” Hanbin's voice was louder now.
Matthew let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I’m sure.”
“You’re not exactly easy to talk to either.”
“And whose fault is that?” Matthew took a step closer, furious now. “Because ever since that night, you’ve been avoiding me like I did something. I don’t know where I stand with you anymore – and honestly? Maybe I never did. I’ve gotten this all wrong from the beginning, apparently.”
Hanbin looked away, jaw working. “You’re making this more than it is.”
“You can’t be that blind, hyung! You’re the one that started it.”
“Enough! We’re not doing this right now.”
“Why do you get to decide?”
Hanbin made a sound – half groan, half growl. “You know, sometimes you can be so–”
“So what?”
“Exhausting!”
Oh.
Matthew flinched at how much it stung. Hanbin might as well have slapped him across the face.
“Good to know, hyung.” He took more steps back.
Hanbin paled instantly. “Wait, I didn’t– that’s not–”
“What do you even want from me?”
“I feel like you’re shutting out what I’m trying to te–”
“You shut me out first!” The words tore out of him.
Neither of them spoke.
“You stopped coming to me. You stopped looking at me. You stopped waiting for me.” Matthew continued, voice trembling now. “And then you dropped a bomb when you were drunk, acted like you forgot– and I’m just supposed to pretend nothing happened?”
“That’s not fair…”
“None of this is fair!” He let the words hang there, “You said I was exhausting.”
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
“But you said it.” Matthew’s voice broke. “Thanks for finally being honest, I guess.”
The door was three steps away. He just had to make it three more steps.
He turned away before Hanbin could see his face crumple, before the tears came.
The lights above the stage blazed hot enough to feel, the air warm with sweat and sound. Music pulsed through the floorboards, vibrating up through Matthew’s legs as thousands of screaming voices merged into one roar.
Matthew hit his mark at the front, muscle memory carrying him through the choreography. He loved moments like this – the rush, the feedback, the shared euphoria with the audience.
This was what they dreamed of. This was what they worked so tirelessly for.
The cheers should have filled something in him. They usually did. That’s what kept him going through the exhaustion, the ache in his calves, the way his lungs burned.
It should have mattered, standing up here.
It didn’t.
Tonight, it was just more noise that washed over him.
They hadn’t spoken in a while. Not since Matthew had said everything he maybe shouldn’t have.
Hanbin moved beside him now, hitting every beat a half-second too precise, like he was counting instead of feeling. Matthew knew that body, knew when Hanbin was lost in the music and when he was just performing. This was performing.
Matthew swallowed against the heartbeat in his throat. He forced himself to look forward, to smile at the sea of phones and light sticks.
Everything next happened so fast.
Movement at the barricade – security lunging forward, voices fierce with warning. Their attempts to push back the crowd grew more frantic. A commotion broke out towards the front, and Matthew’s head turned toward it just as someone barrelled into him from behind. Like he was an object in the way.
The ground left his feet as he stumbled over an edge. His side slammed into something unforgiving – metal, part of the stage scaffolding – and pain exploded through his ribs. His head cracked against the beam. The sound was wet and wrong, felt more than heard, and then everything went black for a moment.
He was on the floor.
When had that happened? Something hot trickled down his temple. His chest wouldn’t expand right, each breath stopping short like his lungs had forgotten their job.
Pain.
“Matthew! Matthew, hey–” Hanbin’s face swam into view, features tight through the fog. His hands hovered. “Can you hear me?”
Matthew tried to answer. His mouth opened but nothing came out except a weak sound that might have been a whimper. His vision kept doubling, two Hanbins leaning over him with identical expressions of panic.
“Don’t– don’t try to move.” Hanbin’s hand finally landed on his shoulder, feather-light. “Look at me. You’re hurt. Just… just stay still, okay?”
The pain was everywhere and nowhere, a full-body throb that made it hard to tell what hurt worst. His ribs screamed when he tried to breathe. The stage floor was cold against his back, but Hanbin’s palm on his shoulder was warm, the only steady thing in a world that wouldn’t stop spinning.
“Hyung.” The word barely made it out.
“I’m here.” Hanbin’s thumb moved against his shoulder, small circles Matthew couldn’t really feel. “You’re going to be fine.”
(Hanbin’s POV)
The ambulance bay doors slammed open, flooding the interior with harsh light. Hospital staff swarmed immediately, a controlled chaos of scrubs and clipboards. Someone was asking Hanbin questions – Matthew’s name, date of birth, medical history – and he answered on autopilot while his eyes tracked Matthew’s stretcher disappearing through double doors marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
A nurse touched his elbow. “You can’t go back there yet. They need to stabilize him first.”
“I’m–” He cleared his throat. “I’m his emergency contact. I need to–”
“I understand. Someone will come get you as soon as possible.” She guided him toward a waiting area, handed him a clipboard with forms he couldn’t focus on.
Hanbin sat. The plastic chair was uncomfortable, or maybe that was just his body finally registering the adrenaline crash. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He looked down and noticed some of Matthew’s blood had dried brown under his fingernails.
Thirteen minutes.
That’s how long it took before someone called his name. It felt like hours. By then, manager hyung had arrived with a change of clothes and more documents.
When they finally let Hanbin into recovery room, Matthew was on a bed with rails looking impossibly small, hospital gown replacing his stage clothes. An IV drip stood sentry beside him. The doctor – young, efficient – rattled off the diagnosis while making notes on a tablet: fractured rib, two more badly bruised, mild concussion. No internal bleeding, which was ‘fortunate.’ They’d need to monitor him for a few days.
Hanbin barely heard any of that. Manager hyung would’ve caught it for the both of them.
The doctor left at some point. The door clicked shut, and suddenly the room was too quiet, just the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and Matthew’s careful breathing.
Hanbin pulled a chair to the bedside, its legs scraping the floor. Matthew’s eyes were closed, but his jaw was clenched, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. The pain medication was wearing off. Hanbin could tell by the way Matthew’s shoulders had started to curl inward, protecting his ribs.
“Hyung.” Matthew’s eyes opened, unfocused and glassy. “It still hurts.”
The words were so simple. So honest.
Hanbin’s hand found Matthew’s, threading their fingers together the way they used to before everything got complicated. Before Hanbin had made it complicated.
“I know,” he said quietly. “Just squeeze my hand when it gets bad. I don’t care how hard.”
“Don’t wanna hurt you.”
“I don’t care. It’s you.”
He reached up with his free hand, fingers trembling as he brushed Matthew’s temple, careful around the bandage there. Matthew leaned into the touch like he was starved for it, and maybe he was. Maybe they both were.
“Hyung’s got you,” Hanbin whispered. “It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to cry. I’m not going anywhere.”
Something broke in Matthew’s expression. His face crumpled, and then he was crying – tears coming fast, and it was clear he was trying really hard not to sob because that would’ve just hurt more.
His grip on Hanbin’s hand turned crushing, and Hanbin let him.
The hospital room was too quiet. Hanbin had been sitting in the same plastic chair for hours, his spine aching, the sterile smell burned into his nostrils. The heart monitor beeped steadily beside Matthew’s bed – the only sound that kept Hanbin’s thoughts from spiralling completely.
Matthew lay on his good side against the white sheets, face pale but finally peaceful now that the stronger painkillers they’d requested for had kicked in. The worst was over. The doctors had said so. But Hanbin couldn’t shake the image of Matthew crumpled on the stage, couldn’t unhear the sound of his cry.
He’d never felt so helpless in his life.
“We were fighting,” Hanbin said suddenly, his voice tense from hours of emotion he tried to keep down. “Before this happened. Do you remember?”
Matthew looked up from his phone, still slightly dazed but aware. He nodded slowly.
“I don’t want to do that anymore.” Hanbin’s throat tightened. “I’m tired of lying to both of us.”
Matthew frowned then, tried to focus on him. Waiting.
“I’m sorry,” Hanbin said, and the words felt inadequate for everything he’d put them both through. “The truth is – you were right, I pushed you away.” He had to look down at their hands that were still linked, couldn’t meet Matthew’s eyes. “And I shouldn’t have.”
“Why?”
“I was scared of… something I was feeling. Scared of what it meant for us, for the group, for everything we’ve worked for.”
“I was always waiting–” Matthew’s voice cracked slightly, dry. “The whole time, I was waiting.”
“I didn’t want to lose you.”
The silence stretched between them. Hanbin waited for Matthew to pull away, to tell him it was too late – but he didn’t.
“Then why did make me think that you forgot, hyung?”
“I did, at first. Forget.” A bitter smile tugged at Hanbin’s lips. “But once I remembered, I couldn’t pretend it didn’t matter. It made everything–” He gestured helplessly between them. “Real.”
“Why didn’t you just talk to me?”
“Because when I knew that you knew, it was just different. You’ve never been like everyone else to me, Matthew. Not once.”
The younger man’s breath caught. “What now, then?”
Hanbin wasn’t sure what came next, but he was certain that this was a moment he needed to face now.
“I know I hurt you. I know I–” His heart hammered in his chest. “I messed us up.” He swallowed hard, taking a deep lungful of air. “But I want to make it right. If you’ll let me.”
Matthew’s eyes softened, though something guarded remained in his expression. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to hear that.” He paused, his gaze searching Hanbin’s face. “But I need you to mean it. I can’t– I can’t do this if you’re going to disappear on me again.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“And I think you’d know by now that I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know,” Hanbin leaned closer, the gravity of the moment pulling him in. “We’ll take it one step at a time. Whatever we are, whatever we become, I want to figure it out.”
Matthew’s fingers tightened slightly around Hanbin’s. “So you feel it too, right?” He looked at Hanbin with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. “This thing between us – you feel it the same way I do?”
Hanbin almost laughed. “I just said all of that and you’re fact-checking me?” But his voice was soft, threaded with affection. “Yeah, I feel it. I felt it so much that I couldn’t think straight – that’s how I messed everything up so badly in the first place.”
“Good.” Matthew’s voice went smaller. “Because for a while there, I thought maybe I’d imagined the whole thing.”
Now this, Hanbin had never been surer of anything else in his life. “It’s real, Seokmae-ah. We’re real and… I– I like you. A lot.”
“I like you a lot too, hyung.”
(Matthew’s POV)
Matthew stared at his phone as the company’s official statement went live. The comments loaded immediately – fans expressing concern, sending messages of support. The group chat was exploding about the public response.
He wasn’t surprised by the announcement, but reading it still felt like a punch to the gut. He’d always prided himself on being reliable, on pushing through anything. Sitting out felt like failure, even if logically he knew it wasn’t.
But Hanbin wouldn’t let him wallow in self-pity.
“You’re not giving up,” Hanbin said one evening, Matthew’s head resting against his shoulder. “You’re just making sure you can actually come back.”
“When did you get so good with words? That’s usually on paper.”
“I’ve always been good with them. You just choose what goes into that cute head of yours.”
“That’s fair.”
The days blurred together. Some mornings Matthew woke up and could breathe without wincing; other days, just rolling out of bed made his ribs scream. But every day was progress, even when it didn’t feel like it.
The doctor had said six weeks minimum before returning to full activity. He was determined to make it five.
Hanbin came by almost every evening after practice. Sometimes he’d bring food, sometimes just his laptop and a pair of headphones. They’d sit together on the couch, not always talking, just existing in the same space. Matthew never realized how much he’d enjoy that.
They were taking things slow, figuring things out as they went – what changed, what stayed the same. There were still moments of uncertainty, instincts from years of friendship colliding with this new awareness of each other. But there was also a sense of rightness, like they’d finally stopped fighting something that was meant to be.
One evening, after another long day of aching ribs and restless sleep, Matthew found himself stretched out on the couch with his head on a pillow. Hanbin sat beside him, fingers carding absently through Matthew’s hair, and Matthew felt himself relax.
“Hyung, are you sure you don’t mind? You’ve had a long day.”
“I want to be here,” Hanbin said quietly, fingers still moving through Matthew’s hair. “I told you – I’m not going anywhere. I like being with you. And I’m just glad you’re getting better.”
“It’s weird,” Matthew murmured, voice heavy with sleep. “I know this whole thing was awful, but...” He hesitated. “If it hadn’t happened, we probably would’ve never gotten here. We would’ve just danced around each other forever, then finish our contracts, go our separate ways and–”
“Yah!” Hanbin interrupted him, genuinely concerned. “Don’t say that. Now we have to go to the temple to apologize for tempting fate and ask for forgiveness.”
Matthew laughed, shifting to press closer against Hanbin’s side. “My life would be so boring without you.”
“Your life would be a disaster without me.”
“That too.”
Hanbin looked down at him, his expression tender. “You won’t have to wonder what that would be like for a long time though.”
“Just so you know,” Matthew said with a sly grin, “you’re never getting rid of me. You’ve set a precedent. I’m going to expect this level of service for life.”
Hanbin flicked his forehead lightly. “Guess I’ll just have to deal with it then.”
Matthew stood outside the practice room, hand on the door handle. He could hear music thumping inside, the familiar rhythm of their latest choreography. His ribs gave a dull twinge – a reminder, but not a warning.
Hanbin appeared beside him. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Matthew took a breath. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
Hanbin’s hand found his, squeezed once, then let go before pushing the door open.
The practice room felt different when Matthew walked in, though nothing had physically changed. The familiar mirrors and sound system looked exactly the same. His members looked up from their stretching, faces lighting up.
“Mashu!” Gyuvin launched himself across the room, wrapping Matthew in a careful but enthusiastic hug. “You’re actually back!”
“Easy,” Hanbin said, immediately at Matthew’s side. “He’s still healing.”
“I’m fine,” Matthew laughed, even though the impact had made his ribs protest just a little.
He didn’t mind Hanbin’s hovering either – it felt like being cared for, not controlled.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this, bro?” Ricky asked, studying Matthew’s face.
Matthew waved a hand. “Doc cleared me. Plus I was going crazy just sitting around.”
Gunwook moved in for his own hug, gentler than Gyuvin’s but just as tight. “We missed you, hyung. It wasn’t the same.”
“Missed you guys too.” Matthew’s chest felt warm. “Now can we please dance? I need to make sure I remember how my own feet move. The rizzler needs to get back to work.”
They eased him back into the routine gradually, adjusting choreography when needed, making sure he didn’t push too hard too fast. But it felt incredible to be moving again, to be part of the synchronized whole that was their group.
During a water break, Matthew noticed Gyuvin watching him and Hanbin… amused. When Hanbin stepped away to check his phone, Gyuvin sidled over.
“So,” Gyuvin said, failing to be subtle. “With all that time you keep spending together, you and Hanbin hyung seem even closer now.”
Matthew took a long drink from his water bottle. “Uh-huh.”
“Like, exceptionally close.”
“Is there a point to this, Gyuvinnie?”
Gyuvin’s grin widened. “I’m just saying, we’re gonna need to start charging him for VIP Mashu access at this rate.”
Matthew choked on his water. “You’re ridiculous,” he managed, shoving Gyuvin’s shoulder.
“But I’m right.”
Matthew didn’t deny it.
Later, as they filed out of the practice room last, Matthew felt a familiar hand slip into his. He glanced over to find Hanbin looking at him with a small smile.
“Ready to go home?”
Matthew squeezed his hand. “With you? Always.”