Chapter Text
0. Dating for Dummies
It started as an idea. Simple. Maybe a little stupid, but harmless enough.
Dating was a skill Hanbin never learned – other people just knew how to do it, and he didn’t. Not trainee and definitely not idol Sung Hanbin. Years of training under practice room lights, navigating camera flashes and fame had left him with exactly zero practical experience. And waiting around for it to magically materialize was never going to work.
So. Practice dates. With Matthew.
Because Matthew said yes to everything.
Hanbin could’ve suggested they build a rocket in the dorm bathroom and Matthew would’ve shown up with duct tape and a YouTube tutorial. So when Hanbin proposed “practice dates” – test runs, basically, to figure out what he was doing before actually trying this with a potential someone – Matthew just agreed.
No hesitation. No questions about why Hanbin was treating romance like a science project.
He would turn up with that same bright grin, ready to evaluate each date like a food critic rating a new restaurant. Sometimes his reviews were surprisingly thoughtful. Sometimes they were brutally honest. But always, they had that particular Matthew spin. Sincere and ridiculous.
Hanbin thought it was all preparation. A rehearsal for the real thing, someday, with someone else.
He hadn’t counted on it feeling so real.
1. Espresso
It was low-stakes. Just something easy to start with.
A café was the perfect first practice date – casual, cozy, no pressure. Plus, Hanbin had seen it recommended on a blog with an entire methodology section about how this was foolproof for vibes, complete with statistics. That felt scientific enough.
He chose a little corner café he’d passed countless times but never entered. Inside, lamps with amber bulbs lit the brick walls, where local paintings hung slightly crooked. Jazz played low from speakers he couldn’t see. The kind of place where you could sit without talking and it wouldn’t feel wrong. Perfect.
Hanbin arrived early, naturally. He settled into a corner booth and glanced at the cue cards he’d prepared, stacked under the table where Matthew wouldn’t immediately see them. Yes, they were excessive. But practice required structure.
Matthew showed up five minutes late, grinning as he tugged off his beanie and slid into the seat across from him. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, nose pink at the tip. He unwound his scarf with clumsy fingers, still shaking off the chill.
“This place is cute, hyung,” he said, glancing around with visible appreciation. “You been here before?”
Hanbin shook his head. “First time.”
“Branching out. I like it.”
They ordered drinks – Matthew immediately zeroing in on the most chaotic seasonal special on the menu, something with cinnamon, marshmallows, and what looked suspiciously like edible glitter dusting the foam. He ordered it with the enthusiasm of a kid in a candy store. Hanbin stuck to a predictable iced Americano, though he couldn’t help watching Matthew’s face light up when the drink arrived.
Hanbin cleared his throat and reached for the first cue card.
“You actually made cards?” Matthew’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “That’s the most Hanbin thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I always turn up prepared.”
“I’m sure the hypothetical future girlfriend you don’t have yet will be thrilled.” Matthew crossed his arms. “Alright, I’m ready to be your guinea pig.”
“Here we go, question one: If you were stranded on a deserted island, what three things would you bring?”
Matthew blinked. “You’re practicing with this question?”
“You have to ask the important stuff,” Hanbin said, feigning seriousness. “It reveals a lot about a person.”
Matthew snorted but propped his chin on his hand, leaning forward. “Hmm. I think... a knife. A lighter. And...” He paused, then grinned. “You.”
“Me?”
“What? You’d be useful. You’re good at planning, organizing, staying calm under pressure. As long as I have you, I think we’d survive.”
“Okay, so I’ll plan our survival strategy. And you’ll catch our food with your naked body.”
“What... no, why– where are my clothes in this scenario?”
“Not one of the three things you brought to the island, apparently.”
“I brought a knife and a lighter! That’s already smarter than like, 80% of people on those survival shows.”
“True. But you forgot clothes.”
“You know what? I’m bringing pants instead of you.”
Hanbin laughed again, settling deeper into his seat. His hand brushed the next cue card, but he didn’t pull it out right away. Instead, he let Matthew continue rambling about how he’d totally build a functional shelter given enough time and “a decent tree or two.”
He hadn’t expected the question to derail so quickly. But it was fun – more than fun. Familiar but different, like listening to a song he knew by heart and catching a note he’d never noticed before.
They went through more questions, each one spiraling into its own brand of Matthew’s chaos. When Hanbin asked about foods he secretly hated, Matthew confessed he’d been faking his love for seaweed soup for years.
“It’s literally wet paper,” he said, nose wrinkling in disgust. “But I can’t disappoint halmeoni.”
Hanbin found himself grinning through every ridiculous tangent. He’d known Matthew for years – knew which shirt he’d wear on a bad day, knew the exact face he made before lying to their manager – and yet here they were, unearthing new little details he’d never known.
When they finished with the cue cards, Hanbin tucked them away and leaned back, fingers wrapped around his now-lukewarm drink.
“Alright,” he prompted. “Rate the date.”
Matthew’s face lit up at the prospect. “Ooh, okay. Let me think. Atmosphere gets a 9 – good lighting, cozy vibe. Coffee gets a 7 – mine was delicious but way too sweet. Conversation...” He gave Hanbin a teasing look. “6, for denying me clothes.”
Hanbin huffed. “That was your own fault.”
“Sure it was,” Matthew said, smirking. “Final score... 8.1 out of 10.”
“Down to the decimal?”
“Gotta maintain professional standards.”
Hanbin snickered. It was ridiculous. It was fun. It was... comfortable in a way that felt both familiar and entirely new.
The café date was successful because he’d learned things. Useful things. Like how to ask open-ended questions and when to let conversations drift naturally instead of forcing it.
But he’d also learned more about Matthew – and he couldn’t help but wonder what else he didn’t know yet.
2. I Want Sushi
Hanbin had convinced himself he was being adventurous – stepping boldly out of his comfort zone for the sake of research. A cooking class was the perfect second date: hands-on, engaging, intimate but not threateningly so. He’d even read somewhere that learning something new together helped build chemistry, created shared memories faster than passive activities.
But he hadn’t expected Matthew to immediately go rogue with a bamboo mat and a very sharp knife.
They arrived at their assigned station to find everything neatly arranged: trays of sliced fish, sticky rice, sheets of nori, julienned cucumber, perfect avocado slices. The works.
Matthew surveyed the spread, eyebrows exaggerated furrowed. “Okay hyung, what culinary masterpiece are we creating today?”
Hanbin stared at him. “...It’s literally sushi.”
“I know. I was just hoping for more fanfare.” Matthew tsked. “Minus 0.5 points for activity revelation. Not dramatic enough.”
Hanbin rolled his eyes. “Sushi should be simple enough, right?” he said, already reaching for gloves.
It wasn’t.
The instructor had barely finished demonstrating proper rice-layering technique when things started falling apart.
Hanbin, ever the perfectionist, arranged his avocado slices with absolute precision, eyes narrowed in concentration. Matthew, meanwhile, was manhandling the sushi mat.
“Um,” he said after a few minutes, lifting his roll gingerly. “Why is mine like that?”
Hanbin glanced over. Matthew’s sushi roll had split down the middle, rice and cucumber spilling out, nori hanging at an odd angle.
“It’s okay,” Hanbin said, not entirely convinced. “Just try to wrap it tighter. Like this.” He leaned closer, demonstrating the technique slowly. “Hold the mat gently but firmly enough to maintain the shape.”
Matthew watched intently, lower lip caught between his teeth. “So like... playdoh?”
“Sure. Let’s go with that.”
But when Hanbin turned back to his own roll, he realized he wasn’t faring much better. His first attempt was falling apart at the seams, fish poking out at odd angles, rice stuck to his sleeves. He tried to salvage it, only to accidentally smear wasabi across the back of his hand.
“Hyung,” Matthew said brightly, holding up his second attempt. “Look!”
Hanbin looked up and paused.
Matthew’s roll was crooked, too fat, clearly on the verge of structural collapse – but he beamed about it like it was a masterpiece. Hanbin wanted to coo over him so badly it was absurd. He bit the inside of his cheek, fighting down the urge.
“Hey, are you laughing?” Matthew questioned defensively. “I improved! It’s circular now. Mostly. Besides, it’s not about looks – it’s about heart.”
“Tell that to the rice in your hair.”
“There’s rice in my hair?”
“Everywhere.”
Matthew reached up, fingers combing through the strands. A few grains tumbled down, and he laughed. “Oops.”
They finished the class with a platter of deeply questionable sushi, most of which was being held together by sheer hope and strategic seaweed placement. The instructor smiled politely and handed them participation stickers, which Matthew immediately pressed onto his shirt proudly.
Hanbin was already tossing half his date rubric out the window.
They found a table near the back of the studio, unwrapping their culinary disasters. Hanbin popped a piece of his roll into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Huh. Not terrible.”
Matthew bit into his own creation and made a face. “Mine tastes like revenge. Like the fish had unfinished business with me and this was its dying wish.”
Hanbin snorted into his sleeve.
“I’m serious!” Matthew gulped down water. “This is what betrayal tastes like.”
Hanbin couldn’t help it – he laughed, the kind that came from his stomach and caught him off guard. He hadn’t realized how easy it could feel, being around Matthew. Even when nothing went right.
“Alright, it’s rating time,” Matthew announced, still chewing determinedly. “Atmosphere: 7. Ingredients: fresh. Instructor: visibly distressed. Sushi: questionable at best. But fun factor?” He grinned. “Solid 10.”
Hanbin tilted his head. “So overall?”
“8.5. Still docking the half point for no dramatic opening.”
“I’ll take that.”
Hanbin didn’t know what he’d been expecting exactly – maybe more competence, definitely less disorder. But as he watched Matthew try to attempt another bite of his sushi with sticky fingers, Hanbin thought he’d happily bear witness to every single one of Matthew’s messes.
3. Ice Ice Baby
In theory, ice skating was the perfect winter date. Picturesque. A little clumsy, a little romantic. The kind of activity where you could reach out and ‘accidentally’ hold hands under the guise of not falling on your face.
Hanbin had pictured it perfectly: he’d be the steady one, the reliable guide, catching Matthew mid-wobble with perfect timing. Modest about it, naturally. Maybe Matthew would giggle and say something like, “You’re really good at this, hyung.”
Reality, however, didn't seem to agree. In fact, reality skated circles around his fantasy. Literally.
Because Matthew stepped onto the ice and glided off like he’d been born on it. He pushed away effortlessly, skating in reverse with his hands behind his back, circling the rink like it was nothing.
Hanbin, meanwhile, was death-gripping the barrier wall because his life depended on it.
“You planned this thinking I’d suck, didn’t you?” Matthew called over his shoulder, grin infuriatingly smug as he executed a smooth turn just to prove his point. “Have I never told you Canadians are genetically primed for stuff like this? I used to play ice hockey for fun.”
Hanbin scowled, trying not to trip over his own feet. “No, you failed to mention that.”
“This is home turf, hyung. Well– home ice.”
“Don’t start.”
“Want to race?”
“I want to not die.” Hanbin groaned, shuffling another tentative step forward. “Why did I think this was a good idea?”
“Because you wanted to hold my hand,” Matthew shot back easily, coming to a clean stop right beside him.
Hanbin opened his mouth to argue, but Matthew was already extending a gloved hand, expression shifting from teasing to something softer.
“Come on. I’ll teach you. Promise I won’t let you fall.”
Hanbin hesitated. His pride and his fear were staging a very brief, very stupid battle. Pride lost.
He took the offered hand.
Matthew’s grip was firm, warm even through their gloves. Hanbin expected him to let go once he found his balance – a quick assist, nothing more. But Matthew didn’t let go. He stayed right there, skating backward as Hanbin shuffled forward, one unsteady step at a time.
“Bend your knees more,” Matthew said, gently tugging him along. “Loosen up. You’re skating like you’re clenching every muscle in your body.”
“Because I am,” Hanbin muttered. “I feel like a newborn giraffe.”
“A very determined giraffe,” Matthew replied cheerfully.
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Absolutely.”
They kept moving, slow and uneven, but making progress. Matthew adjusted his pace every time Hanbin stumbled, his hand steady and sure. He didn’t crack jokes. Didn’t tease. Just guiding and patient.
“I seriously thought you’d be the one clinging to the wall,” Hanbin admitted after a while. “I had this whole rescue scenario planned out.”
“That’s sweet,” Matthew laughed. “Very thoughtful. But yeah, no. Sorry to disappoint.”
Hanbin stumbled again – a sharper slip this time, his skate catching wrong – and instinctively braced for impact. But it never came. Matthew’s arm was already there, catching him with practiced ease, steadying him with one hand on his waist, the other still wrapped securely around his fingers.
“Whoa– got you,” Matthew said, close enough that Hanbin could see the small cloud of his breath, the slight furrow of concern between his brows.
Hanbin looked up at him, pulse kicking unevenly. Matthew wasn’t even looking back – just scanning the ice around them, making sure they had clear space. Protective in that casual, unthinking way that shouldn’t mean anything.
Matthew’s hand squeezed his again, light and reassuring. “You’re actually not bad at this, hyung. You just needed me.”
Hanbin couldn’t deny it even if he wanted to.
He let Matthew pull him into another slow lap. The rink was still crowded, still noisy – but Hanbin barely noticed. He was skating more independently now, technically speaking. But he still hadn’t let go of Matthew’s hand.
Neither had Matthew.
They slowed to a stop near the edge of the rink.
“So.” Matthew’s smile widened. “Think you deserve a perfect score for this date?”
Hanbin huffed. “Pretty sure I lost major points for wall-hugging.”
“Hmm. Let’s see. Atmosphere: very romantic winter vibes. Skating technique: worrisome at the start. Banter: solid. And hand-holding...” He paused, smirk deepening. “Probably my favourite part. Extra points.”
“You’re not even pretending to be objective.”
“Do you…” Matthew’s face sobered slightly. “Do you want me to be?”
“Um–” Hanbin didn’t know how to answer that. Did he?
Matthew blinked, seeming to catch himself. He pivoted quickly. “I’m a generous judge, that’s all. Final score: 9.7.”
The moment passed, and Hanbin trailed behind it.
“Not even a round number?”
“I deducted 0.3 for underestimating me.”
“Fair enough.”
They stayed on the ice after that, neither in a rush to leave. Matthew skated lazy circles around him while Hanbin practiced short distances on his own – still awkward but no longer terrified.
“You’re getting it!” Matthew cheered.
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m proud, there’s a difference.”
They returned their rental skates and walked back to the car with aching legs and cold-bitten faces. Hanbin couldn’t remember the last time he’d let someone take care of him like that. Let himself be the one who needed help, who didn’t have all the answers. With Matthew, it didn’t feel like weakness.
It just felt… easy. Safe.
He glanced sideways at Matthew, who was going on about wanting kimchi jjigae for lunch tomorrow. He looked the same as always – bouncing, unbothered.
Hanbin tucked his hands into his pockets and tried not to think too hard about any of it.
4. The Great Escape
Hanbin booked the escape room thinking it would prove something about teamwork. About communication and compromise, all those things relationships supposedly needed. A controlled environment where collaboration mattered, where one could observe how pressure was handled together.
And if he wanted to see whether he and Matthew could solve problems as a unit – well, that was just part of the research.
Five minutes in, it became clear: they were absolutely terrible at this. Escape rooms, that is.
Matthew spun slowly in place, taking in the dimly lit space with wide eyes. “What exactly are we supposed to do?” he asked, voice carrying genuine confusion.
“Find clues. Hidden keys. I don’t know, usual escape room things.”
“Wow. Helpful,” Matthew deadpanned. “Does this mean I get to touch everything?”
“Sure, just don’t break anything.”
Matthew opened a drawer, then immediately slammed it shut. “Nope. There’s a creepy doll in there. I’m not touching that.”
The room was designed like an old study with a ticking clock, dusty books and flickering fake candles that cast dancing shadows on walls lined with cryptic symbols. Hanbin had pictured them having some breakthrough moment at some point, finding the key clue that unlocked everything in sequence.
Instead, they floundered the entire way.
They ransacked drawers and cabinets, debating fiercely whether a raven figurine perched on a shelf was a clue or just set dressing. Matthew lifted it, turned it over, shook it experimentally.
“It was looking at me, hyung.”
“It’s plastic.”
“Its eyes are freaking me out.”
Three minutes wasted on a bird that meant absolutely nothing.
Matthew eventually collapsed on the fake Persian rug, arms flung over his head. “You said you were smart. Use that big brain of yours.”
“I am,” Hanbin protested, though his voice lacked conviction. “This is just... a particularly challenging room.”
“It’s rated for beginners.”
“Shut up.”
“This is humiliating,” Matthew announced to no one. “We’re supposed to be professionals.”
“At singing and dancing,” Hanbin pointed out. “Not prison escapes.”
“Escape rooms,” Matthew corrected. “And speak for yourself. I thought I’d be great at this.”
“Based on what evidence?”
“Vibes, hyung. Pure vibes.” Matthew kicked gently at a desk drawer. “The vibes always seem to betray me.”
The intercom crackled. “Do you need another hint?”
They looked at each other.
“Yes please,” they said in unison.
By their seventh hint – basically more than half the solution handed over – Hanbin was stress-laughing while Matthew kept appealing directly to the corner camera.
“Okay, escape room people? We surrender. Could we perhaps get all the remaining clues? Immediately? Maybe an escort to the exit?”
“They’re judging us,” Hanbin hissed, covering his face with one hand.
“They should be,” Matthew muttered, then turned back to his plea with clasped hands. “We’re very sorry for disappointing you and everyone who believes in us.”
But the game masters urged them not to give up. So they abandoned logic and just started guessing.
“Try ‘love’, hyung,” Matthew suggested, earnest. “Because love is always the answer.”
Hanbin typed it in. The keypad blinked red.
“Apparently not.” Matthew followed up solemnly.
It was a mess.
Hanbin’s hair stuck up from running his hands through it in frustration. Matthew had his sleeves rolled up like he’d been through manual labor, a smudge of dust across his jaw. They crawled around on their knees, bumping into each other, dissolving into laughter or frustrated groans in turns. But even failing this badly, Hanbin was enjoying himself.
When the escape door clicked open thanks to a not-so-subtle tenth hint from very amused staff, they finally stumbled into the hallway, breathing hard.
The staff member at the desk was trying very hard not to laugh. “How was it?”
Matthew rubbed his palms together in apology. “We’re so sorry for what you had to witness.”
“You guys…” she pulled up their record on the computer, “actually set a new record for the number of hints in this room.”
She handed them consolation lollipops, which somehow made it worse.
Hanbin snorted and leaned back against the wall, letting his head thunk against it. Matthew slid down to sit on the floor beside him, shoulder pressing against Hanbin’s leg.
“My brain hurts,” Matthew mumbled. “I think I lost brain cells in there.”
“You didn’t have that many when we began.”
“Rude. Like you were any better.” But Matthew was grinning, eyes half-closed.
Without thinking, Hanbin reached out and brushed a piece of lint from Matthew’s hair – probably from when he’d crawled under that desk earlier.
Matthew blinked up at him, surprised.
Hanbin’s hand froze. He pulled it back quickly. “You had– it was just lint.”
“Oh.” Matthew’s eyes smiled. “Thanks, hyung.”
“Alright,” Hanbin said, dabbing at the sweat at his temple. “Damage report.”
“Let’s see,” Matthew mused, pretending to consult invisible notes. “Escape skills: terrible. Teamwork: chaotic. Problem-solving: ironically problematic. But fun? Off the charts. 8.5.”
“Even after all that?”
“Because of it. There’s just something about having things go wrong, you know?”
Hanbin looked away, smiling as they stepped outside.
It was a bit of a disaster. But it hadn’t felt like one.
5. Piece of Clay
There was something inherently personal about pottery – hands moving in circles, clay spinning warm between palms, shaping something from nothing. Creative expression was an important compatibility marker, Hanbin had seen somewhere. Plus, it seemed romantic in that understated, artsy way. Meaningful.
Matthew had raised an eyebrow at the suggestion. “Are you sure?”
“It’ll be fine,” Hanbin had said, already picturing them working side by side in peaceful focus. “How hard can it be?”
He really should’ve known better by now.
They arrived at the studio – a peaceful, earthy space with shelves displaying previous students’ attempts and the scent of wet clay in the air. The instructor, a soft-spoken woman with a paint-stained apron, led them to their wheels and walked them through the basics.
Hanbin nodded along. He had steady hands. Good focus. He could do this.
Then he looked over at Matthew who was fighting the material on the wheel. Who’d already had some clay on his sleeves, across his cheek, and somehow in his hair.
Always the hair.
“Center your hands, Matthew-yah.”
“I am–” The half-formed bowl launched off the wheel, arcing through the air before landing with a wet slap against the floor. Matthew blinked at the empty wheel, then down at the clay casualty. “Can I re-use that?”
“I... don’t think so, no.”
“Okay. Centering my entire spiritual being this time,” Matthew declared, approaching a fresh lump of clay.
Hanbin turned back to his wheel, confident. He’d make something good. He moistened his hands carefully, pressed down with gentle precision, and began to shape his bowl.
And then, against all odds, Matthew started to figure it out.
It wasn’t perfect, and it definitely wasn’t clean, but his next attempt held its shape. His hands had steadied. He leaned forward, humming softly to himself as his clay rose into something distinctly bowl-like.
“Wait.” Hanbin did a double-take. “How are you–”
“No idea,” Matthew said, beaming. “But it’s working.”
Beginner’s luck.
Meanwhile, Hanbin’s own bowl had other plans.
It wobbled. The rim sagged. Every fix made it worse. When he poked one side, the whole thing slumped over.
“Everything okay over there, hyung?” Matthew asked, holding up his surprisingly decent bowl.
“Fine,” Hanbin mumbled. “Just... perfecting the art of failure.” He groaned and dropped his forehead to the table, clay smudging his temple. “I wanted to make something nice to give to you.”
Matthew was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “Just give me you instead.”
Hanbin’s head snapped up.
“Your time,” Matthew continued, either oblivious to Hanbin’s expression or graciously ignoring it. “Your company. How you never make me feel stupid for not knowing and the way you always look proud of me.” He gestured at the wet lump between them. “This is just clay. You already give me the nicest things, hyung.”
The words hit Hanbin square in the chest, knocked the air in his lungs loose. He opened his mouth but nothing came out – no wit, no deflection, nothing.
Matthew tilted his head, concerned now. “You okay?”
Hanbin stared, his pulse loud in his ears. “I–” He forced a laugh, a little too breathless. “That was really cheesy, you know that?”
Matthew cleared his throat, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “I was being sincere!”
“Sincerely cheesy.” Hanbin wiped his hands on his apron, needing something to do with them. Something that wasn’t reaching across the table to– what? He didn’t even know.
“Fine, then I take it back. In fact, don’t give me anything." Matthew crossed his arms. "Especially not your cursed dumpling.”
“Too late. You already said it.”
“Nope. Rescinded.”
“Doesn’t work like that.”
Matthew huffed, but his cheeks were pink. “Whatever. Next topic. Are you ready to be judged for today?”
“Hit me. Let’s get this over with.”
“Effort: admirable. Artistic vision: abstract. Emotional sincerity: unexpectedly high. Final score...” He paused dramatically. “9.2 out of 10.”
“What happened to the other 0.8?”
“Deducted for making me feel things.” Matthew’s voice was lighter now, back to teasing. “I had an emotional journey.”
“You?” Hanbin narrowed his eyes. “I’m the one who’s had an emotional journey. My cursed dumpling had dreams.”
“Still standing by my score.” Matthew crossed his arms, grinning.
Hanbin just looked at him – the lopsided pride in his grin – and his heart did another stupid thing. That thing he was getting less and less good at ignoring.
He hadn’t created anything perfect today. But walking out of the studio later, Matthew’s laughter still echoing in his head, Hanbin felt like he’d gained something more valuable than any bowl.
6. Happy As A Clam
The restaurant smelled like charcoal and sea brine before they even walked in. Inside, tables crowded against each other at odd angles, menus laminated and peeling at the corners, someone’s grandmother shouting orders through a kitchen window. Hanbin had passed three sleeker places to get here, but this one had the kind of worn-in comfort he trusted.
The menu worked. Nothing too adventurous, customizable sides and most importantly no cheese. Hanbin had checked reviews the night before, mapping out the meal in his head.
“Aww, you remembered.”
Hanbin shrugged, his eyes on the menu. “I remember a lot of things about you.”
“Like what?”
“You hate when your sleeves get wet washing dishes. You skip pickled radish if it’s too sweet, but you’ll eat it anyway if someone made it for you. You always go back to that one protein bar brand – peanut butter though, never chocolate.”
He looked up. Matthew was staring at him.
“Should I keep going?”
“You remember weird things, hyung.”
“Thorough observational skills,” Hanbin said lightly. “Essential to research.”
He’d been noticing long before any of this, though.
“That’s a lot of remembering for an experiment.” Matthew held his gaze for a moment, then looked back down at his own menu. “And how’s your data looking so far?”
Hanbin pretended to mull it over. “Skewed sample. Compromised by the test subject.”
“What does that mean?”
“Means you’re not very objective.”
Matthew stuck his tongue out. “I’m the only test subject you’ve got.”
Hanbin couldn’t argue with that. Didn’t want to, really.
Their food came in a cloud of steam and garlic. They ate in comfortable silence for a while, surrounded by the restaurant’s gentle bustle. Then Matthew spoke.
“You buy jackets that zip from both ends because you like the versatility,” he said it casually. “You bite the corner of your lip when you’re second-guessing yourself. You didn’t like mint chocolate at first, but you kept eating it because of me. Now you actually love it.” He paused, chopsticks hovering. “And you scrunch your nose right before you decide to do aegyo.”
Hanbin’s hand went still halfway to his mouth.
Matthew met his eyes, something playful and tender there. “What? I notice things about you too.”
“Now who’s noticing weird things.” The warmth that spread through Hanbin’s chest was unmistakable. “Next time, we’ll try eating something completely new.”
“I don’t really care what we eat, honestly.” Matthew reached for more rice. “If it’s with you, it’s good.”
He said it so simply. Like it didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t the kind of thing that could rearrange Hanbin’s entire understanding of what they were doing here.
Hanbin’s throat went tight. “Is that so?” he teased weakly.
“You’re lucky I’m easy to please. I’ve been handing out high date ratings like candy.”
“Yah. Next time I’m putting cheese in everything, you punk.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
They bickered – who would win in a food sabotage war, whether cheese could legally be considered a weapon – but Matthew’s earlier words had lodged themselves in his mind.
If it’s with you, it’s good.
As they finished, Hanbin clapped and rubbed his palms together. “Alright, time to rate the date. And try to be objective.”
“Venue: charming. Food: excellent, perfectly catered. Company…” He paused, eyes twinkling. “Consistently thoughtful. Maybe too good at remembering things.” His smile softened. “9 out of 10. Would’ve been 9.5 but you threatened me with cheese.”
“What happened to the other half point?”
“I’ll come up with something tomorrow.” Matthew turned his glass in small circles. “Anyway, thanks for tonight, hyung. For all of this so far, actually. Your whole experiment thing.” Then his smile dimmed. “What happens when you find your real person to do this stuff with though?”
“I don’t know,” Hanbin said honestly. “Haven’t figured that part out yet.”
Matthew nodded slowly. “Well. When you do... I hope they know how lucky they are. Getting all this planning and attention.” He paused. “It’s nice, being known like that.”
Hanbin reached over, ruffled Matthew’s hair. “In the meantime, you’ll just have to suffer under hyung’s full attention.”
“Clearly the highlight of my week.” Matthew’s lip quirked.
Commitment to the course. Hanbin told himself that’s all it was. Matthew was being a good friend. A good practice-date partner. This was literally what Hanbin had asked for.
He was getting very good at telling himself things. Getting worse at believing them.
Because he was beginning to think about ‘next time’ a little differently.