Archive of Our Own ^beta

Matthew wakes up bathed in light and warmth, burrowed comfortably under the covers. As he slowly sighs sleep away, he gets the feeling that they’ve slept in long past sunrise.

Without opening his eyes, he slowly drags his tail up from where it was tucked between his legs, searching for Gunwook’s body. It’s right behind him, so close that if Matthew were to shuffle back a few inches, he’d be encased in his warmth too.

He doesn’t do that quite yet. Matthew’s position under the covers is far too comfy to compromise it. But he does run his bushy tail up and down Gunwook’s bare thigh a few times, just to see if his deep sleeper boyfriend will be roused at all.

Gunwook remains absolutely still and solid, breathing evenly. Matthew hums as he finally gives in, rolling over to rest his head on Gunwook’s shoulder and throw an arm over his chest, nuzzling into his woody scent. Gunwook has been eating an incredible amount of salmon and red meats over the past few months to gain weight ahead of his hibernation, and it makes cuddles amazing—his chest is so soft and squishy, perfect to snuggle against.

Morning light moves through the blinds like treacle. Though the gathering last night with their pack of friends wasn’t particularly rowdy, they had been up chatting and gaming until the early hours. It’s nice to enjoy a slow, sleepy morning in the aftermath.

He strokes Gunwook's side to gently rouse him. Gunwook is already sleeping more hours than usual with his hibernation around the corner, so Matthew is trying to spend as much waking time with him as possible ahead of the long yearly sleep of a brown bear hybrid. As nice as it is to doze together, that’s all they can do when Gunwook is hibernating, and it would be a waste of a precious morning to let him sleep longer.

“We should get out of bed,” he mumbles into Gunwook’s skin. “It’s already late.”

When he gets no response, his eyelids flutter open to take in his boyfriend’s sleeping face. “Gunwookie,” he says louder, squeezing his waist firmly. “Are you listening to me?”

Still nothing, not even a twitch of his fuzzy ears. Matthew pushes himself up on his elbows, looking down at him properly.

He’s still deep in sleep, his breathing steady and slow.

Matthew’s heart slowly sinks as he tries to shake Gunwook, not too aggressively, but certainly enough to wake any normal sleeping person up. His head lolls, but nothing else changes.

Matthew sits up fully, letting the sheets fall from his shoulders. He watches Gunwook for a little bit longer, as if hoping he will suddenly open his eyes and laugh, gotcha!

But Gunwook doesn’t do that, and the morning doesn’t feel so warm anymore.

They’ve both known Gunwook’s hibernation could start any time now. He’s done well, in fact, to make it to late November. Last year’s hibernation was nearly a full six months, from October to March. Last year’s hibernation was a lot of things that Matthew would rather not remember.

But he’s not ready for it to start today. All he wants is a few more hours together before his bear side takes over.

Just the chance to say goodbye before Matthew is alone for the winter.

“Gunwook,” he says one last time.

When there’s no magical change in his boyfriend’s demeanour, Matthew slips out of the bed to get dressed, but not before carefully tucking the sheets around his sleeping form again.

🐻

Matthew starts on the laundry to try and keep his worries at bay. There’s nothing he can do now but wait and see if Gunwook will wake up, or if he will sleep through the day, and Matthew will have to set up his den alone. But no matter how hard he tries to focus on his colours versus his whites, the dread of the suddenly impending hibernation bears down on him.

Though they’ve known each other since they were teenagers, this is only Matthew’s third year experiencing Gunwook’s hibernation in close quarters.

The first year was back when he and Gunwook had both moved into the shared house that Hao, Jiwoong and Hanbin had established when they’d gotten too old to live in the bustling hybrid home. Taerae and Gyuvin had also moved in from the home at the same time, as well as Ricky, a friend-slash-foster-brother of Hao’s who was moving to Seoul.

With so many of them living together, the whole house had pitched in on monitoring Gunwook’s hibernation that year. Jiwoong, Hao and Hanbin had cooked the right sort of foods to help Gunwook gain fat; the handful of times he’d woken up, Gyuvin, Matthew and Ricky had been sure to get him a change of clothes and something to eat. All of them were in charge of making sure the heating pads and hot water bottles in Gunwook’s bed/den got changed out every few hours. Hanbin had even set up a rota on Gunwook’s bedroom door for them to write down when they’d last been heated up, as well as if anyone had cuddled with Gunwook that day, as per his request for cuddles and shared body heat over the course of his hibernation.

Nearly everyone was familiar with each other’s needs from growing up together in the hybrid home (aside from Matthew, who knew everyone through Hanbin, and Ricky, who knew everyone through Hao). Gunwook’s hibernation was only a novelty for Matthew, who had spent a lot of time in the heat of Gunwook’s den that year, finding it a comfortable place to do his assigned reading or write notes for his thesis.

He always wondered if the many hours of cuddling while Gunwook slept had influenced his sudden romantic pursuit of Matthew the following year. Well, it was sudden from Matthew’s perspective, though not unwelcome. Gunwook always insisted he’d been crushing on him since forever.

What Matthew had really learned that year, up close and personal with Gunwook’s hibernation, was just how unsafe it was. While Matthew’s fox senses and fluffy red ears work with his human body as if he was designed by God, not by morally questionable and unregulated scientists, Gunwook is different. His bear traits are almost entirely incompatible with normal human life.

Although Matthew always knew that Gunwook lost a lot of weight over the course of his hibernation, he never realised that the weight loss nearly killed him every year. Though Gunwook can store fats for far longer than a normal human, he’s just not built to sleep as long as a real bear would. It’s why he needs the heating pads and friendly body heat to constantly keep the den warm—to make sure he’s burning off as little fat as possible over the winter.

While his bear biology demands he hibernate for months on end, his human biology can barely survive it.

Seeing Gunwook waste away throughout the winter, seeing how frail he was upon waking up, having a hybrid specialist carer come to check on him every few weeks, was something that affected Matthew far more than he expected.

It was always hard to accept his differences as a hybrid. Growing up, he could hardly leave his home without feeling like a freak. But for the first time, he understood that being a hybrid didn’t just make fitting into society harder. It wasn’t just unfair, and complicated, and isolating, and different.

For some of them, it was dangerous. For people like Gunwook, it could be deadly.

The second year had been even worse. Gunwook had been out of it by early October, but for some reason, he couldn’t rest properly. While it’s normal for him to wake up a few times during hibernation, last year it was happening almost every week—Gunwook stumbling out of his den, frown on his face, unable to communicate properly what was bothering him.

They eventually figured out it was their scents rather than the noise. The hybrid specialist in charge of Gunwook’s wellbeing, Doyoung, theorised it was simply because he was getting older, and more independent, and the foreign scents were setting off his base instincts to protect his den.

Matthew, privately, believed it was because of him. Whenever Gunwook would wake, he would seek Matthew out, always intent on dragging him back into the den. That wasn’t so strange, as they were in a committed relationship by that point, but the frequency of it became an increasing concern that they could never quite resolve. Since his mom and sister had moved back to Canada by that point, Matthew had nowhere else to go, and they worried what Gunwook might do if Matthew was out of the apartment too long anyway.

His theory was that some misguided instinct was recognising Matthew as if he were a cub Gunwook had to protect, over-eager to bring him back to safety. But the frequent interruptions to his sleep messed with his body, and he lost fat too quickly. They’d had to transfer him to specialist hybrid ward before his hibernation even finished, when they were worried a saline drip wouldn’t be enough to keep him alive.

Because of all the interruptions from last year, they had decided that this year, Matthew alone is in charge of monitoring Gunwook’s hibernation. They’d moved out of the pack house months ago in an attempt to reduce the disturbances to his sleep, and their apartment is home enough now that he’s sure the surroundings won’t be a problem.

Which means everything else is down to Matthew to make sure Gunwook survives again this year.

🐻

Matthew has hung up the laundry, cleaned the bathroom, vacuumed the whole apartment including their bedroom, watered the plants, washed the windows, and started on cleaning the kitchen by the time Gunwook wakes up.

Nothing truly takes his mind off the dread of hibernation until he sees his boyfriend stumble out of their room, hair a mess, eyes only slightly open.

“Whattime ssit?”

“Oh! You’re up!” Relief hits him like a ton of bricks—he was trying to come to terms with the fact that he might not have the chance to say goodnight this year. “I was about to start getting the hot water bottles out.”

Gunwook shakes his head grumpily, and latches his arms around Matthew’s shoulders, leaning his weight into him from behind. “Not yet.”

“Looks like we have one more afternoon before you really go, huh? What do you want to do with it?”

They rock from side to side for a minute, Matthew abandoning his cloth and cleaning spray to lean back into Gunwook, breathing in his scent. It will be dulled during hibernation, and he knows Gunwook likes Matthew carrying it as much as Matthew enjoys basking in it.

“Baking,” Gunwook says eventually.

“Baking?” Matthew repeats in surprise. It’s not exactly a regular activity for them.

“Cookies. And decorating.” Gunwook nuzzles into Matthew’s hair and soft ears, his left ear twitching at the contact. “Wanna do Christmas stuff with you.”

Matthew’s heart clenches. It’s the first year Matthew won’t be going back home for Christmas, committed to Gunwook’s care, though he’d hosted his family at Chuseok and had tentatively promised a trip back to Canada for Seollal.

Gunwook knows how much he loves the holidays and how close he is with his family. He’s painfully aware of how much of a sacrifice this is for Matthew.

“Yeah? That sounds fun. I’m gonna make you a meal first, okay, how about you see what ingredients we have for cookies?”

Gunwook grumbles, long and low, still pressed against his back. “I said with you.”

“Then help me make the food first, you big baby. Salmon pie again?”

Though Gunwook remains drowsy and slow, he’s present enough to help with easy tasks and engage in real conversation with Matthew. He also eats a huge portion of food, which helps settle Matthew’s nerves a little bit.

Miraculously, they have everything they need for cookies, though he avoids thinking too hard about when these ingredients were last used. Though they’ve both spent a lot of time learning to cook meals that satisfy their hybrid natures, baking is something they both have comparatively little experience with.

That’s the fun of it, though—arguing together about what the proper mixing technique is, pointing out when they each manage to set the scales wrong in different ways, and roasting each other for cutting the cookie mix into practically unrecognisable shapes.

Once the cookies are safely loaded into the oven, they move onto decor. After Matthew’s mother had accepted they would be meeting for Seollal rather than Christmas this year, she had arranged to have a Christmas tree delivered to their apartment, complete with a set of baubles and decorations. Matthew had shed some tears about the whole thing, and Gunwook had cuddled him and apologised even though he had nothing to apologise for, and they’d agreed to try and do some festive activities together before Gunwook started hibernation.

Getting the tree and decorations out again makes his chest heavy, but seeing Gunwook get so into the bauble and tinsel placement brings a genuine smile onto his face. Gunwook has never had the privilege of setting up Christmas decorations before, and it’s obvious from his childlike joy.

“Is there anything else? Stuff for the walls?” he asks once the tree is successfully erected in the corner of the room.

“No, my mom just sent stuff for the tree. I’ll put some other decorations up later.”

Gunwook pouts. “But I’ll miss them…”

“Then I’ll keep them up until March, just for you?”

From where they’re sitting on the rug in the middle of the floor, cross-legged and looking up at the softly glowing tree, Gunwook grabs Matthew’s arm and pulls his boyfriend into him. Matthew lets himself be manhandled, stretching out his legs and resting his head on Gunwook’s shoulder, nuzzling into him.

“Then it’s not special,” he grumbles, and Matthew reaches out to stroke his thigh soothingly.

“It’s still special if we enjoy it together.”

“As much as I appreciate the sentiment, at that point we might as well use the Christmas decorations for my birthday celebrations. It loses meaning.”

“Oh, but that could work, couldn’t it? A special tree is fitting for a bear’s birthday!”

“That’s like saying we should all go and cuddle in a hole in the ground for your birthday.”

“Hey, that’s pretty much what we do at pack hangouts, if you count their couch as a hole…”

“I’m going to tell Hao you said that about his couch.”

“Ah, wait, come on, you know what I meant!” Matthew squeezes his thigh and Gunwook laughs. “Really, though, we can do this anytime of year. It’s always fun if it’s with you.”

Gunwook hums. “I want to do it now, though. I know this comes nowhere close to celebrating with your family. I wish I could come home with you like a normal boyfriend. I wish we could watch the first snowfall together. I wish we could go ice skating and Christmas shopping and on winter dates. I wish we had more time. I’m going to miss so much.”

Matthew swallows. No one dislikes Gunwook’s hibernation more than Gunwook himself, who has to miss out on half his life because of a misguided animal instinct that nearly kills him each year.

Every year he wakes up, he’s missed out on new inside jokes, on his nieces graduating from one grade to another, on Matthew trying a new hair colour because he was bored, or Hao picking up a new instrument on a whim, or Gyuvin deciding it’s avant garde social commentary for him to wear a dog collar in public.

Matthew can’t keep retreating into his head about this when Gunwook is the one sleeping his life away. It’s not fair to either of them, but at least Matthew has chosen to be here. Gunwook never has, and probably never will have that choice.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he says quietly, kissing the soft skin of his arm. “I’ll catch you up on everything, you don’t need to worry about that. I’ll take care of you.”

But keeping his true feelings from Gunwook is almost impossible. Between his powerful sense of smell and simple attentive nature around Matthew, Gunwook can read his emotions like a book.

“You’ll take good care of me,” Gunwook agrees seriously. “So don’t worry about me too much.”

Matthew has managed to stink of anxiety on their last day together. It’s not surprising, but it is disappointing.

Gunwook leans down to kiss him properly, and Matthew tilts his head up to meet the kiss, soft and slow. With a hand on the back of his head, Gunwook pulls him in closer, other hand on his waist, reassuring him by tracing slow, warm circles against his skin.

“I love you,” Gunwook says softly when they part, pulling Matthew further up onto him, straddling his thigh. “I trust you. And I want you to stop worrying, please.”

He kisses Matthew again, who wraps his arms around Gunwook’s shoulders, returning the kiss more deeply than before. “How can I not worry,” he says when they pull apart, faces a hair’s breadth apart, “when your life is in my hands?”

“It’s because it’s in your hands that I’m not worried,” Gunwook says, smile sweet and relaxed like he really, really means it.

Gunwook manages to stay awake long enough to decorate the cookies with him, and Matthew couldn’t ask for a better final activity with him. It’s messy and the cookies turn out ugly, but it’s also so fun to smear icing on his cheek and make fun of his wonky artwork, and somehow, it takes their mind off the impending sleep.

Then Gunwook sends a message to the pack bidding them a good night until spring, kisses Matthew until he’s breathless, and asks him to come back to bed.

🐻

Gunwook is entitled to a lot of support from specialists on hybrid health and wellbeing, along with a certain amount of regular supportive income to help him live life with the genetic modifications injected into him in the womb. But for Matthew, whose biggest day-to-day hybrid-related problems include getting blatantly stared on the street by strangers, calmly ignoring the odd slur at his place of work, and getting terrified looks from old ladies who believe the misinformation that all hybrids are bloodthirsty animals ready to strike terrified old ladies at any given moment, the supportive care and money is a lot more limited.

Which means that, while Gunwook comfortably sleeps the winter away, Matthew still has to go to work as normal.

He quite likes his current job, at least. Jojo’s is a cute Japanese tea shop a reasonable distance from home, far enough removed from the main streets and large chains that it’s not overly busy. Plus, none of his co-workers grab his tail without permission or ask pointed questions about his parents’ decision to inject animal genes into their unborn baby, which were more or less par for the course in his previous job. They’re good people, and being the only hybrid amongst them isn’t a big deal, and it’s something he’s always grateful for.

Maki is really interested in the technicalities of Gunwook’s hibernation, though.

“But like, real bears only hibernate because they can’t find food in the winter,” he says, bringing a box of disposable cups to the front counter. It’s a slow hour, so there are no customers here, and he proceeds to cross his arms atop the box to talk to Matthew better instead of unpacking it. Matthew can hardly judge—he’s rearranging their syrups by alphabetical order, for lack of anything better to do. “So why does hibernation kick in with Gunwook? He doesn’t need to sleep.”

“Trust me, he is well aware of that. It’s like asking why humans haven’t evolved to, like, see in the dark. We’d be a lot safer if we could, but we just aren’t built like that. We’re built to live in the day. Gunwook was built to live like a bear, so he does.”

“That’s crazy, dude.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Hybrids were never supposed to make sense, so you might as well stop trying to make sense of it.”

“Do you have instincts like that? Like, sometimes you just get the urge to dig holes?”

“Dude.”

“What? Was that a weird question?”

The thing with Maki is that he knows it’s a genuine question, not meant to treat him like an alien curiosity or simply to poke fun. Maybe it’s the fact that they can speak English together, but he feels like any topic is fair game with Maki. He’s just chill like that.

“I’ll get the urge to bite you in a minute.”

Maki puts his hands in the air. “Hey, I’m not trying to become a statistic.”

“Shut the fuck up, man.”

He’s not offended, not really. But Maki seems to sense it’s a sensitive topic anyway, and finally closes his mouth to focus on unpacking their stock.

“It’s just hard,” he says after a few beats of quiet. He always knew it would be hard, but in the few days Gunwook has been sleeping, Matthew has been taking it harder than he was expecting. “The apartment is so quiet and empty, it feels like I’m living alone right now. I’ve never lived alone before, and now I have to do it while my boyfriend is in his scheduled coma until spring, and it’s up to me to make sure he lives through it. It all sucks.”

“Yeah, wow, that really does suck. You can’t have people over to help you out?”

“Not really. He’s really sensitive to foreign smells, it will probably wake him up.”

“You’d better keep Nico and his weird new cologne a million miles away from him, then.”

Matthew laughs, relaxing. More than ever, he feels really lucky to have this job, to have friends on shift that he’s comfortable with in the way he rarely finds with non-hybrids. To have somewhere to go in the day to keep himself occupied, instead of spending all his time worrying inside the apartment.

“Seriously, though. You know you’re always welcome to come hang out at Fuma’s, get away from the stress for a bit.”

The rest of the staff at Jojo’s are almost entirely Japanese. They have a monthly standing group hangout that Matthew has been to a few times, but as the only one who doesn’t speak the language fluently, he always feels like he’s intruding on their one time of the month they don’t have to speak in a second or third (or fourth, for Maki) language while living in Seoul.

He’s grateful enough just to have the job here. He suspects Jo and Yudai saw themselves in him when they hired him, which is why they gave him a chance after being rejected from dozens of similar jobs. He doesn’t want to infringe on their cultural diaspora hangouts—he’s got his own pack of misfits to hang out with, when he can figure out a good time to visit the others without leaving Gunwook alone for too long.

“I need to get better at my Japanese before I can come back.”

“Hey, you can speak with me. Practicing English is good too.”

He waves his hand, though he’s touched regardless. “It’s okay, don’t worry about me. I can keep myself busy. Foxes are solitary animals, anyway.”

“Doesn’t mean Matthew is a solitary animal,” Maki says, right before the door chimes open.

“Yeah,” Matthew says softly as Maki whisks away the box, straightening up and pasting a friendly smile on to serve their first customer.

🐻

It doesn’t take long for Matthew to get into a routine around Gunwook’s hibernation. When he arrives home from work, he showers straight away to get rid of foreign smells, and puts all his clothes in the washer. He usually ends up changing into something of Gunwook’s, partially for his own comfort, partially to make sure he smells like the den as much as possible to Gunwook’s ridiculously sensitive nose.

Then he changes out the heat pads and hot water bottles in the den, makes sure Gunwook hasn’t kicked his blankets off, checks his heart rate is as slow as it should be for hibernation, and leaves out a fresh tub of water with his snacks in case he wakes up. The water hasn’t been touched so far, which is a good sign—Gunwook should only wake up for food or water a few times over the winter, and it’s hardly been a week since he started hibernating.

He’s putting up some more decorations around the apartment today, since it’s now officially December. He’d called his mom and sister last night, and the glow of lights behind them made his chest hurt with a homesickness he hasn’t felt in years, and he had stopped off to buy some Christmas lights after work to try and remedy it.

Matthew had first moved to South Korea with Yaebin and his mom at age fourteen. After his parents divorced, his mom thought it might be a fresh start for all of them, and a chance for Matthew to make some other hybrid friends. Though hybrids still don’t even make up 1% of the population here, they’re far more recognised, and dare he say accepted than in Canada, where he was something of the town spectacle. Nearly all hybrid babies of the early 2000s craze were genetically modified in South Korean or Chinese labs, and most of them stayed in those countries in adult life for a reason.

Here, at least he’s considered a real person. To the rest of the world, he’s more like a mythological creature.

Although he likes life in South Korea well enough, he’ll always be a child of two cultures. Especially since his mom and Yaebin moved back to Canada a few years ago, that yearning for the festivities and food and home he grew up with comes on strongly in the winter season.

Christmas was the one time of year he used to bank on visiting home. But visiting without Gunwook last year, being so far away and knowing he was struggling with hibernation, was far worse than not going at all.

He keeps reminding himself of that now, but it’s not exactly improving his mood.

Evenings are okay. He can distract himself with a TV show or new game or online shopping or YouTube videos or just about anything he can get his hands on.

It’s the nights that are difficult.

Sleeping in the den with Gunwook is comfortable, despite how warm it is. While that was something that drove everyone else crazy about helping out with Gunwook’s hibernation—Taerae couldn’t stand the stuffy den—Matthew always liked it. Maybe because of his fox nature of burrowing like Maki suggested, or maybe because he just likes Gunwook.

Gunwook also often rolls over to wrap his arms around him when Matthew gets into bed. Being held like that as Matthew softly talks about his day is nice—reminds him he’s still living with another person after all, that his boyfriend hasn’t gone anywhere. He’s just sleeping. Breathing in, breathing out, always sleeping.

It’s getting his own sleep that’s the problem.

Once he’s done speaking, and is simply lying in the dark, listening to Gunwook’s slow deep breathing—he always wrestles with the same pathways of thought.

Whether he should’ve come to bed earlier to keep Gunwook company. Whether the late start to his hibernation might make a difference to his health this year—if it does, great, but what will they do if next year’s sleep is longer?

If it doesn’t, how will they ever get a handle on this?

He thinks about how, the more years Gunwook does this, the more of a drain it will be on his body. He thinks about how there are fewer than ten brown bear hybrids in the world that they know of, because while creating hybrids using domestic animal DNA was hardly legal, using wild animal DNA was off the table in South Korea. There might be some more in China, but they’re a lot harder to find.

He thinks about how, because of that, nobody really knows what to do with hybrids like Gunwook, whose instincts and needs don’t easily fit into human society like the rest of them. He thinks about how the oldest hybrids in the world are only thirty this year, and about how nearly all hybrids experience health complications related to their animal species, and about just how little is known about hybrid bodies and needs and life expectancy in general.

Then he gets out of bed to sit on the couch, or get a glass of water, or stand in front of the bathroom mirror and stare at his naturally reddish hair, flecked with black and white, fox ears nestled atop his head. He thinks about all his unopened texts from his friends, and tells himself he needs to try and leave the house for something that isn’t work or groceries tomorrow.

He wonders if he was the real reason for his parents’ divorce, after years of disagreements about his care.

He wonders what God would think of him, if he can be considered one of God’s creations at all.

Then he goes back to bed and strokes Gunwook’s hair until he’s too tired to move, wishing somebody would comfort him, too.

🐻

Around two weeks into Gunwook’s hibernation, Doyoung comes around for his first scheduled check-up. He greets Matthew with a wide smile and a hug, because they’re close enough for that, and heaves a bag of medical equipment into the bedroom to check Gunwook’s vitals. Or, check whatever he can, as Gunwook is in an unmovable position curled up on his side.

Doyoung is from what is considered to be the first wave of ‘failed’ hybrids—the science wasn’t daring enough to start with, so he doesn’t have any discernable bunny-like features like the large floppy ears or wide dark eyes Yujin has, but he does have the little habits of twitching his nose and occasionally grinding his teeth, as well as a bunny-like scent that allows other hybrids to clock him easily. As hybrid babies were a purely aesthetic endeavour in the late 90s, Doyoung lives in the awkward in-between of not being considered a ‘real’ hybrid, but having his biology meddled with enough that he can relate to a lot of their struggles.

“Has he woken up at all so far?” Doyoung asks softly, as Matthew watches him take Gunwook’s blood pressure.

“Not even when I smashed a bowl in the kitchen the other day.”

Doyoung raises his eyebrows and glances at Matthew. “Why were you doing that?”

“I wasn’t doing it on purpose!” he sulks, though he knows Doyoung only said it to get that reaction out of him. “I knocked it off the counter!”

“How about when you have people over? Does it seem to bother him at all?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t had anyone here since the hibernation started.”

Doyoung hums. “How long do you spend out of the house these days, do you think?”

Matthew shrugs. “However long my shift is. Usually not more than eight hours.”

“How has he been with new smells? Cooking food? Coming home with new things?”

“Trust me, Hyung, if I had noticed any change or anything weird, I would’ve let you know right away. He’s been dead asleep for weeks, no change.”

Doyoung shoots him a look, before placing a stethoscope in his ears to listen to Gunwook’s heartbeat.

When he’s finished, he gestures for them to leave the room, and Matthew softly closes the bedroom door behind them.

“What do you think?” he asks, leaning over the kitchen counter as Doyoung sets his bag of equipment down.

“His vitals are ideal for this stage of hibernation. Without knowing his exact weight, he looks physically well, certainly deeply asleep. I’d say he’s managing his hibernation a lot better than you are right now.”

Matthew flusters at the answer. “What? Am I doing something wrong?”

“No, no, I didn’t mean that, Matthew,” Doyoung says, putting a hand over his. “You’re doing a great job with him. I meant that you seem so tired, and you sound like you’re hardly doing anything but looking after him. You don’t have to wait at his side until he wakes up, you know. When was the last time you saw your pack?”

He gets a little warm in the cheeks whenever someone outside of their pack refers to them as that. It’s silly, really—none of them are even pack animals, unless you count Taerae’s nature to flock—but they’re so entwined with one another that somehow the name has made it out of the group chat.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “A couple weeks. I don’t—I can’t have them here, it’s bound to wake Gunwook up.”

“And what’s to stop you from going to see them?” Doyoung asks pointedly. “That house is big enough to squeeze you in.”

He shrugs again, looking down at his fingernails. He feels kind of weird about inviting himself into the pack house these days—though he knows they all love him as well as anyone else, he’s the only one of them who never lived in the hybrid home they all know each other from, besides Ricky. But Ricky and Hao were fostered together back in China, and he’s been part of the pack home for two years now, so it’s still not quite the same.

Since Matthew and Gunwook moved out, Yujin moved into their old room, and the group chat is mostly filled with messages about whose turn it is to take out the bins and whether or not Ricky has been using Jiwoong’s scratching post and warning that the toilet flush is broken again. It’s not so much about the group of them as it is the household he’s no longer a part of.

Though he’s sure he’s got unread direct messages asking him to come and visit—it’s the norm for him and Gunwook to see the others two or three times a week—it feels weird to go alone while Gunwook is sleeping. He’s not really a part of the pack without living with them, without Gunwook or Hanbin acting as his connecting piece of the puzzle.

“I don’t like leaving him,” he says, because this part is easier to explain. “I’m always worried I’ll miss him waking up, or maybe—maybe when I’m out, he gets more restless, but we wouldn’t know because I’m not there, or maybe being out longer could trigger him to—”

“Matthew,” Doyoung says, putting his hands on Matthew’s shoulders. “You realise that part of my visits here are to make sure you’re doing okay with the hibernation too, right?”

He’s pretty sure that’s not true. Doyoung’s speciality is hybrids with unusual traits or care needs. “I’m fine, Hyung. Really.”

“You need to hang out with some people who aren’t dead to the world. Gunwook will be fine if you go out for an evening, or have someone over once in a while. It’s good, in fact, to expose him to a little bit of disturbance, make sure his natural responses are still working as expected. He’s already doing so much better than last year—you can’t abandon your own well-being just to tiptoe around his hibernation, okay?”

He withers under Doyoung’s touch, relenting. He opens his mouth to ask if Doyoung could get him something to help him sleep, then thinks better of it.

Before he can say anything else, both of them tilt their heads at the same time when a new scent reaches them. It takes Matthew all of a second to register what it means, as a familiar rush of anxiety he’d experienced week-in, week-out during the Disastrous Hibernation of Last Year surges through him.

Gunwook is getting up.

“It’s because you’re here,” he says quietly, and Doyoung eyes him for a moment

Neither of them move as they wait to see what Gunwook has woken up for.

If it’s food, he’ll stumble towards the kitchen. If it’s new clothes, they’ll probably hear him fumble to try and take them off any moment now.

If Matthew has been right all this time—if it’s him, his scent being around less familiar scents that disturbs Gunwook’s sleep…

The bedroom door opens. Gunwook stands there, hair a mess around his fuzzy ears, eyes mostly still closed. He turns his head, following the smell of them into the kitchen.

“Gunwook-ie,” he says softly, and Gunwook shuffles over to him, draping himself over Matthew’s back, scenting him roughly and wrapping his arms around him.

There’s a few popping noises as Gunwook’s jaw clicks, followed by a low grumbling sound that no human should be able to make. He sees Doyoung tense up, as hard as he tries not to, and even Matthew, who is not the one on the other end of the agitated, threatening noise, feels his hair stand on end.

“It’s just Doyoung,” he says in a low voice, stroking Gunwook’s arm, but it doesn’t do anything to stop Gunwook from bodily dragging him back towards the bedroom.

“I’ll let myself out,” Doyoung says to him as he’s pulled away by Gunwook. “I’ll text you. This is fine, this just confirms everything we’ve set up for his hibernation this year is working.”

He doesn’t have time to respond before Gunwook pulls him into the bedroom, still nuzzling his face into Matthew’s neck. Matthew is able to extract himself enough to crawl into the bed before Gunwook can situate his full weight on top of Matthew, as happened multiple times last year, and he had to wiggle free enough to breathe properly.

He can just about hear Doyoung gathering his things and leaving quickly over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.

Gunwook left the bedroom door open. He needs to get up and shut that before all the heat escapes the room, but he can’t move away too soon, or Gunwook will actually start to panic, and his thick, sharp nails are capable of shredding bedsheets, as they learned last year too.

His eyelashes feel a little wet, and his heart sits a little too high in his chest, and he blinks the feeling away. It’s fine. They’re fine. Gunwook’s breathing is already evening out again—he wasn’t even properly awake in the first place.

He wishes someone else was here to shut the door after them. He wishes Gunwook’s bear senses wouldn’t feel so threatened by scents other than his, so that all this pressure wouldn’t fall to him alone.

He feels awful for even thinking such a thing. He loves Gunwook so fucking much. Taking care of him shouldn’t be a burden.

What kind of boyfriend is he if he can’t even accept Gunwook’s base nature?

🐻

His days off are harder than days on shift. With no excuse to leave the apartment, he’ll often sleep in with Gunwook as long as he can, play something on his Switch until he’s bored, and then mope around instead of doing his chores.

The chores that benefit Gunwook are easier to motivate himself to do, but the ones that he does for himself are harder. He’s way too used to Gunwook being over his shoulder, doing things with him, or more often, for them both. Since Gunwook doesn’t work, he’s usually the one to take care of their home, and Matthew finds it hard to do it all alone.

Hobbies aren’t the same either, without someone to do them with, or at least Gunwook to backseat game over his shoulder. Back in the pack house, they would both work out with Ricky and Jiwoong and anyone else who could be bothered coming to the gym. He and Hanbin and Hao and Taerae would play instruments and sing together, some nights. Even going out for walks together became a regular household thing when Gyuvin realised how much it lowered his anxiety.

It’s another difficulty he’s found about living alone. He doesn’t know how to do things alone, because he’s never had to before.

He’s seriously debating asking someone from the pack to play online with him, but he’s battling with the embarrassment of not having answered anyone’s messages for two weeks. Or, more honestly, he’s not totally sure what his excuse is for not coming to game with them in person, when they inevitably ask.

Doyoung has okayed it, since Gunwook is as well as can be hoped. But he still feels he can’t leave for no good reason. If something happened and he wasn’t here…

Really, he should just get used to being alone like a proper adult.

Sometimes, he imagines a life with Gunwook where hybrids were never created, and they were both born naturally. No extra parts that cause nothing but added complications to their lives.

Rather than only getting to spend half Gunwook’s life together, they get to celebrate Christmas and Seollal and Valentine’s Day like ordinary couples. Rather than losing half his life to sleep he doesn't need, Gunwook would get to see snow, and celebrate his birthday on the actual day he was born, and wouldn’t be in a constant cycle of gaining and losing weight just to make sure he survives another year.

But would he have ever met Gunwook, if they hadn’t been born like this? It’s unlikely. He probably would never have come to live in South Korea, even. In that way, being a hybrid has shaped his life almost as much as hibernation has for Gunwook. At the end of the day, he wouldn’t change anything about his life, because he can’t imagine it without Gunwook, and without his pack.

Still. They could all do without the hibernation thing.

The next day off he has after Doyoung’s visit, he tries to browse the internet for gifts for his mom and sister, as it occurs to him he’ll have to send something halfway around the world this year. His usual trick is to buy them some flashy perfume in the airport before going home.

Browsing the weird mantlepiece decorations his mom likes makes him miss her more, though, and he doesn’t manage to pick anything before he’s looking for something else to do. The homesickness too easily leads to resentment, these days, which immediately leads to guilt.

He doesn’t resent Gunwook, but he does resent his hibernation. That’s hardly better, though—as if Matthew is the main victim of all this.

It’s getting increasingly harder to do anything that gets him out of his head. The decorations don’t bring any sense of warmth to him when all he can think about is the fact that he’s going to spend Christmas alone this year.

So, inevitably, he goes back to bed and nuzzles into Gunwook, seeking out comfort and hoping to nap most of the day away. Gunwook is always warm, and when it’s still light outside, dozing without properly sleeping doesn’t feel so terrible.

He does nap for a bit. Only as the day grows darker does he realise he hasn’t eaten today, and drags himself out of bed to make some food.

After lazing around all day, it’s hard to summon the will or the hunger to make a proper meal. The dying light filters through the windows in weird drib-drabs, and he settles on heating the kettle for some instant noodles.

As he rests against the counter, waiting for the water to boil, he realises why the light is falling so strangely. Outside, it has started to snow.

It’s been snowing for a while, he realises, when he presses his face against the window pane and looks down onto the street outside. There is already a layer of white across the road and rooftops as the snow comes down thick and fast. It’s the first snowfall of the year.

On the first snowfall of last year, he’d been in bed with Gunwook, watching it fall through a small gap in the blinds. Before long, Gyuvin had come to drag him outside, and he’d soon found himself laughing breathlessly as Gyuvin leapt around in the snow behind their building like a real excitable puppy, tail wagging a mile a minute. It didn’t take much for Matthew to join him in his excitement, scooping up snow to throw it around them and chasing him until they fell over, rolled around, and began trying to shove snow down each other’s hoodies.

This had teased Taerae and Ricky out of the house and eventually led to a snowball fight that even Hanbin couldn’t turn down. From the blank spot of snow outside their building, he could occasionally look up and spot the little broken section of blind that marked Gunwook’s window, and his chest ached a little from knowing how much he’d love the snow.

Before he can really register it, he’s turning away from the window now, and heading towards the front door.

He hurriedly stomps his shoes on as he jogs down the stairs in just his pyjama pants and a hoodie. Opening the front door of their building, he steps out into the street, looking up into the white sky above.

Snow falls into his eyelashes and hair and the soft fur of his tail immediately. He doesn’t move, but stands still, staring up at the sky as more snow comes down.

If he stays here long enough, maybe he’ll become piled in snow like the cars and buildings around him. He shivers, putting his arms around himself, but still not moving out of the cold.

He should take a video for Gunwook. He knows Gyuvin and Hao text him while he sleeps, send him photos of everyone at hangouts, or of their food when they get Gunwook’s favourite, or of cute trinkets they see that remind them of him. It’s their way of including him, showing they’re always thinking of him. Matthew’s never quite figured out if this makes Gunwook feel touched, or even more left out. It’s possible it’s both.

He stands there still, unmoving, breathing in the chilly air.

It won’t do them any good if he gets sick.

But still, he stands under the snow.

Even as people passing on the street give him strange looks, he stands, trying to feel every snowflake on his skin, trying to catch them on his eyelashes.

He wonders if his pack is out in the snow right now, if Gyuvin has dragged Yujin out instead this year. He wonders, if he checks Gunwook’s phone, if he’ll have received a video of a snowball fight, or Yujin making a snow angel, or Hanbin’s attempt at a snowman with bear ears.

He watches the snow fall, slightly dizzy with it, the white on white, the frosty air covering his skin with goosebumps.

He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there when his phone starts to buzz.

It startles him so much because he forgot his phone even could buzz—he always has it on silent. It’s only set to vibrate if…

Someone is calling him. Jiwoong.

“Hello?” he says, picking up without a second thought. “Are you alright?”

“Hi. I’m okay,” Jiwoong says, a smile in his voice. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” he asks, feeling turned around. No one ever calls him. “I’m fine!”

He is freezing cold though, and steps back inside his building at last. He full-body shivers as the door closes behind him, and starts up the stairs with haste.

“Good,” Jiwoong says, way too calm and casual for an unannounced phone call. “I thought I’d call because you haven’t answered anyone’s messages since Gunwook went to sleep, and I don’t know if you’re coming to Sera tomorrow.”

“Sera?” he asks, lost. Sera is their designated restaurant for celebrations and events, because it’s hybrid-owned and delicious, and the staff don’t mind if they get a bit rowdy with celebrations. “Sorry, I guess I missed it, what’s happening?”

“For my birthday,” Jiwoong says, still with a smile in his voice, though Matthew can hear the teasing note before he speaks again. “Don’t tell me you forgot?”

Matthew stops in his tracks outside his apartment door, checks the date on his phone, and knocks his forehead against the hard wood. Yes, he totally forgot—it’s Jiwoong’s birthday tomorrow.

“I’m so sorry, Hyung, I’m an idiot,” he says, keying in the door code and knocking the kettle back on again. He definitely needs those noodles now. “I’ve been losing track of time so much lately, I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay. I remember how occupying Gunwook’s hibernation is, I can’t blame you for being distracted. But you’re coming, right?”

Matthew opens his mouth, but can’t find the answer right away. Can he come? He can’t miss it. He’s got an early shift tomorrow, so he can always come back to check on Gunwook before he goes out for dinner with the others. That should be fine—he only needs to stay for a couple of hours.

It would be good to see them.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” he says, and a thrill like guilt shoots through his chest before it dies again. “Of course. Is everyone else coming?”

“All the pack, aside Gunwook-ie, of course. They’re excited to see you, ‘Tthew, it’s been ages since you’ve come around.”

“It’s only been a few weeks,” he says weakly.

“I know, but we’re used to you being here every other day,” Jiwoong says, despite how that’s obvious to both of them. He’s still soft with his words, as if he’s not trying to scare Matthew away by pushing too much.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. We all get it. How are things going with Gunwook? Okay?”

“Gunwook? Yeah, really good. He only woke up once so far, when Doyoung visited. Everything else has been perfect.”

“Hey, that’s great.”

“Yeah, it’s a relief.”

“We’re all thinking of you, you know. I’m watching Ricky make something suspiciously fox shaped out of snow right now. You should come visit us, when you’re ready. Hanbin is worried about you.”

The kettle clicks. Matthew can’t move, heart heavy in his chest. “I’m sorry. I’ll come over soon.”

“I told you to stop saying sorry.”

He laughs a little. “Right. Well… I gotta go, Hyung, I was making food. But I’ll see you tomorrow at Sera.”

“See you tomorrow. Eat well.”

The call ends, and Matthew places his phone on the table, worrying at his lip. For some reason, he’s nervous to see everyone tomorrow. But excited at the same time.

He picks up the kettle, and pours the water into his cup noodles. Then he goes to sit by the window, and eats as he watches the snow fall.

🐻

He arrives at Sera a little late, having spent way too long worrying about changing his outfit for no good reason. Even though this is a birthday celebration, he knows for a fact Yujin will be there in sweats and Jiwoong himself will be dressed casually. There’s no dress code among them for things like this, but for some reason he feels like he has to prove he has his shit together through his outfit choice. Like if he wears a pair of jeans that look a little too worn they’ll see just how tired he is, how little social interaction he’s had in the last few weeks outside of shifts with Maki or Euijoo or Nico, how much he’s missing home and hating the season he usually loves.

All of that petty stress fades away the moment Gyuvin spots him entering Sera, bounding up to wrap him in the warmest hug, tail wagging hard enough to knock into an empty chair beside them.

“Matthewwwwww!” he cries, hugging him tightly. “It’s been forever!”

“I know, it has,” he agrees with a smile. “I’m sorry, I missed you guys.”

Gyuvin drags him over to the table, where Hao stands and watches them approach with his arms open. Matthew falls into them, and his embrace comforts Matthew, Hao’s long striped tail curling around Matthew’s wrist in a familiar greeting. “It’s so good to see you, Matthew.”

Hanbin, eternally next to Hao, comes in for a hug next. “I was worrying you weren’t coming!”

“I’m only ten minutes late!”

“You’re usually the early one!”

“Yeah,” he concedes easily, and Hanbin rubs his back affectionately.

He moves around the table to give Taerae and Yujin half hugs in their seats, so engrossed in their conversation that Yujin jumps when Matthew’s arm comes around his shoulder. Someone has draped some silly string around Taerae’s horns, and by the way Yujin’s eyes dart to him when Matthew’s sleeve disturbs it, it’s very possible Taerae doesn’t even know about it yet.

Ricky arrives at the table carrying drinks as Matthew is headed to greet Jiwoong at the end seat, and they end up clasping hands in greeting once Ricky has managed to hand said drinks out.

Ricky is the most distinctive-looking hybrid of all of them, with his cheetah-print skin often covered up under long sleeves and high collars. It’s why they love Sera—it’s something of a hybrid safe space in Seoul, with nearly all customers being hybrids or hybrid allies. Hardly anyone looks at their oddities twice in here, and Ricky can roll up his sleeves and let down his metaphorical and literal hair.

“Happy Birthday, Hyung,” he says, as Jiwoong stands to hug him too. He places a gift bag on the table—thankfully, he and Gunwook had picked out something for Jiwoong months ago, when they’d seen a retro-style camera in a vintage shop and both agreed it reminded them of him. Gunwook is so used to getting gifts months in advance and passing them along through friends that Matthew has picked up on the habit too, which is a life saver in situations like this.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Jiwoong says, but Matthew can see a pleased curl to his mouth.

“I know. Thank Gunwook-ie, he picked it out,” he says with a pat on his shoulder, and moves back around the table to the remaining free seat, next to Hao and opposite Taerae.

Conversation comes easily as the food begins arriving. It seems silly, now that he’s here, to have been worried about this—being with his pack is always easy, and nobody presses him too hard about Gunwook’s hibernation. For an hour or two, he puts his worries to the back of his mind and allows himself to laugh and chat and enjoy listening to Taerae and Gyuvin argue about whether or not wearing a leash out in public is appropriate for dog hybrids (“It’s my right!” “And it’s my right to hate it!”).

Yujin shows Matthew pictures of the snow creations they’d made yesterday, and Hao tells him about the new meals they’ve been trying out on the vegetarian side of the household, with Hanbin and Taerae and Yujin often getting upset stomachs from meat. Matthew should really be sitting on the other end of the table with the rest of the carnivores and their meat dishes, but he’s never had much trouble with eating whatever he wants, and is enjoying the endless vegetable dumplings and warm company around him too much to move.

As their meal comes to an end and the conversation turns to which bar or club they could visit next, he slowly sinks back to reality. He’s had a good evening, but he can’t justify staying out any longer with everyone.

He excuses himself to go to the bathroom, trying to figure out if he’s being ridiculous. Would it really make a difference to come out with them?

Does he even want to? He’s felt Gunwook’s absence a dozen times over the meal, that gaping cavern in his chest that won’t ever be properly filled until Gunwook wakes up again, no matter how much he tries to lose himself in the company of others.

If everyone else is going out, someone should probably head home with just-shy-of-nineteen Yujin anyway. He could always go back to the pack house and play video games with him, stay out a little longer without missing his boyfriend in a club with his friends.

But it feels almost worse to continue enjoying his evening without Gunwook, away from Gunwook. To want to have fun without thinking of him.

He shouldn’t feel guilty about enjoying himself, he knows Gunwook would never want that. But he also doesn’t want to become used to Gunwook not being around. Despite himself, he always wants him here—even though it hurts, he’s always going to wish his boyfriend could enjoy the winter with the rest of them.

He’s never going to be able to fully distract himself from the fact that Gunwook is missing out. That they, as a couple, will always miss out on things like this.

When he emerges from the bathroom, the restaurant suddenly feels very loud and very warm. He still hasn’t made his mind up about what he wants to do, if he’s even expected to go out with the pack at all. Maybe this is more of a household thing.

He looks across the restaurant at the table with the seven of them, and hesitates. Then he steps aside, and slides open the door to the restaurant balcony, which is still covered in the remnants of yesterday’s snow.

It’s quiet out here, and the crisp, cold air clears his lungs.

He steps up to the edge of the balcony, looking over the winding streets below, brightly lit with the neon lights of other restaurants and bars. The night is alive with the bustle of people moving from one social gathering to another, despite the frosty weather.

He should go home. It’s been a good night—he doesn’t want to ruin it by overthinking everything.

Behind him, the balcony door slides open. “What are you doing?” Hanbin asks, even as he steps through the door and closes it behind himself. He’s holding Matthew’s coat. “You shouldn’t go outside without a coat when it’s this cold!”

“I just needed a minute,” he says, accepting the coat anyway. “It was too warm inside.”

“No excuse,” Hanbin says fondly, coming to stand beside him against the balcony edge, already wearing his own coat. The delicate, soft guinea pig ears that poke out amongst his pale blond hair quiver in the cold, and once he’s pulled his coat on, Matthew pets down his tousled hair to help keep them covered and warm. “Thanks.”

“We can go back inside,” he says. “It is cold out here.”

“I was hoping I could talk to you for a minute, actually,” Hanbin says, holding onto his arm, then running his hand down it to grasp Matthew’s hand. “I was hoping you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong?” he echoes. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Hanbin lifts his hand to kiss the back of it, as if trying to coax Matthew to crack open and spill all his worries onto the dark streets below. “You think I don’t know you by now?” he says softly. “You’re tired. You’re distracted. You’re distant. You don’t get like this, Matthew, not ever. So what’s wrong?”

He hesitates, squeezing Hanbin’s hand. Hanbin has known him longer than anyone in Korea, had been the only other hybrid in Matthew’s school when he’d first moved here, and they’d quickly become fast friends. When Hanbin was moved out of his school and into the hybrid home, Matthew had been determined to stay close with him, and Hanbin had integrated him into the close-knit pack at the home through willpower alone.

Matthew had never forgotten how Hanbin made so much effort to include him in the pack even though he didn’t need Matthew anymore, and Hanbin had never forgotten how Matthew had travelled across the city to see him multiple times a week. They only became closer when they’d moved in together, and if there was anyone Matthew would ever pour his heart out to, it would be Hanbin. Before even Gunwook, sometimes.

“It’s just been hard. You know his hibernation is always hard.”

“I know. That’s why I’m worried that you’re not talking to us. We’re here for you, even though I know it’s not the same now we’re not living together.”

“I’m sorry. I know I should do better to loop you guys in. I’ve felt really pressured, to be honest, to make sure everything is going right. It just distracted me from everything else. I don’t think I’m very good at taking care of him.” He laughs without mirth, and Hanbin frowns.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say. No one is better at knowing what he needs than you. I thought the hibernation was going okay?”

“Yeah, it is, he’s doing good. But I always feel like it could get bad again at any time. I keep thinking about last hibernation, how bad it got, how long it took for him to gain that weight back. It was so scary. And now he’s losing it all again.”

“It was scary,” Hanbin agrees, rubbing his thumb along the back of Matthew’s hand. “But we’re more equipped than ever to make sure he gets through this okay this year.”

“I don’t think so,” he says quietly. “I think none of us really know what we’re doing, even Gunwook. There’s no precedent for this, because his body shouldn’t work like this according to all laws of nature. I feel like I can’t rest properly while he’s hibernating, and I’m so tired of being scared for him. Even before he went to sleep I was worried, because every moment of his life is recovering from or building up to or doing all this sleeping, and we already don’t get enough time together because of that, but I guess I realised recently that he might not even make it to fourty—”

He cuts himself off abruptly. That all spilled out so quickly, he’s as surprised at himself as Hanbin looks.

Matthew turns his face away and takes a deep breath to stop himself from breaking open even further. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologise,” Hanbin says at once. “Matthew, you should’ve come to us. You can’t carry on thinking like this. You’re grieving for your boyfriend who is very much alive. It’s okay to find this hard, you know. It’s okay to ask for help.”

“I can do it, I said I would do it. I always knew he needed to hibernate with just me this year,” he says, not quite meeting Hanbin’s eyes even as he looks into Matthew’s face earnestly. “I just didn’t expect it to be so lonely.”

“This was never going to be easy just because he’s your boyfriend and it’s what he needs. That only makes everything harder, right?” Hanbin takes Matthew’s face in his hands, makes him look back at him. “You’re a very good boyfriend, Matthew. You love him so much, but that’s not a guarantee that looking after him is painless. It doesn’t mean you have to do this alone. I’m sorry we didn’t notice you were hurting earlier. I’m sorry we haven’t been looking after you too.”

His eyes sting, and tears break over his lashes, and a small fox-like yelp escapes his mouth instead of a sob. He’s even more shocked by this, by the tears suddenly spilling out of him, and takes his hand back to cover his mouth. Hanbin only moves in closer to wrap his arms around Matthew’s shoulders, pressing his face against the soft material of his coat.

Matthew melts into Hanbin’s hug, and then he breaks down in his arms.

It feels as though a dam inside him has shattered, one he didn’t even know had been building. Everything he’s been holding onto, trying to juggle in an endless circle the last few weeks, feels as though it’s falling out of him and shattering onto the floor.

He hardly ever cries in front of other people. Partially because he knows the noises he makes are a bit strange, a bit alarming to prey hybrids like Hanbin or Yujin or Taerae. Hanbin doesn’t falter now, though, only hushing him and stroking his back and reassuring him gently as he cries.

Mostly, it’s because he doesn’t usually have things to cry about like this. He likes to think of himself as a pretty resilient person, the type to lift other people’s spirits and bring cheer to the group. He’s not a person who needs this kind of reassurance as much as others do.

But he’s never been so unsure and anxious like this before. Probably because Gunwook’s health and life is the most important thing that’s ever been entrusted to him, and it’s hard to imagine Matthew could ever be capable enough to protect and nurture it.

Hanbin holds him tightly until he’s quietened down to sniffles, and Matthew pulls back to face him again.

“I wish it wasn’t this hard. I hate that I can’t pull myself together enough to live with this. I don’t want this to hurt us when he can’t help it, when I know he has it worse than I ever will…”

Hanbin thumbs stray tears from his cheeks. “You’re being too hard on yourself. You’re doing so good, Matthew, and you don’t have to handle this alone, okay? I’m sorry it’s been so hard, I wish I’d known. I should’ve tried harder to check on you. You have to promise me you’re not going to shut us out again, or I will come knocking on your door. I know where you live.”

“I promise,” he says, voice broken and weak, but he smiles, because that’s always easy with Hanbin. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear you say sorry again. I want you to come back home with us after this and play videos games with Yujin and Gyuvin until you can’t see straight—”

“I can’t leave him for that long, there’s no one else making sure his den stays warm, Hyung. It’s just me.”

“Hao and I will go over and check on him,” Hanbin says firmly.

“He’ll wake up if you do that, you know your scent will trigger him, it’s not good for him—”

“It’s not actually our scents though, is it?” he says, voice firm but gentle, like he’s a kindergarten teacher and Matthew is a stressed toddler missing the obvious. “Hao and I are still on Gunwook’s care plan, we got Doyoung’s most recent email, didn’t you see it? He thinks it’s not inherently the scents that wake him up, because our scents are familiar to him. It’s when your scent is too far and other scents are closer that he starts to panic, and that alerts him enough to wake up and find you, to make sure you’re safe.”

Matthew gapes. He’d seen that email following Gunwook’s check-up, but had almost forgotten about it. On paper, it seemed like information he already knew.

Now Hanbin says it aloud…

“I think if we go over alone, he’ll be okay. We know what to do, you can trust us to take care of him for tonight.”

He takes a moment too long to digest that information. “We can’t be sure Doyoung is right.”

“But this is how we find out,” Hanbin says swiftly. “If he wakes up, I’ll call you right away. Okay?”

He fumbles for an excuse, but can’t find one. If there’s anyone he would trust with this, it’s Hanbin.  “Okay,” he says eventually. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

The balcony door slides open again, and Hao stands there, looking out at both of them.

“What are you doing out here? It’s freezing! Everyone else is getting ready to…” he trails off as he looks at Matthew properly. “Oh, Matthew? Are you okay?”

“We’re okay,” Hanbin says softly as Matthew tries to wipe his face of whatever evidence Hao is looking at. “Matthew is going to go home with Yujin and whoever else is staying in.”

“I think everyone wants to go home.”

“Okay. You and I are going to check on Gunwook, then we’ll join them.”

“We are?”

Hanbin leads Matthew inside as Hao steps aside for them, giving Matthew’s arm a reassuring touch as he passes.

“I’ll catch you up in a sec,” Hanbin says quietly. Hao just hums an acknowledgement as they approach the table again, where everyone is getting on coats and finishing drinks. “Guys!” he calls to the table at large, gathering everyone’s attention.

“What?” Taerae says, squinting at him. The silly string has tangled with his glasses now, but it’s still impossible to say if he’s aware of it or not, several drinks deep into the night.

“How do you feel about making Christmas plans with our Matthew this year?”

“Amazing!” Gyuvin shouts in English.

“Oh, that sounds fun,” Yujin says.

“Hyung,” Matthew whines, though he’s smiling, eyes warm and threatening to become wet again. “You don’t have to.”

“We want to,” Hao says, without missing a beat. “I think that sounds really fun, too.”

“Then we’ll make it happen,” Hanbin says, giving Matthew a look. “You’re not spending it alone, alright?”

“How did you know?” he asks softly. He’s pretty sure he hadn’t said anything about dreading Christmas to Hanbin in his spiel just now.

“You think I don’t know you?” Hanbin says again, and kisses the side of his head before sweeping away to pay the bill.

🐻

For the last few days, Matthew has been strategically stealing and replacing blankets, pillows and heat packs from the den to create a second den in the living room. It was Gyuvin who came up with the idea as they’d hashed out just how Christmas Day would work, half of them drunk, Hanbin with dead seriousness, after Jiwoong’s birthday meal.

Gathering at Matthew and Gunwook’s place was better than having to come and go all day to check on him, but would it be too overstimulating for a sleeping bear boy? All the food, smells, noise and festivities just next door to his den—can they even make food when the kitchen is right by the den? How could they set up the apartment so Matthew appears safe to Gunwook’s senses? And how could they make sure Matthew wouldn’t miss the whole thing when Gunwook inevitably did wake up and drag him back to the den for safety?

The simple answer was to move the den into the party, and get a sleeping Gunwook to the centre of the festivities. It’s so simple, Matthew’s not really sure if it will work—but he’s ready to rely on his friends for help now, and more than ready to try new ways to socialise again. Hence, he has been stockpiling blankets, scenting them, and slipping them into Gunwook’s den in exchange for an already den-scented blanket every day this week.

He’s as jittery about hosting Christmas as he’s felt about any other part of Gunwook’s hibernation, but he’s also unstoppably hopeful. He really, really wants to be able to celebrate with the others like they’ve been planning, and Doyoung had given the plan an enthusiastic thumbs up, so there’s no reason not to try.

He’s bolder for the fact that Hanbin was right, Doyoung was right, and all along, Matthew has been right too. In the last ten days, everyone has been by at least once to check on Gunwook while Matthew was at work, keep his den heated and even spend a bit of time in the bed with him. He hasn’t woken up once.

This will be the first time Matthew has had guests over since Doyoung’s visit, though. And there are a lot of them to fit in his living room.

They arrive in a horde of squabbling and rowdy energy. Matthew can hear them climbing the stairwell before they even reach his front door, and the nerves and relief and excitement slide around inside him.

He opens the door before anyone can knock, flashing a smile at Taerae who has a hand out to punch in his door code. “You guys are like residents here, these days.”

“It’s about time,” Taerae sniffs, stepping in around him and patting his shoulder.

“Don’t we all live here as much as you live in the pack house?” Ricky asks, walking in after him. “In theory, anyway, since Gunwook has been your guard dog the last few weeks.”

“It’s not his fault,” Matthew intones, and Jiwoong just scruffs his hair as he steps by him next.

“We know, we know. We can still fix him.”

“Have you got the blankets?” Gyuvin asks, practically bouncing in place as he kicks his shoes off, tail wagging madly.

“I’ve got them ready, you can’t miss the pile on the sofa.”

“He’s going to take up the whole couch if we let him sleep there,” Yujin grumbles, and Gyuvin grabs his shoulder, shaking his head with a victorious smile and pulling him into the apartment.

“We have the food!” Hao sing-songs as he and Hanbin step in last, Hanbin with about five bags that he must’ve insisted on carrying alone, and Hao cradling a large glass dish with a whole turkey inside.

“You really made that?” Matthew asks in surprise. When Hao and Hanbin had offered to be on Christmas Dinner duty, he was expecting more of the Korean style Christmas foods like jeon, japchae, kimchi or bulgogi.

“I told you, we are bringing Christmas to you,” Hanbin says, lifting the bags away from Matthew’s hands when he reaches out to help. “You go and sit down! We’ll handle this.”

“You did your research!” he beams, a rush of love and affection for his friends making his step light, laughter falling easily from his mouth.

This is really all for him—a Canadian Christmas he couldn’t have at home this year, brought to his doorstep.

“Anything for you, Seokmae,” Hanbin says, pinching his cheek, simply happy that Matthew is happy.

“I’m going to try our first line of defense now!” he calls out to the pack members sprawled around his apartment. A chorus of acknowledgements float back as he makes his way into the bedroom—Gunwook’s den.

“Gunwook-ie,” he hums, crawling under the covers into the bed with him. Gunwook doesn’t move, mostly buried under the covers on his back, and so Matthew plants his whole weight on top of him. “Our friends are here. It’s Christmas. I miss you so much. I figure this isn’t going to keep you here long, but hopefully you can bear it for a little bit. Ha ha, bear it.”

He begins to scent Gunwook everywhere, rubbing his cheeks and chin and the end of his tail into Gunwook’s skin, hair, clothes, fuzzy ears and blankets, all in an attempt to leave his scent in the den for as long and as strongly as possible. He gets his cuddles in while he’s there, though he only left the bed not more than an hour ago in the first place.

Gunwook can’t usually remember much at all from his hibernation, even the times he wakes up, but last year he told Matthew his dreams were influenced by his surroundings. Sometimes, it was obvious when a dream was influenced by Hao eating durian fruit in the apartment or when someone brought home a new scented candle or when a conversation happening inside the den bled into his subconscious. But Gunwook also thought his dreams became kinder whenever he was being held and comforted, and Matthew never forgot that.

“I love you,” he says softly, pressing a kiss into Gunwook’s neck before he pushes himself up and rearranges the blankets around his boyfriend’s sleeping form, before leaving the bedroom with a soft click of the door.

“Okay!” he says, clapping his hands together. “Did you guys do gifts already?”

“Of course we didn’t do gifts without you,” Jiwoong scoffs, and Matthew grins, going to drag his box of gifts into the room.

They did a secret santa exchange last year upon Matthew’s suggestion, as gift-giving had been intermittent between them before that, even on birthdays. Only the older among them have been able to afford gifts in the last couple years, with the younger half of their group still in school. But the exchange was a hit, even with the hand-made or cheap gifts that were given. They’d decided to bring it back, and had drawn names early enough for Gunwook to be involved this year.

He and Gunwook had both gone a bit overboard at stockpiling gifts—Matthew for Hao, Gunwook for Yujin—to the point Taerae brings up the price cap they’d agreed on the moment he sets eyes on Matthew’s pile of gifts.

“Ah… I forgot about that,” he admits, and Taerae throws his hands in the air as Hao and Hanbin finally join them in the lounge.

“Who are all these for?” Hao asks with wide eyes. “You’re feeling generous this year!”

“I love Christmas,” Matthew says sheepishly, and picks up the first of the gifts and hands it to him. “Merry Christmas?”

The room groans in unison upon learning that Hao was the lucky recipient of Matthew’s over-indulgent gift buying, and devolves into further chaos when Matthew begins to hand out Gunwook’s gifts to Yujin. Everyone starts swapping then, and it’s all he can do to figure out that Jiwoong was his gift-getter this year, and to thank him warmly for the new bag that was also definitely over the price cap.

Hanbin had Gunwook this year, so Matthew thanks him for the gifts on Gunwook’s behalf, and safely puts them to one side for Gunwook’s waking-up party in the spring.

Matthew doesn’t notice the tell-tale scent change at first, too wrapped up in admiring Ricky’s gift for Hanbin, a custom set of clip-on earrings for his sensitive ears. The noise and scents of everyone else also clouds his senses—it’s no surprise that Gunwook didn’t stay sleeping for long with this much excitement in the apartment.

It’s Ricky who notices first, cocking his head, but Taerae is the first to act, ushering Matthew further up the sofa towards the blanket pile of the temporary den. The bedroom door clicks open as Yujin shuffles across the floor to clear a path, and everyone looks up as Gunwook stumbles around the corner, squinting, nose up to sniff out Matthew.

“Baby,” Matthew says fondly. “You’re up already?”

“Nice of you to join us,” Hanbin says, as if speaking to a grumpy teenager. “Isn’t this your place, Gunwook-ah? Were you going to let us celebrate by ourselves?”

“Have you found him? Go on, go to him,” Gyuvin says excitedly, wiggling his butt from his spot on the floor as he watches Gunwook lumber across the living room towards Matthew.

“Hello,” Matthew sing-songs, as Gunwook comes up to him, kneeling on the sofa to scent him and wrap his arms around him. “Are you going to stay?”

“Oh, Gunwook-ah, what’s this?” Taerae says as he dumps all the blankets on him at once. “Your den is here!”

Gunwook’s grip on him loosens as the warm pile smothers him, and then Matthew hears more than sees the fussing of Hao and Ricky straightening out the pile to cover him properly. Matthew situates himself more comfortably in the corner of the couch, and strokes Gunwook’s back, trying to ease him into lying down where he is. Hands appear under the edge of the blankets—Hanbin and Yujin, who had scurried off to bring in the heat packs and soft toys Gunwook keeps in the den.

Gunwook’s body releases tension as the seconds go on and the warmth engulfs him, and Matthew holds his breath as they wait to see if the plan will work. “Go back to sleep,” he says softly. “Sleep with your pack here, isn’t that better?”

Gunwook grunts, a bearish sound that makes Taerae and Yujin shiver. Then all at once, he relaxes, sinking into the comfort of the blankets, head in Matthew’s lap. His breathing becomes slow and deep, and just like that, he’s asleep again, unmoving where he’s sprawled across the sofa.

“Did that just work?” Jiwoong asks after a quiet moment where they all watch Gunwook in semi-disbelief.

“I told you!” Gyuvin says, grabbing Yujin by the scruff, who looks appalled, but nonetheless lets himself be shaken around in Gyuvin’s delight. “He just wants to be part of the fun!”

Matthew can’t stop the way he’s beaming, hard, and scratches his fingers along Gunwook’s scalp affectionately.

“Christmas is saved!” Taerae declares, sitting at the other side of Gunwook, lifting his feet into his lap.

“Hao and I will get the food ready,” Hanbin announces, gesturing to the room at large. “Entertain yourself until then, kiddos.”

“I’ll come and help,” Jiwoong says, very possibly not wanting to accept being grouped with the ‘kiddos’.

They sit and play a card game Ricky had received from Hao for a while, though Matthew never quite understands the rules even until the end of the game. Then they do charades, which is a hit, though Taerae and Jiwoong are a freakishly good team, far outscoring the rest of them.

Christmas dinner is eaten in the living room, half of them sitting around the low folding table on the floor, the other half making it work with arms of chairs or the desk in the corner. Matthew feels like a terrible host, having everyone else wait on him with drinks and condiments or reheating Gunwook’s heat packs, but it’s not like everyone hasn’t always made themselves plenty comfortable in his home before. Nearly everyone scruffs Gunwook’s hair or scratches behind his ears when they come by Matthew anyway, so he knows they don’t mind taking care of them both for today.

Not long after they start eating, Gunwook perks his head up again, slowly blinking around the room.

“What is it?” Matthew asks, as Gunwook pushes his nose into Matthew’s hand. “Do you want some?”

He picks up a piece of turkey with his fingers, and holds it out for Gunwook to sniff. He hardly even does that, going straight in to eat the meat from his hand.

“Oh, I guess you do. Hey, can someone get Gunwook-ie some water? I think we’ve woken up his appetite. It needs to be in a tub or bowl.”

“I know, I got it,” Hanbin calls back, already in the kitchen.

Ricky crosses the room to feed Gunwook some of his own turkey by hand, and he laughs when Gunwook swallows it in one bite. “Why is he so cute like this?”

Matthew goes to feed him again, but Jiwoong bats his hand away, reaching out to offer some of his own turkey too. “You eat that, Matthew. He can share ours too.”

“I don’t mind,” he starts to say, but then Yujin is leaning over with his own offering, and Taerae is standing to come over too, though neither of them are eating real meat. Gunwook doesn't discriminate between who is feeding him, but his grip on Matthew’s knee never falters as he props himself up to take the food.

There’s a crack from the other side of the room, and Gunwook does startle then, alerted by the sudden sound. It’s from Yujin and Gyuvin pulling open a Christmas cracker, and it takes a minute of scratching his scalp and rubbing a soothing hand down his back before Gunwook can be coaxed to drink from Hanbin’s offered plastic bowl, sticking his whole face in it like a real bear would to a stream.

Gunwook’s hibernation is the most animal any of them ever get. Matthew has always considered the balance of human and animal in them to be mostly human, small part animal. Jiwoong’s tendency to purr doesn’t take away from the fact he’s very articulate and academic—Taerae’s horns or Ricky’s markings don’t change the fact that they are both very thoughtful, emotional at times, and creative in so many ways. So very human, with some decorative animal features.

But when Gunwook is in hibernation, he has to admit it’s different. It’s like his human nature goes to sleep to let the bear in him take over.

The idea that their animal sides are dangerous or stupid or somehow make them less human than anyone else is a stereotype they all live and breathe to disprove. A small part of Matthew worries that the others might see Gunwook differently for experiencing hibernation with him like this, that they might be embarrassed or uneasy by his bear behaviour. Seeing Gunwook from an outsider’s perspective, he’d also be a bit frightened and apprehensive. Bears are considered apex predators for a reason.

But nobody shies away when Gunwook drinks his fill, and turns away from Gyuvin’s offered food, settling back into Matthew’s lap. When he nuzzles his knee for a moment before sighing, everyone watches him with affection, with the same desire to protect him in these vulnerable months of sleep that Matthew feels constantly.

They’re all about as familiar with his hibernation as Matthew is, he has to remind himself. They all loved him before, love him during, and will love him after his long sleep.

Matthew reaches out to wipe his face clean of water, and feels so full of love on Gunwook’s behalf. His hibernating bear nature is a part of him they all care for, and will ferociously protect.

Sleeping or awake, he is always Matthew’s wonderful boyfriend.

“This is for him,” Yujin says, holding the paper hat that had come out of the cracker. He drapes it over the tuft of hair visible from under the blankets, and Ricky laughs, and Matthew feels so grateful for his pack, he’s not sure he could put the feeling into words.

Hao corrals them all into a group photo around Gunwook and Matthew before they can finish their food, holding up drinks or random cracker gifts. Ricky was even convinced to wear a flimsy paper hat for the occasion, and Yujin manages to stick a few stickers onto Gunwook’s cheeks as Hao sets up the camera timer.

They end up playing board games after dinner in two groups, with half of them on the couch, a Monopoly board slowly rising and falling on Gunwook’s back. The rest of them play Twister in the middle of the room, which is the second major hit of the day, even when Taerae and Gyuvin end up wrestling out a disagreement in the corner of the room.

Gunwook doesn’t wake up again, despite the cries and shouts from the struggling team on the floor, nor when Matthew laughs himself silly at a position Hanbin and Jiwoong find themselves in. He kind of wishes he could join in, and has to reposition himself to stop his leg from going dead every so often—but that discomfort is fleeting, so minor compared to his joy of having his family here with him to celebrate Christmas.

They wind down the day with snacks and a classic Christmas movie, once he heard none of them had seen How the Grinch Stole Christmas before.

“How was it?” Hao asks him some time into the movie. He’d somehow squeezed in between Matthew and the end of the couch, keeping him warm from his right side while Gunwook and his blankets keep him plenty cosy from his left. “Did we miss anything out?”

“What?” he asks, softly to match his speaking tone and to not speak over the movie. “You mean today?”

“Hanbin was googling Canadian traditions, he thought something about Groundhog Day was festive, and he was this close to buying some weird Christmas themed sweaters for everyone? But I told him you’d be plenty impressed by the turkey.”

He laughs, casting a look over at Hanbin, who shoots him a smile back from his spot on the floor beside the sofa.

“It’s been perfect, really perfect, you guys have spoiled me so much. I’m so grateful, you don’t even know. Thank you guys for organising this for us.”

Hao smiles, eyes twinkling. “We always want to treat you, Matthew. You look like you’re doing better, too. Are you sleeping better?”

He always knows spilling his soul to Hanbin means Hao will get to hear everything too, but as Hao reaches up a hand to stroke Matthew’s hair, he feels a bit like his parents are checking in on him, making Santa real again for their too-old child. He giggles to himself as he thinks it, which makes Hao eye him questioningly.

“I promise you don’t have to worry. I’m doing okay.”

It’s not always easy to cast aside his anxieties about Gunwook’s health. It’s not like everything was fixed by getting them off his chest on the Sera balcony. But just having the others around to help and reassure him has made him feel grounded again, more like his usual optimistic self, pre-winter. Pre last year’s hibernation, even.

“We want to look out for you,” Hao says softly, bringing Matthew’s head down to rest on his shoulder. Between that and stroking Matthew’s hair, he seems determined to send him off for a nap, the non-answer about his sleep not satisfying him. “Because we love you.”

He lets himself snuggle into Hao’s warmth and sweet scent. “I love you guys too. So much. You take care of me so well.”

He must really fall into a nap after that, because he only wakes when the movie is ending, and the others are chatting softly about their past experiences with Christmas. Nobody seems to have experienced a traditional Christmas like this before, and Matthew sleepily listens to their anecdotes for a little while, feeling Gunwook’s hot breath across his thigh.

His heart is light with the knowledge that his pack is surrounding him, happy, well-fed, and loved.

“I think it’s time we get back,” Hanbin says after a while, crawling over to where Hao and Matthew are sleepily watching the group argue about the plot of the movie they just watched. Matthew finally sits up to see Hao looking sleepy, too—he and Hanbin were probably up early preparing the food.

“Okay,” he says, finally slipping out from under Gunwook’s weight and standing to hug Hanbin. “Thank you so much for this. I’m really, really grateful, and I love you guys so much.”

“We love you more,” Hanbin says, murmuring into his hair. “We’d do this for you any time you wanted, Mashu.”

“I’m going to repay you, just you wait.”

“You’ve already repaid us with your cute smile.”

Matthew giggles and squeezes his arm before turning to speak to the room. “Everyone get your hugs in before Gunwook wakes up.” He turns to Hao next. “Hyung, I love you.”

“And I love you,” Hao says, burying his face into the crook of Matthew’s neck.

Gyuvin comes in after that, never one to say no to a hug, followed by Ricky’s firm hold and Jiwoong’s comforting one. Even Taerae and Yujin, the least touchy of all of them, come in without complaint as shoes are put on, bags gathered, and his pack makes their way out the door.

“Oop, he’s up,” Yujin says as he and Taerae are poised to leave last. Matthew turns to see Gunwook lumbering across the room towards them.

“He came to say bye,” Matthew says, smiling affectionately at his boyfriend’s sleepy face. Taerae slips back into the house to pick up the heatpacks and transfer them back to the bedroom for him. “Thank you, Taerae-ah.”

“Sleep well,” Taerae simply replies, ruffling Gunwook’s hair as he passes. “Merry Christmas, Matthew.”

Gunwook clings to him as the door closes, seemingly content just to hold him, and Matthew is the one to lead them back to the bedroom. Perhaps the sense of ‘den’ has expanded for Gunwook now that a nest of blankets has appeared in the living room. Thankfully, he doesn’t resist being led back into the proper bed, Matthew running his hands up and down his arms to make sure the abandoned bed warms up quickly.

“That was such a good Christmas,” he says to his sleeping boyfriend quietly. Now that they’re lying parallel again, Gunwook latches onto him easily, wrapping his arms around Matthew’s frame and lying half on top of him. Matthew embraces him gladly, rubbing his cheeks across Gunwook’s shoulders to soothe him. “I’m so glad you could spend it with us, in a way. I love you so much. We’re so loved by them, too. I hope you know that.”

He drifts off to sleep there, in Gunwook’s arms, faster than he has in weeks.

🐻

It’s a mild spring morning when Matthew wakes up to a soft palm on his arm, running up his bicep to touch where his shoulder tattoo sits.

He cracks open an eye to see Gunwook’s eyes roaming over his face.

“Good morning, sexy,” Matthew says, smiling before he can even properly think about what this means. It’s been so long since he last saw Gunwook’s eyes properly, full of recognition and affection like this.

“Hi,” Gunwook says, voice scratchy and tired, but it’s the first time he’s used his voice in months, and Matthew sits up at the sound, delight swelling in his chest.

“Oh my God, finally,” he says, wrapping his arms around Gunwook’s shoulders and pulling him into his body, so close, holding onto this moment of consciousness as tightly as he can. He’s light, a lot lighter than someone his size should be, but just the fact he’s talking at all is a sign of how well he’s doing. “You don’t know how much I missed you.”

“Missed you more,” Gunwook mumbles into his chest. “I miss anything good?”

“Yujin got into the dance college he wanted. He started a few days ago.”

“Knew he would,” Gunwook says, a smile playing on his lips. His eyelids are already drooping. He’ll probably fall asleep again soon—it will be a few days until he’s properly back to a more human schedule of waking and sleeping, but this is the start of the Great Wake Up. “How about you? Was I a nuisance?”

“You’re always a nuisance.” He nuzzles into the crook of Gunwook’s neck, stroking down his back. “No, it was okay. It got easier as the winter went on. We figured out a rhythm where the others could help out, and everything went really well.”

“Good,” Gunwook murmurs, yawning. “I think I had a dream that I spent Christmas with you guys. It was nice.”

Matthew pulls back to gaze at him. “Did you really?”

“Yeah. We watched a movie about this green guy and ate loads of food. It was one of the best dreams I had, I think. I remember it well.”

Matthew can’t stop himself from smiling so hard he can hardly speak. He cups Gunwook’s cheeks and squishes them so his lips stick out in a pout.

“I owe Gyuvin so much, I swear.”

Gunwook looks confused, but doesn’t question it when Matthew leans in to kiss him, three-month morning breath and all. “What is it?”

“It wasn’t a dream, baby.”

He stretches over to the nightstand to grab his phone. He’d set the picture of all of them at Christmas as his lockscreen.

Gunwook gazes at the photo, and Matthew can pinpoint the moment he finds his own sleeping figure amongst the bodies crowding around Matthew, paper hat skewed on his hair.

He meets eyes with Matthew, hushed. “It was real?”

“Everyone shared their turkey with you and you slept on my lap all day. They made it such a good Christmas for us.”

Gunwook’s eyes are hazy and shiny, and a smile pulls at his lips as Matthew leans down for another kiss. “I celebrated my first Christmas.”

“And not your last,” Matthew promises, caressing his fingers through his hair as Gunwook’s blinks get heavy and long. “Go back to sleep, love. I’ll be here when you wake up. Our family too, probably, when I tell them you’re finally up.”

“I love you so much,” Gunwook mumbles, sighing. “I’m so lucky to have you and the others to take care of me.”

“I’m so lucky I have you to take care of,” Matthew whispers back, pressing a kiss to his forehead as Gunwook slips back into sleep. “I love you too.”