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Prologue.
The production coordinator drank the same coffee every day: double shot Americano, extra hot, from the place near Gangnam Station where a single cup cost ₩9,000.
Hanbin had it memorized.
He slid it across the table in the cramped backstage office, condensation already beading on the plastic lid. Around them, staff shouted coordinates for the next camera setup.
“I've been looking at our recent content metrics.” Hanbin settled into the chair across from him, keeping his tone light. “The viewership spikes during Matthew and my interactions. Have you noticed?”
The coordinator wrapped both hands around the cup, steam rising between them. “You're not the first person to point that out. But so do some of the other group pairings.”
“Matthew and I have history though.” Hanbin leaned back, affecting casual interest. “Smart business to lean into that. Pair us up for content more. Just saying.”
It was also becoming increasingly necessary for his peace of mind.
Because watching Matthew constantly getting paired with other members made him feel… something – not jealousy exactly, but close. More like a melody stuck in his head that wouldn’t go away. The kind that kept him awake sometimes replaying moments in the practice room where Matthew’s laugh had been aimed at someone else.
The solution was simple: engineer more time together.
Most attempts failed. But occasionally, when the stars aligned and his arguments proved compelling enough, he got his way.
1.
The Pepero game had been scheduled for their latest variety appearance three days ago. Hanbin had studied the lineup during the pre-production meeting, noted the random pairing system, and immediately started planning his intervention.
Which explained why he’d cornered yet another PD twenty minutes before filming with a bento.
“I think Matthew and I always get good reactions together,” he’d said, sliding the meal across the small table. “Our dynamic works. And don’t you think our height difference would make for good camera angles?”
“You have taller members. Why not them?” the PD pointed out, though Hanbin caught subtle amusement in his expression.
“Why not me?” Hanbin challenged. “I’m tall enough.”
The PD had eventually nodded, and now Hanbin stood across from Matthew, wondering if he’d been too clever for his own good.
“Ready, hyung?” Matthew balanced the chocolate-coated stick between his fingers with focused excitement. Whether mastering choreography or conquering simple games, Matthew approached everything with infectious energy. It was one of the things that had drawn Hanbin to him from the beginning – this ability to find genuine joy in almost everything.
Hanbin nodded, not trusting his voice. The pepero felt fragile between his teeth – liable to snap if he even breathed wrong. Around them, cameras captured every side and every nuance.
“Fighting!” Gyuvin called out.
The members started shouting over each other – “Beat the record!” “Don’t lose focus, hyung!”
The game began with Matthew’s characteristic intensity. He never approached anything halfway, whether perfecting a vocal run or trying to dominate video games. Each bite was confident and methodical.
What Hanbin hadn’t anticipated was the speed.
Three centimeters became two. Two became one. Each bite brought them closer, trapping Hanbin between the impulse to close his eyes and the complete inability to look away.
This close, he could count the furrow lines between Matthew’s eyebrows. Could smell faint coconut from his shampoo, feel warmth radiating from his skin.
Matthew was completely absorbed – his world reduced to chocolate stick and strategy and winning. Then he tilted his head for a better angle, and heat shot down Hanbin’s spine – sharp enough that his next breath caught halfway.
The distance disappeared. Their teeth clicked together and their lips brushed as they reached the end of the stick, pepero crumbling into nothing but dust and shared air.
“That’s definitely a record!” Yujin’s voice cut through.
Reality rushed back in – studio lights, cameras still rolling, production staff chattering excitedly behind monitors.
Matthew pulled back and threw a fist in the air. “Yes! Did you see that?” He pointed at the cameras, grinning wide enough to show his gums. “That’s how it’s done!”
Gyuvin hid behind Ricky’s shoulder, shaking with barely suppressed laughter. Gunwook protested and mentioned something about broadcasting standards. Someone definitely cursed in the background.
“Jakkkungz on top,” Matthew said, turning to Hanbin with that same bright grin – completely, maddeningly unaware. “We make the best team, hyung.”
Hanbin stared at him, marveling. “Yeah,” he breathed. “We do.”
2.
They’d flown to Japan for their mini-album promotions and gotten invited to a gameshow. The game itself was straightforward: pass a thin piece of plastic from person to person using only your mouth, like an elaborate relay race played with air pressure instead of batons.
Simple in theory. Significantly more complicated in practice – especially when Hanbin had spent the morning subtly maneuvering himself into the space beside Matthew in the lineup.
Now, watching Taerae fumble with the glossy material, Hanbin wondered if he’d been too obvious. Gyuvin kept shooting him knowing looks. Hao wore that particular smirk that suggested he’d figured out exactly what Hanbin was up to.
“Hyung,” Taerae called. “Get ready.”
The plastic sheet trembled against his upper lip, so thin Hanbin could see light filtering through it. One wrong exhale and it would drift away.
Taerae leaned in with mindful care, movements slow and deliberate like he was handling explosives. The edge of the sheet brushed Hanbin’s mouth – cool, smooth, barely there. For a moment it suspended between them, held by nothing but physics and luck.
Then it clung to his lip, feather-light.
Success.
He turned to Matthew.
Matthew was already adjusting his stance, tiptoeing slightly to match Hanbin’s height. But instead of moving closer, he hesitated – eyes narrowing, head tilting one way, then another, like he was planning an engineering project.
Oh my god just take it, Hanbin thought desperately, feeling the plastic growing heavier against his lips with each passing second. It’s not rocket science.
But Matthew kept deliberating, pursing his lips, relaxing them, pursing again. The sheet began to slip. Hanbin’s hand shot out on instinct, fingers curving around the back of Matthew’s neck, pulling him closer.
Instead of leaning into it, Matthew resisted – still focused on the plastic with ridiculous intensity. “Wait, wait,” he murmured, words disturbing the air currents. “I think if I just–”
The sheet wavered once, twice, then gave up. It drifted down, but Hanbin’s momentum carried him forward.
Their lips pressed against each other, moist from lip balm. Sudden, harsh, then gone. His fingers tightened against Matthew’s neck before he remembered to let go.
When they jerked apart, Matthew’s nose scrunched in mild annoyance. “Ah, hyung!” His tone edged into a whine as he swatted at Hanbin’s shoulder. “You were too impatient! I would’ve had it if you just gave me another second.”
“You were overthinking it,” Hanbin managed, resisting the urge to touch his own lips to see if they felt as different as they seemed.
Around them, the other members were laughing at their failure, but their voices seemed distant and muffled.
“Let’s try again,” Matthew declared, his attention already focused on the replacement sheet a staff member was offering. “I’ll be faster this time, but don’t rush me, okay?”
Hanbin just nodded absently.
3.
The M Countdown staff had arranged the palm pushing game as promotional content for their comeback. Had set the segment up in a corner of the large waiting room. The members were sprawled across the floor in various states of rest while waiting for filming to start.
When the staff started discussing organization of pairs, Hanbin walked over and casually suggested, “I’ll take Matthew.”
Nobody questioned it.
Now the best friends faced each other across the designated space.
Hanbin had watched Matthew compete enough times to recognize the signs – shoulders dropping half an inch, eyes tightening slightly at the corners. Completely present, zeroed in.
“Come on, hyung,” He grinned. “Don’t go easy on me.”
They held position, waiting.
Matthew struck without warning – a sharp thrust that caught Hanbin square in the palms. The force sent him stumbling backward, arms windmilling uselessly as his heel caught on the edge of the mat. He lost the round.
“Point to Matthew hyung!” Gyuvin called out with exaggerated shock. “Hanbin hyung, what happened to your leadership skills?”
“Irrelevant skillset,” Hanbin muttered.
They reset, palms hovering again. This time Hanbin studied Matthew’s stance more meticulously, searching for tells that might betray his next move. The waiting stretched – two people poised, ready to move. Matthew’s breathing remained steady, but Hanbin caught him shifting his weight.
Matthew made a quick jab. Hanbin jerked back, but kept his balance.
They’d reset five times. Six.
Hanbin’s palms were starting to sweat, making his grip less certain. Matthew was getting cocky now – grinning between rounds, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a boxer. Behind them, Gyuvin had started a slow clap, trying to build dramatic tension.
Finally, Matthew lunged – really committed this time – but Hanbin had been waiting for exactly that. He yanked his hands back at the last second, leaving Matthew grasping at nothing. The sudden lack of resistance threw him off-balance and he pitched toward Hanbin, completely losing his centre of gravity.
Instead of bracing himself like a normal person, Matthew did the most ridiculous thing imaginable – he tucked his arms behind his back and leaned into the fall.
And his lips were puckered. He knew exactly what he was doing. That menace.
Hanbin caught him before he could face-plant, arms locking around his waist out of sheer reflex. The impact knocked the breath from him. Matthew was solid and warm against his chest, their faces far too close.
“Knew you’d catch me, hyung.” Matthew’s grin was pure trouble.
“Yah.” Hanbin’s voice came out slightly breathless. “Our lips almost touched.”
Matthew’s voice was low, meant only for him. “So? They’ve touched before. Who’s counting?”
I am, Hanbin thought faintly. His hands were still on Matthew’s waist, fingers pressed into fabric and the muscle underneath. He couldn’t seem to make them move.
Matthew stepped back first, breaking whatever spell had settled over them. He waved at the cameras with that easy smile, like he hadn’t just rewired something in Hanbin’s nervous system.
4.
The lie detector was just a plastic toy, sold at convenience stores for cheap. Hanbin knew this because he’d bought it himself three days ago, then floated the idea to the ZBTV creative team like it had struck out of nowhere.
“The fans love this kind of content,” he’d said, wearing his most innocent expression. “Trust me, we’ll get great content out of this.”
Maybe he just wanted to see what someone would say when backed into a corner – even if it was a corner built from novelty electronics and peer pressure.
Now Matthew pressed his palm against the detector’s sensor pad, eyeing the others warily. “This feels like a setup. Why do I have to go first?”
“Because you’re brave,” Hanbin said smoothly. “And you’ve got nothing to hide, right?”
Matthew looked skeptical but pressed his palm down anyway. “Fine. But I’m coming for all of you after this.”
Taerae started with a softball question. Safe.
“Are you happy to be in ZB1?”
“Of course.” Immediate. The machine remained silent.
“Are you afraid of bugs?”
“No.” Nothing.
“Wher–”
“Taerae-yah,” Matthew laughed. “You need to give the others a chance to ask something.”
Jiwoong leaned closer. “Are you secretly afraid of any of us?”
“No way. You’re all terrible at being intimidating.”
The machine’s silence confirmed his sincerity. Jiwoong nodded, content.
“My turn,” Gunwook pressed. “Do you like my rapping voice, hyung?”
“Always. Your voice is great no matter what, Gunwookie. You’re so talented.” No buzz.
Ricky shifted, “Do you ever get tired of being the mood maker?”
Matthew’s smile flickered – just for a second, barely long enough to notice. “Nope!” Voice bright and easy. “I love that I get to make you guys laugh.”
The machine stayed silent, but Hanbin saw the lie in the microsecond of hesitation, in the way Matthew’s fingers flexed against the sensor.
Hanbin could feel the tension starting to settle, so before anyone could push, he leaned forward with a grin that felt a little forced but necessary. “Do you think I’m a good leader?”
“Yes, the best.” Matthew’s fond answer came without hesitation.
Sweet quiet from the machine.
Hanbin had known the answer, but hearing it stated as a simple fact did something to him anyway – settled an unease he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying.
Yujin bounced in his seat suddenly. “Okay, serious question. Who do you think is the most handsome in ZB1?”
Matthew shot back a look, one eyebrow raised. “That’s really your question, Yujinnie?”
“Answer honestly,” Ricky added with wicked delight, “or face the machine’s wrath.”
“Uhh... Jiwoon hyung.”
The machine buzzed and zapped Matthew, making him jump.
Everyone broke into laughter. Jiwoong had his hands on his hips, “So you don't think I'm handsome?”
“Of course I do, hyung! I just–”
“Don’t ‘just’ me, Seok Matthew.”
Matthew groaned. “Fine, fine! Jiwoong hyung and Hanbin hyung, okay?”
This time, the machine stayed quiet.
Matthew gave compliments easily, distributed them among the members like candy. Still– Hanbin forced a small laugh, trying not to dwell on the blood rushing up his neck.
“Boring, too obvious.” Gyuvin declared with disappointment. “Ask him something he’ll actually lie about.”
“Hmm.” Taerae settled back with renewed interest. “Do you ever eat food off the ground?”
Matthew adopted a carefully blank look. “No, I’d never do that.”
Buzz.
Matthew yelped, jerking his hand back before reluctantly returning it, looking betrayed.
“Traitor,” he accused, glaring at the plastic contraption.
The room erupted in delighted laughter. They’d found their first crack in Matthew’s wholesome image.
“How long was it on the floor?” Jiwoong pressed.
“I’m not answering that,” Matthew said primly.
They ran through more questions, some innocent, some pointed. Matthew answered honestly about his favourite season (winter), his biggest fear (disappointing people). He skirted around farting on stage and definitely lied about not practicing faces in the mirror.
Each shock made him more indignant, while each truth made the others bolder in their questioning.
“Oh! Me, me!” Gyuvin bounced eagerly. “If you had to pick a favourite member–”
“That’s not fair!” Matthew interrupted. “I can’t pick favourites. That’s like asking a parent to choose their favourite child.”
“But parents do have favourites. They just don’t admit it.” Hao pointed out.
“Exactly,” Ricky said. “So answer the question, bro. Do you have a favourite member?”
Matthew’s hesitation was telling. His gaze flickered around the circle, landing briefly on each face before settling somewhere over their heads. “No. I love everyone equally.”
Buzz.
Matthew stared at the machine like it had personally betrayed him. “But I do, I love all of you!” Voice climbing into a whine.
“Try again,” Gyuvin suggested, gleeful. “With your heart this time.”
“Is your favourite member Hanbin?” Hao asked, cutting straight to it. “We’d all get it if it was.”
“Nope.” Too quick, too defensive.
Buzz.
This time Matthew actually cursed under his breath in English, shaking his hand out. “Why does it keep doing that?”
“Maybe because you’re lying,” Hanbin said, unable to keep the smirk off his face.
Everyone started talking over each other until Gunwook held up a hand.
“Wait, wait. Matthew hyung, do you get jealous when Hanbin hyung pays more attention to other members? Or dongsaengs outside our group?” This next part he mumbled to himself, “Because I do when you do that...”
“No, of course not.” Matthew’s voice came out a little too even, a little too deliberate. “I’m happy Hanbin hyung gets along with everyone. It’s good that he does. Everyone loves him.”
Buzz.
“This thing is completely broken,” Matthew huffed. “We need a replacement.”
Then Yujin and Gyuvin exchanged a look. Some kind of silent communication passed between them, ending with Gyuvin nodding once, a sharp jerk of his chin.
“I have the perfect question,” the maknae's smirk was pure evil as he looked directly at Matthew. “If you had to date someone in ZB1, would it be Hanbin hyung?”
“Can’t you ask me another question about other stuff?”
“I want to ask this one.”
The other members fell silent.
Matthew’s gaze flicked to Hanbin’s face. A brief pause – long enough to catch the uncertainty there, the way his eyes widened before he schooled his features back into playful defiance.
“No,” Matthew said clearly, his voice carrying just a hint of challenge. “Definitely not Hanbin hyung.”
Buzz.
This time, Matthew didn’t even look surprised by the shock. He just sighed with resigned acceptance, like he’d expected nothing less.
“I don’t understand why this machine has it out for me,” he muttered. “It’s clearly targeting me specifically.”
“The machine doesn’t lie,” Gyuvin sing-songed, practically gloating.
“The machine is a ₩5,000 novelty item,” Matthew shot back, but there was no real heat in it. His ears were still red.
Hanbin didn’t need a toy to tell him where he stood in Matthew’s life. But watching Matthew shake out his hand, muttering about faulty electronics while refusing to meet anyone’s eyes – watching the other members exchange looks they thought were subtle–
It confirmed something. Made it more real in a way that living inside his own head never could.
5.
The dating game concept had emerged from the production team’s desire to showcase their acting range – a chance for the members to play exaggerated versions of themselves while competing for each other’s affection.
When the staff began organizing roles, Hanbin told himself he wasn’t hoping for any particular outcome. Then Matthew was chosen as the bachelor, Gyuvin and Hao as his suitors, and Hanbin found himself assigned to feed lines to Gyuvin through an earpiece while Yujin coached Hao. The prize? If his contestant won, Hanbin would get a “date” with Matthew for their next episode.
The setup felt like the universe had read his diary and decided to turn it into content.
It was never going to be a fair fight.
He’d been filing away Matthew’s preferences, habits, and vulnerabilities for years without realizing he was building an archive. The same way some people collect stamps, he’d apparently been collecting data on what made Seok Matthew smile.
And all of that was about to be weaponized for content.
Hanbin was getting that date no matter what.
“So.” Matthew addressed his two suitors with theatrical seriousness, settling into his chair like it was a throne. “I’m a very discerning person. You’ll need to work exceptionally hard to impress me.”
The delivery was rehearsed enough to sound confident but not so polished it lost its charm – just the right balance of arrogance and playfulness to generate laughs without seeming conceited. But Hanbin knew him well enough to catch the subtle glint in his eyes, the way he was already fighting not to smile at his own absurdity.
Hao began his offense immediately, following Yujin’s whispered guidance. “Your hair looks really nice today.”
Matthew’s poker face had lasted all of three seconds. So much for discerning.
“Thanks, hyung!” he replied with pure elation, unconsciously running fingers through his hair like he always did when he got complimented.
Hanbin brought the mic closer to his lips, something sharp and possessive stirring in his chest. Matthew wasn’t supposed to be this easy to please – not for everyone else, anyway.
“Tell him his hoodie would look better on you, even though it would be too short. Then say you miss him even when he just leaves for simple things – like going to the bathroom.”
Gyuvin’s eyebrows shot up, but he dutifully repeated the words with as much sincerity as he could muster.
The effect was instant. Matthew’s ears turned red. Bet he hadn’t expected that.
Hanbin hadn’t expected it either – the way satisfaction would curl warm in his stomach at making Matthew blush from across the room.
Meanwhile, Hao was receiving more conventional coaching from Yujin. “Ask about his family!”
“What do you miss most about home?” Hao delivered the question with natural warmth, and Matthew’s entire demeanour shifted into something softer, more vulnerable.
“I miss my mom’s voice in person,” he said quietly, the mask slipping for a moment. “And camping with my dad. Or just... being able to speak English without thinking about it first.”
Hanbin had seen Matthew homesick before – quiet after video calls home, staring at nothing. But watching him reveal that vulnerability on camera, trusting the moment enough to show those tender edges – it made Hanbin want to reach through the space between them and offer something solid to hold onto.
“Tell him it’s okay,” Hanbin instructed, his voice gentler now. “And that you’ll be his family for all the times he has to be away from them.”
The game continued with Hanbin feeding Gyuvin increasingly precise insights – Matthew’s dreams, fears, small details that revealed what mattered to him. Matthew’s responses grew more animated, more genuinely engaged with each precisely crafted response.
But Hao wasn’t surrendering easily. He grew bolder with each exchange, his natural charm requiring less coaching as he found his rhythm. He complimented the run in Matthew’s voice on their last title track, mentioned the shoulder isolation from practice last week that only someone truly watching would have caught, told stories that landed perfectly and made Matthew throw his head back laughing.
Then Hao leaned close to whisper something in Matthew’s ear that made him giggle, and the possessiveness flared bitter.
“Quick,” Hanbin urged Gyuvin. “Tell him he makes you nervous and calm at the same time.”
Gyuvin shot the camera a look of legitimate concern but repeated the words. Matthew’s face went pink.
“Say he smells like home.”
“Hyung–”
“And that his smile is dangerous because it makes you forget everything else exists, but his laugh is your favourite sound in any language.”
“Hyung!” Gyuvin hissed under his breath, “I can’t. What ev–”
“Just say it.”
And when the moment came for Matthew to choose, he looked between his two suitors pretending to deliberate. Hanbin could already see him struggling not to smile though.
“This was such a difficult decision,” Matthew announced with Oscar-worthy gravity, “but I have to choose... Gyuvin.”
Hao threw himself backward in exaggerated despair while Gyuvin jumped up in victory. The other members lost their collective minds, cheering and groaning in equal measure.
Hanbin tried to keep his expression neutral when the cameras found him, but he could feel the smile tugging at his mouth anyway. Only when they panned away did he let it show – small and private and entirely too pleased.
He’d won. He knew he would.
After filming wrapped, Matthew approached him near the backdrop while staff members coiled cables and broke down lights.
“So I guess we’re going on a date, hyung.” Matthew’s smile was bright and uncomplicated, like he hadn’t just spent fifteen minutes being told he was someone’s favourite person in very specific detail.
“I promise to be more romantic than Yujin would’ve been.”
“Then I’m really looking forward to it.”
Before Hanbin could figure out what to do with the warmth flooding through him, Matthew was already bouncing away to rejoin the others, leaving Hanbin to wonder what exactly he’d just won.
+1
Hanbin stood in the dressing room adjusting his collar for the third time, trying to ignore how this felt less like filming prep and more like actual first-date nerves.
This wasn’t a real date, though.
He reminded himself that this was content – fanservice with cameras, microphones, and a production schedule. He’d engineered this outcome through strategic coaching and intimate knowledge of Matthew, which somehow made it worse. Like showing up to a birthday party he’d thrown for himself.
“Ready for our big romantic adventure?” Matthew appeared beside him, radiating boundless enthusiasm. Soft cream sweater making his skin seem to glow, and Hanbin had to actively resist the urge to reach out and touch the fabric where it met his collarbone.
“Let’s give the fans what they want,” Hanbin said, unable to stop himself from smiling back.
If only he could figure out what he wanted.
The production team had mapped their day with military precision: street market for a gift exchange challenge, tandem biking through the park, an art activity, lunch with pre-written conversation starters, and a trust exercise to wrap up the main footage. Each segment was designed to showcase different facets of their relationship – competitive, playful, intimate.
It should have felt artificial. Clinical, even. Instead, as they wandered through the bustling morning market with cameras trailing at respectful distances, Hanbin genuinely enjoyed the simple pleasure of Matthew’s undivided attention.
Their first challenge was to buy each other a small gift with only ₩5,000, something that represented the other person’s essence. Matthew disappeared into the crowd with determined focus, leaving Hanbin to wander between stalls selling everything from handmade jewelry to novelty socks.
He found himself actually invested in finding something perfect – not for the cameras, but because the idea of Matthew’s delighted reaction had become unexpectedly important. He passed stalls selling keychains with questionable English translations, weighed neon-coloured friendship bracelets in his palm, read hand-written price tags twice to make sure he hadn’t miscalculated.
Nothing felt right. Too throwaway, too forgettable.
Then he spotted it tucked among novelty items at a cluttered stall. Completely absurd. Absolutely perfect.
When they reconvened at the designated meeting spot, Matthew practically vibrated with excitement as he presented his choice – socks patterned with cartoon hamsters wearing tiny scarves.
“Practical but still cute,” he announced with disproportionate pride, pressing them into Hanbin’s hands. “Like you, hyung. You’re all serious and leader-like, but really you’re our comfort. And we find you adorable.”
The observation caught him off-guard. He’d been braced for something silly, something chosen for easy laughs. Instead–
“That’s really sweet, Mashu.” The socks were soft in his hands. “I love them.”
“Your turn,” Matthew said, eyes bright with anticipation.
Hanbin produced his selection with significantly less fanfare, suddenly feeling sheepish – a keychain shaped like a corndog, complete with tiny mustard bottle charm that actually opened and closed.
Matthew stared at it for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Hyung, what–”
“A perfect representation of your personality,” Hanbin said solemnly. “Crispy and bulky on the outside, soft on the inside. And slightly ridiculous.”
“I’m wearing this everywhere.” Matthew immediately clipped it to his bag. “The members are going to have questions.”
The PD gave them a thumbs-up from behind the camera. Good content, apparently.
The walk to the riverside was filled with Matthew’s animated commentary about the vendors they’d encountered, his new keychain catching light as he gestured expressively. Hanbin forgot about the filming, caught up in Matthew’s energy the way he always was.
The path stretched ahead of them, tree-lined and perfect for the tandem bicycle the production team had somehow procured. It looked vintage, cream-colored with a wicker basket – a prop right out of a romantic date montage.
Matthew insisted on steering. Hanbin’s protests about logic and coordination were dismissed with a wave, leaving him clinging to the back seat as they wobbled precariously along the path.
“Trust the process, hyung!” Matthew called over his shoulder, swerving to avoid an elderly couple whose Pomeranian was straining at its leash, yapping at passers-by. “I have everything completely under control.”
“We have very different understandings of what ‘control’ means,” Hanbin choked out, laughing despite the mortal terror, despite the way they were listing dangerously to one side.
They narrowly avoided a child’s abandoned scooter. Startled a cluster of pigeons into flight. Received judgmental looks from at least three ajummas.
Matthew began providing documentary narration for their entire journey. “And here we have Mr. Kim’s notorious poodle, Princess. Retired drama star, currently judging our coordination technique. Clearly she’s not impressed, but she respects the effort.”
When they finally dismounted, Matthew was still chuckling as he tried to fix his windswept hair. Hanbin reached over without thinking to smooth down a strand, and Matthew’s eyes found his.
“Good teamwork, right hyung?”
“Terrible teamwork.” Hanbin’s hand lingered a moment too long before dropping away. “The worst I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah,” Matthew agreed, grinning. “But fun.”
By the time they reached the art studio, Hanbin’s sides ached from laughing and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this light.
The studio was intimate in a way the outdoor locations hadn’t been – exposed brick walls lined with watercolors, the faint smell of paint and turpentine, wooden easels positioned face-to-face with just enough space between them to feel deliberate.
The instructor greeted them warmly, positioning them at their respective easels. “So you’re painting portraits of each other today.” She gestured to their supplies. “The key is to really look look at your subject. Don’t just see what you expect to see – notice the small details that make them unique.” She demonstrated basic techniques, then smiled. “I’ll check on you in about thirty minutes.”
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving them essentially alone save for the camera operator in the corner.
Matthew immediately dove in with characteristic intensity, tongue poking out slightly in concentration as he studied Hanbin’s face. The attention made Hanbin’s skin prickle with heat, hyperaware of every small movement.
“Stop moving.” Matthew squinted at him. “I’m trying to get your bone structure right.”
“My bone structure?”
“Yeah, you have really nice…” Matthew gestured vaguely with his brush, “… face architecture. Hold still.”
Really nice face architecture. So... Matthew just called him pretty in the most roundabout way possible, right?
Hanbin tried not to smile but failed completely. “You’re making this up.”
“I’m being artistic!” Matthew protested petulantly. “Seriously hyung, stop being cute for like five minutes so I can concentrate.”
Meanwhile, Hanbin had abandoned any pretense of serious artistry. Watching his best friend’s uninhibited delight would be reward enough. He exaggerated Matthew’s eyes until they took up half the canvas, added sparkles around his head like an anime character, made his smile impossibly bright. It was deliberate comedy, but also – if he was honest – it reflected how Matthew actually appeared to him sometimes. Larger than life, impossibly luminous.
They worked in comfortable silence broken only by Matthew’s occasional commentary. “Your nose does this thing…” “Why are your eyelashes so long, that’s not fair…” “Hold there, that’s perfect…”
Hanbin studied Matthew too. The way he bit his lower lip when considering colour choices. How he leaned close to the canvas and then back to check perspective. The unconscious hum of satisfaction when something turned out right.
The instructor returned right on schedule, surveying their work with professional interest. Moving to Matthew’s easel first, her demeanour shifted to pleasant surprise.
“Oh my, this is quite lovely.” Sincere rather than simply encouraging. “You’ve captured something very warm here. There’s deep appreciation in how you’ve portrayed him.”
Matthew beamed under the praise. Hanbin couldn’t see the painting yet from his angle, but the instructor’s words sparked much curiosity.
Then she moved to his easel and let out a delighted laugh. “And this is… very different,” she said diplomatically. “But charming in its own way. You’ve made him look very happy.”
“That’s what I was going for,” he said, which was true. He’d wanted to capture that specific quality Matthew had – the way he could light up a room just by being excited about something.
“The winner,” the instructor announced after a moment of deliberation, “is Matthew, for technical skill and emotional depth.”
Matthew leaped up, immediately moving around to high-five Hanbin with irrepressible joy. “Did you hear that? Emotional depth! I’m basically the next Picasso.”
“Just let hyung confirm that.” Hanbin stood to finally see Matthew’s work.
The painting stopped him short.
It wasn’t technically perfect – the proportions were slightly off, some shading muddled where Matthew had clearly second-guessed himself. But he’d captured something essential.
The way Hanbin’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. The signature cheek whiskers he’d always been self-conscious about until the members made them endearing. The particular angle of his jaw that appeared in photos he actually liked of himself.
Is this how he sees me?
“Too much?” Matthew asked, suddenly uncertain as he noticed Hanbin’s prolonged silence.
“No,” Hanbin said quietly. “It’s just right.”
And it was. Not because of technical merit, but because Matthew had looked at him for thirty minutes straight and somehow translated affection into brushstrokes.
“I'm glad you like it, hyung.”
“Can I keep this?”
Matthew’s smile could have powered the entire city. “Of course, it’s yours. And I’m gonna keep yours too.”
They left the studio as the afternoon was transitioning toward evening. The paintings were packaged by the studio staff to be delivered back to their dorm later, but the feeling of the experience lingered between them – something gentler and more vulnerable than their earlier adventures.
The rooftop restaurant welcomed them as the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon. Their table was positioned near the glass railing with a panoramic view of Seoul spread out below them, the Han River reflecting the changing sky like a mirror.
The production team had staged dinner with exceptional attention to aesthetics and provided a deck of conversation cards. But Matthew was all food first, talk later – holding up forkfuls for Hanbin to try with easy familiarity.
The cards sat untouched between them for the first fifteen minutes while they just ate and talked about nothing in particular – how Gyuvin had tried to convince them to bring back food, whether Jiwoong’s cameo in that new drama would have kiss scenes, if the dorm’s refrigerator was starting to smell weird.
Eventually, Hanbin shuffled through the cards with idle curiosity, drawing one at random.
“What are your music genre preferences?” he read aloud.
“That’s an easy one.” Matthew relaxed visibly. “I try to stay open to everything because you never know where inspiration will come from. But R&B hits different. It’s sexy.” He winked, then drew the next card. “What are your goals for the group?”
“I want us to keep growing. Not just in popularity, but in skill – exploring everything we’re capable of. I want us to become artists people respect.” His eyes found Matthew’s. “And I want us to stay close while we do it. Some groups grow apart. I don’t want that to happen to us.”
“It won’t, hyung.” Matthew’s certainty was absolute. “Not if we don’t let it.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
They continued through the cards, trading questions that ranged from superficial to surprisingly deep.
“Would you date a fan?” Matthew wiggled his eyebrows as he read this one.
Hanbin’s media training kicked in seamlessly, addressing the nearest camera with heartfelt sincerity. “Zeroses, you’re all wonderful. But I think we’d have some scheduling conflicts. I’m free never.” He softened it with a smile. “But you guys will always be number one in our hearts.”
“Mm-hmm, non-negotiable.” Matthew added, nodding seriously.
“Okay, Mashu. Now you.” Hanbin went for another card. “What do you miss most when you can’t sleep at night?”
Matthew paused longer this time, considering. “Hmm. There was this cooling blanket I had back in Canada...”
Liar. You miss the sound of rain on your childhood bedroom window. Your mom humming while folding laundry in the next room. The feeling of being small and safe and home.
“That sounds suspiciously rehearsed,” Hanbin twirled his chopsticks, all nonchalant. Deliberately pushing.
Matthew’s eyes narrowed with challenge. “I could give you the real answer if you want, but it involves very specific sleeping pillows, so…”
“Oh!” Hanbin fumbled his chopsticks. “Uh– moving on. Definitely moving on.”
Matthew giggled, drawing another card.
“Okay, let’s see… now this is a fun one. What’s hyung’s ideal type?”
Around them, the ambient noise of the restaurant faded – or maybe Hanbin just stopped hearing it.
He chose his words carefully, trying to find the line between honesty and safety. “Someone who makes me laugh,” he began, watching his own hands fidget with his napkin. “Someone who approaches life with genuine enthusiasm, even for small things. Who can make ordinary moments feel special just by being there.”
Matthew had his fork suspended halfway to his mouth.
Hanbin kept going, emboldened by the cover of hypotheticals. “Someone who sees the best in people, even when they don’t see it in themselves. Who’s brave enough to be vulnerable but doesn’t realize how much courage that actually takes.” He paused, then added more quietly, “Someone whose happiness feels like my responsibility, and I’d feel grateful for the chance to be trusted with it.”
The silence stretched long enough for Hanbin to hear his own heartbeat in his ears.
“That’s…um.” Matthew finally set down his fork. “You sound like a hopeless romantic, hyung.”
“Maybe I am,” Hanbin admitted, holding his gaze.
Before Matthew could respond, their server appeared with dessert – perfect timing or terrible timing, depending on perspective. The moment fractured as they made polite noises about the presentation, and when the server finally left, Matthew was already reaching for the next card without meeting his eyes.
They finished the meal with safer questions, lighter topics. When they finally left the restaurant, the sky had deepened into that perfect golden hour photographers loved.
“That’s a wrap for main content!” The PD looked satisfied with the day’s footage. “But,” he added casually, checking his watch, “if you guys want to walk around and just enjoy the evening, we’ll get some ambient shots for B-roll. No mics needed.”
Hanbin glanced at Matthew, who was already nodding enthusiastically.
“Sure,” he heard himself say. “We’re not in a rush.”
A staff member approached with a small bag and unclipped the transmitters from their clothing. Hanbin felt its absence immediately – like a tether had been cut. Whatever they said now would be theirs alone.
The main crew packed up with organized efficiency, leaving behind a skeleton team that melted into the background. Cameras present but far enough to be unobtrusive.
Hanbin had expected to feel relieved when the structured portion ended – permission to step out of performance and into something more natural. Instead, he was reluctant for the day to end at all. The prospect of returning to stolen moments and orchestrated variety show segments left him feeling emptier than usual, like he’d been given a taste of something he couldn’t have.
They walked in comfortable silence for a while, the sun painting everything gold and amber. Matthew invented stories for passing strangers again with the same vivid imagination he’d shown all day.
A businessman walking his dog? Clearly a secret agent using his pet for surveillance. The woman feeding pigeons? Maintaining her connection to grace and beauty with daily rituals – retired prima ballerina, no question.
“That couple by the bushes,” Matthew said, nodding toward two people sharing what looked like a picnic dinner. “First date, definitely. See how she keeps tucking her hair behind her ear? And he’s so focused on being charming he’s forgotten to actually eat.”
“Maybe it’s not their first date,” Hanbin suggested thoughtfully. “Maybe they’ve been friends for a long time, and tonight they’re figuring out if they could be… something more. And that’s why they’re nervous.”
Matthew’s gaze lingered on him for a beat longer than necessary. “Interesting interpretation, hyung.”
They found a bench overlooking the water, the sky deepening into twilight around them.
“Today was a really good day,” Matthew said simply.
“The production team seemed happy with the content,” Hanbin replied cautiously, testing the waters between performance and reality.
“I always like doing things like this with you, hyung.” Matthew’s voice carried a warmth that made Hanbin’s pulse thrum. “Camera or no camera. Everything’s better when you’re around.”
And maybe it was the golden light making everything feel surreal, or maybe it was the fact that they’d spent an entire day being honest in a way that only felt safe because it was scripted. But Hanbin leaned into the fear instead of away from it.
“What if it wasn’t fake?”
Matthew turned to him. “What do you mean?”
“The date. What if…” Hanbin’s courage wavered, but he forced himself to continue. “I mean, what if someone really wanted to take you out? Not for cameras. Just... because.”
“Someone?” Matthew asked quietly, and there was something in the way he said it – a subtle emphasis – that made Hanbin’s heart stutter.
“Yeah. Someone.”
Matthew was quiet for a long moment – long enough that Hanbin started to regret asking, started planning ways to backtrack and laugh it off.
“That would be nice,” Matthew said finally, soft. His fingers played with the corndog keychain attached to his bag. “I think I’d like that a lot, actually.”
“Yeah?” Hanbin’s heart performed some Olympic-level gymnastics.
“Yeah.” Matthew kept his gaze on the water. “I’d want it to be with someone who makes me feel brave, but also… safe? Like it’s okay to mess up sometimes. Someone who sees the real me but still wants to stick around anyway.” His words dropped into a mumble. “Someone who makes me feel like whatever I say matters.”
Hanbin swallowed. The description was so perfectly, impossibly close to what he hoped he was.
“Someone like…?” The question barely made it past his throat.
Matthew started to respond, mouth opening around an answer Hanbin desperately needed to know–
Then his attention snagged on something in the distance. “Oh no.”
“What?” Hanbin turned, following his line of sight.
The couple they’d invented stories about earlier had moved closer to the railing not far from them. Their body language had shifted noticeably – the woman’s arms crossed defensively, the man gesturing with increasing intensity.
“They’re fighting,” Matthew whispered, genuinely distressed. And before Hanbin could process what was happening, Matthew had actually ducked behind his hands like he could make himself invisible.
Hanbin blinked at the sudden shift, then started laughing despite himself. “What are you doing? They have no idea we were making up stories about them.”
“But what if they saw us watching?” Matthew was still stage-whispering through his fingers. “What if they know and now they’re breaking up and it’s somehow our fault?”
“Matthew,” Hanbin said, still chuckling at the worry in his voice. “That’s not how any of this works.”
“You don’t know that,” Matthew protested, but he was starting to smile behind his makeshift barrier. “Maybe we jinxed them. Maybe we’re relationship killers–”
But then the woman’s voice softened. The man leaned in to whisper something that made her laugh, and just like that they were holding hands again – walking away together with fingers intertwined like the argument had never happened.
“Oh!” Matthew dropped his hands, face lighting up with relief. “Happy ending. Everything worked out! They’re going to be fine.”
Hanbin simply wondered exactly how much a human could adore another. I want that for us. I want us to work out. I want to hold hands. I want to fight and make up and know we’re going to be okay.
“I’m glad,” Matthew continued, still watching the couple disappear. “It would’ve been sad if they–” His attention snagged again. “Hyung, look! The moon’s already out.”
Hanbin stared at him, caught between disbelief and helpless adoration. Here he was, trying to navigate a really important conversation, and Matthew had gotten distracted by stranger-watching and planetary bodies.
Their moment – if he could even call it that – was completely gone.
But watching Matthew’s face tilt up toward the emerging moon, expression full of simple wonder, Hanbin couldn’t even be frustrated. This guy.
This was exactly who Matthew was – someone who found beauty and meaning in everything, whose attention flitted like a butterfly but always landed on something worth noticing. Someone who could be devastatingly perceptive one moment and completely oblivious the next.
This was the person Hanbin had fallen for. All of it.
“Next time,” he said quietly, more to himself than anything, “I’ll make it real.”
Matthew turned back to him, eyes bright with curiosity in the dimming light. “What was that, hyung?”
“Nothing.” Hanbin smiled. “Just… next time.”
When they finally headed back toward the waiting van, he watched as Matthew climbed in still talking about the moon, about the couple, about how they should definitely do this again sometime.
Any last remnants of his uncertainty dissolved into absolute certainty.
There would be a next time. And next time, he’d make sure Matthew understood exactly what this was – what they could be. No earpieces. No conversation cards. No convenient interruptions. He’d be brave enough to say what needed to be said, to reach across the space between them and see if Matthew would reach back.
He was done leaving this to fate.
Next time, he’d make it count.