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Matthew’s POV
I get why he’s not the centre.
Matthew should just move his stiff ass aside.
Matthew’s thumb kept moving across the screen, each comment burning itself into his retinas. The words seeped deeper with every passing second, their poison finding new places to settle.
He knew he should stop – the rational part of his mind screamed at him to put the phone down, to walk away, to do literally anything else. But he kept scrolling, driven by some masochistic need to know exactly how much they hated him.
A need that had grown stronger over these past weeks.
Each comment landed like a precise strike to an already bruised ego. The pain had become a dull ache, something familiar he’d learned to live with. But familiarity didn’t make it right.
His breathing grew shallow. His shoulders crept upward, tension pulling tighter with each comment he couldn’t unsee. The empty common room pressed in on him. Even the silence felt heavy with accusations.
“Mashu.”
His entire body jerked, phone slipping from nerveless fingers to land face-down on the couch cushions. The sudden absence of blue light made the room feel darker.
“Hyung.” Matthew’s voice pitched higher than he intended. “Didn’t hear you come in.”
Hanbin stood in the doorway, backlit by the hall. His eyes went to the phone on the couch, then back to Matthew’s face.
“What were you doing?”
Matthew’s throat constricted. He opened his mouth to lie, to deflect, to do anything but tell the truth. Instead, honesty spilled out. “I tell the others not to look, but I do.”
Hanbin moved closer, footsteps soft on carpet. “I know.”
He tried to laugh. It came out wrong – flat and unconvincing. “I don’t want to. But it’s like–” He scoffed at himself. “It’s like I have to.”
“You’re punishing yourself.”
Matthew stared at his hands, fingers twisted together. Part of him wondered if they were right. If he did deserve some of it. If maybe the comments weren’t entirely wrong.
When Hanbin finally spoke again, his voice was softer than before. “You don’t need to do this, okay?”
“Yeah.” Matthew’s throat felt tight. “I’m fine, really. You don’t have to worry about me. Some days are just… harder.”
Hanbin studied his face, and Matthew had to resist the urge to run. Finally, he nodded, but his expression didn’t clear.
“Just remember you’re not alone in this.”
Matthew smiled, and this time it almost felt real. “I have you.”
Hanbin reached out and ruffled his hair. The familiar gesture pulled him back to earth, if only for a moment. “That’s right.”
Warmth spread through his chest. It wouldn’t last, but for now it was enough.
Hanbin’s footsteps faded down the hall.
Matthew’s eyes had already found his phone again.
The next day, during practice, Matthew caught himself checking his phone between water breaks. The comments from last night were still there, joined by fresh ones from the morning.
He thought about what Hanbin said. About not being alone.
But when he was alone – really alone, in the space between schedules where no one could see him – the phone always found its way back into his hands. The comments always found their way back into his head.
By the end of the week, he’d stopped trying to resist.
The comments didn’t stop. If anything, they multiplied, breeding in the dark corners of social media like a virus. They followed him everywhere, appearing in the periphery of his mind whenever he tried to focus on something else.
He’d grown numb to criticism of his dancing or vocals. Those were skills he could work on, improve, prove wrong. But the comments about who he was as a person, his worth, his existence in the group – those lodged somewhere deeper. Somewhere he couldn’t reach.
Just another guy riding on Hanbin’s coattails since Day 1.
He doesn’t deserve anything good coming to him.
Keep him away from the rest. He’s tainting their name.
Every time he speaks, it feels so forced. I wish he’d just stop talking.
Does anyone else think he’s only here because of Hanbin? Like be honest.
He tried to ignore them. But it felt like an addiction – he needed to see the next insult, needed to feel it land. Maybe he was testing himself, seeing how much he could take. Or maybe he was looking for the one comment that would finally make him stop caring. He hadn’t found it yet.
It was past midnight when Hanbin found him again, curled up in bed, phone tightly clutched in one hand.
“Matthew.”
Matthew’s stomach dropped. Not again.
He killed the screen and shoved the phone under his pillow. “I wasn’t– I was just checking–”
“Don’t lie to me. I saw.” Hanbin sat on the edge of the bed, close but not crowding. “Why are you doing this?”
Matthew picked at a loose thread on his comforter, eyes down. “I need to know, hyung. All of it. I have to see everything they say about me.”
“Why does it matter what they say? You know who you are. We know who you are.”
The laugh that escaped was sharp. “Because at least they’re talking about me. Even if they hate me, I’m still– if they stop, then I’m…” He trailed off.
“Then what?”
“Then I’m nothing.”
Hanbin’s hand reached for him – slow, careful. Matthew didn’t pull away. He couldn’t make himself reject it, even though part of him wanted to hide.
“Stop,” Hanbin’s voice cracked on the word. “You’re not nothing. You’re Seok Matthew, and you… I–” He paused.
“You don’t have to make me feel better.”
“I just need you to understand that you’re so much more than this. Than what they say. You have to know that.”
Matthew wanted to believe him. But the comments were louder. They’d taken up residence in his head, and he didn’t know how to make them leave.
“I’ll be okay.” The lie sat heavy on his tongue. “I’ll get over it. I always do.”
Hanbin’s hands gripped his shoulders – firm, grounding. “You’re not okay, Matthew. And you don’t have to hide it from me.”
For a moment, it felt like Hanbin wasn’t really there – like he was alone with just his thoughts and the phantom weight of a thousand cruel words.
Maybe Hanbin hyung’s right. Maybe I’m not okay.
But knowing something was wrong and being able to fix it – those were different things. And Matthew had no idea how to bridge that gap.
Hanbin didn’t leave. He stayed there on the edge of the bed, hand still on Matthew’s shoulder, solid and present even when everything else felt like it was slipping away.
Matthew closed his eyes and tried to feel it – the warmth, the pressure, the proof that someone cared.
But even that did little.
It used to do more.
Hanbin’s POV
It had been building for weeks, though Hanbin couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it started. Matthew’s changes arrived in increments so small that each one, alone, meant nothing. Together, they formed a shape Hanbin couldn’t identify yet.
At first, it was little things. Matthew had stopped humming during practice – those unconscious melodies that used to fill empty spaces while they worked had simply vanished. He picked at his food now, moving rice around his bowl more than eating it. When Gyuvin asked if he was okay, Matthew would smile and say he’d had a big lunch. When Gunwook offered him extra banchan, he’d wave it off with “I’m cutting back a little.”
And he had stopped saying goodnight.
Such a small detail, barely worth noting. But Hanbin had gotten used to those quiet moments before sleep, the soft “goodnight, hyung” that marked the end of each day. Now Matthew would just disappear into his room without a word.
Hanbin told himself he was reading too much into it. Then came the evening he walked into the living room expecting to find Matthew gaming or watching videos.
Instead, Matthew was sitting motionless on the couch, bathed in the blue glow of his phone screen. Not scrolling, not reading. Just staring at something with his thumb hovering over the screen like he’d forgotten how to move it.
“Hey.” Hanbin kept his voice light. “What are you looking at?”
Matthew’s head jerked up. For a split second, his face was completely blank – not surprised, not caught, just empty. Then something flickered back into his eyes, and he smiled.
“Nothing important. Just zoning out.”
The smile looked right. It had all the correct elements – the slight curve of his mouth, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes. But it reminded Hanbin of those deep-sea fish that evolved to look friendly in the dark.
Hanbin didn’t believe him, but he recognized the walls going up, the careful distance Matthew created when he wasn’t ready to be reached. So he stayed quiet and started watching more carefully.
That was the first time.
By the fourth week, Matthew started skipping movie nights. “I’m exhausted,” he’d say, but Hanbin would hear him moving around his room at two in the morning. His responses in the group chat grew shorter – full sentences became fragments, fragments became single-word reactions, reactions became nothing at all. During practice, he’d nail every move with precision while looking like he wasn’t even there.
But Matthew kept smiling. He laughed when Taerae made stupid jokes. He’d ruffle Yujin’s hair in passing. When Jiwoong asked if he was feeling okay, he’d flash that easy grin and say, “I’m good, hyung.”
That was the part that scared Hanbin the most.
Because Matthew was good. Good at pretending. Good at making it look like nothing was wrong. Good at hiding just enough that no one really noticed.
No one except Hanbin. Because Hanbin always noticed Matthew.
The phone became constant. Not casual scrolling – everyone did that – but something consuming. Matthew would hunch over it with his shoulders curved inward, making himself smaller. His breathing would go shallow and quick. He’d grip the edges so hard his knuckles went white.
Hanbin started noticing the pattern. He’d catch Matthew darkening his screen the instant someone entered the room. But when he thought no one was around, he’d look at his screen for thirty seconds, maybe a minute. Then his face would do something – a flinch, a tightening around his eyes, his jaw clenching. He’d swallow hard. Close his eyes. Then look again.
And again.
And again.
Afterward, Matthew’s hands would shake. He’d flex his fingers like he was trying to remember how they worked.
Hanbin didn’t know what to do. Every question felt like the wrong question. Too big, too intrusive.
So he watched. And waited. And hoped Matthew would reach out first.
He never did.
Saturday night, no schedules. A free day.
But Hanbin found Matthew in the kitchen at 11:30 PM, sitting at the table with his phone.
He wasn’t moving. Not scrolling, not typing, barely breathing. Just staring at the screen with the fixed intensity of someone staring into an abyss.
Again. Hanbin had stopped counting how many times he’d found him like this.
He crossed the kitchen and gently took the phone from Matthew’s hands, setting it face-down on the table. Then he caught Matthew’s wrists.
His skin was cold. His pulse hammered against Hanbin’s fingertips, fast and erratic.
Matthew went rigid. “Hyung–”
“Talk to me.” The pleading in his own voice surprised him. “Please. Don’t shut me out.”
Matthew exhaled shakily, the breath rattling through his whole body. When he spoke, his voice was so quiet Hanbin had to strain to hear it. “I–I don’t know how to talk to anyone anymore.”
The words didn’t make sense. This was Matthew – the same person who could charm interviewers in three languages, who made fans laugh with a single comment, who’d once struck up a conversation with an elderly woman at a bus stop and had her smiling within thirty seconds.
“Why?”
Matthew just laughed. A quiet one that said you wouldn’t understand and please don’t make me explain all at once. He didn’t answer.
“Okay, then don’t talk.” Hanbin tightened his grip. “Just be. Here, with me. Okay?”
Matthew closed his eyes. For a split second, Hanbin was terrified he would pull away, that this would be the moment he lost his hold on him.
But then Matthew’s fingers curled around Hanbin’s hands. Holding on. Holding back.
“Okay,” he whispered.
Hanbin didn’t let go. Not when Matthew shifted uncomfortably in his chair, testing the grip. Not when the silence stretched so long he could hear the refrigerator humming in the corner, could hear Matthew’s uneven breathing, could feel his own heartbeat in his ears.
He held on because he didn’t know what else to do.
The next morning, Matthew acted like nothing had happened.
He came to breakfast with damp hair and a clean shirt, made coffee for everyone, laughed at Gyuvin’s impression of their choreographer. When his eyes met Hanbin’s across the table, there was nothing there – no acknowledgment, no gratitude, no fear.
Just emptiness.
Three days passed. Then five. Then a week. Hanbin kept waiting for Matthew to bring it up, to acknowledge what had happened in the kitchen. But Matthew only retreated further – smiles brighter, laughs louder, every interaction feeling more scripted than the last.
Hanbin stopped sleeping well. He’d lie awake listening for sounds from Matthew’s room, trying to decode footsteps and door clicks, wondering if tonight would be the night Matthew finally broke.
But then–
They’d just finished practice – two hours of running the same formation until everyone’s shirts stuck to their backs and Gunwook started making mistakes from exhaustion. Jiwoong had called it early, and everyone filed toward the door in a tired, relieved cluster.
Hanbin was halfway to the hallway when something made him stop. Not a sound, not movement. Just… a feeling.
He turned around.
Matthew was still in the practice room, crouched on the floor gathering his things. But his movements were wrong – too slow, too mechanical, like he was moving underwater.
Then Hanbin saw his sleeve.
“Matthew.” His voice came out strange, tight. “What’s on your sleeve?”
Matthew froze. His head snapped up, and for a second, pure panic flashed across his face as he tried to hide his arm. But it was too late.
“What is that?” Hanbin repeated. “What happened?”
“It’s nothing. I just– I bumped into something sharp earlier.”
“Let me see.”
“Hyung, it’s fine–”
“Let me see it.” Hanbin crossed the practice room in four steps, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. “Matthew.”
Matthew’s jaw clenched. He looked at the floor, at the door, anywhere but at Hanbin. His hand trembled where it gripped his sleeve.
Finally, slowly, he pulled the fabric up.
The marks ran from his wrist halfway up his forearm – angry, messy scratches, some still raw, some already scabbing over. Deeper than they should have been. Too deliberate.
Hanbin felt like his lunch was going to come back up. He reached out slowly, giving Matthew time to pull away if he needed to. When Matthew didn’t move, Hanbin gently took his arm, turning it to see the damage in better light.
“I didn’t mean to,” Matthew whispered, voice breaking. “I didn’t even realize I was doing it. I just– my skin felt wrong, and I couldn’t–” His breath hitched and he stopped.
Hanbin couldn’t think, could only stare at the evidence of Matthew’s pain written across his skin. His vision started to blur. He had to concentrate on breathing – in, out, in, out – to keep himself steady.
“This isn’t you,” his thumb brushed the edge of one of the marks, so gentle it barely counted as touch.
But even as he said it, he wasn’t sure anymore. Maybe this was who Matthew had become while no one was looking.
Matthew pulled his arm back, tugging his sleeve down. Still wouldn’t look at Hanbin. Wouldn’t speak.
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the hum of the air conditioning and the distant sound of the others’ voices echoing from down the hall.
Hanbin didn’t know what else to say. So he settled for the only thing he could think of.
“I’m not leaving you alone tonight.”
“No! Um, I mean– no thanks, I’m good.”
“Seokm–”
He stopped himself when Matthew nearly tripped himself with how fast he tried to back away towards the door.
“I’ll see you later, hyung!”
Matthew’s POV
The hate comments had become Matthew’s truth, each one sinking in until he couldn’t tell where the strangers’ voices ended and his own thoughts began. They weren’t just reading his flaws – they were creating them, shaping him into the failure they believed him to be.
By now, he felt like an object passed between fan groups, something disposable they tossed around until the novelty wore off. Each ‘ship’ was a temporary haven until the fans decided he didn’t belong there either.
The ‘jakkkungz divorce’ comments had gutted him worst of all, turning his closest friendship into ammunition for strangers’ entertainment. They made him question whether the bond he treasured was actually a chain around Hanbin’s neck.
Why is Matthew still in the group? He’s not even that popular, and it’s obvious he’s there because of Mnet and Hanbin.
Hanbin’s probably annoyed with how much Matthew relies on him. It must be exhausting to have someone always clinging to you like that. You can tell he’s pulling away.
It’s like Hanbin has to babysit him, maybe that’s why they’re divorced now. Hao though, he just… fits naturally.
Hanbin shines more without him. They’re better this way.
The words replayed on loop, each repetition digging in deeper. Maybe they were right. Maybe he was deadweight, dragging down someone who deserved so much better.
The scratches healed, leaving faint marks that faded with time, but the urge never went away. If anything, it grew stronger. Most of the time, Matthew didn’t realize he was doing it. His hands would move on their own accord – fingernails digging into skin during stressful moments, scratching at his arms while scrolling through comments. Sometimes he’d wake up with dried blood under his nails, half-moons of broken skin on his forearms.
He’d only notice afterward, staring down at fresh marks with a mixture of horror and strange relief.
The damage was always done by the time awareness kicked in. All he could do was hide it. Long sleeves even in summer. Careful positioning of his arms. Mosquito bites, he’d say, when anyone looked too long.
Sleep became elusive, then impossible. Closing his eyes meant facing the chorus of voices telling him he didn’t deserve to be here. So he started taking the sleeping pills from the medicine cabinet. Just one at first. Just enough to fall asleep and stay asleep without the noise.
That night on the balcony, he’d taken more than usual. He thinks. Enough to finally quiet the voices, enough to make the city lights blur into something almost beautiful. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept properly. He was so tired.
The cold air bit at his skin, but he barely felt it. His fingers were numb where they gripped the railing. Everything felt distant now, muffled.
“Matthew, what are you doing out here?”
Hanbin’s voice came from behind him, soft and worried in a way that made Matthew’s chest ache. He couldn’t let Hanbin see him like this – hollow-eyed and shaking, held together by nothing but stubbornness and fading hope that sleep might finally grant him peace.
“Just needed some air.” The lie came automatically, and he forced a laugh that didn’t sound like his anymore. “I’ll come in soon.”
His eyes remained fixed on the city lights. It was easier to look away than face Hanbin’s concern.
“Soon? It’s two in the morning.”
But when Hanbin stepped closer, something in Matthew snapped. No. The careful distance he’d been maintaining felt suddenly, desperately important.
“Please don’t.” His voice cracked as he pushed himself backward, palm flat against the railing for balance, creating space between them. “I’m fine. I’ll go to sleep soon, I promise.” The words tumbled out in a rush, as if saying them fast enough could make them true.
Hanbin stopped moving, but Matthew could still feel him there, too close.
“I’m just tired,” Matthew whispered, more to himself than to Hanbin. “I’ll go to sleep. I’ll be better once I sleep. I just– I just need to sleep.”
“Matthew, I–”
“Just go, hyung. Please.”
The words tasted like betrayal as soon as he said them, but when Hanbin finally left, the relief was overwhelming. Maybe pushing him away was the right thing to do. Maybe protecting Hanbin from whatever Matthew was becoming was the only good thing he had left to give.
He didn’t remember getting from the balcony to his bed. Didn’t remember falling asleep. Just the dark, finally quiet.
Hanbin’s POV
Hanbin left Matthew alone on that balcony. Had walked away when every instinct screamed at him to stay, to hold on. But he’d never been good at pushing too hard.
If Matthew really needs me, he’ll come to me.
That was the thought that kept him going as he stepped back into the dorm. The hallway stretched ahead, his footsteps too loud. He counted them – seventeen steps to his room, hand on the doorknob, the metal cold against his palm. Inside, he sat on the edge of his bed, still thinking.
He told himself he’d done the right thing. That sometimes people needed space more than they needed someone hovering.
And he spent the rest of the night hoping it was true.
However, the next time he heard Matthew’s name, it was from a call from Ricky.
“Hyung, something’s wrong with Matthew.”
Hanbin was already out of bed, phone pressed to his ear, heart slamming against his ribs. “What happened?”
“I came to get him for breakfast and he’s– he won’t wake up properly. It’s like he can’t hear me. I keep saying his name but he’s not–” A pause. Ricky’s breath shook. “I think he took something.”
The phone nearly slipped from Hanbin’s grip. “Call an ambulance. I’m coming.”
He’d never run so fast in his life. Down the hallway, shoulder slamming into the doorframe as he rounded the corner. His lungs burned. The fluorescent lights blurred into streaks. He couldn’t get there fast enough, would never get there fast enough, Matthew’s face on the balcony suddenly the only thing he could see.
why did I leave him there why did I walk away–
Matthew looked small against the hospital sheets – too still, too pale, an IV taped to the back of his hand. All the white made the shadows under his eyes look like bruises. Hanbin stood with his back pressed against the wall, fingers digging into his thighs through his sweatpants. If he let go, if he moved, something terrible would happen. He was sure of it.
His chest felt like someone had reached inside and crushed his lungs. He should have seen this coming.
Every decision he’d made leading up to this felt like a betrayal now.
Matthew’s fingers twitched first. Then his eyelids fluttered, a small crease forming between his brows like he was fighting his way back to consciousness. Hanbin pushed off the wall without thinking, took two steps forward before stopping himself. Matthew’s eyes opened slowly, unfocused. It took him a moment to track where he was, to register Hanbin standing there.
When recognition hit, something shifted in his expression – not quite panic, but close.
“I know what you’re thinking. This wasn’t a cry for help.” He said urgently, voice strained. His eyes darted to the IV in his hand, then away. “I just– I couldn’t sleep. Took more than I should’ve. It was an accident, I swear.”
Hanbin’s throat tightened. Whether it had been an accident or not didn’t matter as much as the fact that in that moment, Matthew hadn’t cared enough to be careful.
“Why did you think you had to go through this alone? I was right there, Matthew. I’ve been right there.”
Matthew stared at the ceiling tiles. His jaw worked, chewing on words he didn’t want to say. The monitor beeped. Once. Twice. Three times before he spoke.
“It’s my problem to deal with.” His voice came out flat, rehearsed. His fingers curled into the sheets. “You shouldn’t have to.”
Hanbin moved closer. “Don’t say that.”
Matthew’s head turned on the pillow, finally meeting his eyes.
“Would you have cried for me, hyung?” He asked quietly. If I didn’t make it.
Something broke open in Hanbin’s chest. The careful control he’d been maintaining since he got the call, the composure he’d forced himself into – all of it crumbled. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t process anything beyond the horrible realization of what Matthew was really asking.
His legs gave out. He didn’t fall so much as fold, knees hitting the cold hospital floor beside Matthew’s bed. His hands came up to cover his face but it didn’t stop anything. The sob that came out of him was ragged, ugly.
“I already am,” he choked out. The words barely made it past his throat.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Hanbin couldn’t look up, couldn’t do anything but press his palms against his eyes and try to breathe through the weight crushing his chest. The monitor kept beeping its steady rhythm. Proof that Matthew was here, alive, but it didn’t make any of this feel less like loss.
He’d failed. Despite watching, despite worrying, despite trying to be there – he’d failed.
Matthew’s POV
Matthew had seen Hanbin tired before. Frustrated. Even angry on rare occasions when someone pushed too hard or schedules ran too long. But he’d never seen him break down like this. Hanbin had always been the strong one, the steady presence that kept everyone grounded when the world felt chaotic.
Watching him break apart felt impossible. Wrong. Matthew’s chest constricted with guilt – not because Hanbin made him feel guilty, he was too good for that. He’d never once weaponized his emotions or made Matthew feel like a burden. That somehow made it worse. Because seeing him like this, god…
Hanbin’s hands trembled where they pressed against his face, then slid up into his hair. His shoulders curled inward with each sob, trying to make himself smaller. Every breath sounded painful, dragged out of him against his will.
Matthew watched the exact moment Hanbin stopped trying to hold it together.
“Hyung… I’m s–”
Hanbin’s head snapped up. “Don’t. Don’t apologize, you don’t hav–” His next breath shuddered. “When Ricky called, I thought… I– you almost–” He couldn’t finish.
The full weight of what he’d done settled over Matthew. Not the pills, not the hospital – but this. Hanbin on the floor, falling apart. How he’d torn through someone he loved.
He couldn’t stay in the bed. Couldn’t lie there elevated and distant while Hanbin broke down below him. The IV tugged at his hand as he shifted, a sharp pinch that he ignored. His arms shook supporting his weight. Everything felt heavy, disconnected, but he pushed himself up anyway.
His knelt down to Hanbin’s level. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, how to offer comfort when he was the cause of all this pain.
Slowly, carefully, Matthew reached out. His hand settled on Hanbin’s shoulder, light enough that Hanbin could shrug it off if he wanted. When Hanbin didn’t move away, didn’t tense under the touch, Matthew shifted closer. The floor was cold through his hospital gown. He ended up sitting beside Hanbin, their shoulders almost touching.
“I watched you pulling away,” Hanbin said finally, voice congested. “Every day, a little more. And I didn’t know how to reach you. I was so scared of saying the wrong thing, of pushing you too far. I didn’t know what to do.” His breath hitched. “I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t know either,” Matthew admitted. “What I needed, I mean. I still don’t. I–I couldn’t think anymore. Couldn’t see past...”
He trailed off. Didn’t know how to explain everything.
“I didn’t know,” he repeated, quieter. It wasn’t enough, but it was all he had.
Matthew reached out, hands finding Hanbin’s shoulders, and pulled him closer. Hanbin came willingly, collapsing against Matthew’s chest like his strings had been cut. His arms wrapped around Matthew’s back, grip tight enough to hurt, holding on like Matthew could disappear.
Hanbin’s breath was warm against Matthew’s neck, his shoulders still shaking. Matthew could feel Hanbin’s heartbeat where their chests pressed together – rapid, unsteady, alive.
For the first time in months, Matthew felt something other than the endless static. Not hope – he wasn’t ready to call it that. But something. The possibility of hope. That someone had been watching, had been there, had been terrified of losing him.
That maybe he could find a way through this if he stopped trying to do it alone.
“I want to be here,” he whispered into Hanbin’s hair.
Because that was never the problem. Not I want to get better or I want to be okay. He wasn’t ready to promise those things yet. But he could promise this – he’d hold on. He could hold on to Hanbin. And that was something.
“I’m staying,” Matthew said, and meant it.
Hanbin’s POV
Learning to be okay again wasn’t pretty. Matthew had bad days – days when the hate comments still felt louder than Hanbin’s voice across the practice room, louder than the sunrise coming through their window, louder than anything real. Hanbin had learned to spot them: the way Matthew’s jaw would set at breakfast, the extra second before he’d meet anyone’s eyes.
But Hanbin stayed anyway. Stubborn and persistent in a way that probably would have annoyed Matthew if it hadn’t felt so much like being loved.
Or at least he hoped.
Hanbin watched him eat, even if it was just a few bites. He sent texts from across the dorm – simple things like should hyung buy yogurt? or let’s go look at the stars or I’m still here.
He even moved into Matthew’s room without asking permission and made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere.
And Matthew let him. He didn’t joke about Hanbin being clingy. He didn’t roll his eyes or tell him to stop. He just let it happen.
The first few nights, Hanbin barely slept. He’d wake to the rustle of sheets – Matthew turning over, then over again, breathing uneven and shallow. Sometimes Matthew would get up for water or the bathroom, and Hanbin would lie perfectly still, pretending to sleep while listening for any signs of distress.
“I know you’re awake,” Matthew said one night, voice cutting through the darkness.
“Can’t sleep?”
“My brain won’t shut up.”
They were both past pretending now.
Hanbin sat up, eyes adjusting to dim light filtering through their curtains. Matthew was curled on his side, facing away, but Hanbin could see the tension in his shoulders.
He crossed the room and sat on the edge of Matthew’s bed.
“Hyung, what are you doing?”
“We can just not sleep, together.”
Matthew stared at him for a long moment, eyes flickering with uncertainty. Then he sighed – deep, giving up on a fight he was too tired to win – and rolled over.
Hanbin climbed into bed next to him, one arm going under Matthew’s neck while his free hand began stroking his hair gently. He could feel Matthew’s jaw working, teeth grinding, the small hitch in his breathing that meant he was holding something back. Probably trying not to cry. But Hanbin kept going, touch steady and comforting, even without the right words to say.
It took time – minutes, maybe longer – but Matthew’s shoulders finally loosened under Hanbin’s palm. His fingers uncurled from where they’d been gripping the sheets, and his breath found a rhythm that didn’t sound like drowning.
And Hanbin–
Hanbin stayed awake longer, watching the way moonlight played across Matthew’s features. The tension had left his face – the line between his eyebrows gone, mouth soft at the corners. He looked like himself again, or maybe like someone he used to be before everything got so heavy. Peaceful. Younger.
He didn’t want to miss it.
The next morning, Hanbin woke to sunlight and the weight of Matthew’s head still across his arm. He watched as Matthew blinked twice, slow, like he’d expected to wake up alone and didn’t know what to do with the fact that he hadn’t.
Hanbin pretended not to notice the way Matthew’s hand immediately sought his under the covers, fingers threading together. Squeezed once. Hanbin squeezed back.
“You’re weird,” Matthew mumbled into Hanbin’s shirt, but his hand stayed where it was.
Hanbin smiled against the top of Matthew’s head. If this was what it took – if this was what Matthew needed, if weird meant staying – then fine.
He could be weird.
There would be harder days. When even Hanbin’s presence wasn’t enough. But for now, they had this: the early light coming through the window, Matthew’s breathing steady against his chest, hands that knew how to find each other in the dark.
And Hanbin wasn’t letting go.