cruel and beautiful (i fall in)

by akama

Summary:

“Tell me if you want to stop,” Jiwoong continues, warns. His thumb slides up from his chin and the pad brushes on Matthew’s bottom lip, dragging down on the plumpness of it just a bit along with his gaze, as if in a daze.

“Don’t stop,” the words slip out of Matthew’s mouth before he’s even thought of them, a lapse in impulse control perhaps, but they’re almost immediately chased back in with the first press of Jiwoong’s lips to his.

–

Or: Matthew has an annoying ex, and Jiwoong is tired of people asking him out. Surely, fake dating is the best possible plan to free them both from their eternal torment! (Spoiler: instead, they torment each other.)

Chapter 1: chapter one: just say you won’t let go

Notes:

this labour of love (and of insanity) finally sees the light of day after months of stubborn effort! thank you to my parasites for (lovingly) bullying me to finish it despite my nonstop dilly-dallying <3 and shoutout to my fellow mattwoong enthusiasts who continue to be obsessed with them no matter the drought lmao, this is my gift to you <3

now to the less serious a/n: title from love killa bc I’m a predictable ppusamz enjoyer and jiwoong is extra pathetic bc that’s how i like him

alternate summary: seok “i can work with this” matthew gaslights himself into thinking that he’s solely responding to jiwoong’s rizz. meanwhile, jiwoong considers throwing himself into the sun because really, what’s the difference?

and finally: chapter title from 'say you won’t let go' by james arthur

---

friday, december 2nd. 

---

 

When Matthew had dragged himself to the local gay club to drink away his finals season sorrows –an exaggeration, really– he certainly hadn’t expected to run into his ex. 

“Come on, Matthew, one more chance.” 

Well, ex is maybe a strong word. 

The whine in the man’s voice weighs on his nerves, almost as much as the hand grabbing his left forearm, and tests his already withering patience. Now, Matthew doesn’t want to cause a scene, really, he doesn’t, but if Minjun’s worsening grip doesn’t leave his arm within the next ten seconds, he may truly lose it in this very public bar. He grits his teeth and barely withholds a grimace, limiting his response to a brutally scalding side-eye to his left, trying his best to otherwise ignore the man begging for his attention. 

Matthew had ended things with Minjun over a month ago after their vague talking-stage situationship had deteriorated with the progression of the academic semester. It was never much, not to Matthew anyway. Minjun’s red flags had already been popping up in the short few months they’d been talking to each other –hating Matthew’s relationship with his best friend and roommate, and trying to limit their time together, to name the worst offence– and Matthew had mostly stuck it out in order to convince said best friend that, no, he wasn’t stressed because he was lonely and yes, his dating life wasn’t the issue, thank you. 

(Easy for Hanbin to say, considering his ideal, soulmate-like relationship, making him think every single problem can be solved with the help of a loving, caring partner.) 

So, really, the ending was inevitable, and rather overdue. 

The problem was that Minjun didn’t quite feel the same way, and boy was he adamant to let Matthew know.

Another quite aggressive squeeze on his arm brought his thoughts barrelling back to earth. Honestly, it probably was a bad idea to visit the bar where he had originally met the guy. He blames it on the fact that this is the only gay bar within feasible walking distance from campus, but really, he should’ve predicted this. All Matthew had wanted was a quiet drink on a Friday night after a brutal week of final paper deadlines before exam season really began. He sighs. 

Begrudgingly, seeing no other escape than simply walking away and abandoning his perfectly good drink, Matthew turns on his little bar stool, leans on the bar’s surface, and, leveling Minjun with what he hopes is his worst and most unforgiving stare, asks, “What do you want, Minjun?”

The sparkle in Minjun’s eyes at finally being acknowledged makes Matthew immediately regret giving him the attention he had been begging for, but then the man’s expression sours, brows scrunching and gaze narrowing, and he petulantly whines, “Wait, have you even been listening to me?”

“No,” Matthew chuckles, pettily satisfied, turning back to his drink, grabbing the straw and giving it a swirl through the rapidly melting ice. He had to make this quick before his beloved rum and coke was watered down to near unrecognition. Screw this cheap club and their frankly disproportionate use of ice. He should really stop coming here.  

Minjun, however, is unrelenting. “All I’m asking for is an actual chance, you asshole.”

Matthew barely restrains a laugh, knowing it would aggravate the other, but he’s sure his mirth is visible in his eyes. What did he ever see in this guy? “Oh, yeah, calling me an asshole is a great way to get that chance you’re begging for.” 

Whoops. Seems he couldn’t help himself. As predicted, his patience is running past dry after all. Avoiding making a scene is less likely by the second. 

“Listen, you asshole–“

Matthew half-heartedly considers flagging down the bartender as a last-ditch effort to avoid a complete escalation, but honestly, this punch would be a long time coming– 

The painful grip on his arm disappears and is replaced by a steady, comforting weight on his shoulder. 

“Want me to get rid of this problem for you, baby?” 

Matthew’s head immediately swerves, neck wincing from his haste to confirm that the voice belongs to the person he suspects. 

It does. 

Despite being one of his closest friends, Matthew hadn’t seen Jiwoong in a couple of weeks, since Haruto’s Birthday Extravaganza (copyright pending courtesy of one Cha Woongki) at this same bar, to be exact. But, here he is now. In the middle of all this. Bad timing. 

Wait, baby?

Jiwoong’s gaze drills into his, completely ignoring Minjun’s sputtering behind him, his silent request so loud Matthew’s surprised the whole room can’t hear it. 

Play along. 

Matthew glances quickly at the white-knuckle grip that Jiwoong has on Minjun’s wrist, restraining the hand that had been bruising his forearm mere moments ago. His eyes flick back to Jiwoong’s, who has one eyebrow lifted in silent prompt. Matthew barely holds back his smug smile. 

He can definitely work with this. 

“Jiwoonie-hyung!” 

Matthew jumps in his seat and drapes his arms around Jiwoong’s neck, staring directly into his eyes and most importantly, completely ignoring Minjun’s outraged squawk. He rounds his eyes and pouts, dropping his lower lip and giving his best impression of that one emoji– you know the one. “I missed you,” he whines. 

“It’s only been ten minutes, baby,” Jiwoong teases, wrapping his right arm around Matthew’s waist, surely to stop the barstool from teetering due to Matthew’s eagerness. 

“That’s ten minutes too many.” Matthew doubts himself for two seconds, wondering if it’d be too much, but then, fuck it, tightens his grip, tucks his face into Jiwoong’s neck, and nuzzles. 

Jiwoong seemingly takes the break in eye contact as an opportunity to shift his gaze to Minjun, the man’s wrist still stuck in his grip. “And who are you, exactly?”

Brutal. Matthew barely withholds his snort, the burst of air escaping from his nose surely tickling Jiwoong’s neck. 

Minjun wrestles his wrist out of Jiwoong’s hold and rubs at it, a bruise most likely forming from how tight Jiwoong had been holding it. Good, Matthew’s mind supplies. 

“I’m Minjun, his,” –and he says the next word through gritted teeth– “ex.” 

Not really, Matthew would argue, but.

Jiwoong doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Can’t say I’ve heard of you.” Jiwoong is not pulling his punches. “Anyway, if it’s all good with you, I’d like to go dance with my boyfriend now.”

Matthew barely has the time to even register the use of the words ‘my boyfriend’. Jiwoong wraps his other arm around Matthew’s waist and picks him up off the barstool –not necessary but very hot, Matthew’s mind supplies, and infuriating Minjun further, making it even hotter–  and drops him to the floor, temporarily letting go of him to instead hold Matthew’s hand in his, rubbing the back of it with his thumb.  

Jiwoong doesn’t even grace Minjun with one more glance as he drags Matthew out to the dance floor, but Matthew turns quickly and raises his free hand, fluttering his fingers with a cheeky “bye bye~” as he feels the insistent tug of his other hand pulling him away. 

In retrospect, this may be the best idea Jiwoong’s ever had. 

---

 

In retrospect, this may be the worst idea Jiwoong’s ever had. 

Jiwoong wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he headed out for the bar tonight. Maybe a drink or two, feeling the pounding of the bass under his skin and letting it relax him before finals season truly began, maybe. 

Instead, as soon as he passed the door, his gaze, pathetic in its disposition, was immediately drawn to Matthew, not unlike a hopeless moth drawn to a blinding nightlight. 

Normally, any chance Jiwoong has to run into Matthew immediately brightens his day. However, instead of being blessed with Matthew’s trademark sunny disposition, Jiwoong’s mood immediately soured at the view of Matthew gritting his teeth being harassed by some loser, and seemingly withholding the urge to punch said loser in the face.

He doesn’t even remember crossing the room. One second he was at the entrance, but he blinked and there he was, saying something he hoped was witty while holding the asshole’s wrist. He spitefully hardened his grip and turned his gaze to Matthew, eyes yelling a split-second plan bordering on the edge of insanity. 

Play along. 

And then, well– Matthew wrapped his arms around his neck and uttered the final nail in Jiwoong’s mental coffin. 

“Jiwoonie-hyung.” 

Jiwoong isn’t stupid. Jiwoong knows that his crush on Matthew is the worst kept secret within their social circle. Everyone knows, from their roommates, to Matthew and Hanbin’s dance crew, to the International Student Association that Matthew is part of– Jiwoong is entirely too obvious, entirely too smitten, entirely too willing to do anything. There’s only one person –Jiwoong thinks, knows– that isn’t aware, and he would do anything to keep it that way. He’s kept it hidden from the one person that can’t know, will never know, because if there’s one thing Jiwoong knows, it’s that he’d rather defend their friendship rather than destroy it. 

Everything was a blur, a performance barely held together by his instinct to help Matthew out of his pinch. Every point of contact between him and Matthew burns, and he thanks his lucky stars for helping him just barely keep it together, somehow.  

And yet, in this moment, Jiwoong was sure he would betray himself– the longer he held Matthew’s hand in his as he dragged him away from the guy and towards the dance floor instead, the more likely his actions this evening will betray how he truly feels. 

He needs to focus. He still has a role to play. 

Once they’ve reached the middle of the crowd of writhing bodies, Jiwoong turns, grabs Matthew’s hands and places them loosely on his shoulders. Satisfied, he drifts his own hands down Matthew’s body to hover vaguely at his waist. 

Matthew frowns at him playfully before raising an eyebrow in challenge, in demand. Then, and only then, do Jiwoong’s hands stop hovering to grab his waist possessively. He smiles, proud, almost satisfied.

Jiwoong’s blood thrums, his heart sings. He cannot let Matthew see. 

As he starts their lazy sway to the beat of the generic club music, he glances above Matthew’s shoulder and, as he predicted, the guy is continuing to watch them, staring daggers into both of their skulls. Jiwoong leans over, getting even closer than he thought he’d be able to survive, and, with what he hopes is a look sultry enough to fool the ex, whispers, “He’s still watching us.”

Matthew seems to hear him even above the loud music and thump of the relentless bass prominent on the dance floor, and, after a beat, smirks, gaze seductive –the “Woohyun” gaze, a memory of a drunk and petulantly insistent Matthew supplies, and Jiwoong would laugh if he wasn’t so pathetically whipped– and shifts the positioning of his hands so that one finds the nape of Jiwoong’s neck, thumb rubbing soothingly, and the other buries itself into his hair. 

With that grip, he tugs Jiwoong’s head to turn his ear closer to his lips, rises on his tiptoes, Jiwoong quick to balance him with the hands on his waist, and, when he’s satisfied with the proximity, he finally whispers:

“Thank you, Jiwoonie-hyung.”

Jiwoong shivers and freezes for a second, Matthew’s hot breath fanning over his ear, but forces himself to move before Matthew suspects anything. 

Matthew continues, “Do you think we have him fooled?” 

Jiwoong can’t help but let out the shuddering breath stuck in his lungs as he answers with a quick “Of course,” focusing on his grip on Matthew’s waist and their swaying as some kind of grounding point, and hopes the other man doesn’t notice. 

It seems he does, however. 

Matthew backs up a bit, putting just enough distance between their bodies to look him directly in the eye while allowing them to continue their little act without rousing any suspicion, and stares through Jiwoong as if he’s trying to read his mind. 

Jiwoong prays to every god he doesn’t believe in that he won’t be able to. 

“Too much?” Matthew whispers, starting to move his hands and body back into the looser position Jiwoong had originally placed them in. 

Well, that simply won’t do. 

As if by instinct, Jiwoong’s hands shoot up from their position on Matthew’s waist to instead cradle his upper arms, stopping them from moving further down. Matthew simply stares, trying to understand Jiwoong’s thoughts and intentions. Whatever he finds –not the truth, Jiwoong hopes– seems to appease him and he relents, almost returning his hands to their chosen position, fingers playfully carding through the hairs bordering Jiwoong’s nape instead of holding tight.  

When he’s satisfied that Matthew will no longer move, Jiwoong smooths his hands down his upper arms, to his shoulders, and then his back, electing to leave one palm on the flat of Matthew’s back and sliding the other around his waist, drawing their bodies closer, chest to chest, hold tight. 

A final blow to his sanity, Jiwoong tilts his head down to rest his forehead against Matthew’s, noses brushing and breaths fanning on each other’s cheeks.  

“Never.”

From this close, it is impossible to miss the distinct twinkle in Matthew’s eyes. 

“Good.” 

Jiwoong’s feeling a little insane, gravity losing its hold on him with nothing but Matthew’s unrelenting stare and burning touch on his scalp as his only tethers stopping his imminent flinging into the unforgiving void of space. 

Why not make it even worse?

“I’ve got an idea.” 

---

 

Matthew has no time to utter a response before the grip on his waist tightens and he’s brusquely turned around. 

His pulse flutters as he feels the shadow Jiwoong’s chest flutter against his back, feels his right wrist being grabbed and pulled up, compelled to once again settle his grip into Jiwoong’s hair but this time behind him. He tilts his head to the left side to make space for the man’s face hovering over his shoulder. 

When Jiwoong seems satisfied with his hold, he trails his own hand down, light as a feather, following the line of Matthew’s arm with the tip of his finger to settle in the weight of his raised bicep, thumbnail tracing the lines of the H.M.C tattoo exposed under the short sleeve of his simple black shirt. 

Matthew hopes his gasp is imperceptible as he feels Jiwoong’s left arm once again snake around his waist but this time, his fingers splay on his lower abdomen, tips sneaking under the waist of his jeans just enough to make him shiver. 

“Look over,” Jiwoong mumbles into his ear, and Matthew immediately understands. 

Minjun looks furious. 

Despite their physical contact and borderline debauchery on the dance floor, it seems it still wasn’t enough for the cockroach to leave them alone and move on. His stare definitely falls under the “if looks could kill” category, and he is relentless in his attempt to convey his murderous intentions. 

But, he still hasn’t left yet. 

Guess they’ll have to kick it up a notch. 

Matthew settles his other palm on the backside of Jiwoong’s upper thigh, right under the plush of his ass, and uses that hold to close the remaining gap between their bodies, moulding his back into every crevice of Jiwoong’s chest. His own ass settles into the crook of Jiwoong’s lap, and Matthew tries his very best to hide any trace of surprise in his expression as he feels the bulge there. With his right hand’s grip steady in his hair, he directs Jiwoong’s face into the line where his neck and jawline meet, tilting his own head slightly back, just right there, to lean on Jiwoong’s left shoulder, face towards him, and release a sigh. 

“Hyung,” Matthew exaggerates, elongating the vowel and purposefully giving it an airy tone, lips parted and lashes fluttering shut. Jiwoong finally noses at his jawline, tracing up and towards the shell of his earlobe. 

Matthew gives into the sensation, guiding their hips into a steady grind, drifting his left hand back up to twine his fingers over those tickling his abdomen, using its weight to push Jiwoong’s palm just that little more insistently, inching just that tad lower. The added thickness of their layered hands makes his already tight waistband squeeze just right, a breathy sigh escaping from his lips. 

Jiwoong starts trailing featherlight kisses down his neck, lingering where his collarbone peeks out the edge of his shirt’s collar, before resuming his journey home back up to the small dip where his neck, jaw and ear meet. There, he drops an open-mouthed wet kiss, panting as their grind gets dirtier. The strain in Matthew’s pants becomes undeniable, even limited by the harsh fit of his tight jeans. 

“Matthew,” Jiwoong whispers, nosing along his ear and back to his jaw and now cheek, a request for attention. 

He hums back, a barely discernible tone to show he’s listening.

“Baby,” Jiwoong utters, an urgency settling. 

Matthew hums again, this time a little louder – maybe Jiwoong missed it last time, what with all the noise – adding a tilt of his face just a fraction of an angle closer for good measure.

The hold on his arm –the lilting tracing of his tattoo– disappears and Matthew whines, but before he can even properly voice his disapproval (or question the root of the disapproval in question), the hand reappears, fingers now cradling his jaw and thumb settling on his chin, grip delicate yet assertive, to place them as close to face to face as they can be. He swears he hears Jiwoong tsk even through the drowning bass of the music. 

“Look at me,” Jiwoong murmurs through a shuddering breath, and oh, do Matthew’s eyes open in response. Now, he’s fully hit with just how close Jiwoong is, the tips of their noses brushing on each other’s cheeks. 

Jiwoong’s pupils are blown, and they carry a promise in their depths. 

“Tell me if you want to stop,” Jiwoong continues, warns. His thumb slides up from his chin and the pad brushes on Matthew’s bottom lip, dragging down on the plumpness of it just a bit along with his gaze, as if in a daze.

“Don’t stop,” the words slip out of Matthew’s mouth before he’s even thought of them, a lapse in impulse control perhaps, but they’re almost immediately chased back in with the first press of Jiwoong’s lips to his. 

Kissing Jiwoong immediately feels right.

Jiwoong dives in immediately, the first few chaste kisses quickly turning into something longer, deeper. He licks at his lips, a question, to which Matthew instantly answers, mouth opening and giving Jiwoong access, his tongue sliding in, tracing the rim of his teeth. Not one to be outdone, Matthew takes his turn, using his grip on Jiwoong’s hair to change the angle of the kiss, the tilt of it, the alignment just right, chasing the man’s tongue back into his own mouth. 

Jiwoong’s lips taste like the chapstick he uses, sharp yet soft, perhaps coconut with pear, and something else that’s just sweet. His mouth tastes like mint, indicative of him brushing his teeth before leaving the house. But most importantly, Jiwoong mostly just tastes like him, and something primal in Matthew eats it up, loves it, licking into every reachable crevice. Jiwoong is seemingly content to let him do as he pleases, stroking both his abdomen and the side of his face with delicate fingers while still maintaining his relentless grip, refusing to allow any distance between them. 

A part of him doesn’t want Jiwoong to let go.

When Matthew finally surfaces, breaths almost panting to fill his lungs with long-neglected air, he tilts his head up to brush his nose up against Jiwoong’s, and laughs, a bright, lilting thing from the back of his throat. Jiwoong leans down to press their foreheads together, and he preens.

Oh–

Ow!

The accidental trample of his foot by a passerby brings him back to earth and reminds him where he is. He’s in public, in the middle of a crowded bar. 

Out of the corner of his eye, his gaze darts, skittish, to where Minjun was sitting seconds, minutes ago– or was it half an hour ago? How long–

Minjun was gone. How long has he been taking advantage of Jiwoong and putting him into such a scandalous position without the threat of his ex to explain it? How long has he lost track of time, dancing here with Jiwoong in a dreamy daze without a care in the world?

He almost forgot what was going on here. 

“He’s gone.” 

---

 

The caress of Matthew’s adorable giggle is melodic in his ears, is like watching a flower blossom. He leans into the touch of their noses, resting his forehead on Matthew’s, eyes shut, enjoying their moment of intimacy. It’s just them, the crowd dissolved to nothing but a memory, the pounding of music distant, instead replaced by the pounding in his heart–

“He’s gone.”

The fire quickly razes the blooming fields, and the echoing giggle about to his throat disappears into smoky air, leaving behind a scorched earth and a bitter reality. 

Jiwoong’s blood freezes, his eyes shoot open, and every point of contact between him and Matthew burns. Of course, Matthew was just doing it for the show. That’s what this was. 

He almost forgot what was going on here. 

He looks over and, Matthew’s right, the asshole is gone. 

How long has he been forcing Matthew into such close intimacy without the threat of the ex to justify it? It’s not like Matthew actually likes him back, anyway. They’re just friends. Jiwoong is just being a really good friend right now, helping Matthew out of a shitty situation with an ex. 

Right.

Jiwoong retracts his grip, taking Matthew’s hand –which was up until recently tugging at his scalp, his mind mercilessly reminds him– and turns him so that they’re once again facing one another. He returns them to their first position, Matthew’s hands on his shoulders, his hands on Matthew’s waist. 

“We should continue dancing, just in case he’s still here.” Jiwoong uses the handy excuse of scanning the crowd for the perpetrator of the night to avoid making eye contact. 

Jiwoong is all too aware that Matthew is not doing the same. He’s staring directly into Jiwoong’s soul, although he’s not getting much back. Jiwoong refuses to return the stare, afraid of what Matthew will find. Hopefully nothing pathetic, like heartbreak. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Matthew biting his lip, eyebrows furrowed askew in a way that somehow still creates a perfect crease in the middle. Jiwoong wishes he could say that nothing good ever comes out of Matthew’s thinking face. 

Jiwoong feels the hands on his shoulders drift down to lay over his chest, and instinctually tightens his hold to close the gap between them. 

“Hey,” Matthew says, and Jiwoong hums back noncommittally, to show he’s listening, eyes still focused on their supposed mission of drifting around the room trying to spot the asshole. 

This doesn’t seem to be good enough for Matthew. Jiwoong feels small hands swatting at his chest with what little wiggle room he has left. 

“Yah, Jiwoon-hyung, look at me.” 

Fine. 

Jiwoong’s gaze darts over to Matthew’s insistent –no, demanding– one, although he swears he spotted a brief look of victory for a second, and his lungs collapse inward at the determination he finds there. 

Matthew nods, satisfied. “We should keep doing this,” he continues plainly, as if he were describing the weather. 

Surely, Jiwoong misunderstands. “But we’re already dancing,” he answers, uncertainly. 

Matthew laughs, shakes his head. “No, silly. I mean, you should continue to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

Jiwoong truly believes a knife to the heart would’ve hurt less. 

About a thousand different answers shoot through his head. Absolutely not, his rational and survival-oriented mind supplies. I’m in love with you, his extremely misguided and tormented heart wails. Not sure that’s a good idea, the reasonable compromise that his will settles on. 

Yet, what comes out of his mouth is: “Yeah, you're right.” 

Huh. 

Matthew’s eyes are like saucers, his head tilting to the side, not unlike a confused puppy. “Really?” But the hints of a smile already begin to curl at the edges of his lips, gaze softening at the corners. And, oh no, Jiwoong’s actually going to do this, huh. 

“Yeah, why not? I’m tired of people asking me out, and we have to make sure your shitty ex will leave you alone.” Way to avoid mentioning the unrequited crush that should make this whole arrangement impossible to manage. Good job, Jiwoong. 

At this point, Matthew’s sunshine smile is bursting across his face, eyes crinkling, and Jiwoong knows he’s made the right choice. (His mind screams. His heart cries. His will slumps in defeat.)

“Yeah, exactly,” Matthew nods excitedly, sliding his arms back around Jiwoong’s neck once again to balance himself in his haste to rise onto his tiptoes. He places a soft kiss on Jiwoong’s cheek, eyelids fluttering shut. Their noses brush. The smile doesn’t go away. 

“Thank you, Jiwoonie-hyung.”

Final nail in the coffin, and all that. 

Jiwoong resigns himself to his fate. 

---

 

After jiggling his keys into the lock and promptly entering their small apartment, Matthew leans back on the front door, kicks off his shoes with the grace of an elephant, and crosses around their little dinette table to plop himself face-first into the plushest pillows minimum-wage could afford scattered at the end of their longer couch. 

Hanbin glances at him out of the corner of his eye, knees hooked over the edge of the neighbouring loveseat, laid back with his laptop in his lap, and snorts. "Wild night, then," he guesses, the clacking of his keyboard echoing in the otherwise quiet of their kitchen-eating-dining room. 

Matthew groans vaguely and flops over to his side, peering up at Hanbin on the other couch through half-open eyes, a pout flickering on his lips. "What makes you think that?"

Hanbin doesn't even bother gracing him with another once-over. "You have a hickey on your neck."

Roses bloom across his cheeks against his will. "No I don't," he mumbles, self-consciously rubbing at the spots where Jiwoong had mouthed against his neck as they were dancing. 

"You're right, you don't." 

Matthew gapes at him, not unlike a fish out of water unfortunately discovering the brutal reality of the surface world. The methodical clacking of the keys highlights Hanbin's ability to multitask, reading both his class notes and Matthew like a book at once. This will surely haunt his dreams: he walked into that trap so easily, it was honestly surprising he was still alive to one day tell the tale.

"Who is it, then?"

Matthew flounders, unsure of what to answer. "We're still pretty casual, taking it slow," he mumbles, refusing to look Hanbin in the eye. Jiwoong and he hadn't discussed what they would say to their mutual friends yet. They hadn’t discussed anything, really.

Hanbin hums. "You're not giving me a name," he says. "Means I must know them."

"You don't know that," the words pour out of his lips immediately, his subconscious drastically trying to take control of the situation, but probably only making it worse. Nice. 

"But now I definitely do, with the speed of that answer." 

Matthew only sulks, defeated. Hanbin stops typing to finally look over at him, and grins. 

"Hyuuuung~," he whines, not one to give up easily, putting on his most effective pout – his ultimate weapon.

"Seokmae-ya~," Hanbin replies, unrepentant, the grin refusing to melt away despite the petulant sunshine energy being thrown his way. Damn. Maybe his pout is losing its effectiveness on Hanbin. He used to be able to use it to get anything he wanted, but now his hyung seemed totally immune to its power. 

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me yet," Hanbin continues. His grin softens into a reassuring smile. "I'm just glad you’re starting something new." 

"Me too, hyung," Matthew hums, returning the soft smile before laying his back on the couch and his head on the cushions. He sighs, mind running a mile a minute, and pulls his phone out of his pocket to check his notifications as some kind of distraction.

He manages to catch up on a considerable portion of the messages in the group chat with his friends (and old housemates) from the International Students Association –Keita, Haruto, and Wumuti volleying ideas at each other for the upcoming holiday party they'll be hosting, mostly– before a new notification catches his attention at the top of his screen.

Jiwoong.

Matthew smiles shyly, his earlier fear momentarily forgotten, then remembers that he can't let Hanbin read over his shoulder. He flips over onto his stomach again and opens up the chat.

>Hey, it reads. Well, that's fucking cryptic as hell. Jiwoong's never been the best texter, he supposes. 

<Hi :), he decides to reply. That'll teach him.

Jiwoong's reply is almost immediate. >I think we should figure out the details of our relationship.

Well, shit.

Another text follows after. >Hao's been on my case since I've gotten home. Bloop, another text. >He keeps asking which man had the honour of digging his claws into my scalp this fine evening to make my hair the mess that it is, and I have no idea what to tell him. 

Matthew chuckles and starts typing up an answer. <Hanbin-hyung's been the same. Another one. <He asked me who gave me a hickey even though I don't have one, but my reaction gave it away anyway. He sends a third in quick succession. <Then he asked who it was, and I didn't know how to answer. He adds two skull emojis for good measure. 

"Is that them?" Hanbin asks from over on the loveseat. His gaze settles on him with a knowing look.

Matthew stubbornly ignores it. "Shut up," he answers nonchalantly as he reads Jiwoong's incoming replies. He vaguely hears an unserious complaint about disrespect from his hyung's general direction and ignores that too.

>Do you have any free time tomorrow afternoon? Jiwoong's first text asks. >We could go to our cafe to talk it out. Jiwoong follows up that text with a link to the cafe that Matthew knows all too well, perfectly located right off campus at an even distance between their apartments. He and Jiwoong often visit it together, to study or just to hang out.

<Good choice, never heard of it until now, Matthew replies teasingly. 

>Unfortunately, it's not Hanbinie's cafe, but it's better if we avoid his mother lurking and reporting to him before we're even ready, Jiwoong jokes. 

Matthew giggles, imagining Hanbin’s mom cartoonishly peeking at them around a corner in their family’s quaint but busy cafe, and kicks his feet to get more comfortable. Hanbin gives him a weird look.

<Sounds great, we could meet up at 4? Matthew asks.

Jiwoong hits him with a thumbs-up emoji, and the conversation naturally dies out.

Matthew sits up and checks the time on his phone. It's almost two in the morning, and although he had submitted all of his final papers already, he couldn't fuck up his sleep schedule too hard, with all the studying ahead of him for exam season. He gets up and waddles over to the bathroom to go through his bedtime routine and get ready for bed. 

Hand on the handle to the door, Matthew hesitates and turns back around. "I'm going out with him tomorrow," he confesses to Hanbin. For whatever reason, he's unsure. 

"Uh-huh," Hanbin's weird look continues, but the corners of his lips are quirking into a knowing smile once again. Matthew wants to avoid that look at any cost. 

"You should go to bed soon too, it's late," Matthew says instead.

"I will," Hanbin looks back down to his screen, but the smile doesn't leave his face. Hanbin still has to work on his masters’ thesis during exam season, so Matthew isn't too surprised that he isn't going to sleep yet. 

He nods and hums in acknowledgment, and enters the bathroom, pulling out his products and putting on his headband. Going through the motions of his routine, Matthew is left alone with his thoughts.

So, they clearly had a lot of details they needed to smooth over. Admittedly, they had rushed into this arrangement a bit, but.

Jiwoong was hot. Matthew wasn’t stupid or blind. Anyone with a pair of eyes, attracted to men or not, could acknowledge such a simple fact. Denying it would be equivalent to declaring himself a flat earther (doing it solely to cause Yaebin distress and make her feel the true depths of sibling annoyance does not count). Even though Jiwoong made the top charts for popular campus crush, and spent a considerable amount of his free time haunting the halls of that stupid gay bar, everyone knew that he was unavailable, especially these days, although that didn’t seem to stop most people from shooting their shot. 

Jiwoong has been rejecting every single person who has asked him out for almost a year now. Matthew only briefly remembers him going on a few dates here and there before he started politely refusing every person who asked. Hanbin would often joke that Jiwoong was now a “reformed man” and “waiting for the love of his life,” whatever that meant. 

Point was, Jiwoong wasn’t interested in dating. Which was fine, because Matthew wasn’t either. While he generally enjoyed the intimacy of having someone, he didn’t really understand the necessity for it, especially after his latest mishap with Minjun, and especially when surrounded by so many close friends that easily succeed at keeping the loneliness at bay. 

That’s what made this arrangement so perfect. 

Jiwoong was hot (and patient, and caring, and attentive, and hilarious –although Matthew would never admit to laughing at his bad jokes and weird facial expressions in the privacy of his own head– that’s what made him such a good friend). 

And so, Matthew had absolutely no issue occasionally going out on public dates with him –or private, to keep up the facade with Hanbin and Hao, of course– to uphold the illusion of a flourishing relationship so that everyone could just get off their cases. And if that included some occasional grinding out on the dance floor, or some heavy petting and making out at friends’ parties, then he definitely had no complaints either. 

He would just be hanging out with one of his closest friends, but with some added extra perks. 

He had no problem pretending he was in love with Jiwoong. 

 

---

saturday, december 3rd. 

---

 

Jiwoong was going to have some serious problems pretending he wasn’t in love with Matthew. 

After leaving the apartment on his way to the cafe –not without withstanding a wave of aggressively curious looks from Hao, who, despite not asking him any direct questions since last night’s failed interrogation, was surely trying to read his mind through the steam diffusing from his second daily coffee– Jiwoong couldn’t help but be stuck in his racing thoughts. 

It would be dramatic to say that his every thought was already consumed with Matthew. Yet, it was true. Just the sight of camo print was enough to send him into a spiral of pathetic pining. He honestly didn’t think it could ever possibly get worse. 

But now, it was definitely worse. 

Now he knew how it felt to hold Matthew in his arms; the feel of Matthew’s fingers carding through his hair, of them playing at his nape; just how right it was when Matthew melded his back into Jiwoong’s front, like two puzzle pieces finally snapping into place; the sounds he made when he kissed along the column of his neck, light gasps and airy breaths; the taste of his lips and mouth, marked with just a touch of that rum and coke he was drinking; the look in his eyes, as if he were asking for more.

But, none of it was real. It was all for show. At least, on Matthew’s part. 

Needless to say, this whole situation seems insane in hindsight. What was he thinking? He wasn’t, was the issue. One look into those wide eyes beckoning him with the promise of more was all it took for every single rational thought to fly out the window. 

A ping from his phone brings him back to reality, taking him off of his mental autopilot to notify him of his own arrival at the cafe. He opens the door, the golden bell’s soft jingle announcing his arrival to the baristas, as well as to the other customers seated on sage green banquettes and burnt orange seat cushions scattered across the quaint store. He echoes the employees’ greetings as he walks up to the till, preparing to order a half-sweet raspberry mochaccino with whipped cream, as well as his own drink.

“Jiwoon-hyung!” 

Jiwoong’s head swivels to follow the sound of the voice that could only belong to one person. 

Matthew is half-standing, half-hovering on a little banquette in the corner of the cafe, waving his arm to get his attention. His eyes are shiny crescent moons, cheeks bunching up from the force of his closed-lipped smile. He’s still wearing a scarf and tuque, drowning in his warm, puffy winter jacket, making him seem all that much cuter and more snuggly, and his cheeks and ears are still lightly rosy from the cold. “I ordered your coffee already, come sit!” He waves his hand again, but this time to beckon him over, and starts removing his outerwear. 

Jiwoong turns to the barista to apologize for taking her time, but she shakes her head and levels him with an understanding, knowing smile. Jiwoong doesn’t know how he feels about being perceived so effectively and so brutally by a total stranger. Instead of pondering too long on the feeling, he walks over to the little banquette Matthew has saved for them in the increasingly crowded cafe and removes his own jacket. 

He takes his phone out of his pocket as he sits to confirm what he already knew: it’s only 3:47 pm. It’s not much earlier than their planned meeting time, but Matthew was here early, and Jiwoong’s brow creases as he internally curses. He wanted to be here first to buy Matthew’s drink for him, damn it. 

“Stop frowning, I got here earlier because Hanbin-hyung wouldn’t leave me alone,” Matthew pipes up. “He went to bed later than me yesterday but still got up earlier to write his thesis.” He frowns, albeit playfully. “Well, I don’t think he got much writing done, I think he was alternating between texting Hao-hyung and staring me down for answers all morning– which I didn’t give!”

Matthew continues to babble, gesticulating with his hands. “He finally snapped and asked who, and I quote him here, the ‘shining prince charming taking me on a cafe date’ was, and added some snide comments about me ‘flailing my legs about like some love-sick school kid’ just to try to annoy me into answering.” He snorts and shakes his head, which ruffles his fluffy hair, and swirls his teaspoon through his raspberry mochaccino. “I hadn’t even told him it was a cafe date. I knew I had to escape after that.” 

Suddenly, the looks Hao had been giving him all morning between phone scrolls made a lot more sense. Jiwoong had told his roommate that he was going on a cafe date over their shared breakfast, and had apologized for not being able to make any afternoon study plans. 

“Here.” Matthew slides over a cute white mug adorned with golden roses, and Jiwoong takes a sip. Hazelnut latte, which is his go-to order when he has a sweet tooth. Which he definitely did right now, looking over at the sweet boy sitting with him across the table. 

“Thank you, baby,” Jiwoong teases, and grins satisfied when he sees Matthew’s ears turn a shade redder, completely unrelated to the biting winter cold. Jiwoong prides himself in the fact that he can now get that kind of reaction with almost no effort. Matthew’s nose scrunches up and his lips curl in playful annoyance, and that makes Jiwoong even happier. 

Matthew pauses for a second. “Hao-hyung and Hanbin-hyung already know, don’t they?” he says, fingernails dribbling on the side of his mug.

Jiwoong grimaces, feeling a bit guilty for having seemingly given it away so easily. “Definitely.” 

Matthew charges on, undeterred. “That’s fine, we did get home at around the same time last night, and both mentioned we had a date today,” –Jiwoong doesn’t even question how Matthew knows that he also told Hao about their cafe date– “and I swear those two are psychically linked, it’s crazy. We’re just gonna have to make our lie even more believable.” 

Lie, Jiwoong’s heart sinks. 

“Hmm. So! Step one,” Matthew changes the subject, and it’s so obvious that Jiwoong can barely withhold his endeared snort. “We should rewrite each other’s contact names,” Matthew suggests, a vaguely threatening glint shining in his eyes. Oh no. 

Without waiting for Jiwoong’s approval, he snatches the phone laying face down on the cafe’s table, quickly flips it to face Jiwoong and somehow succeeds in unlocking the Face ID, and scrolls through the apps in search of KaTalk. His tongue pokes out in concentration, brows furrowed, and any protest that Jiwoong could’ve possibly concocted dies in the back of his throat. Matthew gives him his phone back, and from his expression, Jiwoong immediately knows that violence has been committed. 

One look down at his screen confirms it.

“This just says ‘Baby’,” Jiwoong remarks, and his voice sounds far away. He tries not to faint. 

“Yup,” Matthew pops the ‘p’, staring directly back at Jiwoong, eyebrow raised, smile smug, a challenge. “It’s what you call me, anyway. Might as well stay consistent.” 

Jiwoong feels the blood rush to his ears and hopes Matthew can’t see them redden under his hair. Fine. Jiwoong doesn’t need to keep his sanity anyway. Plus, he’s about to get his revenge. He knows exactly what to write. Matthew hands him his phone, screen already opened to their chat history where he can easily change his own contact name. He taps at it and, satisfied with his choice, returns the phone back to Matthew’s hands, lips pursing in an attempt to keep in his laugh, already anticipating the reaction. 

“I don’t say it like that,” Matthew immediately whines petulantly, pout gracing his lips, looking at the screen where the betraying ‘Jiwoon-hyung’ shines back at him, mocking. 

Jiwoong can’t hold his laughter back any longer, shaking his head. “You really do.” 

Matthew’s pout worsens. He’s so cute. Jiwoong is going to die. 

“It’s cute,” Jiwoong placates. 

“I don’t mean to, really,” Matthew insists. “I think it’s an aspiration thing, the ‘ng’ into the ‘h’ doesn’t form well on my tongue,” he tries to explain. 

“I like it,” Jiwoong blurts out, his lips running away from him in their mission to tell a secret truth. He has to fight every nervous instinct to cover up his mouth with the palm of his hand to prevent it from betraying him further. 

“Oh?” and the mischievous glint returns to Matthew’s eyes, and is that his foot teasingly dragging against Jiwoong’s leg underneath the table? What is going on? “If you say so, Jiwoon-hyung.” Matthew takes a sip of his mochaccino, the traces of a self-satisfied, shit-eating grin on the corners of his lips disappearing as he licks his lips to remove any whipped cream residue. 

A menace. This boy is a menace. 

Only, the menace misses a spot on the right corner of his mouth. 

Jiwoong gestures to his own face vaguely in the same spot, and says, “You have a little something, on your face.”

“Oh?” Matthew says, and pokes out his tongue again, Jiwoong inadvertently tracing the movement with his eyes, and yet he misses again.

“Here, let me,” Jiwoong mutters, and he leans over the table, getting closer to have a better view as he holds Matthew’s chin in his fingers. The thumb of his other hand comes up to swipe at the offensive spot, and, when he confirms with a look that the corner of his mouth is indeed clean, pops the finger in his own mouth to lick off the cream.

“Thanks,” Matthew squeaks, and it’s only then that Jiwoong’s gaze loses its focus on Matthew’s lips and drifts back to the boy’s entire face, only then that he notices how close he has gotten, and how insane that was. Matthew’s cheeks are downright blushing, there is no denying it, lips slightly parted since Jiwoong’s thumb had left them, and his eyes are in a daze. 

He has no idea what possessed him to do that. 

“Right, so,” Matthew blinks a couple times, clears his throat and presses the back of his hand to his cheek. “Step two. Time to tell a story.” 

Jiwoong shakes himself out of his own daze, and groans.

“Yah, hyung, let me tell the story first.” Jiwoong rolls his eyes to cover how smitten he is with him and his silly obsession with storytelling, and nods at Matthew to signal him to continue. “So I officially ended things with Minjun and blocked him on SNS about a month ago, right?”

“Yes, Matthew. The ‘Great Halloween Miracle’, as Hanbinie and Hao call it.” 

Matthew continues on, unperturbed. “So naturally, our relationship will have needed to start after that, unless you want to develop a reputation as a homewrecker–”

“I’d hardly call what you and Minjun had a ‘home’, but sure–” Jiwoong interjects.

“So,” Matthew emphasizes, “because I don’t want people to think you’re an immediate rebound either–” he lifts his finger to Jiwoong’s lips to stop him from interrupting again, which is unsurprisingly effective, and causes Jiwoong’s thoughts to go absolutely haywire, “–then I think the perfect start date would be Haruto’s birthday party on November 18th.” 

Jiwoong’s brain reboots. Huh. “That’s not a bad idea, actually.” 

“It’s the latest gathering with most of our mutual friends, and we hung out most of the night, so they can all be witnesses,” Matthew explains, clearly proud of his idea. 

“We left together, too. I even brought you home,” Jiwoong recounts, and laughs. “You were so drunk!”

“It’s not my fault that you had a shift the next morning and I had to drink almost all of our losses in beer pong,” Matthew protests, whining. “We played for almost two hours straight!”

“It’s not my fault that you’re so competitive that you refused to admit defeat and kept us going until we finally beat Zihao and Haruto – and on his birthday, too!” 

Matthew jaw drops in mock offense, and he kicks Jiwoong’s shin playfully under the table. “Okay so I was drunk, but not that drunk, so I do remember everything. You brought me to your place because Hao-hyung and Hanbin-hyung had called dibs on our apartment, which in hindsight was definitely the right move, but they don’t know that it was the reason why–”

“Which makes it the perfect story,” Jiwoong finishes, and Matthew nods, proud. Jiwoong doesn’t bring up the fact that he had no idea that Hao and Hanbin had claimed the other apartment for the evening, nor the fact that Matthew had worn one of Jiwoong’s larger sweatshirts to bed – already big on him, but adorably oversized on the younger boy’s smaller frame, falling off one of his shoulders and giving him the cutest sweater paws that had just made Jiwoong want to eat him.

Nor does he bring up the fact that although Jiwoong had insisted he could sleep on the couch to let the drunk boy rest and recover in his bed, Matthew had insisted that they could share it and had tugged Jiwoong along by interlocking their fingers and leading them to the bed, refusing to let go until the older man had cuddled up to his back and rested his arm around Matthew’s waist. He was thankful that he was able to wake up before Matthew to avoid that conversation – and to watch Matthew doze just a bit of the morning away, the light from the sun that was peeking through the blinds and outlining his features yet being no match for the sunshine boy’s radiance even in sleep – and the memory of Matthew’s warmth blooming against his chest had been enough to keep him smiling throughout the entire day. 

Matthew looks up from his phone, where he was perusing the calendar to confirm their timeline and specific dates. “So it’s settled, then. We’ve been in some kind of situationship for the past two weeks, but we haven’t seen each other much because both of us were too busy with school deadlines and work.”

“Which is true, to be fair,” Jiwoong interjects, smiling gently and sliding his hand across the table to hold Matthew’s under his own against its surface. His bigger hand completely encompasses Matthew’s smaller one in its grip, keeping it warm and safe, and Jiwoong’s heart sings. 

Matthew returns the soft smile. “And, it’s why we hadn’t made it official until last night, and that’s why we hadn’t told anyone yet, especially Hanbin-hyung and Hao-hyung,” he concludes.

“They’ll be the hardest to convince, considering we live with them.” 

Matthew tilts his head in a moment of temporary self-doubt, and flips his hand over to play with Jiwoong’s fingers, staring at their movements. “True, but it’s based enough in reality that I think they’ll buy it.” 

They’ll especially buy it from Jiwoong since they already know he’s in love with Matthew, Jiwoong doesn’t say. Instead, he simply nods. “Sounds good.” 

“We should go on little dates and hang out at each other’s places together more often to really sell it, especially to them. Maybe study dates, since exams are coming up? We can figure out the more specific details over text,” Matthew suggests, and Jiwoong hums in acknowledgement, but his heart was stuck on the idea of having to ‘really sell it’, and he isn’t sure if he wants to cry or puke. Maybe both, at once. 

Jiwoong jumps up, needing to somehow get away from the situation for a second. But Matthew’s hands hold tight onto his, and his gaze seems both nervous and curious at once, somehow. 

“I’ll be right back, unless you’re ready to leave? We both have exams to study for, after all.” Jiwoong eyes both of their empty mugs and shrugs, and Matthew nods. Jiwoong regretfully slides his hand from the younger boy’s grasp as he walks away, holding on until the very last second just to make Matthew laugh. 

He heads over to the small line in front of the register, sliding on his jacket as he waits. When it’s his turn to order, Jiwoong points to one of Matthew’s favourites displayed in the pastry case. “Can I have two white chocolate macadamia cookies, please? To go?”

“Of course! Did you or your boyfriend need anything else?” 

Jiwoong goes to correct her but then stops himself. Right. Matthew’s his boyfriend now, albeit his fake one, and he’s now somehow committed to playing the part both in public and at home. He turns around to look at Matthew, still shrugging on his oversized coat near the banquette, scarf already bundled snugly around his neck to protect from the chill, tuque already settled on his head. The boy looks over at him and blesses him with that one specific sunshine smile that Jiwoong almost deludes himself into believing Matthew keeps only for him. 

“No, we’re good, thank you.”

She hands him the cookies as Matthew waddles over with their mugs, passes them kindly to the barista and, when his hands are finally free, wraps his arms around one of Jiwoong’s, leaning into him and peering over to his hand. He notices what Jiwoong is holding, and beams. 

“Jiwoon-hyung, let’s go for a walk!”

And who is Jiwoong to refuse?

---

 

Matthew isn’t sure what stops him from saying his goodbyes and heading to the library to study, but he nonetheless finds himself stealing the bag of cafe pastries from Jiwoong’s hand and running off ahead. 

“Come on, hyung,” he taunts with a bright smile, “I’ve got your cookies!” 

“They were already yours to begin with,” Jiwoong answers, but he does jog a little to catch up to him anyway. When he does, Matthew grabs onto his newly freed hand –the other still holding Matthew’s casual school tote bag on his shoulder– and grins. “Where are we going, Matthew-ah?” he asks. 

“Just go with the flow, hyung,” Matthew stalls, as he realizes that he has no idea where he’s taking them. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to let go of Jiwoong’s hand just yet. He tells himself that since his hyung had bought him his favourite cookie, the least he could do was let the other man see him enjoy it gratefully.

It isn’t until they’ve been walking without letting go of one another’s hand for a few blocks in peaceful silence, side-stepping the small puddles produced by the thawing of the light snow under the rapidly-disappearing afternoon sunlight, that Matthew realizes he’s been subconsciously dragging Jiwoong to his favourite campus park. 

Most prefer it during the spring blossom season. However, Matthew far preferred the park during the fall, when the trees get to benefit from the remnants of summer greenery, the leaves shifting through all the warm colours, rich crimsons and deep ambers burning like fire contrasting with golds shimmering like sunshine. Winter, although lacking the natural splendour of the seasons where life thrived, nonetheless retained a sense of serenity, particularly in the park, where the crisp, clean snow did not melt away as easily. Matthew knew he could always come here when he needed to think, when he needed to remove himself from the outside world and just be. 

This isn’t the first time that Matthew brings Jiwoong to the park. The other man’s face settles with a look of understanding, and now Jiwoong is the one who walks forward resolutely, pulling Matthew along until they reach the small playground off at the side, usually blanketed under a canopy of trees. It’s nothing grandiose, quite the opposite actually: it boasts a few small climbing structures, an admittedly pathetic slide, but most importantly, a pair set of swings. 

Jiwoong lets go of his hand and Matthew almost protests, but then he stops himself when he notices that the man is dusting off the light coating of snow on the seat and performing a silly little bow. “There you go, baby.”

Matthew stifles a laugh as he settles into the crook of the rubber. “Thank you, my shining prince charming.” The metal chain of the swing is cold much like the crisp winter air, and yet Matthew feels warm. Matthew offers Jiwoong his cookie silently, and after the older man accepts his, Matthew shoves the paper bag into his pocket and bites into his own, the flavours of white chocolate and macadamia nut immediately melting on his tongue. God, was this cookie good. 

They sway more than they swing, occasionally taking bites of their cookies, occasionally bumping into one another as they consider their words.

Jiwoong breaks the silence first, eating the last bite of his cookie. “What’s got you thinking, ‘Chu-ah?” 

He isn’t sure, is the problem. Matthew continues to swing, finishing his own cookie. Jiwoong waits patiently. 

“You’re my favourite hyung. You know that, right?” Matthew tries to make eye contact, to show that he truly means it. 

Jiwoong looks him in the eye for a second –and the depth of affection there almost makes Matthew gasp– before his gaze darts away. But he does reach over and grab Matthew’s hand once again, foot digging into the frozen sand to even out their chaotic swinging, guiding them into a parallel sway instead. He nods. 

However, it seems that he’s unable to stop himself from cracking a little joke. “Even more than Hanbin-ah?”

“Hanbin-hyung doesn’t count.” Matthew rolls his eyes playfully. 

“Ah,” Jiwoong gasps mournfully, eyes closed and head thrown back, free hand pressed into his chest like he’s been shot, elbow hooked into the swing’s metal chain to keep his balance through his act. 

“He’s like a brother to me, you know that. You’re different,” Matthew adds, although he’s not sure how to explain in what way. It’s not the same as with Hao-hyung or Keita-hyung either. Thankfully, Jiwoong doesn’t press it. 

They sway in tandem, sitting in the comfortable silence for a few more minutes. It isn’t even that late yet, but due to the rapidly approaching winter solstice, the sun has already set. Matthew watches as a light flurry begins to fall, snowflakes dancing in the breeze and fluttering as they fall to the ground, backlit by the rustic lamp posts that illuminate the park’s paths. 

“I just don’t want to lose what we have,” Matthew continues, words appearing at the front of his mind. “I’ve seen it happen in movies, ya know? I don’t want that for us.” 

Now that he’s started, it’s like the floodgate has opened. He thinks about what Hanbin had said, about Jiwoong ‘waiting for the love of his life’, and rushes out, “And I don’t want us dating to get in the way of you being able to pursue the person you really love.” 

“Matthew-ah–“

“And what if one of our friends finds out the truth?” Matthew gesticulates wildly and almost falls off of his swing. “God, the drama. How would we explain any of this to them? How could any of them ever believe anything we say again?” 

“Chu-ah–“

“Hanbin-hyung can read me like a book, what if he can already tell that I’m lying to him? He’s my brother, I can’t lose him and lose you, too,” and he’s running out of breath, but he can’t stop speaking–

“Yah, Seok Matthew–“

“Promise me, Jiwoon-hyung,” Matthew begs, and they’ve stopped swaying now. “That no matter what happens, we’ll still be friends.”

That statement felt wrong. Why did it feel wrong?

“Maeddu.”

Hands are on his cheeks, and Matthew feels his heavy breathing halt, the use of his old playful nickname and the grounding contact on his face taking him back to the present moment. The pads of Jiwoong’s thumbs swipe away at the tears falling from his eyes, wiping away the rivers that had formed on his cheeks. When had he started crying?

“You’ll never lose me. I promise.”

Jiwoong says it with such conviction that Matthew immediately takes it as truth. A truth so understood, so known, that even the universe wouldn’t dare go against it. 

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and sighs, tension he hadn’t noticed growing leaving his body all at once. He lifts his hands to cup Jiwoong’s fingers, to maintain the man’s gentle but firm hold on his face, and reopens his eyes. 

“I love you, Jiwoon-hyung.”

The devotion flows like rivers from Jiwoong’s eyes, and in those depths Matthew finds a comfort he’s never felt before. 

“I love you too, Maeddu.” 

Matthew shivers at the words and nods through the last of his sniffles as he fully calms down. Without a word, he delicately peels Jiwoong’s fingers from his cheeks and ignores how wrong it had felt to do that. But Matthew can’t help himself, can’t stop himself from indulging in such a simple comfort, and maintains his hold, swinging their joint hands between them.

After a few more minutes pass, long enough for them both to anchor themselves in the sea of emotion they had created, Matthew stands up and reluctantly drops his grip on one of Jiwoong’s hands to pick up his book bag, which had fallen off of the other man’s lap and onto the snowy, sandy floor at some point. Normally, Matthew would have a teasingly witty comment to make, something about his belongings not being given the respect they deserve, but right now, he can’t find it in himself to care. 

Instead, he looks back to his Jiwoon-hyung, and smiles. 

“Come on, boba’s on me.”

---

 

Jiwoong barely has the time to remove his shoes in the entrance of their apartment before his roommate comes to truly make him question how pathetically obvious he is. 

Hao slides across the wooden floors of their living room onto the tiles of their entrance and manages to smoothly transition to a wall lean. “How was your date with Matthew-ah?” he asks, seemingly nonchalant as he picks at his fingernails. 

Jiwoong ignores Hao’s attempt at cornering him and grasps at his only chance of escape, swerving around the other boy to head towards the kitchen on the other side of the wall. “Wow, Hao-ah, good afternoon to you too!” Jiwoong says mockingly as he puts down his past-half-empty boba on the island counter.

Hao glides around the wall, promptly plops himself in the stool that Jiwoong was about to sit in with an impressive amount of grace, and stares.

Jiwoong sighs. “It went well.”

“Aha, I knew it was him!” he exclaims, and it almost makes Jiwoong jump in surprise at the intensity of his excitement. But, Hao’s face of victory is quickly muddled with a concentrated expression, as if part of the puzzle remains unsolved to him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he pouts, and Jiwoong knows this expression: it’s the one that immediately makes Hanbin fold, that makes him do or say anything that Hao wants. Thankfully, Jiwoong is not Hanbin. 

“We weren’t official until last night,” Jiwoong recites, following their story to a tee. “We didn’t want to get either of you too excited in case it didn’t work out.”

Hao squints at him. “And why didn’t he tell Hanbin-ah? They tell each other everything and know each other so well, I’m pretty sure Matthew knew that Hanbin-ah was in love with me before Hanbin himself did.” 

Jiwoong snorts and turns to retrieve some leftovers from the fridge for dinner. “He definitely did.” 

This just makes Hao quirk an eyebrow, leaning back as comfortably as possible onto the kitchen island. “Exactly. So why didn’t Hanbin and I know about this… two weeks ago?”

Huh?  

He turns back around, takeout container in hand, to face Hao again. He’s back to picking at his fingernails in nonchalance, which is how Jiwoong knows he’s about to be read for filth. “We’re not stupid, you know. Haruto’s birthday party.”

Jiwoong freezes.

“Matthew never came back to the apartment that night, which we partially expected, but he never texted Hanbin-ah where he was going either,” Hao continues. “And you couldn’t stop smiling like a loon all day that Saturday,” Jiwoong feels the colour drain from his face at every subsequent word. “You thought we wouldn’t put two and two together?”

What can he possibly say?

“I was scared,” Jiwoong confesses, and he hates that he’s already reached the point of telling the truth in order to save the lie. “I wasn’t sure if it was a one time thing, or if it was because we were both tipsy, or if it meant less to him than it did to me.” 

Hao’s gaze softens, and Jiwoong hates it. He’s been on the receiving end of that look of pity from his friends far too many times. “You’re being silly, Jiwoong-hyung. Matthew’s always liked you back, we were all just waiting to see how long it took for him to notice and do something about it.” Then he smirks. “Looks like he finally did, ‘cause I know you’re too much of a coward.” 

“I didn’t want to lose what we already had,” Jiwoong smiles gently, thinking of every second, minute, hour spent with Matthew – studying in their cafe, the boy swirling his teaspoon in his mochaccino; playing beer pong in a crowded party, cheering and hugging excitedly at every win; swinging in the park at night, cracking their lightest jokes and confessing their deepest worries; hearing ‘Jiwoon-hyung’ anytime, anywhere, and knowing that he’ll only hear those words from Matthew’s lips. 

“Yeah, but look at what you’ve gained,” Hao says encouragingly. 

Despite the pain caused by knowing that all that he’s ‘gained’ is fake, Jiwoong smiles, smitten, thinking of the last twenty-four hours he’s spent. He summons all of his good memories to dull the blow of deception, to help portray a version of himself who is in requited love with Matthew. “You’re right, Hao-ah.”

Hao seems satisfied because he backs off, and lifts himself from the stool to pat Jiwoong’s shoulders with both hands. “I’m so happy for you, Jiwoong-hyung. I know you’ve been in love with Matthew for months.”

“I’m so happy, too,” Jiwoong says, and he wonders if at some point the line between truth and lie will stop being so blurry for his heart. 

---

 

Matthew considers waiting outside their apartment building to delay the inevitable. He’ll really be lying to Hanbin from now on, and a part of him wonders if he’s physically able to even do that. But, he knows that there’s no point. He’ll need to bite the bullet eventually if he and Jiwoong are going to pull this off, and it would be better to do it sooner rather than later. 

When he finally does open their front door, he half-expects to see Hanbin already waiting for him, similarly draped across the loveseat as he had been yesterday.

Instead, he is faced with pitch darkness. 

The brightness from the street light outside their window is barely sneaking its way past their living room blinds. His eyes squint in an attempt to skit across the room despite the lack of lighting, trying to see if Hanbin had decided to dramatically wait for him in the dark, not unlike a mother waiting to scold their child for returning past their curfew. It’s only a little past seven in the evening, though, so that’s a little unlikely. It’s much more likely that Hanbin is studying at his desk instead.

Bravely, Matthew walks over hesitantly to Hanbin’s bedroom door and knocks. 

“Come in,” he hears from the other side. 

Still, he can’t help the anxiety eating at his stomach at the prospect of telling Hanbin anything but the truth. 

He opens the door.

“Seokmae-ya, you’re home,” Hanbin smiles over from his desk, head lifting from his piles of books and papers. “How was your date with Jiwoong-hyung?”

He already knew, then.

Hanbin must see the apprehension, the pure anxiety in Matthew’s eyes –Matthew’s never been able to lie to his hyung, after all– because his gaze softens. He glides his rolling chair over to his bed and hops directly onto it, sitting on the plush comforter before patting at the spot left next to him. “Come sit.” 

The panic claws at Matthew’s throat, the truth already threatening to spill free from his lips. Like a coward, he tries to find an excuse to once again delay the inevitable. “I should go change out of my outside clothes first–”

“I’ll forgive it this one time,” Hanbin insists, and Matthew can see that although his gaze is soft, it is also firm. Knowing that this is a battle he won’t win, he ambles over to the bed as well and uneasily settles himself right next to Hanbin. His hyung wordlessly puts his hand over his on the bedspread, thumb stroking the top of his palm, and Matthew doesn’t know if he even deserves the comfort.  

“I already knew,” Hanbin begins. “I’m not mad, Seokmae-ya, don’t worry. I’m just confused.” That’s almost worse, Matthew thinks, head hung between his shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Matthew remembers his and Jiwoong’s plan, down to the detailed date. Haruto’s birthday party. Uncertainty and self-doubt, with a healthy dose of miscommunication. 

Instead, he says, “I don’t know.”

“We tell each other everything,” Hanbin underlines, and it vaguely feels like being stabbed. “You knew I was in love with Hao-hyung before even I did, and that’s because I never stopped talking about how I felt even when I didn’t have the words to properly explain it.” 

At that, Matthew laughs, a wet, pathetic chuckle choked through half-held tears. “I know.” 

“Tell me now, then.”

Matthew freezes. 

“If you couldn’t tell me two weeks ago, then tell me now.” 

Two weeks ago. Matthew finally raises his head and meets his hyung’s eyes. In them, he sees compassion, love and forgiveness. He almost gives in right then and tells Hanbin the truth, the whole truth.

But then he thinks of Jiwoong. 

Of the strength of his hold, yet the delicateness of his hands. Of their fingers intertwined, perfectly moulding into one another. Of his chest to Matthew’s back, the weight of his arm across his waist, like two halves of the same whole. Of the conviction and devotion held in his eyes as he promised that Matthew would never lose him.

He thinks of all that he has gained in the past twenty-four hours through their lie. 

And he thinks that maybe, he doesn’t deserve the forgiveness in Hanbin’s trusting gaze.

“Saturday morning.” 

Hanbin hums, indicating for him to continue. 

“I knew I was in love with Jiwoon-hyung on Saturday morning, after Haruto’s birthday party.” 

This works perfectly with the lie, Matthew thinks. And it’ll definitely convince Hanbin. “We’d spent the entire night before together at the party, and he took me to their apartment because you and Hao-hyung were at ours, and he thought I was drunk, but I wasn’t really, not that much. He wanted to take care of me, make sure I was okay.”

Hanbin nods to encourage him and squeezes his hand, a soft smile on his face as he listens to Matthew’s story. He perseveres, albeit shakily, but a nostalgic smile nonetheless flitters across his lips, his gaze drifting off into memory. “He made me drink some water and gave me some of his clothes as pyjamas, even averted his eyes as I changed like a true gentleman.” At this, they both chuckle. “He insisted that I could sleep off the alcohol and my eventual hangover in his bed, prepared some painkillers and a glass of water on the nightstand for the morning and everything, but I wouldn’t have it.” 

“You’re very demanding when you’re drunk,” Hanbin interjects, nodding like he’s some kind of knowledgeable sage, surely pondering his own first-hand experiences, and Matthew flicks him in the forehead with his free hand. 

“Anyway,” Matthew petulantly continues, “I insisted that he should use his own bed or I wouldn’t sleep at all, and when he tried to refuse, I decided, without his input mind you, that we would just sleep together.” Matthew feels the blood flush to his cheeks and he withholds the urge to press his hand to them as he rushes through the next part. “So, I grabbed him by the hand, dragged him to his room, and refused to let go until he cuddled with me.” 

“That was rather bold of you,” Hanbin teases, bright smile and whisker dimples on his cheeks. 

“Shut up,” Matthew whines, knocking his knee into Hanbin’s in protest, but the man only smiles larger, snort threatening to interrupt his melodic giggles with the force of his laughter.

Matthew knows what must come next in the story. It’s what makes him pause. However, after Hanbin finally calms down, there is nowhere left to run, nowhere left to hide. It’s in the silence that forms that Matthew finally admits: 

“When I woke up the next morning, I was in his bed, his clothes, his arms. And that’s when I knew.”

The silence eats up Matthew whole. 

“That you were in love with him,” Hanbin observes, as if the truth were as plain as day.

“That I was in love with him,” Matthew whispers, echoes. The lie, strangely enough, falls easily from his lips, and yet, it nonetheless makes him shiver.

Matthew does not regret the lie, he realizes. And yet he feels as though it had come too easily, lying to his beloved Hanbin-hyung, and he stagnates in the guilt of that. He feels crushed to the earth under the weight of it, yet also feels as though he has been sucked into the unforgiving void of space, both fitting punishments for his crime. He wonders if Hanbin is able to see any of it from his rather normal perch on the bed. 

Another squeeze of his hand tethers him back to reality.

“Thank you for telling me,” Hanbin whispers, and his eyes are soft, understanding, and forgiving; his smile is even softer, and knowing, and Matthew still wonders what Hanbin knows.  

---

 

Later that night, as he tries to sleep, he can’t help but think that a lie built on the truth is both the easiest and hardest to defend. 

After all, Matthew isn’t in love with Jiwoong.

Notes:

i've already established both of them as unreliable narrators so i don’t want any of y’all saying anything about the ten different layers of misunderstandings about to take place

ALSO i wrote this chapter before jiwoong mentioned the contact name at the fansign (YES that's how long i've been writing this), y’all should’ve seen the freakout i had in the gc with my friends, i felt unhinged and a little prophetic

Chapter 2: chapter two: wishing on dandelions all of the time

Notes:

can you believe that after all the nonsense in chapter one, they somehow still think the other is faking it? and matthew hasn't even realized for himself yet?? shoutout to queer obliviousness ig... and it somehow even gets worse... i wrote it myself and i still stared in disbelief

this chapter was one of my favourites to write so i hope you'll enjoy it <3

chapter title from 'dandelions' by ruth b.

---

monday, december 12th.

---

 

The library is quiet. 

Well, as quiet as a college library can be, anyway. Some students are buried in books and notes at desks, pencils scribbling at notebooks and keyboards clacking under the weight of hurried fingers. Some students are hidden away between the shelves, gossiping about the latest campus drama, which parties they’ll attend tonight instead of studying, what their plans are for the two long months of winter break. Some students are doing neither, stuck in a perpetual spiral of procrastination, switching between online shopping on their laptops and scrolling through endless social media updates on their phones.

Jiwoong is a student, too, but he isn’t doing any of those things.

Jiwoong is staring at Matthew instead. 

How his leg bounces under the table, posture slouched leaning on the chair’s back, tongue poked out between his teeth in thought. How his fluffy hair shifts with every jittery movement, because he’s definitely way too hopped up on caffeine, probably on his fourth coffee in as many hours that they’ve already been here. How he occasionally twirls the wire of his headphones between his fingers as he waits for a reply to his latest text. God, Jiwoong wishes that were his hand being played with instead. 

Matthew isn’t doing much studying at this point, what with all the texting. He’s most likely discussing the details for the New Year’s holiday party that the International Students Association is hosting in three weeks, if Jiwoong had to guess.

Their attendance at this party has been the most recurring talking point on their many study dates over the past ten days. Since this will be their first party as a ‘couple’ –since the gossip about their relationship has made it around their entire friend circle, anyway– they’ve been ironing out the heavier details of their relationship to withstand the intense quizzing that they’re sure to fall victim to. Jiwoong loves their friends, really, but they’re all nosy as hell. 

Matthew furrows his eyebrows at his screen and seems to do a double take, and Jiwoong darts his gaze away before Matthew can catch him staring, fumbling for a pen and pretending to focus on his textbook. 

“Hyung.” There’s an air of whiny dismay in Matthew’s voice that immediately makes Jiwoong want to laugh. That’s the tone he uses when he’s about to be purposefully dramatic about something, most often for fun.

Jiwoong cranes his stare back to the other and lifts an eyebrow, amused. “Yes, Matthew?”

“It’s the 12th today.” Somehow, he sounds even more dismayed than before. 

A small snort passes through Jiwoong’s nose, unbidden. He puts down his pen and gives Matthew his full attention, finally getting a sense of where this conversation is going, a smile teasing the corners of his lips. “I’m aware, baby.” 

Matthew blushes to the roots of his hair but moves on, unrelenting even in the face of such a blatantly obvious redirection tactic. “Then why haven’t we made plans for your birthday yet?” Now he’s full-on pouting, bordering on sulking, as if his birthday was the one being forsaken, and not Jiwoong’s. “It’s literally in two days.”

“Don’t you have an exam the day after?”

Matthew reaches over the table to hold his hand, and Jiwoong’s heart performs a little somersault in his chest. He feels a momentary spike of triumph over the headphone wires, and then immediately thinks that he needs to get a grip.

“Yeah, hyung, fuck Advanced History of Dance,” Matthew states resolutely, and he squeezes Jiwoong’s hand tighter under his, “I want to celebrate you. You’re way more important to me.”

Well, any protest that Jiwoong could’ve possibly formulated dies after that. 

“Plus, what kind of boyfriend would I be if we didn’t do something for your birthday?” 

Right. “Chu-yah–”

Matthew starts playing with Jiwoong’s fingers as he interrupts, “Let me do something for you, please?” His eyes shift their focus from their hands to instead hit Jiwoong with those eyes, the ones that Jiwoong can never refuse.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that, that’s not fair.”

Matthew smiles like he already knows that he’s won. “Please?” 

Jiwoong supposes that he has. “Fine,” he sighs and rolls his eyes, but Matthew almost hops out of his seat in excited glee, so the smile doesn’t really leave his lips, either.

“Don’t worry, it’s not like I can plan anything large-scale this last minute, especially during finals season,” Matthew adds. Jiwoong privately thinks that he most definitely could, because most of their friend circle would abandon any other plans if Matthew just asked; he just has that kind of power, even if he doesn’t fully know it. “It’ll just be you and me.” 

“I like that,” Jiwoong says, smiling, and stops Matthew from fidgeting with his fingers to intertwine them together instead. 

“We can watch a movie at my place, I’m sure Hanbin-hyung won’t mind if I kick him out, he’ll just go to yours. And! I’ll even cook you dinner,” Matthew suggests, rather proudly.

Jiwoong levels Matthew with an obviously joking look of fear. “You… want to cook?”

Matthew’s jaw drops in mock offense, mirth in the corners of his eyes. “Man, screw you, I was just trying to be nice–”

Jiwoong reaches over to hold Matthew’s other hand in an attempt at soothing the fake hurt, thumb stroking the back of Matthew’s palm. He tilts his head as if in deep consideration and averts his eyes. “If you were trying to be nice, you wouldn’t be offering to cook–”

Matthew scoffs playfully, “Fine, I guess we’ll just order your favourite takeout instead.”

A different declaration of peace at this stage would be impossible, so Jiwoong just nods solemnly. “I think that would be for the best.” Jiwoong receives a little kick at his shin under the table for his efforts.

They return to their respective studies, one pair of hands reluctantly separating, but the other refusing to let go.

 

---

wednesday, december 14th.

---

 

Matthew groans and plops head-first into the pile of clothing haphazardly spread across his bed. He’s been going through his entire wardrobe trying to decide on what to wear for Jiwoong’s birthday tonight to no avail. They’re just having a quiet night in, takeout and a movie, it shouldn’t be this complicated. He’s starting to get nervous. Jiwoong should be here in about an hour and yet he still hasn’t been able to just pick something.

He’s already tried asking Hanbin for his advice, but all his hyung had to say was, “You’re overthinking this, Seokmae-ya, Jiwoong-hyung would still think you’re beautiful even if you were wearing a trash bag,” so he was of no help.

Whatever. It’s not like Hanbin is his only friend, after all. He picks up his phone and presses the video call button on one of his most frequent contacts before smooshing his face back into his pillow in despair. 

He hears the tone indicating that his call has been picked up, and internally cheers. Externally, though, he whines. “Taaaeraaae,” he complains, although his voice is muffled into his pillow, “I don’t know what to wear.” 

To his credit, Taerae doesn’t even pause. “To what?”

Matthew tilts his head over just enough so that he can look at the screen and truly convey his desperation. “Jiwoong’s coming over in an hour for his birthday. We’re just doing takeout and a movie.” 

“Just that, I’m sure,” Matthew hears off-screen, but he doesn’t need to see the face to recognize the voice and know that he’s being sassed.

“Oh yeah, I’m home and you’re on speaker, Matthew, so they can both hear you,” Taerae explains. Matthew shrugs. It definitely wouldn’t be the first time that Taerae’s roommates, Cha Woongki and Seo Won, witness Matthew calling Taerae in distress. Plus, they both know Jiwoong, especially Won, so they might have some good insight.

“Suggestions, shoot.”

“You could wear those jeans that make your ass look good,” Taerae suggests first.

Matthew half-considers it, but shakes his head. “Good idea in general, horrible idea for a movie night in.” Plus, he’d worn those on their last study date on Monday, so they were in the dirty laundry bin. After they hit the five-hour study mark, they left the library to get some boba, and although it had been uncomfortable to sit in those jeans for that long, it had also definitely been worth it when he felt Jiwoong’s gaze on his ass as he trailed ahead on their walk home, pulling Jiwoong along by the hand. 

“Black tank and grey sweats?” Woongki chirps from the background, a menace like always.

Matthew shoots that one down, laughing. “Jeez, I’m not a whore.” 

“Jiwoong-hyung does love your arms, Matthew-ah,” this time Won appeals the idea, “It would be a great birthday gift to him, trust me.” 

Taerae saves Matthew from continuing his protest, although he’s clearly trying to stifle an agreeing laugh. “Come on, you two, something else.”

“Oversized sweatshirt?” This time, it’s Won that pitches.

At this suggestion, Matthew pauses. “That’s definitely not a bad idea, but I’ve got a lot of those, though, so it doesn’t really narrow it down.”

“Do you have any of his?” Won peeks into the screen, eyebrow raised in askance. 

Matthew shoves his face back into his pillow before they can see him blush. It’s in moments like these that Matthew remembers that, although Woongki is the loudest between the two, Won is just as capable of being a menace. 

“A few,” he mumbles, muffled by the pillow. Matthew may or may not have been attending their study dates without dressing in layers. And, he may or may not have acquired a few of Jiwoong’s hoodies and sweatshirts because the man was worried that Matthew would catch a cold, and had been offering his own layers to keep him warm. 

Pfft, as if his Canadian ass could get sick from being just slightly chilly. 

“You should wear those mini shorts that show off your thigh muscles with it,” Taerae suggests nonchalantly. Matthew can hear Woongki and Won cackling off-screen. 

“Oh, it’ll be so perfect, Jiwoong-hyung will barely be able to see them under the hem of the sweatshirt, it’ll look like you’re only wearing his clothes,” Won adds, and Matthew can just barely see him make his best impression of a maiden's swoon. 

“Oh, and the sweatshirt will hang off his shoulder just so, giving a perfect view of his neck and collarbone, just waiting to be kissed and bitten,” Woongki gasps, pretending to be scandalized.  

“Oh, and he’s sure to have sweater paws, so Jiwoong-hyung will be stuck all night between finding him adorable and wanting to take him straight to bed, movie be damned,” Taerae smirks, and they all laugh. 

And now they’re all high-fiving. 

The three of them. The three of them are menaces, and they’re even worse when they have a common goal, which they clearly have right now. Matthew’s sure his cheeks are hot enough to be classified as a fire hazard, and he knows damn well he won’t get any better suggestions out of the cackling gaggle of hens. And although he won’t admit it to them, their final suggestion was… appealing. 

It seems he doesn’t need to do any admitting, however. “You got all you need, Matthew-ah?” Taerae asks rhetorically, smugness audible in his tone. Matthew peeks up at the screen from his hiding place in the pillow to see all three of their faces on screen, adorned with shit-eating grins.

He hates his friends.

“Screw you guys.”

Matthew hears a final chorus of maniacal giggles as he finally hangs up. But, at least now, he knew exactly what to wear. 

---

 

Jiwoong tries to not let the nerves eat him whole as he knocks on Matthew’s apartment door, takeout bag in his hand. 

(He’d told Matthew that he would take care of it, that it would be easier for him to pick up some takeout on his way over rather than Matthew needing to leave his apartment uselessly. Matthew had agreed as long as Jiwoong would let him pay for it, insisting to treat him for his birthday, saying that he was already a shitty host for not cooking himself. Jiwoong had accepted the proposition for Matthew’s sake, knowing that the other wouldn’t let up otherwise.) 

The door opens, and Jiwoong freezes. Matthew is wearing one of his sweatshirts.

To be more precise, he’s wearing the sweatshirt from that night, and not much else. 

It’s a pretty normal sweatshirt, for all intents and purposes. Ribbed-knit style in a warm yet light creme colour, thick navy blue stripe lining the v-cut along the neckline. However, if it was already oversized on Jiwoong, it’s downright massive on Matthew, developed musculature not fully able to compensate for the difference in their frames. 

The neckline is already sagging in one direction, threatening to fall off his shoulder and exposing a delectable amount of skin along his neck and collarbone. The sleeves are already long on Jiwoong –he usually rolls and pushes them up to his wrists– but Matthew hasn’t even bothered, the tips of his fingers barely peeking out of the holes, giving him the most adorable sweater paws. The lower hem of the sweatshirt passes his hips to pool at Matthew’s upper thigh, showing the barely-there sliver of tight shorts, and Jiwoong’s mouth is dry. 

Jiwoong is aware that he’s just given Matthew a complete and thorough once-over, unsubtly staring, but he can’t seem to stop himself. He’d been looking for this sweater, but he supposes Matthew had gone home wearing it the morning after Haruto’s birthday party, and hadn’t returned it since. 

He’s glad he wasn’t able to find it if it could lead to this. 

“Happy birthday, hyung,” Matthew says, breaking the silence, smiling that one smile, twinkle in his eye. He charges forward, his arms tackling around Jiwoong’s waist in a loving, warm embrace. Jiwoong does his best to return the hug, takeout bag awkwardly hanging from a few fingers as he wraps his arms around Matthew’s shoulders. 

Matthew releases his steady grip on Jiwoong and snatches the takeout bag from his hand. “Come in,” he says excitedly, turning around and bouncing away with his prize. 

Damn, from behind, it really does look like he’s only wearing Jiwoong’s sweatshirt. Jiwoong sweats.

After toeing off his shoes, he joins Matthew in the kitchen, where the younger boy has already placed the takeout bag on the counter, trying to undo the knot keeping the plastic closed. Jiwoong waits patiently, a fond smile settling on his lips. 

Matthew eventually succeeds, and he cheers in victory. He peeks into the bag and confirms its contents. “Sushi?” His head pops up, excitement clear on his features. Sushi was one of Matthew’s favourite foods, after all.  

“Yeah, made sure to get all of your favourite rolls, too.” 

“Thanks, Jiwoon-hyung,” Matthew says sweetly, and he delicately cups Jiwoong’s cheeks, rising up onto his tiptoes to plant a soft chaste kiss on Jiwoong’s lips. 

But, Matthew doesn’t back away immediately after as Jiwoong expects. 

Instead, he stays hovering inches away from his face. His gaze remains fixed on Jiwoong’s lips, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. He almost teeters over, balance gone out from staying on his tiptoes for a moment too long, and he shoots his arms around Jiwoong’s neck to steady himself, shortening the gap between their bodies. Jiwoong’s arms sweep up around his waist to keep him safe and secure, and to bring him even closer.

He blinks, and then Matthew’s lips are on his again, hot and wet. Any pretense of chasteness is long gone, and Jiwoong can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t close his eyes. He can only feel, and god, does he feel a lot. Sirens go off in Jiwoong’s head but he ignores them, falling deeper into the caress of the illusion that he really shouldn’t be embracing. His breath stutters and he gasps, and Matthew takes every advantage, deepening the kiss by tasting Jiwoong whole, invading every single one of his senses. 

Matthew smells like home, tastes like heaven. It feels like he belongs right here, in Jiwoong’s arms. One of his hands slips to wrap around Jiwoong’s shoulder, the other climbs up into Jiwoong’s hair and tugs. Jiwoong keens, pliant under Matthew’s ministrations, the pain-pleasure of Matthew’s pull on his scalp making his blood sing as it courses through his veins, pulse kicking up a storm and hands getting shaky with the endorphins. 

Jiwoong’s arms wrap tighter around Matthew, holding on for dear life. Any gap separating them completely disappears, bodies gravitating into one another like magnets, the pull between them unexplainable and yet so natural that Jiwoong shudders. He’s completely at Matthew’s mercy, falling into his orbit as the moon does to the earth, as the planets do to the sun. 

They’re interrupted by the creaking of an opening door. 

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just leaving,” Hanbin says half awkwardly, half teasingly, as he shuffles from his room to the front door to slip his shoes on, and he has an overnight bag slung over his shoulder. 

Jiwoong’s orbit comes to a complete halt, the inertia making him feel disoriented and dizzy.

Half-mindedly, Jiwoong wonders why Hanbin even bothers packing a bag, considering half of his clothes have already taken over Hao’s closet. If he wasn’t so drunk on Matthew and the moment, he might’ve even voiced the comment just to tease his friend. However, as he (barely) stands, he instead waves off Hanbin’s apologies with a placating hand, but his eyes never leave Matthew’s face. He just can’t seem to look away.

“Have fun, you two,” Hanbin adds, and Jiwoong swears he sees him wink at them with a smug, knowing smile from the corner of his eye before he promptly closes the door behind him.

That wink and tone of voice were all that Jiwoong needed to feel the rush of heat flush his ears, knowing damn well what Hanbin was insinuating. Matthew’s eyes are wide open, staring directly at him, and his chest rises and falls with his hurried breaths, lungs gasping for air. His lips are wet and swollen from the intensity of their kiss, glistening with spit, and Jiwoong wonders how much of it is Matthew’s, and how much of it is his. For a second he thinks he sees Matthew’s pupils dilate even more before the man blinks and releases his hold on Jiwoong’s hair. 

“Hanbin-hyung was still here. That was good, that was convincing.” 

The sirens once again make themselves known, refusing to let themselves be ignored, and Jiwoong tries his best not to let the sinking pit of despair in his stomach swallow him whole. He hums noncommittally, letting go of his grip around Matthew’s waist. Every inch of distance feels like the cut of a knife, but Jiwoong reminds himself that it is necessary. 

Hanbin is gone now, after all.

“As much as I love it, sushi’s terrible couch food, though,” Matthew adds, a marked departure from what just happened. Back to the status quo, then. “How are we supposed to watch the movie?”

Jiwoong shrugs. “Didn’t really think it through, I just had a craving, I guess.” A craving for Matthew’s pleased reaction, the voice in his mind points out discerningly. Maybe he should’ve gone with fried chicken instead. 

“I guess we can sit on the floor in front of the coffee table until we’re done eating,” Matthew says undauntedly, and he nods to himself as if he’s satisfied with his own idea. 

“Sounds good to me.”

As they proceed to set up their meal –plates and cups and chopsticks in hand, sushi containers open and spread, saucers filled with soy sauce– Matthew asks, “So, what movie did you want to watch?”

“How about Howl’s Moving Castle?”

Jiwoong can see the hint of excitement in Matthew’s eyes at the mention of his favourite movie, but that glimmer disappears when he instead hits him with a dubious look. “Isn’t your favourite movie Parasite? This is your birthday, not mine.” 

Jiwoong’s heart skips a beat at the realization that Matthew does know his favourite movie. He ignores the thought for his own sanity and pushes on, “Well, yeah, but a scathing commentary film on the pitfalls of classism and capitalism isn’t exactly birthday celebration material, now is it?” He raises his eyebrow as if to dare Matthew to disagree. 

Well, he’s never one to back down from a challenge. “There’s a birthday party in the movie…?” Matthew suggests half-heartedly, but even he knows it’s a weak argument.

“Yeah, and we both know how well that goes,” Jiwoong says, trying not to laugh. 

Matthew waves him off, not even bothering to argue the point. “Fine, fine, but don’t you have other movies you also enjoy?”

“I do like Howl’s Moving Castle, you know, it’s not like I only want to watch it because it’s your favourite. It’s a good movie,” Jiwoong insists.

“Jiwoon-hyung–”

“We could always begin a rewatch of Pororo, if you prefer,” Jiwoong suggests jokingly.

Matthew whines. “Hyung, that’s so unfair, just pick a movie.” 

“It’ll make me happy to see you happy.”

Matthew pouts. He’s so cute. Jiwoong knows immediately that he’s won. “Fine. Since it’s your birthday, we’ll do what you want, but I want the record to show that I tried to convince you otherwise.”

“Duly noted,” Jiwoong nods solemnly, trying his best not to grin. 

After Matthew puts on the movie, they settle properly, beginning to dig into their food. Matthew makes little noises of delight as he chews, chirps as the scenes begin to roll, squeals when Howl appears for the first time to save Sophie in the street, adds little splices of commentary here and there, and Jiwoong knows that he made the right choice. 

When their sushi fully disappears into their bellies, deliciously consumed, they migrate up onto the couch. After a split-second of self-doubt, rather than settling in, Matthew stands up and pauses the movie. Jiwoong makes a small noise of inquiry. “Wait a minute,” Matthew answers, and he shuffles towards the kitchen. 

Jiwoong can’t quite see what he’s up to from his spot on the couch, but he does hear the telltale sound of the gas stove being turned off, and he notices vaguely that a small pot had been simmering on its heat all along. Matthew races around the kitchen, turning back and forth to fetch a bowl, then a ladle, then a spoon, and he takes a deep breath. Jiwoong wonders what’s making him so anxious. 

Matthew waddles up to Jiwoong hesitantly and stops to stand in front of him on the couch. And then, the nervous babble begins. “Okay, so I know you said that you didn’t want me to cook, but I wasn’t sure if you’ve had any yet because I also know that you can’t see your family today, and I know that this isn’t something typically done between friends but I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to make the time for yourself so I–” and he stops himself mid-sentence to wordlessly shove the bowl into Jiwoong’s hands.  

Jiwoong sits up properly, peers down to his newly acquired bowl, and sees seaweed soup. His heart stops in its tracks.

“Is this okay…?” Matthew asks.

Jiwoong wonders what could’ve possibly made him think that it wouldn’t be. He nods vigorously, wetness clinging to his eyelashes as he gives Matthew a bittersweet, teary-eyed smile. The younger boy had been right, Jiwoong wasn’t able to visit his family in the middle of exam season, but the sight of the soup alone makes him think of them. It especially reminds him of his mom, who had laboured on this day twenty-four years ago to bring him into this world. “Of course it is, Maeddu. Thank you,” he says, and he means it, with his entire heart. 

He takes a sip of his soup, and it’s a little salty but it’s still perfect. He indulges in it wordlessly as Matthew rubs at his knee, the weight of his head leaning on Jiwoong’s shoulder, a silent comfort. He understands more than anyone the pains of homesickness and missing family. 

After Jiwoong deposits his empty bowl on the coffee table and settles back properly into the couch, Matthew presses play to resume the movie and sidles up properly to his side, knees drawn up and leaning in towards him. “It’s cold and you’re warm,” he whispers to explain his actions, as if Jiwoong would have ever even questioned them in the first place. 

Jiwoong almost cheekily comments on Matthew’s choice of shorts but abstains, grateful to witness the tan spread of skin pressing into him, eyes gliding over it indulgently and reinforcing his urge to touch, which he ignores. “Why is it even so cold in here?”

Matthew snorts, eyes still fixed on the screen, where Howl throws his temper tantrum after accidentally dyeing his hair following Sophie’s cleaning spree. “Hanbin-hyung runs like a furnace, he’s always so warm. He says that I can always layer up if I’m cold, but he can’t strip down completely if he’s overheating.” 

Jiwoong hums in agreement. He and Hao have a similar arrangement, although not to the same degree. Jiwoong is the one that runs hot in their case, but here, even he feels a slight chill despite the warmth in his chest from both the soup and from Matthew’s affection. 

“Well, I can’t have you freezing on my watch, especially not on my birthday,” Jiwoong whispers, and he wraps his arm around Matthew’s shoulder. Matthew seems pleased by this slight shift in their postures, leaning his back fully into Jiwoong’s chest, hands grabby as they reach for his hand to play with his fingers. Jiwoong nuzzles at the span of skin stretching from Matthew’s neck to the area exposed from the slouch in his –Jiwoong’s– sweatshirt, and Matthew sighs, fully settling his body weight into Jiwoong’s embrace.

In this little bubble of peace that they’ve created, as Sophie tells Howl and Calcifer to find her in the future and the end of the movie approaches, Jiwoong comes to realize rather belatedly that this is definitely the best birthday he’s had, at the very least since he’s started attending college, if not ever. Matthew smiles as Sophie restores Calcifer as Howl’s heart, and he feels his own body warm, flames dancing in his chest. 

As the movie comes to a close, end credits rolling across the screen, Jiwoong feels Matthew reluctantly un-intertwine himself from their cozy bubble to once again wordlessly head into the kitchen.

Something else?

He sees Matthew remove something from the fridge, the sound of plastic ripping away from cardboard, and the distinct clink of a lighter. 

“So, you told me not to cook–” Matthew begins, walking backwards to hide his next offering from Jiwoong’s view up until the last second, even though Jiwoong can clearly see the glow of the candles in the dim lighting anyway.

Jiwoong interjects, “You made me soup anyway–”

“–But you didn’t say anything about baking,” Matthew finishes, and he grins, turning around to present a small, simple cake, coated in pink icing with tiny strawberries sitting upon swirling peaks of whipped cream. In the middle of the swirls sits a small plaque of milk chocolate, a shaky but legible “ㅅㅊ” inscribed on its surface. It’s the perfect size for two, and Jiwoong wonders where he had found such a small cake pan. 

“I never would’ve been able to write the entirety of ‘Happy Birthday’, I hope that’s okay,” he says as he sits on the couch and puts the cake down on the coffee table, but this time, there isn’t any real insecurity behind it, just playful teasing.

Jiwoong withholds about ten different ways to declare his love. “It’s perfect,” he says instead. You’re perfect, his mind echoes. Close enough. He blows out his candles, and Matthew claps happily. 

Matthew cuts the mini-cake in half and, when both portions are unquestionably separated, dips his fingers into the strawberry icing on his half to smear it across Jiwoong’s face without hesitation. “It suits you,” he cackles, and Jiwoong can’t find it in himself to be even mildly annoyed if such a simple and cleanable mess can make Matthew laugh just like that. “You’re a silly guy at heart, hyung.” At that, his smile shifts from amused to soft. “I love when you let me see you.”

Jiwoong’s heart burns. 

He raises his hand to scratch at the slight itch on his nose that appeared along with the icing on his skin, but Matthew grabs his wrist before he can reach it. “Here, let me,” he says, somehow both apologetic and mirthful at once, and he reaches over to the coffee table to grab some abandoned napkins from their dinner, and starts wiping at the larger offensive splotches of icing smeared across Jiwoong’s face. 

“Ugh, wait, this angle sucks, I can’t see anything.” Matthew sits up on his knees and swings one leg across Jiwoong’s, settling his ass down on Jiwoong’s knees, his legs now bracketing along Jiwoong’s hips and thighs. 

Jiwoong’s brain short-circuits. Matthew is straddling him. 

“There, that’s better,” Matthew mumbles, satisfied, as he slides up closer into Jiwoong’s space, breath fanning across his cheeks with the proximity. 

Matthew’s thighs are practically bare.

Matthew takes one hand and settles it into the hair at the base of Jiwoong’s nape to tug and direct his head in different positions, inspecting him under every angle to assess the icing damage in the ambient low light of the living room. He wipes along the bridge of his nose, the highs of his cheekbones, the bottom of his chin, and Jiwoong isn’t even convinced that there was icing there. 

Again, Matthew is sitting in his lap, wearing his sweatshirt, and not much else. He thinks he can forgive himself for being unable to process icing locations. 

“There’s a dry spot, here,” he whispers after swiping at a particular spot on Jiwoong’s cupid’s bow a few times, seemingly with no results. He drops the napkin haphazardly and wets his thumb with his tongue, using the moisture to soften the dried icing as he drags his finger across Jiwoong’s lip multiple times until he seems satisfied. “There you go, all clean,” he says, voice faint and breathy, and then licks the residue off of his thumb. “Hmm, it’s good.” 

Matthew wiggles, trying to settle properly into his perch on Jiwoong’s legs, and Jiwoong tries not to shudder at the feeling. The love of his life is sitting in his lap.

“About the party,” Matthew says, and he’s staring directly at Jiwoong’s lips. 

Jiwoong hums to show he’s listening, although half of his thoughts are still preoccupied with the thumb that had wiped against his lip and gone into Matthew’s mouth, the other half with the fingers still carding through the hair at the back of his nape.  

“Hao-hyung and Hanbin-hyung always make out at these kinds of events, I mean, they have absolutely no shame. But it’d be weird if we did,” Matthew continues. “If we had shame, I mean.”

“I could never feel shame when it comes to you,” Jiwoong replies, instinctively, without thought.

“Right, that’s good,” Matthew encourages, “but I think it’s a good idea if we give it a bit of a test run, ya know? To make sure we’re ready, fully shameless, for the party.” 

A more deluded Jiwoong would honestly be hoping that Matthew is looking for an excuse to kiss him. As it stands, Jiwoong is only partially deluded, and he knows that Matthew is simply very dedicated and ambitious, as well as a perfectionist, and he wants to make sure that their plan is executed without any flaws.

“Okay, yeah.” Jiwoong is already breathless. 

“Yeah?” Matthew’s eyes flick up momentarily from their fixed point on Jiwoong’s lips to gaze into Jiwoong’s eyes, making sure that they understand one another completely. 

He takes a deep breath. “Yeah.” 

Matthew immediately latches on to Jiwoong’s mouth as if he was a man nearly drowned, and Jiwoong was his only source of air. Noses, lips, tongues, and teeth; all clash with reckless abandon, picking right up where they had left off when Hanbin had interrupted them. It’s as if no time has passed in the two hours since they had begun watching the movie, but at the same time it’s even more overwhelming, like they’re dialling the intensity up to a hundred. 

Jiwoong’s hands –which had been vaguely floating between the couch and the air since Matthew had settled himself in Jiwoong’s lap– now firmly secure themselves onto Matthew’s upper thighs, trailing down to his knees, back up to under the hem of Matthew’s –his– sweatshirt and stroking firm muscle, and Matthew keens in approval through their kiss. 

Matthew tugs a little on Jiwoong’s hair to separate them, heavy pants filling the air, and he starts peppering a litany of little kisses along the lines of Jiwoong’s lips, an offering to a god he doesn’t believe in, giggling and happy. He explores further, leaving a similar line along his eyebrows, down his nose, along his jawline.

When Matthew seems satisfied with the number of kisses he’s left across Jiwoong’s face, Jiwoong migrates to Matthew’s neck, falling prey to the exposed skin like a hopeless sailor to the siren’s luring call. He covers every inch of skin in kisses and bites, nibbling a particular line along Matthew’s collarbone, and Matthew shivers, whimpers.

Jiwoong’s hands drift hesitantly from their perch on Matthew’s thighs to cup the swell of his ass, and now Matthew moans, head shooting back and further exposing the line of his neck, and throws his hands down to encourage Jiwoong to grip it even tighter. He slides even further into Jiwoong’s lap at the push, palms fluttering up and down Jiwoong’s chest, pushing him back further into the pillows of the couch. 

“Just pretend I’m the one you want and kiss me,” Matthew demands, and Jiwoong doesn’t even have the time to process that before Matthew shifts his weight completely and grinds down into Jiwoong’s cock. 

Jiwoong groans and bucks up at the sensation, hands holding Matthew in place, and the heat between their bodies grows scorching. After that, it could’ve been seconds, it could’ve been hours, and Jiwoong wouldn’t have known. 

All he knew was Matthew. 

Any self-restraint, any hesitation he may have had was now gone. He whispers Matthew’s name over and over, repetitively and religiously like a prayer, wherever he presses a kiss into his skin: across his shoulder and collarbone, both exposed from the fall of the sweatshirt; behind his ear, where Matthew just squirms, ticklish; along the line of his neck, switching between soft pecks, deep, open-mouthed kisses, and adding just the right amount of biting pressure to know that it will leave a mark.

When they finally separate the smallest amount, just enough to give themselves space to fill their lungs with air, both completely out of breath, they just stare, almost as if they were both wondering if this moment was truly real, and theirs. 

“That’s good,” Matthew pants into his lips, eyes heavy-lidded, string of saliva connecting them still. Jiwoong doesn’t even feel the telltale twinge of pain this time, too overcome with the pure want coursing through his veins. Every single molecule of his body demands more: more touches, more kisses, more Matthew. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and Jiwoong almost jumps, startled. He refuses to leave this moment, however. He drops a kiss on the mole adorning Matthew’s upper cheekbone, near his eye. 

His phone buzzes again. Undeterred, Jiwoong moves on to the other mole, right in the middle of the bridge of Matthew’s nose, and drops a kiss there, too. He nuzzles the tip of his own nose on it too, for good measure, and Matthew laughs, mumbles something about being ticklish there.

His phone buzzes a third time, and Jiwoong sighs. 

“Just look,” Matthew whispers, thumbs moving to stroke Jiwoong’s cheeks in reassurance. “Just in case it’s urgent.” He nuzzles into Jiwoong’s neck and sighs contently, fingers sliding back in to play with his hair. 

Jiwoong reluctantly releases his hold on one of Matthew’s thighs to reach his phone in his pocket with only slight maneuvering and contortion. Four texts from Hao appear in his recent notifications on his lock screen. >You guys still want the apartment? ;) >Matthew’s not answering his phone >So Hanbin-ah wants me to tell you to remind Matthew that he has an exam tomorrow morning >It’s your birthday though, ignore him

Jiwoong pockets his phone and sighs again. “Chu-yah, I should go home now.” 

“What?” Matthew leaves his spot in Jiwoong’s neck to look him in the eyes, worried. “Was it urgent?” 

“No, no,” Jiwoong immediately reassures him, stroking Matthew’s thighs in a comforting manner. “Hanbin’s just reminded me that you really should sleep, for your exam tomorrow.”

“What? Noooo,” Matthew whines, tucking his face back into Jiwoong’s neck to leave open-mouthed kisses there.  

“It’s already later than I thought I’d stay,” Jiwoong manages to say, breath short and airy from Matthew’s ministrations.

Matthew tries another strategy. He backs up again to look Jiwoong in the eyes, and pouts. “Stay, please?” 

Damn, this was difficult. “Maeddu.”

He finally deflates, defeated, rain storm clouding up his bright smile. “Fine.” But then his eyes look hopeful again, and Jiwoong wonders what other plan his mind has come up with. “Let’s eat your cake first, at least? I worked hard on it.”  

Right. Jiwoong had completely forgotten about the cake, if he was being honest. “Of course, Maeddu.” 

The sun returns as Matthew shines, happy once again. He gives Jiwoong a kiss on the cheek before he hops off of his lap and towards the kitchen to get some forks. When he comes back, they chatter and enjoy each other’s company for at least another hour, sharing morsels of the cake, chatting about nothing and everything. 

When Matthew finally sees Jiwoong off, it’s with one last kiss on Jiwoong’s lips, and with one last “Happy birthday, Jiwoon-hyung.” 

 

---

thursday, december 22nd.

---

 

Matthew crashes head-first into the couch –yes, he does that often, but honestly, the sentiment it conveys is universally understandable– and lets out a sigh of both relief and exhaustion. 

“You’re done!” Hanbin says as he briefly pats him on the back as he passes by before settling into his own seat.

“I’m done.”

“Congrats.”

Matthew lifts his head up from the pillow. “I had an exam on the last day of exam season.”

“I’m aware.”

“That’s such bullshit!” he exclaims petulantly. 

“As you’ve said multiple times over the past three weeks,” Hanbin replies, and yeah, okay, Matthew’s complained a lot about it, but still. “At least they were spread out, I guess.”

“I guess,” Matthew echoes. “Whatever.” He flips onto his back to pull out his phone and check his notifications, smiling as he sees the one for Jiwoong’s text from this morning. >Good luck with your exam today! You’ll do amazing, followed by a few heart and sparkle emojis. He’d read it and answered a quick <Thanks!! with his own string of frivolous emojis, but he’d marked the text as unread after to keep seeing the notification in his hub. It was silly, but Jiwoong’s assurance gave him confidence and strength. 

“Seokmae-ya,” Hanbin starts, tone wavering rather than the usual playful or deadpan.

Matthew quirks an eyebrow and looks vaguely in Hanbin’s direction. “Hmm?”

He seems to hesitate, stumbling through his words. “I know that we usually spend Christmas together, but…” He stops.

Ah. “But you’ll be spending it with Hao-hyung this year,” Matthew finishes. 

“Is that okay?” Hanbin asks, words rushing through his mouth now, like he can’t quite stop them. “Because if it isn’t, I’ll talk about it with Hao-ge, and we can try to do something, maybe the three of us together? I know you get homesick, especially during the holidays, and I don’t want you to feel like I’m abandoning you, or replacing you, or–”

“It’s fine, hyung,” Matthew cuts in, sitting up. “I know Christmas is different here than back home.” He smiles softly, maybe a little bittersweetly, twiddling his thumbs. He thinks about opening presents in the morning, followed by the occasional skiing and skating; the reward of hot chocolate after braving the snow, and, the finishing touch, a nice dinner in the evening – all of it with his family. “It’s a romantic holiday here, not a family one.”

Hanbin scoots over to join Matthew on his couch and leans into him, comforting him. Then, he flicks Matthew’s thigh playfully, teasingly. “You have a boyfriend of your own, you know. You guys didn’t feel like making plans?”

Matthew imagines himself skating with Jiwoong, drinking hot chocolate, huddled up together under a blanket to keep warm against the cold of winter, and his lips twitch as he tries not to smile at the thought. “I kinda just assumed that we’d spend Christmas together like the last two years, so…” 

“Well, you might as well ask him, then! I’m pretty sure Hao-ge mentioned that Jiwoong-hyung isn’t going home until Seollal, anyway.” Now it was Hanbin’s turn to quirk an eyebrow, suggestive.

Matthew hums noncommittally, feeling bad about springing this on Jiwoong at the last minute, especially since they weren’t actually dating – although obviously Hanbin didn’t know that. But, the image of an idyllic snowy Christmas with Jiwoong that had sprung into his head was now refusing to go away, stubborn and resistant to his mental swatting. 

“Speaking of Seollal…” and Hanbin drags it out again, so Matthew immediately knows what it means. 

“You’re spending it with Hao-hyung as well?” Matthew’s not even that upset anymore –honestly, he should’ve seen this coming a mile away– but he still flicks Hanbin petulantly, in retaliation for earlier. 

“I’m taking him to meet my family,” Hanbin says, and his smile is shy but proud. “My parents already know, and of course they’re supportive, but it feels overdue, you know? Hao-ge and I have been dating for months now, and I know he’s the one.” 

Matthew smiles at that. “I’m really happy for you, hyung.” Then, his grin turns teasing. “It almost dulls the blow of you abandoning me.”

Even though it was a joke, the crease between Hanbin’s eyebrows deepens. “Are you sure you’ll be okay, Seokmae-ya?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Matthew reassures him. “I’m sure some guys at the ISA will be able to hang out if I really feel that lonely, especially Jay-hyung and Kamden-hyung. Flights home are, and I cannot emphasize this enough, expensive as hell.” He shivers just at the thought of Air Canada’s prices, which have been haunting him since he dared to check them a few months ago. “Seollal is still a month away anyway, so I’ve got some time to figure it out.” 

---

 

When Matthew later gives in and texts Jiwoong to ask what his plans for Christmas Day were, Jiwoong replies, >I was hoping to spend it with you.

And just like that, the cold loneliness he had been denying himself the opportunity to feel had flown off into the wind, completely forgotten, and had been replaced by a comforting warmth.

 

---

sunday, december 25th.

---

 

Jiwoong had insisted upon planning their Christmas date.

He had levied the argument that Matthew had organized his birthday date, and so that it was his turn to do the planning. The truth is, however, that Jiwoong simply wanted to have the opportunity to surprise Matthew with the best possible Christmas ever. 

He remembers a conversation he had with Matthew at the ISA holiday party last year when Matthew had gone on a sad, homesick ramble about his favourite Christmas traditions with his family. It had hit Jiwoong, and had made him think that he had taken his relative proximity to his family for granted; that if he wanted to visit for Chuseok and Seollal, all he needed to do was hop on a bus or rent a car. 

He knew that he could never be able to fully recreate the ambiance and experience, and that he could never make up for the fact that Matthew’s family was thousands of kilometres away, on a completely different continent. But still, he wanted to try. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it would be theirs. He just hoped that Matthew would be happy. 

That doesn’t mean that he isn’t nervous. 

He readjusts his peacoat and simple scarf and makes sure his warm turtleneck is properly tucked into his corduroy pants. He fiddles with the gloves in his pockets and waits patiently, having knocked a few moments ago. 

Matthew opens the door, and he looks a little hurried, like he’s running last minute. He’s wearing an almost fully-black outfit: simple sweatshirt, slightly-ripped dark-wash skinny jeans, knitted tuque hanging over his fluffy hair and scarf haphazardly wrapped around his neck and likely to fall off in any second. The only exception is the black and red plaid winter coat, a little purposefully oversized but otherwise perfectly fitted. 

It suits him well, and Jiwoong smiles. “I like your coat,” he says. 

Matthew grins. “Thanks, it’s a Canadian staple. We call it…” he struggles with his words, makes a face he so often does when he doesn’t know the English-to-Korean translation, cheeks puffed out in frustration and lips pursed. Exasperatedly, he blurts out, “‘––’ core,” and it’s a word in English, one that Jiwoong hasn’t picked up in his time around the younger boy. 

They’re used to this, though, and Jiwoong already ensues on their usual script as Matthew starts locking up the door behind him. “What’s that mean?” he says, brow quirked, one second away from stroking his invisible goatee, as if he’s a cartoon detective trying to uncover the mystery. 

Matthew laughs. “It’s…” he contemplates how to best explain it, unhurried and playful, as his keys jangle in the lock. This is one of the rare times that Matthew has to explain a word and not the other way around, and Jiwoong knows that he enjoys it more this way. “You know, the people that cut down trees? In the forest, with axes and chainsaws?”

“A lumberjack?” Jiwoong suggests. 

Matthew laughs again. “If you say so, since I don’t know the Korean word for it either.” They start walking over to the elevator, and Matthew levels him with a curious look. “So, where are we going?” 

Jiwoong raises an eyebrow. “I told you it would be a surprise.”

Matthew pouts.

Jiwoong remains strong and refuses to give in so easily, but adds, “I only had three days to prepare, so don’t expect anything too crazy.” 

Inside, though, he hopes that his itinerary lives up to Matthew’s expectations, no matter how high they are.

---

 

Although they had left relatively early in the afternoon, it feels as though the sun is already starting to set as they hop off the bus and walk over to their first attraction of the evening. 

“An ice rink?” Matthew says as they approach, the sound of skates scraping against the frozen surface unmistakable. There’s a twinkle in his eye, one Jiwoong hopes denotes a wistful but nonetheless excited happiness. He starts walking faster, pulling Jiwoong along with the grip of his hand, eyeing the queue wrapping around it with apprehension.

Jiwoong immediately hops to reassure him. “No need to rush, I made us a reservation for 3:00 pm.” 

“You can do that?” and Matthew looks impressed. 

Jiwoong tries his best not to look too smug and self-satisfied. Instead, he shrugs. “Yeah, just had to book it online.”

“Huh.” However, Matthew doesn’t relent and starts tugging again. “Come on, hyung, we gotta go rent some skates!” 

They sign into their time slot booking right after 3:00 pm, Jiwoong showing their tickets on his phone, and promptly line up for the skate rental in the aisle set aside for reservations, which already include the fee for the rentals. Matthew wraps his arms around one of Jiwoong’s, and they chatter until they reach the front of the line, thanking the clerk after they receive skates equivalent to their shoe sizes. 

As they lace up their rented skates –and Jiwoong makes fun of Matthew’s small feet, to which he grumbles– Jiwoong says, “Is now the time to mention that I haven’t skated since I was, like, maybe six?” There’s a mirth in his voice and he tries his best not to laugh at Matthew’s expression.

“What?” Matthew asks, incredulously. “How?”

Jiwoong shrugs, little laughs escaping through his nose instead of his pursed lips. “My family is more into snowboarding for their winter sport?” 

Matthew relaxes. “That’s fair, I skied and snowboarded a lot, too.”

“Plus, passing a rock around with sticks on ice isn’t as popular of a sport here, and there aren’t many other opportunities other than celebrations like, well, this.” 

Matthew seems frozen on one particular word. “You mean the puck?” 

He’s incredulous, and it’s so hilarious that Jiwoong actually snorts. “Sure, yeah.” 

Matthew grumbles a bit in English –probably some vague unserious indignations about disrespect to one of his country’s national sports– before deciding to put the insanity of hockey aside. “Well, you’ll be fine, it’s probably like riding a bike, right?” 

It was, in fact, not like riding a bike.

Jiwoong steps onto the ice and immediately starts fumbling around like a fawn standing on its legs for the first time. Matthew laughs, and laughs, and laughs, sweet giggles and undignified cackles, and Jiwoong doesn’t even care that he’s completely graceless and quite frankly publicly humiliating himself. Matthew does small laps around Jiwoong’s wobbly form with perfected ease, crossing one skate over the other in practiced elegance before he eventually comes in to save the day, putting himself in reverse and holding Jiwoong’s hands in his own.

“I’ve got you, Jiwoonie-hyung,” and although his lilting tone is somehow both condescending and sickeningly sweet at once, the smile in his eyes is true. 

Jiwoong quickly gets the hang of it with Matthew’s guidance –surely faster than he did when he was six, so maybe some measure of muscle memory was at play here– and when he’s finally confident enough, he tries to turn them around so that he’s the one skating backwards and guiding Matthew instead. 

It goes well enough at first, and Matthew congratulates him cheekily, grin stretching his lips wide and crinkling the skin at the corners of his eyes, until they reach the edge of the rink and Jiwoong tries to complete the turn and, well, he sees the split-second of panic in Matthew’s eyes as he falls straight onto his ass. 

Matthew, miraculously, manages to stay upright. “Are you okay?”

“Just bruised my ass and my ego, probably,” Jiwoong grumbles, and, once he’s sure that Jiwoong is actually okay, Matthew straight-up cackles. 

“Full-on wipeout,” Matthew declares between bouts of laughter. He leans over, one hand on his knee to keep stable and the other reaching down to Jiwoong, palm out and fingers red from the cold matching the blush on his cheeks. “Come on, get up.” 

Matthew manages to haul up Jiwoong– in fact, he pulls him up a little too hard, and they teeter over into the opposite direction, heading straight back down to the ice. 

Jiwoong opens his eyes to see Matthew, eyes wide and panting as if he hadn’t quite expected to fall himself. He’s so close, and Jiwoong belatedly realizes that he had instinctively put his arms behind Matthew’s head and waist to cushion him in their unavoidable fall. As it is now, he’s practically caging Matthew into the surface of the ice, thighs straddling and arms wrapped around him. He lifts himself up a bit, using his forearm to prop himself up so that his full body weight isn’t actually crushing Matthew under him. 

“Are you okay?” It’s Jiwoong’s turn to be cheeky, turning the earlier question back on Matthew. He shifts his other arm out from under Matthew to dust off a bit of snow that had made it onto his head with the tumble, brushing his hair out of his eyes and tucking it behind his ears. Matthew blinks a few times, breaths short and shallow, eyes darting around Jiwoong’s features as if in a daze, and Jiwoong starts to worry a bit. “Maeddu?”

“I’m okay,” he says, breathy. 

“You sure?” 

“Uh huh,” he hums, nods. “Yeah.” He shakes his head and his gaze focuses. “You’re heavy.” 

Jiwoong grunts in fake annoyance as he heaves himself off, actually managing to stand up on his own and giving his hand to balance Matthew as he stands up as well. Jiwoong doubts he had actually needed any help, and a part of his soul burns at the thought that maybe, just maybe, a part of Matthew also looks for tiny little excuses for them to hold each other’s hand.

---

 

When they make it to their second stop, the sun has fully set even though it isn’t even 5:30 pm yet. It’s exactly according to Jiwoong’s plan, however, because they get to see all the shining lights starting to be lit, hanging around and above the shopping district. 

Tacky LED signs and string lights hang between buildings, illuminating the pedestrian roads, and lanterns hang from vendor stalls, creating a human galaxy of bright and subtle lights alike. It’s beautiful, like gazing at the stars, only with the added benefits of a bustling cheerful atmosphere and the delicious aromas wafting from the food stalls. 

“You know,” Matthew starts, as they walk hand in hand down the aisles, fluttering from one stall to another to check out the decorations and wares, “after a day out on the slopes, my family and I would get BeaverTails and hot chocolate. They used to have a stall at Whistler, but I’m pretty sure it’s closed now.”

Jiwoong feels vaguely alarmed. “A beaver tail? Like the animal?”

Matthew laughs. “No, silly, it’s a fried pastry? Kind of like if a funnel cake and a crêpe had a baby? The classic one’s cinnamon and sugar, but my favourite one is the Triple Trip, it’s so good, the chocolate and peanut butter get all melty and gooey when it’s warm and fresh.”

Jiwoong relaxes, but he’s still a little confused. “Why’s it called a beaver tail then?” 

Their joint hands swing where they hang between them as they meander through the small aisles. Matthew shrugs. “The shape of it, I guess.” He sighs, wistful. “I wish I could have one right now.”

Jiwoong squeezes Matthew’s hand in his and looks at the stalls surrounding him, gaze jumping from one to the other until he finally finds what he’s looking for. “Come on,” he says, and pulls Matthew into its direction. 

He tilts his head like a confused puppy but trails along nonetheless. 

“This is probably the closest thing we could get, don’t you think?” He gestures with his chin, pointing at the sign advertising fresh hotteoks. “Although they might be more similar to the classic tail you mentioned, rather than your favourite.” 

Matthew shines brighter than the sun, brighter than all the tacky lights in this shopping district combined, and he nods vigorously in agreement. They line up at the stall, Matthew hanging onto his arm and bouncing up and down in excitement. 

When it’s their turn, they order two, one for each of them. “We can’t ruin our appetites for dinner, after all,” Jiwoong says after they thank the vendor. 

“Got big plans?” Matthew asks cheekily, but he seems to actually look forward to it.

Yes, Jiwoong thinks. “No,” Jiwoong says, as he tries to focus on his own excitement at his plan rather than his nerves. 

They head over to the only miraculously empty bench nearby to munch on their snack, creating their own little bubble in the middle of the rowdy district. The taste of cinnamon and brown sugar floods their tongues and Matthew chirps happily as he chews, both hands peeking out of his sleeves and holding up the pastry to his mouth before he takes another small bite with enthusiasm. It seems like he wants to savour it, eating it slowly. Perfect. 

He quickly finishes up his own hotteok. “I’ll be right back,” Jiwoong says, holding up the wrapper to show that he wants to throw it out. 

Matthew nods and mumbles a muffled “I’ll wait here,” cheeks puffed with pastry. 

Jiwoong wanders over to the nearest trashcan and hopes that Matthew isn’t watching as he walks past it to instead head towards a stall they had passed earlier. He quickly points to the item that had caught his eye and the vendor smiles, asking if he was planning to give it to his significant other. It was an innocent question: it was Christmas after all, and couples throughout the district were buying gifts for one another. 

Nonetheless, Jiwoong reddens, and rather than explaining his complicated situation to this complete stranger, he simply nods. The vendor beams, rambling on about how she had hoped someone would buy this particular set for their partner tonight. She asks if he wants a bag, and he says no, that he wants to hide the box in his pocket as a surprise for later. For some reason, this makes the lady gush even more, and she goes on about how great a boyfriend Jiwoong must be. Jiwoong thanks her and bows after he completes the payment, and tucks the box into his pocket. 

When Jiwoong finally gets back to Matthew, the younger boy is finishing up his final bite of hotteok. Jiwoong’s surprised it’s taken him this long, honestly. “Ready to go?” Jiwoong asks.

“Just wait here a minute,” Matthew says, surprising Jiwoong. He presses a quick kiss to Jiwoong’s cheek and grins, throwing him a wink before also wandering over into the maze of stalls. Jiwoong nods vacantly before sitting on the bench, withholding the urge to brush his fingers against the ghost of Matthew’s kiss on his cheek. 

He wonders if Matthew was off to get him a gift too, and thinks that maybe he hadn’t been as subtle as he had thought, after all. 

---

 

The first thing Matthew notices as he walks into the living room is a small, silly Christmas tree creating the dim yet warm glow permeating throughout Jiwoong and Hao’s apartment. Matthew smiles as he observes the silver and gold ornaments shine against the lights, a star twinkling proudly at the top. 

He squeezes Jiwoong’s hand in his in acknowledgement at the gesture –to his knowledge, Jiwoong and Hao didn’t previously own the decorations– and refuses to even recognize how strange it is that he has only briefly let go of Jiwoong’s hand –stuck like glue since they had rejoined after Matthew’s little solo shopping adventure at the district– and only now, for just enough time to remove their outerwear after they had arrived. 

“Okay, so for dinner…” Jiwoong starts but trails off. “It’s technically leftovers, since I made it yesterday. Couldn’t quite figure out how to make it fresh for today if we wanted to spend our afternoon out together,” and if Matthew didn’t know any better, he would think that Jiwoong looks nervous. “I have to put them in the microwave real quick, if that’s okay,” he says. 

Wait. Was Jiwoong actually nervous? 

Matthew nods and laughs, squeezing Jiwoong’s hand in reassurance, and some of the tension in Jiwoong visibly leaves with Matthew’s unwavering acceptance. The magnets in their palms seem to lose their pull as Jiwoong reluctantly lets go of Matthew’s hand and shuffles over to the fridge to take the food out. Matthew tries to peek around Jiwoong’s shoulder to get a glance at the array of plates and bowls, but Jiwoong stubbornly turns and swerves his body as he reaches into the fridge, hiding the meal from Matthew’s view. 

“Go wait on the couch,” Jiwoong scolds him. 

Matthew sulks but nods and looks on from a distance. Jiwoong watches him from the corner of his eye, making sure that Matthew isn’t spoiling the surprise. He puts the first plate in and then the second, setting the rest of the table in between as he waits until both are adequately warmed. He then moves on to the bowls, and Matthew withholds the urge to take a peek even though he really wants to. He lights some candles on the table, and Matthew almost calls it overkill just to tease him as revenge for sending him to wait on the couch, but Jiwoong still looks doubtful, a little unsure of his decision, so he withholds the urge. 

Then, Jiwoong takes a deep breath, and says, “It’s ready.” 

Matthew jumps up from the couch and hobbles over, twiddling with the sleeves of his sweater. He can smell it in the air, knows what he’s about to see, but nonetheless Matthew’s lips quiver into a shaky smile as he sees the spread presented before him.

Each plate, placed side-by-side on the edge of the corner of the table, is piled high with ham, turkey, and mashed potatoes. There’s also a ludicrous amount of sides: a bowl filled with a healthy helping of carrots, and another with a salad, both safe from the reach of the gravy. There’s even a side bowl filled with kimchi. Between the plates sits a can of Canadian québecois maple syrup –Matthew doesn’t even know how Jiwoong got his hands on it on such a short notice– and another can, this one of cranberry sauce. Above all things, there are a few bottles of fizzy apple cider, one already opened and poured into two champagne flutes, silly and fancy just like Matthew would’ve had during family Christmas meals as a kid before he was allowed to have the wine.

There’s no doubt about it: it’s a traditional Christmas meal as Matthew would’ve had back home, down to the side of kimchi.

Tears begin to gather at the corners of Matthew’s eyes – he’s been a little emotional since skating at the ice rink like he would’ve with his family, and it had only intensified after seeing the silly little Christmas tree, after all. Matthew tears his gaze away from the table to look Jiwoong in the eye as the first tear slides down his cheek, unbidden. “Hyung…” 

Jiwoong immediately runs over and pulls Matthew’s face into his hands, wiping away at the tears bubbling under Matthew’s eyes. 

“Is it okay?” he whispers, but his smile is soft, knowing, and Matthew can’t look away even as the tears continue streaming down his cheeks. “Not too much?”

Matthew wraps his arms around Jiwoong’s waist, pulling the other man into a tight hug to reflect the depth of his love and gratitude. Jiwoong returns the embrace, one hand around his shoulders and the other cradling the back of Matthew’s head to tuck his face into Jiwoong’s neck. Matthew nuzzles into the comfort gratefully, fingers gripping on harder at the back of Jiwoong’s sweater. 

“It’s perfect,” he mumbles, just in case Jiwoong needed to hear it out loud. “Thank you, Jiwoon-hyung.”

Jiwoong strokes his hair, tries to tame it in place. “So, the turkey is actually chicken.” Matthew laughs, a surprised wet chuckle through his slowing tears. “I couldn’t really justify buying an entire turkey just for the two of us,” he explains.

Matthew grins at the silliness of it all, and then remembers another important detail. “How’d you get the maple syrup for the ham?”

“I already had it,” he says. “For the next time you’d stay over and wanted to make pancakes.” 

You’re perfect, Matthew almost whispers into Jiwoong’s neck. Instead, he just squeezes him tighter. “You’re the best, hyung.”

“Anything for you,” Jiwoong whispers, kissing his temple before slinking away from their embrace, but not without holding onto Matthew’s hand. “Come on,” he says, dragging him along to sit at the table. “We should eat before it gets cold.” 

The meal is absolutely delicious, and he can’t seem to stop laughing and chattering in between bites, try as he might. Jiwoong indulges him with a sweet smile and a certain shine in his eye that twinkles just right, nodding along and interjecting with his own little comments. They chat over dinner, and the hours feel like minutes. Even though it’s just the two of them, it’s heartwarming enough to make up for the bittersweetness of missing his family, and Matthew’s smile refuses to leave his lips, even as they finish up and start clearing the table.

Matthew insists on washing the dishes even though Jiwoong repeatedly asserts that it could be left until tomorrow morning. The older man only agrees when Matthew jokingly says that washing dishes is part of his Christmas traditions, too, but Jiwoong nonetheless allocates him to dish-drying duty.

“Want to watch a movie?” Jiwoong asks as he rinses off the suds from the last plate and hands it off to him.

Matthew gestures to his outfit with the plate as he towels it dry. “Can’t you see I’m drenched?” 

Jiwoong hits him with a deadpan look. “You have like, two drops on you, tops.” 

“I’m soaked, hyung,” Matthew whines, insists. He has a goal, after all.

Jiwoong sighs, thankfully playing along. “I suppose we could get ready for bed before the movie, then.”

“I forgot to bring a change of clothes, though,” Matthew says, forcing an innocent look onto his face, but he knows that no amount of effort could hide the twinkle in his eye that can only be described as cheeky.

“Not even a sleep shirt?” Jiwoong asks, jokingly berating him.

Matthew just shrugs again, but he can’t quite stop the grin curling at the corners of his lips.

“You can have one of my sweatshirts,” Jiwoong concedes, and Matthew can hear the indulgent ‘again’ in his fond smile. Matthew thinks to tease him for it but doesn’t, for fear that it would somehow dissuade Jiwoong from offering one ever again. 

Matthew hobbles off to Jiwoong’s room and scavenges through his closet to find one of his favourite sweatshirts, a simple black crew neck with a soft, fuzzy inner lining. The only detail on it is a small, embroidered monarch butterfly where a breast pocket would be. 

“Should’ve known you’d go for that one,” Jiwoong comments bemusedly, leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed against his chest. Matthew answers him with a wry grin, corners of his lips tilted up and eyes crinkling up mischievously. 

Jiwoong heads towards his dresser and shuffles through its drawer. “Here,” he says as he throws the item he was looking for to Matthew. “I found these when I was doing my laundry, they’re yours, right?”

It’s a pair of one of Matthew’s shorter gym shorts, and he feels the blood rush to his cheeks. Thankfully, Jiwoong refuses to make eye contact. Matthew hums indistinctly in thanks before rushing into Jiwoong’s ensuite to change. Normally, he wouldn’t quite mind changing in front of Jiwoong –they’re quite comfortable with one another, after all, and have changed in the gym locker rooms often enough– but for some reason, he can’t quite imagine doing it today without turning completely red in the face. He makes sure to retrieve his secret gift from his pants’ pocket before folding up his clothes.

When he opens the bathroom door, Jiwoong is still getting dressed, and Matthew gets a good look at his back muscles as they move before the black tank top slides into place, barely reaching the grey sweatpants sitting low on his hips. At the sight of the outfit, the ghost of Matthew’s conversation with Taerae and his roommates haunts the back of his mind, and he tries to swat it away. 

“You okay?” Jiwoong asks as he turns around, and Matthew nods, because his mouth is dry, and words can’t quite come out.  

He kind of wants to kiss him. It’s too bad that he doesn’t have a good reason to do it. 

“Found this in my pocket,” Jiwoong says with a smile as he holds up a little white box.

Matthew raises his hand, a little mesh pouch hanging by its drawstrings on the tips of his fingers, sporting a matching grin of his own. “Me too.” 

“You first,” Jiwoong rushes to say.

“Not fair!” Matthew says, and he complains petulantly all the way as Jiwoong drags him out of the room and towards the couch. “Fine,” he concludes with a pout. 

Jiwoong pokes his nose, a fond smile stretched across his lips. “Come on, give it to me.” 

“Fine,” Matthew repeats, and he hands Jiwoong the little pouch. He watches with bated breath as Jiwoong undoes the drawstrings and slides the gift into his palm.

It’s a simple gift, really. Matthew had spotted it amidst a collection of pins and other keychains, but his eye had been immediately drawn to it. It’s an enamel keychain of a sleepy fox curled up into a fluffy ball, with a monarch butterfly resting across the tip of its nose. 

“Maeddu, this is so cute,” Jiwoong exclaims. He stands up and shuffles over to the apartment entrance to pick up his keys from the tray. He’s already starting to move his keys from the boring old ring onto the cute new one, eyes bright and just happy as he settles back into the couch, thigh molded into Matthew’s. 

It made me think of us, Matthew thinks but doesn’t say. 

Jiwoong seems to know, however, because he leans over and purposefully kisses the tip of Matthew’s nose so delicately it almost makes him shiver. “Thank you, I love it.” 

There’s something in his gaze, something Matthew doesn’t quite understand, but he does know that it makes him feel warm. “Your turn,” he says, before he does something stupid, like kiss Jiwoong’s nose himself in retaliation. 

Without a word, Jiwoong hands him the little white box. Matthew unties the little red bow and lifts the lid to unveil a three-piece set of jewelry, two earrings and a necklace. All three pieces are similar: they’re pendants on gold chains, with a round little garnet connecting into a larger teardrop jewel. The only difference between them is that the earrings’ jewels are an emerald green, whereas the necklace’s jewel is a sapphire blue.

Matthew can’t seem to find words.

“I saw it as we passed through the artisanal crafts aisle,” Jiwoong says. “I think her stall was made up entirely of franchise-inspired jewelry. She said she was hoping to sell this set tonight, and I think it was waiting for you.”

“You got me Howl’s jewelry?” Matthew finally utters dumbfoundedly. 

“I think so, yeah,” Jiwoong says. 

Matthew definitely wants to kiss him, now. But he can’t, he shouldn’t. He compromises, settling for a chaste kiss on the cheek instead before throwing his arms around Jiwoong’s neck. “Thank you, Jiwoon-hyung,” he whispers, although he’s sincerely starting to think that those words no longer cover it. 

“Here, let me,” Jiwoong says when Matthew lets go, reaching over for the box and delicately unwinding the necklace from the jewelry pad. He undoes the latch and now it’s his turn to wrap his arms around Matthew’s neck, connecting both ends of the necklace and adjusting the pendant to make sure it faces the front. He nods, satisfied, and brushes Matthew’s hair out of his eyes, smiling. “It’s perfect.”

You’re perfect, Matthew wants to scream for the second time tonight. It’s taking the entirety of his willpower not to burst into tears.

They curl up together under one blanket on the couch to watch one of Matthew’s favourite holiday staples, How the Grinch Stole Christmas with Jim Carrey, of course – just how did Jiwoong know? As he drifts off, comfortably cuddled into Jiwoong’s warmth, fiddling with his new necklace, the sound of the movie growing distant, he wonders just how it was possible that he had gotten so lucky. 

The last thing he remembers before falling asleep completely is the feeling of being carried to bed in reliable arms, and the ghost of a kiss on the tip of his nose as the voice wishes him goodnight.  

 

---

monday, december 26th.

---

 

He feels so warm.

Matthew stubbornly keeps his eyes shut, refusing to give in to the pull of consciousness. He buries his face deeper into the comfort of the blankets and pillows, tucking it into the plush comforter, shielding his vision from the light. There are a few persistent rays of sun trying their best to stream through the blinds, and he refuses to leave the cocoon he has formed around himself. He doesn’t want this moment to end.

He feels so warm in Jiwoong’s arms, after all. 

Despite his best efforts, the sunlight still manages to make its way to his eyes, and Matthew knows he’s awake for good. He might as well make the most of the situation.

Reluctantly, he unlaces his fingers from Jiwoong’s. Gently, he wiggles himself around from their spooning position, careful not to dislodge Jiwoong’s hold around his waist, snug under his sweatshirt. Delicately, he drops his temple back onto Jiwoong’s arm sweetly resting under Matthew’s head like a pillow. Hesitantly, he tucks his hands against Jiwoong’s chest. Timidly, he changes his mind and sneaks one up to card through the hair at the nape of his neck instead. 

Reverently, he stares up at Jiwoong’s face.

Jiwoong is always beautiful, but Matthew is hit with the intensity of it as he observes his features relaxed in sleep. His bangs create a curtain over his cheekbones, and Matthew immediately remedies this by sneaking his fingers up to brush the strands away from his face, following along the movement as they flutter gracefully away and across the pillowcase. With the new, clearer view, Matthew can better see how his thick lashes sit prettily on his cheeks, and suddenly Matthew wants to count them, but he ignores the urge. Instead, he decides to stare at how his lips are parted just slightly, the shallow breaths of deep sleep slipping out of their natural pout in little exhales, just barely brushing against Matthew’s face. 

He isn’t sure why, but suddenly, Matthew is overwhelmed with the urge to cry, and– 

Oh.

Oh.

How could he have been so blind? He feels an incredulous chuckle bubble in the gaps between his ribs, rising up his throat and threatening to choke him, mean and pretentious and mocking. 

The deja vu hits him like a truck. I was in his bed, his clothes, his arms. It was so obvious. 

He remembers hating how easily the lie had slipped out of his lips, and realizes almost hysterically that he had never lied even if he hadn’t known it then. 

After all, Matthew is in love with Jiwoong. 

Notes:

chapter fun facts (if anyone cares lol)

1. i almost completely forgot jiwoong's birthday... no i'm not joking... the fic almost completely glossed over the date like it was nothing LOL

2. following note 1, chapters two and three were originally one chapter in my draft outline (but that clearly got bamboozled when i remembered jiwoong's birthday lol)... this fic was only like, max 30k in my head originally and well... you'll see the final word count... hahahahaha

3. once again, following note 1, every single kiss in this chapter was not originally planned... matthew just possessed me and here we are... shoutout to his obliviousness making him somehow justify his horny and loving impulses by the (vague threat of the) presence of his friends... meanwhile jiwoong wonders if this is heaven or hell on earth LOL

thank you for reading!! <3

Chapter 3: chapter three: please say you feel it too

Notes:

i'm an equal opportunity author so... it's matthew's turn to be tormented by his own mind LOL SO with that being said

cw: this chapter depicts a panic attack. i don't think it should trigger anyone but if the idea of it stresses you out, skip to the end chapter note for a summary of when it starts, ends, and what happens during it

chapter title from 'the words' by christina perri

---

monday, december 26th.

---

 

The morning after Christmas, Jiwoong wakes up without Matthew in his arms. 

At first, he doesn’t notice. He reaches out towards the other side of the bed, eyes closed, wanting to extend the dreamy warmth of cuddling the one he loves. Like stepping into a warm bath after a long day, but it’s even better, because it comes with the bonus of knowing that they’re as close as two people can be. Selfishly, it’s what his heart wants, begs for, and for just one shining moment, he has it. 

But he reaches, and the dream crumbles. The other side of the bed is cold, freezing– empty. 

Jiwoong allows himself one moment of disappointment, basking in the warmth of the late morning sun streaming through the blinds instead, before untangling himself from his sheets and rising up into a big stretch. The sound of running water trickles in through the ensuite’s door, letting Jiwoong know that Matthew is taking a morning shower. 

Yesterday had felt like a dream come true. For a moment, he had almost forgotten that none of it was real, and he had almost deluded himself into believing he had spent Christmas Day with his boyfriend. That, unfortunately, was part of the problem. Jiwoong had been so obvious last night, had gone so incredibly overboard in his plans, and he simply had not cared about the consequences. 

Waking up like this, without Matthew, acts as a wake-up call of sorts. It should incentivize him to reel in his worst impulses, regain control over his deteriorating self control. Otherwise, Matthew will figure out that Jiwoong is desperately in love with him, and would be well within his rights to never want to speak to him again for taking advantage of the situation –and of him– for all this time. It would break Jiwoong’s heart in two, and he would deserve it.

And yet somehow, miraculously –for now at the very least– it seems like he has managed to avoid giving himself away, despite the ice rink, and the market, and the dinner, and the movie, and the gift–

With that thought, Jiwoong decides it’s time to prepare breakfast. 

First, though, he has a call to make. 

It just won’t leave him alone. A niggling little thought, one that’s made itself known in the back of his mind and that’s stayed there stubbornly, insistently, since Matthew asked about his Christmas plans– since Jiwoong found out that Matthew won’t be spending the winter holidays with Hanbin and his family. 

Clearly, Jiwoong never knows when to quit. His birthday, yesterday, the holiday party in a week– it should be enough but it isn’t. He’s greedy, given one taste, and then another, and now he’s addicted, left wanting for more. More of Matthew’s time, more of Matthew’s attention, more of Matthew’s love, however fake it may be– at least, in the way he wants it to be. And so, despite hating himself a bit for it, knowing he’s setting himself up for eventual pain, eventual heartbreak, he's still going to risk it all, yet again, and ask, beg, for more than he deserves. 

He has no self preservation, no impulse control. 

Jiwoong dials his mother’s phone number. 

---

 

Matthew is spiralling.

The burning sensation of the scalding shower water beating down on his back is perhaps the only thing keeping him tethered to this plane of existence as his thoughts make him unbearably dizzy. 

In hindsight, his behaviour has been entirely ridiculous, truly laughable. Even from the first day, when he’d thrown himself into Jiwoong’s arms without even a second thought to evade Minjun. 

They’d started fake dating under the pretence of escaping that asshole as well as Jiwoong’s endless suitors, but really, when was the last time Minjun had even contacted him? Matthew hasn’t heard from the guy since that night. And when’s the last time someone had seriously approached Jiwoong? He bangs his head against the wall when he realizes it’s been months, long before their charade even began. 

Most of their ‘dates’ hadn’t even been public. And even then, when they were in public, they never saw anyone they actually knew. Who were they even keeping up appearances for? Hao-hyung and Hanbin-hyung? 

Who is he kidding? He didn’t care about any of that, not really. He just wanted to date Jiwoong.

He’s in love with Jiwoong. 

Jiwoong, who would fake date him just to keep him safe from his toxic ex. Jiwoong, who would spend late nights with him in the park, talking about nothing and everything, and reassuring him that they’d stay together, no matter what. Jiwoong, who prioritizes Matthew’s classes over his own birthday, up until the last second and only at Matthew’s insistence. Jiwoong, who eats the salty seaweed soup Matthew makes him with only gratefulness in his eyes. Jiwoong, who watches Matthew’s favourite movie with him just to see him smile. Jiwoong, who tolerates all of Matthew’s teasing with a fond smile on his face. Jiwoong, who organizes an entire outing and meal on Christmas day just to fight Matthew’s homesickness away. Jiwoong, who gifts him jewelry just like a real boyfriend would.

Jiwoong, who would cuddle with him to sleep, and all he needs to do is ask. Jiwoong, who gives him his sweaters just because he wants to keep Matthew warm. Jiwoong, who holds Matthew’s face in his hands to make sure that he’s okay. Jiwoong, who kisses him softly like he’s his precious treasure and Jiwoong, who kisses him like he’s a man drowning and Matthew is the only source of air that he wants, needs. 

He isn’t sure how he ever thought otherwise. He’s been in love with Jiwoong for almost as long as he’s known him, and had just never been brave enough to think it, let alone address it. The reason why is obvious. 

Jiwoong doesn’t love him back. 

His beloved hyung is so nice, too nice, too considerate and helpful, to the point that he’d agreed to Matthew’s harebrained plot at the expense of his long-term crush on someone else. 

Jiwoong loves someone else. 

Just the thought of that makes Matthew want to keel over, a flower with no solid earth to support it, crumbling into dust. Like someone has reached directly into his chest, ripped his heart out, and demanded that he continue living on as if nothing happened. 

He understands his subconscious self-preservation, really. It’s useless now though. He’s gone and ruined a perfectly good friendship by falling in love.

He isn’t sure what he has to do next. 

Part of him thinks he has no other choice but to come clean to Jiwoong. Confess, his head yells, because there’s no way he can continue on with this arrangement now that he knows what he knows. Every single day pretending that Jiwoong loves him back would be akin to a slow death, a painful reminder of what he wants but cannot have. He should just tell Jiwoong the truth and let the other man decide what to do with it. If Matthew’s lucky, they’ll continue to be close friends, just like they used to be before all of this started. That should be enough.  

The other part of him vehemently protests. No, his heart sobs, adamantly refuses, because even if he knows it’s a lie, it just can’t let go. Yesterday was magical, perfect even. Matthew fiddles with the necklace hanging around his neck, a stark reminder of just how perfect Jiwoong is. These past few weeks have been everything Matthew never knew he wanted, needed, and he feels like he hadn’t fully recognized what he had until now. Why would he willingly relinquish all of this instead of clinging onto it for as long as Jiwoong allows?

Wouldn’t it be unfair to Jiwoong, though? 

He turns around, the spray hitting his chest instead, and lets water pool in the crook of his hands to splash it across his face. It’s so hot, but he’s so numb he barely even registers it, instead enjoying how the water runs down his face in replacement for the tears he can’t find in himself to shed. 

---

 

When he finally leaves the bathroom, clean but feeling heavy with the weight of his decision, it’s to the smell of fresh pancakes cooking on the stove. 

Oh. 

Jiwoong is going to make this so hard. 

Matthew sidles up behind Jiwoong and wraps his arms around the man’s waist. 

“Oh!” Jiwoong exclaims as he flips another golden pancake onto the plate next to the stovetop. “Good morning, Maeddu.”

“Good morning, hyung,” Matthew replies, snuggling his cheek into Jiwoong’s shoulder, keeping the man close. He’s going to soak up as much of this as possible before the inevitable. “Making pancakes?”

Jiwoong hums in confirmation. “Made sure I had all the ingredients last time I went grocery shopping. Even got that peanut butter you like so much. I’ll admit I’m not sure what I’m doing, though.”

Matthew really wants to kiss him. It’s too bad he doesn’t have a reason to do it. 

He also really wants to laugh at his past self for being so oblivious and blind. 

Instead, he bites his lip. “Well, they look perfect. You haven’t even burned one.”

Jiwoong chuckles. “Yeah, well, don’t look in the garbage.”

Matthew laughs and buries himself a little deeper into Jiwoong’s back. 

“Maeddu, did you call your family yet? It should be just before dinner for them now, no?”

Matthew checks the time. It’s just past eleven in the morning here, which means it’s… just past six in the evening yesterday in Vancouver. 

“Oh, shit!” Matthew had been so wrapped up in the nostalgia yesterday, and his feelings this morning, that he had almost forgotten to actually call his mom on Christmas Day. He takes a second to thank the timezones for saving his ass before he scrambles to go get his phone from where it’s charging on the bedside table, Jiwoong’s deep, melodious laugh trailing after him. 

The dial tone rings a few beats as he sits on the bed, and then Matthew hears, “Hello, Matthew?” and her voice is almost as warm as her hug would be. 

“Hi, Eomma. Merry Christmas,” Matthew says. 

“Is that Matthew?” he hears Yaebin yell in the background through the phone. “Tell him Merry Christmas for me!” 

“Me too!” Now it’s his dad’s turn to yell, rather unusually for him. Matthew chuckles wetly and oh boy, when did he get teary-eyed?

“Your sister and father wish you a Merry Christmas,” his mom says. 

“Yeah, I heard them,” he replies. 

“Your Appa’s just starting to cut up the turkey, your sister and I were setting up the sides.” She pauses. “We miss you here,” she says, and Matthew can hear the longing in her voice. 

“I miss you guys, too.” He’s sure his mom can recognize the longing in his voice, too, a carbon copy of hers. 

“Did you have a nice Christmas?”

Matthew smiles. “Yeah, Jiwoon-hyung took me skating, then shopping, and he even made us our own little Christmas dinner. Well, it was chicken instead of turkey, but it was close enough,” he says as he laughs. “We also traded gifts and watched The Grinch, it was as perfect as it could’ve been without you guys here.”

His mom laughs too. “That Jiwoong is a special boy, for sure. Make sure to hold on to him.”

Matthew scoffs a little incredulously, smile across his lips as he shakes his head. Just how obvious is he? He consoles himself by acknowledging that his mom knows him better than almost anyone, and that she probably would’ve noticed he was in love with Jiwoong before he even knew. He thinks back to his decision and takes a deep breath, wetting his dry lips before speaking. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

“I can’t wait to meet him one day,” she says. Thankfully, his mom doesn’t push it past that. “Matthew-ah, you’re not coming home for Seollal, are you?” 

Matthew winces, heart squeezing in his chest. “No, I can’t, Eomma, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, we thought as much. I’m sorry too, Matthew.” 

“Air Canada sucks,” he adds, because he isn’t sure what else he can say while still withholding the urge to cry. 

“Air Canada sucks, indeed,” she replies mirthfully. 

“Yeah, screw them!” Yaebin yells in agreement in the background, and he smiles. 

Matthew looks up to see Jiwoong waiting, leaning in the doorframe, an understanding smile on his face. Matthew nods, and Jiwoong comes over to sit next to him on the bed, taking hold of the hand not holding the phone. 

“Matthew, your father’s done carving the turkey, so we’re going to have dinner now. Have a wonderful day, yeah? We’ll miss you tonight.” 

Matthew nods, then remembers his mom can’t see his face. “Yeah, okay. Have a nice Christmas, Eomma.”

“Merry Christmas, Matthew, we love you.”

“I love you too. Bye-bye.”

And then his mom hangs up. Jiwoong squeezes his hand. Matthew offers him a shaky smile in thanks. 

“You’re not going home for Seollal?” 

“No,” Matthew shakes his head and sniffles a bit. Jiwoong nods, answer likely a confirmation of what he already knew, and swipes away the tears bubbling at Matthew’s lash line with the knuckle of his free hand. Matthew takes a deep, shuddering breath to steady himself. 

Jiwoong searches his gaze. “I have a proposition.” Matthew nods, doesn’t look away, so he continues. “Hao-ah mentioned the other day that he was going to spend Seollal with Hanbin-ah’s family.” 

Matthew nods again, to confirm that he knew about it as well, but he was unsure about where Jiwoong was going with this. Then, Jiwoong says, “So I called my mom this morning, and asked if it would be okay if you came to visit for Seollal, if you weren’t able to go home yourself. She said yes, I didn’t doubt she would, but I just wanted to make sure.”

Oh.  

“Do you want to come home for Seollal with me?” Jiwoong’s eyes seem nervous yet encouraging, hopeful even. 

And–

Matthew’s a bad person. He’s greedy and selfish. And really, no matter what he had decided earlier in the shower, he knows what he’s going to do, at least for a little while longer. 

“Yes, I’d love to.”

Jiwoong smiles so fondly, so brightly, and Matthew doesn’t deserve it. 

“Come on, let’s eat those pancakes,” Jiwoong says, tugging on Matthew’s hand, pulling him up from the bed. “I bought that maple syrup for a reason, you know.”

---

 

Matthew spends the following week at Jiwoong’s apartment. 

It wasn’t on purpose, not really. 

The 26th passes by quickly with seemingly endless pancakes, actually endless hot chocolate, and a marathon of the Home Alone movies. The day ends perfectly with a healthy helping of Christmas leftovers, just as the holiday traditions demand. 

On the morning of the 27th, Jiwoong wakes up to Matthew in his arms, and he soaks it up in wonder and adoration. He brushes his fingers through Matthew’s hair, drops a kiss on the top of his head, and stares at his face for what feels like hours until the younger man wakes up, promptly blushes to the roots of his hair and runs to the bathroom to take his morning shower. 

When he gets out, Jiwoong offers him a different sweater, this one a shade of soft pastel cerulean, tongue in cheek when Matthew blushes again and thanks him before promptly shutting the door between them. 

In the afternoon, a light snow begins to fall –“Just a few days late for a snowy Christmas,” Matthew says, his smile nonetheless bright– and they stroll down the street through the snowflakes hand in hand to buy some fried chicken for dinner. 

In the early morning of the 28th, Matthew whispers, “Jiwoon-hyung, wake up,” and Jiwoong wishes he could wake up that way every morning – until he realizes that would mean that he would no longer wake up first and get to stare at Matthew’s sleeping face, so he promptly rescinds his wish, though its core intention remains the same. 

“We’re snowed in,” Matthew whispers, and his cheeky little smile is one of Jiwoong’s favourite sights in the entire world. 

“Oh yeah?” Jiwoong whispers back, because the early morning light demands it. 

“Yeah.”

“Fine by me.” 

Later in the day, after a slow morning and an easy brunch of fried eggs, vegetables and rice, they head out through the frankly surprising amount of snow toward the park, where they make a pair of silly little snowmen. This, however, quickly devolves into a snowball fight, Matthew shrieking like a little gremlin when he manages to throw one square on the back of Jiwoong’s head, laughing maniacally as he runs away from Jiwoong’s retaliation attempt. 

When Jiwoong catches him and they fall in the snow, he allows Matthew one moment on top of him chanting his victory before promptly flipping them over, the younger man’s bragging promptly cutting off as he freezes, lips parted. 

“Looks like I win, after all,” Jiwoong says triumphantly, and all Matthew can do is nod, wide-eyed and breathless, with his pinned arms forcing him to accept defeat.

As they eat dinner in the evening –the last of the Christmas dinner leftovers– Jiwoong’s phone starts buzzing. Confused seeing Hao’s caller ID because the other man never calls, he of course picks up, concerned it might be serious. 

“Hi hyung, is Matthew with you?” 

Jiwoong can easily pick up on the panicked tone in Hao’s voice. “Uh, yes? Is everything okay?”

Matthew stops eating, worry clouding his eyes at Jiwoong’s words and expression. 

“Oh good! Perfect. Hanbinnie, he’s with Jiwoong-hyung,” he says, and the tension immediately dissipates from the call, Hao’s soothing tone taking over. “We just got back to their apartment, and he wasn’t here, and he wasn’t answering his phone, so Hanbin was worried.”

Oh. That makes sense. Matthew’s phone had died earlier and was currently charging on the bedside table, most likely on silent like always. Jiwoong gives Matthew a thumbs up to signal that everything's fine, mouths It’s Hao and Binnie, they were looking for you, and the tension leaves his shoulders, too. 

“Neither of you two told us that you were spending Christmas together,” Hao says, and now his tone is suggestive, teasing. “And the days after, it seems.”

Ah. “It was sort of last minute, and he’s stayed here… accidentally?”

“Right, sure, and I guess he also happened to accidentally slip into your bed, too.”

“Hao-ah!”

Hao’s laugh is clear, smooth, and completely irreflective of the little teasing demon inside of him taking over. “What? The sexual tension was already crazy before you guys even started dating, it’d be even crazier if it hadn’t had an outlet by now.”

Jiwoong just fumes quietly, cartoon steam out of his ears and face turning red like a tomato, only keeping his mouth shut because he knows that any further protest would lead to even more teasing. 

“Would you pass me to Matthew? I have something I want to ask him, too,” Hao asks, voice lilting and absolutely evil. 

Jiwoong mentally apologizes to Matthew before passing on the demon to him. He can’t entirely catch what Hao says to Matthew, but he does hear the words “comfortable” and “bed”, and considering his own line of teasing, he’s fully capable of connecting the dots. 

After a few moments, Matthew says, “Hyung’s asking if we wanna continue our swap.” His entire face is blushing, and Jiwoong can see him fiddling with his necklace in what he knows is an attempt to avoid pressing the back of his hand to his cheek. 

“Swap?”

“I stay here, he stays there.” Now he’s avoiding eye contact altogether. “Until the New Year’s party.” He’s so cute, Jiwoong wants to kiss the spot between his eyebrows where his little frowning lines accumulate. As it stands, Jiwoong’s mouth is also a little dry, air caught in his throat, like he can’t quite breathe.

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Want to stay here.”

Now Matthew’s gaze is nervous, scared even. Every day, Jiwoong wonders if he’s pushed it too far, been too obvious, that he’s had his last day of this, if Matthew knows and doesn’t know how to push him away without breaking them apart, but then–

“Yes.”

Jiwoong’s heart stops. “Yes?”

“Yes.”

Jiwoong’s heart kicks back into gear, stuttering a few times before switching into overdrive, because he’s overwhelmed, so relieved –he didn’t push it too far, he gets another four days of this, of just him and Matthew– and Matthew wants it, wants to spend the last few days of the year just with him, wants to go home and spend Seollal with him, and–

Greedy, ungrateful for what he already has, for this gift that Matthew has just now granted him, all Jiwoong can think about is how badly he wants to kiss him right now. 

Matthew hasn’t kissed him since Christmas Day, and it was on the cheek. Jiwoong supposes it makes sense, of course it does, they haven’t had Hanbin or anyone else there to somehow justify it, even though it’s all Jiwoong craves. 

He wonders if they could get away with it, right now. Hao’s on the line, right? That’s plausible enough of an excuse, no? He stares at Matthew’s lips, but right now they’re being worried between biting teeth, and–

“Hyung?” Matthew says, and Jiwoong snaps his gaze back to the boy’s eyes. In his elation and daydreaming, Jiwoong has forgotten to respond, and Matthew looks terrified, like he might cry if Jiwoong says no, like he thinks it somehow possible that Jiwoong could ever deny him anything. 

Jiwoong could slap himself. 

Matthew’s lip trembles but he braces himself, eyes steeling in his resolve, and because he’s so, so brave, he continues. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” he says instinctually, running over to brush Matthew’s hair out of his eyes, to cup Matthew’s cheeks. “Of course I do. More than you’ll ever know.” Any filter is gone, every wall burning down and dissipating into smoke like it never existed in the first place, all to make sure Matthew knows, understands. “You could stay forever if you wanted to.”

“Yeah?” Matthew’s eyes are guarded, searching, like he can’t quite believe what Jiwoong is telling him. 

“Yes, of course, sweetheart.”

There’s still some doubt, some uncertainty there, but Matthew’s gaze softens, and he nods. “Okay.”

“I’m still here, you know.” Jiwoong jumps, Hao’s tinny voice yelling through on the phone surprising him. He’d completely forgotten he was there. 

Matthew fumbles with his phone, putting Hao on speaker, cheeks rosy. “Sorry, hyung.”

“Don’t worry, You guys are really cute, although I’m not sure why all this was so dramatic. I’ll be there in like an hour to grab some fresh clothes. Hanbin and I will pack you some too, Matthew.”

“Thanks, hyung,” Matthew mumbles. 

“Oh, and hyung? As nice as it sounds, you can’t actually keep Matthew with you there forever, unless you wanna make the switch permanent. I live there too, you know. Bye!” Hao concludes, a small maniacal laugh carrying through before he hangs up. 

Jiwoong feels the blood rush to his ears. Forever. He might as well have confessed outright. He supposes Matthew’s now bright smile was more than worth it. 

 

---

sunday, december 31st.

---

 

Matthew’s week of domestic bliss with Jiwoong unfortunately comes to a quick end. 

One morning, Jiwoong jokingly asks him how he would like his eggs cooked, even though he knows that the answer will always be sunny-side-up– Matthew likes dipping his toast in the yolks. Yet, Matthew almost answers scrambled on some kind of half-joking, half-serious instinct, and he doesn’t even have “eggs” to scramble. 

Needless to say, he’s gone a little crazy in love. 

However, this does not make him any less nervous about the ISA’s New Year’s party tonight. If anything, he’s jittering with nerves more than ever before. 

He’s been texting Keita about the final details, asking if there was anything else that he needed to do, but Keita simply teased him about being locked up in his ‘little holiday love nest’, which means that Matthew hasn’t even been able to put his nervous energy into party planning. 

It’s the first time –and the last, his heart adds morosely– that their fake relationship will be put to the test in front of all their friends. They’ve been so blissfully happy in their little bubble the past few days but, as quickly as it began, it will all fizzle away if anyone finds out the truth. 

Matthew doesn’t want it to fizzle away. He’s so scared. 

As they dress for the party, Matthew adjusting Jiwoong’s shirt collar (it didn’t need any adjusting), Jiwoong grabs his shaky hands and drops a kiss on the knuckles. “Don’t worry, baby. We’re good.” 

Then, Jiwoong moves one of his hands to Matthew’s chin, thumb holding on and knuckle supporting underneath, tilts his head up at just the right angle, and drops a chaste kiss to Matthew’s lips. “See? So good. We’re ready.”

Matthew stares at Jiwoong, and almost chases his lips until he remembers that tonight, he’ll be allowed to kiss Jiwoong as much as he wants. 

He nods. 

---

 

The moment they enter the ISA’s house, Matthew sticks to him like glue. 

Not that Jiwoong is complaining, not in the slightest. The only time Matthew fully lets go of him is when he gives an excited hug to Keita, and even then, Jiwoong can’t really blame him, even though the tiniest seed of jealousy rears its ugly head. 

Nonetheless, he can’t seem to stop himself from snaking his hand around Matthew’s waist to settle on his stomach. Matthew instinctually leans into his touch and subconsciously starts playing with Jiwoong’s fingers, which just makes Jiwoong preen in satisfaction. Having Matthew all to himself for a week straight has just seemed to turn his general obsession with him into a full-fledged possessive streak. 

Keita is but the first stop. Matthew is a social butterfly, he flits from friend to friend, not tired in the slightest. If anything, it’s where he thrives. 

Ricky, first year and one of the newest members of the ISA, is there with his boyfriend Gyuvin. They’re also both members of Hao’s music and Hanbin’s dance clubs, so really, it isn’t a surprise that Matthew chats with them nonstop as they stop in the kitchen for drinks. 

Jay and Jongwoo drop by, an awkward Kamden pulled in tow. Jay thanks them for coming as one of the hosts and actual residents of the unofficial ISA house. He seems a little frazzled, hair ruffled, but visibly calms down as he talks to Matthew, a fond smile peeking through his nervous energy. Jiwoong supposes that the party’s environment is getting to him a bit, but Jongwoo and Kamden’s presences seems to ground him. 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, but of course with good intentions, Jongwoo congratulates them on their relationship, and says, “Jiwoong-hyung’s been in love with you forever, Matthew-ah, I’m surprised it’s taken this long for this to happen.”

Matthew freezes, stops playing with the hand Jiwoong has splayed across his stomach. 

“Yah, Yoon Jongwoo, don’t embarrass me like that!” Jiwoong interjects, and he doesn’t even have to pretend to be embarrassed, because he is. Jongwoo isn’t the first to mention this tonight and if too many people repeat it, Matthew will surely understand that it is the truth, and then it’ll all be over. 

He strokes his fingers along Matthew’s abdomen in a soothing manner, and adds jokingly, “He doesn’t need to know how long I’ve been pining over him, let me keep some dignity.” He buries his face into Matthew’s neck for good measure. 

Matthew starts moving again, fidgeting with Jiwoong’s fingers, now undoubtedly a comforting gesture for them both, before dropping a kiss to Jiwoong’s temple, laughing fondly at his little show of embarrassment. 

Jongwoo laughs good-naturedly as he walks away. “Sorry, hyung.”

Taerae is there with his roommates too, Seo Won chatting along and Woongki hanging off of Seunghwan’s arm, even though none of them are members of the ISA. They’re all invited by Matthew, Jiwoong knows, and he laughs along when Woongki says that the ISA is half international student association, half queer student association now, at least for their generation of students. 

And, well, just looking around the room makes that much obvious. 

As they chat, Won stares at the way that Jiwoong’s arm is now slung possessively across Matthew’s shoulders and quirks an eyebrow, sharing a knowing look with him. His gaze then becomes teasing as he turns towards Matthew. “Matthew-ah, if you ever get tired of this one, I’ll be all too happy to take him off your hands.”

It wouldn’t be dishonest to call the noise Matthew makes a squawk as he hides his face into Jiwoong’s neck. 

Taerae cackles, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Jiwoong-hyung, same to you. Matthew and I could lead a very happy life, I’m sure.”

Rather than shying away from the teasing, Jiwoong lets himself give in to his instincts and lowers his arm to wrap it back around Matthew’s waist instead, promptly tightening his hold and smirking. “Sorry, Taerae-yah, Matthew’s all mine, and I don’t plan on giving him away any time soon.”

Won chuckles, an approving smile on his lips, like Jiwoong’s successfully passed his (easy) test.

However, Matthew peeks up from his hiding spot at the words, and, after staring into his soul in a way that makes Jiwoong antsy, moves to wrap his arms around Jiwoong’s neck instead. “I’m all yours?”

Oh. There he goes again, saying much more than he should. Jiwoong’s mouth is dry, but he places his other arm around Matthew’s waist to complete his hold. “You’re all mine, baby.”

Matthew plays with the hair at his nape, staring into Jiwoong’s eyes with an intensity reminiscent of that night at the club all those weeks ago, like he can see directly into Jiwoong’s soul. “And you’re all mine, too?”

Jiwoong’s breath is caught in his throat. “More than you know.” 

“Good.”

And then Matthew surges up as he yanks him down to kiss him. 

God, has Jiwoong missed this. Matthew in his hair, Matthew across his lips, Matthew in his mouth. The kiss is messy, greedy and downright inappropriate in the middle of a conversation, but Jiwoong doesn’t care. Matthew just takes, takes, takes, licking into every crevice of Jiwoong’s mouth and still finding it insufficient. 

Although not chaste, the kiss is brief, but Jiwoong can’t help himself from trailing after, giving one, two, more kisses of his own. 

“My Jiwoon-hyung,” Matthew whispers, right after he takes one last taste of Jiwoong with a lick and bite of his bottom lip. The possessiveness of it all makes him dizzy. 

---

 

If Jiwoong thought that Matthew stuck to him like glue before, it was nothing compared to now. It’s as if all it took was just that one moment to open the floodgates, and now Jiwoong is drowning in Matthew’s proximity. 

Matthew’s hand in the back pocket of his pants, slightly squeezing his ass to prompt a reaction and laughing smugly when he gets it; Matthew’s fingernails scraping absentmindedly at the base of his skull as they listen to Wumuti ramble about his latest art project; Matthew’s arms around his waist, face tucked into Jiwoong’s neck to sulk after Haruto and Zihao finally succeed in beating them at beer pong; Matthew’s fingers intertwined with his as he drags him along to the kitchen to get another drink, refusing to let go even just to do the mixing; Matthew’s shy grin digging its way into his soul as he forces them to be two halves of a whole, each using one hand to complete the task together. 

Right now, though, they’re molded into one another on the tight loveseat, Jiwoong’s arm draped across the leather back and Matthew comfortably nestled into the nook he’s carved for himself into Jiwoong’s side. However, the position, despite being a recently common occurrence –and oh, if Jiwoong’s heart doesn’t just swoop at that– is the least of his problems. 

Matthew keeps stroking his thigh. 

Jiwoong thinks he might just combust if Matthew dares to continue on like this for any longer. Every once in a while, Matthew’s fingers creep along the line of his inner thigh, dangerously close, and Jiwoong almost weeps with the effort to keep his face blank. 

Matthew’s acting nonchalant, chatting along with Hao and Hanbin not even five feet away from them both cuddled up together on the other couch, but Jiwoong knows he’s doing it for the thrill of getting a reaction from him, the thrill of staking his claim. Every time Jiwoong shifts, raises his hips just enough to get the mischievous hand to slide back down a little, the corners of Matthew’s lips twitch, his hand squeezes just right, and Jiwoong knows that his baby is satisfied with the little game they’ve been playing. 

Jiwoong is grateful when Hanbin and Hao slip off to the kitchen to get fresh drinks from the fridge because he’s lost track of the conversation entirely and he’s pretty sure if either of them had asked him a question, he would’ve been unable to give any kind of coherent answer. Jiwoong is taut like a string about to snap. All it would take is one more impish touch from Matthew to send him ablaze. 

Meanwhile, Matthew’s gaze pivots over to him, sly grin like a cat that’s caught the canary. 

“Having fun, baby?”

Matthew’s eyes are mirthful as he nods, entirely too calm in the face of Jiwoong’s fervour, and Jiwoong simply can’t have that. He tightens the grip of his one hand now sitting on Matthew’s waist while the other trails a line up Matthew’s arm, following it until he lands on his throat, leaving his thumb, pointer and middle finger along the bones of his jaw in order to tilt his face up just right. 

Matthew’s proud grin disappears.

“Proud of yourself for getting me all riled up, aren’t you, sweetheart?” 

Jiwoong can feel Matthew’s pulse flutter at the pet name under the tips of his fingers. The younger boy’s pupils dilate as he takes a shaky breath. Matthew’s gaze flickers down to Jiwoong’s lips and he leans in for a kiss, needy, but Jiwoong’s hand stops him. Jiwoong enjoys watching every single one of Matthew’s microexpressions as he gasps at the added pressure he’s created and melts under it. He barely seems to care that his original plan to go for a kiss was foiled. Jiwoong knows that if his fingers weren’t already sitting there along that line, and if Matthew didn’t seem to enjoy it as much, he would give in to his own urge to kiss and bite along Matthew’s throat instead. 

This time, when Matthew finally nods, he’s a lot more dazed, and now it’s Jiwoong’s turn to be satisfied.

“Come here, love.”

Jiwoong presses in with the hand nestled in his flank and Matthew immediately understands, swinging his leg up and over to straddle and settle in Jiwoong’s lap. The deja vu from his birthday gives Jiwoong whiplash, and the only thing keeping him tethered to this moment is the fact that Matthew looks just as wrecked as he feels, just from a few words and touches. Jiwoong considers moving his hand to cradle the back of Matthew’s head instead, but before he can even move his fingers out of their positions, Matthew’s hand flies up to grasp his wrist and keep him right where he is. 

It’s now Jiwoong’s turn to lose his mind as he secures his grip and Matthew’s eyes flutter at the pressure, his entire body leaning into it more. 

Jiwoong can’t help himself. 

“Unreal,” he mutters, before he finally closes the gap, licking into Matthew’s gasping mouth, tasting every sigh and whimper tumbling from his lips, feeling every tremble and quiver as the adrenaline rattles through his bones, and knowing that every reaction is his, and only his.

Usually, there would come a point at which Matthew would take over, greedily returning all he had received in full and then taking it even a step further– a tug of the hair, a grind of the hips. But this time, it’s like a switch had been flipped in the boy’s mind the moment Jiwoong’s fingers had prodded comfortably at his jaw. The competitive give and take, the titillating tease, has given way to something much more. 

A new level of trust has settled, deep in their bones. A new level of understanding. 

Something has shifted. 

It feels real. 

Jiwoong lets that thought steep for a bit as he separates for a moment to stare at Matthew’s kiss-dumb face, blush undeniable across his nose and cheeks, lips cherry red and glistening, eyelids fluttered shut, leaning into the press of Jiwoong’s fingers.  

Matthew whines.

Jiwoong chuckles, but he’s so blissfully happy that it almost turns into a giggle instead. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

He mumbles something, but it’s incoherent, barely a string of words. 

“What’s that, baby?” Jiwoong teases. 

Matthew’s eyelids flutter just enough to open, lashes clumped together with unshed tears. 

“Please.”

Oh.  

Jiwoong has never been able to say no to Matthew, not really. So he acquiesces without a word, pours his every emotion down Matthew’s throat, and Matthew swallows it down gratefully. His one free hand unoccupied with Matthew’s jaw slides down from waist to ass, and the younger boy keens at the grip, hands scrabbling for purchase on the same shirt collar he had been adjusting and playing with all night. 

The intensity of the kiss almost surprises Jiwoong. The press of their lips, tongues, teeth is crushing, unrelenting, with only the minimum gaps in between required for shaky breath. Even the momentary pauses feel torturous, like Jiwoong doesn’t want to exist in a world where he isn’t kissing Matthew. Jiwoong knows they will both absolutely bruise with the effort, but he has never been more certain that nothing else in his life has ever been more worth it. 

Jiwoong loves Matthew. 

Jiwoong loves Matthew. 

Jiwoong loves Matthew. 

How else could he possibly express it?

“Get a room, you two–“

“Shhh! Don’t stop them, I was enjoying the show!”

The tension shatters, and mournfully, reluctantly, Jiwoong and Matthew separate, not without a few whiny protests from Matthew as Jiwoong’s fingers leave his jaw, until he seems to remember where they are, promptly blushes to the roots of his hair, and quickly hides his face in the crook of Jiwoong’s neck.

Jiwoong looks over Matthew’s shoulder to give Won and Woongki a look across the room near the doorway, drinks in hand, and neither of them have the grace to look ashamed for interrupting. 

Well, actually– fair enough. 

“By all means, don’t stop on our accounts,” Woongki continues as he waggles his eyebrows. 

“Quit it,” Taerae says, –seemingly appearing out of nowhere, but probably just returning from the kitchen– smacking him lightly on the back of the head, but he too seems incredibly smug. 

Their friends’ banter has effectively cut the tension that was simmering beneath their skins, and Jiwoong strokes the flanks of Matthew’s sides with his thumbs in a soothing manner. 

Just as Jiwoong prepares to whisper a teasing remark about their friends in Matthew’s ear, a commotion starts behind them at the front door.

Jiwoong tries to cran his neck around to see what the fuss is about, but Matthew beats him to it, peeking up from his hiding place in Jiwoong’s neck.

He freezes.

Taerae snarls. “What’s he doing here?”

---

 

When Minjun walks in through the front door, Matthew feels like he’s been doused with a bucket of cold water. 

How could he have forgotten?

His brain has become a broken record, repeating its own torturous rotation, over and over and over again. So comfortable in Jiwoong’s embrace, pinned under his unwavering attention and care, he blurs the line between truth and lie, real and fake, time and time again. 

Fake, it’s all fake–

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

The evening at the club. The pumping of the bass. Sweet nothings, empty touches. A sham of a physical connection just to spite that man across the room. Deals made in the name of friendship, lies folded in between books and sheets. 

After all, Jiwoong is just pretending, because he’s in love with someone else.

But Matthew isn’t pretending, because he’s in love with Jiwoong.

In that moment, it had felt so real. When Jiwoong’s hand had settled at his jaw, it was like something had shifted. A new level of understanding, a new level of trust. The rationality had completely given way to the deluge of his emotions, of his heart. Matthew had let himself go too far, he had let himself forget. That level of delusion was painful. It was dangerous. He shouldn’t have let it happen.

Fake, it’s all fake–

It repeats in his mind, and maybe it’s not a broken record player, no, it’s a mantra. Rationality waging its last war against emotion, begging for the head and heart to conciliate. It had felt so real, it had felt so right. Firmness melding with tenderness. Reckless passion in complete harmony with prudent devotion. His mind doesn’t want to think it, but his heart knows. This is what Matthew imagines it feels like to be loved.

But Matthew knows better. He knows the truth.

Far away, maybe in some different dimension, Matthew thinks he hears Taerae say, “He shouldn’t be here.” And well, while that’s true –Minjun wasn’t on the invite list, he was on the block list, if anything– Matthew feels like this is the universe reminding him of the deal he’s made, the reason, the cost. 

That night at the club, Matthew made the worst mistake of his life. He traded mild discomfort and annoyance for what he’s sure will be the worst heartbreak of his life.

It’s almost funny, how quickly fate forces you to face the music. 

Fake, it’s all fake–

Through his haze, he sees Keita march up to Minjun and yell at him to leave, or he’ll have him trespassed. But none of that matters, not really, because Minjun’s eyes lock with Matthew’s, and he smirks before raising his arms in surrender, turning around, and walking back out the door. 

“And don’t come back!” Taerae yells, and Matthew almost laughs, almost, but he can’t, because––

Fake, it’s all fake–

Hands on cheeks. “Sweetheart, breathe, come back to Earth.” 

Matthew blinks a few times, takes a shaky breath. 

“That’s right, that’s good. Now look at me.”

Matthew does. 

Jiwoong looks worried, plain as day. “He’s gone now, love, no need to worry.”

Sweetheart. Love. Matthew tries not to flinch. 

Fake, it’s all fake–

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” 

Oh. He’s crying. He isn’t sure why he’s surprised. He’s a mess, and an idiot who fell in love with someone who can’t love him back, and–

“Name me five things you can see.”

Huh? Why? His confusion must show on his face, even through his tears, because Jiwoong insists. “Just do it, please, Maeddu.”

Through shuddery breaths, his gaze over Jiwoong’s shoulder hops around the room, from one thing to another. “Taerae. Keita-hyung.” Minjun is gone thanks to them, but the damage is done, and Matthew has selfishly ruined one of the best things in life with his greed. No more study dates, no more walks in the park, no more movie nights, no, not after this, he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve Jiwoong, and he’ll notice that soon enough, and––

“Keep going. Three more, Maeddu.”  

Matthew hesitates, shudders under the weight of his thoughts, but complies. “...The beer pong set-up… The pile of coats on that chair...” He looks back at Jiwoong. “You.”

“Good. Now, four things you can feel.”

Again, Matthew wants to ask why. He wants to cry. He wants to run away. But, against his every instinct, he allows himself to seek out Jiwoong’s guidance, and follows along with the prompt. 

“The collar of my shirt,” where it scratches at the junction of his neck and shoulder. “The couch, under my knees,” from where he’s still straddling Jiwoong. He takes another breath. “My hair, on my forehead,” when it flutters at his exhale.  One of Jiwoong’s hands shifts seamlessly to tuck it behind his ear. Matthew hesitates. “Your palm, on my cheek.”

“Great, keep going. Three things you can hear.”

“My heartbeat.” It was still kicking up a storm in his chest, thumping loudly in his ears, but it was finally slowing down a bit. He focuses. “Hanbin-hyung and Hao-hyung flirting in the kitchen.” Jiwoong chuckles at that. “Your laugh.”

Jiwoong smiles. “Two things you can smell.”

Matthew now understands the exercise for what it is. “Alcohol, this party has way too much of it.” Jiwoong laughs. Matthew smiles softly. “That cologne of yours that I love.” The one that he couldn’t help but use every day during his time at Jiwoong’s place. 

Jiwoong’s eyes scan his face, and what he finds seems to convince him that Matthew is grounded in the moment once again, and doesn’t need to complete the exercise to its end. He even seems hesitant to continue it. With one sense left, Matthew can somewhat understand. Nonetheless, Jiwoong finally whispers, “One thing you can taste.”

Matthew, on the other hand, doesn’t hesitate at all. “You.”

It’s at this point that Matthew is finally calm enough to recognize the exercise– his friend from high school had learned it from her therapist to help with her anxiety-induced panic attacks. 

Matthew isn’t quite sure why Minjun of all things was the catalyst for his Jiwoong-related panic attack. He’s a little embarrassed that it happened in public, and in front of Jiwoong, at that, but there’s not much he can do about that now. 

While he’s a lot calmer now, panic slowly drained from him with every sense grounded in the present moment, the reality check Fate served to him on a silver platter refuses to vacate his mind. He’d almost be willing to accept it if it wouldn’t break his heart in two, the other half rotting away because it no longer belongs to him, but to Jiwoong, instead. 

He tries to blink back tears at the thought, but Jiwoong swipes away at the corners of his eyes, anyway. “Better?” he asks, with such an understanding smile that Matthew’s broken heart somehow finds a way to somersault in his chest. 

“Yes, because of you.” A half-truth, one he relishes nonetheless. That Jiwoong cares so much, even if he doesn’t love him. “Thank you.”

Jiwoong’s eyes search his, and his brow furrows. Matthew both hates and loves how well they’ve come to be able to read one another. He knows, he knows–

“Matthew, are you okay?” Keita, one of the only people at this party that may know him as well as Jiwoong and Hanbin, comes up and interrupts, and saves Matthew’s life. 

“Yeah.” He smiles reassuringly as he semi-awkwardly gets off Jiwoong’s lap, avoiding his gaze. “Thanks for getting rid of him.”

Keita scoffs as he pats Jiwoong on the shoulder, acknowledging him and thanking him silently. “I don’t even know why he showed up, no one invited him.”

“Keita-hyung probably would’ve socked him in the mouth if he had said anything about you,” Taerae pipes up. That guy’s ability to seemingly appear out of nowhere will always slightly freak Matthew out, but right now, he’s so grateful to be faced with two of his best friends. 

Keita nods, almost looking smug. He definitely would punch a guy almost a foot taller than him if it meant defending Matthew. “Wanna come take a breather outside in the backyard? It’s snowing a bit, I know that always reminds you of home.”

It does, funnily enough, even though Vancouver might just be the least snowy city in all of Canada. Matthew jumps at the opportunity. “You know that I do!” He turns to Jiwoong hesitantly. “Is that okay?” He’s not a complete asshole, okay? He won’t just run away without a word, even though that’s what his preservation instinct is yelling at him to do. 

Jiwoong stares at him again, with those soul-searching eyes, and oh god, he knows, but he nods. “Absolutely, sweetheart. You can come find me later, love, whenever you want.”

Matthew smiles at him, mouths the words “thank you” again, and with that, he heads outside with his friends. 

He mainly avoids Jiwoong up until the countdown. He’s being rude, he knows, and his justification of Jiwoong saying, “You can come find me later, whenever you want,” barely quiets his guilty conscience. 

He’s just so scared that Jiwoong knows. And if he knows, it’s all over. It’s selfish, and his guilt yells that he’s taking advantage of a situation of his own making, but he’s known himself to be greedy, especially when it comes to Jiwoong. 

As the countdown nears –and really, it wasn’t that long, barely a half-hour or so– Matthew reenters the house and seeks out Jiwoong. They have to play the part, after all, and this will likely be the only New Year’s kiss they will ever share –he doubts their charade will go on for much longer– so Matthew wants to find a way to enjoy it, if he can. 

Jiwoong is waiting in front of a window, staring at the snowflakes as they tumble by, two flutes of cheap uni-student-fare celebratory champagne in hand. 

“Was it nice outside?” Matthew is tired of noticing just how much Jiwoong is trying to understand what’s going on inside his head, gaze surely cataloguing every slight change in Matthew’s expression. 

“Yeah, it’s really pretty.” Matthew looks away from Jiwoong’s prying eyes, gaze set outside through the window, watching the snowflakes pass.

“Yes, it is.”

When the clock strikes midnight and they kiss, just as they are expected to, just like every other couple does, Matthew knows he isn’t fully present for it. He’s somewhere else, far away, perhaps in a world where this kiss wasn’t just a lie, just like every other one they’ve had. So much for enjoying it. 

He echoes everyone’s greetings for the new year, raises his flute to the crowd in cheers, and downs it. He lowers it and places it on the nearest table, and he sees Jiwoong do the same from the corner of his eye. 

“Hey.” A pair of hands cup his cheeks and turn him so they face one another. “Happy New Year,” Jiwoong whispers, tone attempting at comfort but underlined with a current of confusion and worry, and oh, has Matthew gotten to know Jiwoong so well, somehow, along the way. Learned so much, yet gained so little, compared to what his feeble little heart wants. 

When Matthew snaps himself back into reality, staring into Jiwoong’s eyes, he wonders why he sees his own chaos reflected there, their fake reality crumbling into ruins around them.

He can’t do this. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, lightly stroking the backs of Jiwoong’s palms before removing them, turning around, and running away. 

He barely registers whether he slams the door behind himself or not. He sits on the curb for a while. Jiwoong doesn’t follow him. His pants get wet from sitting in the snow. His hair does too, snowflake after snowflake melting on his scalp, on his cheeks. He’s unsure how much time passes. Jiwoong doesn’t follow him. He buries his head into his arms resting on his knees, and tries his best not to cry. 

Fake, it’s all fake–

A familiar body sits down next to him, places a delicate arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go home, hmm?”

Matthew nods. 

It isn’t who he wanted, but it’s what he deserves.

He’s grateful when Hanbin doesn’t ask him any questions during the taxi ride home.

 

---

monday, january 1st.

---

 

Matthew’s gratefulness is short-lived. 

As soon as their apartment door shuts, Hanbin is immediately on his case. “Seokmae-ya, what was that about?”

Matthew almost bites, defensive, but his heart isn’t really in it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He just wants this conversation to end. He wants to sulk all alone in his misery. He wants to bury himself in his bed and cry. 

However, Hanbin is relentless. “You ran out almost immediately after the clock struck midnight, like you were Cinderella and you missed your curfew.”

Matthew can’t even find it in himself to laugh at the attempt at a joke. He says nothing. 

Hanbin insists. “You didn’t even say goodbye to anyone. Jiwoong-hyung waited about twenty minutes before coming to find me and to ask me to make sure you made it home safe. He was worried.” 

And that’s it. That’s all it takes. The final thread of his frail, barely-composed sanity. He isn’t sure why, but the mention of Jiwoong’s worry, Jiwoong’s care, is what finally makes it snap. 

“I’m in love with Jiwoon-hyung.” 

There. Now he’s said it.

Hanbin stares at him for a bit, like he’s trying to understand the joke, where exactly this declaration of love is coming from, and he settles on a chuckle. “Well, you’ve already said that, Seokmae-ya. Weeks ago, actually.”

Matthew could laugh self-deprecatingly. He should be crying, probably. But for some reason, he’s almost numb. It doesn’t matter. He pushes on. “No, hyung, I’m actually in love with him.” 

Hanbin’s brow furrows, mirthful silliness slowly slipping off his features like rain sliding down a glass window at Matthew’s blank face, his serious expression.

Matthew takes a deep breath, trying to prepare himself, the sigh rattling through his bones, refusing to admit to himself that there isn’t any amount of breathing that can prepare him for what he knows he needs to confess for any of this to make sense. “We’re not actually dating.”

There. Now he’s really said it.

“What?” And Hanbin laughs a little again, like a part of him is trying to convince him that Matthew is pulling an offputting, insane, silly little prank on him for shits and giggles. 

Nonetheless, Matthew pushes on. “We’ve been fake dating,” and oh, now that he’s said that out loud, the breakdown begins. He shakes at the admission– both at the fact that he’s officially confirming that he’s been lying to Hanbin, at least about this, and also at the fact that the truth is finally out. 

Hanbin doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t even address the elephant in the room, that Matthew’s been lying to him. “Well, just real date him, then.” 

Matthew scoffs. “You know damn well it isn’t that easy.”

“Why the fuck not? You’ve probably been hurting Jiwoong-hyung with this nonsense anyway, since he’s in love with you.” 

“Can everyone just stop saying that?” Matthew practically shouts. 

Hanbin doesn’t even reply, jaw dropped in disbelief. 

“He isn’t,” Matthew insists pathetically, volume fading with his sadness. “He can’t be.” 

“Why the fuck not?” Hanbin repeats.

“He just isn’t, okay? He’s in love with someone else.” 

“And where did you get that idea?” If Hanbin were a meaner person, Matthew is sure he would’ve laughed straight to his face. As it stands, his best friend is one of the best people in the world, so the line between his brows just furrows further instead at the distress Matthew is certain is evident all over his face. 

“You said it yourself, remember? Months ago, you said that Jiwoong was waiting for the love of his life, and that’s why he hasn’t been dating anyone in over a year. I’m just a placeholder,” Matthew rambles morosely, “keeping everyone else off of his case until he can finally find a way to confess to him.”

Hanbin tilts his head, deeply sighs and starts, “Seokmae-ya,” but then he stops, hesitating, and seems to think better than to say what he was about to say. “You should just talk to him about that,” he says instead. 

“Why would I do that?” Matthew asks, desperately. “At least now, I can somewhat enjoy the delusion of the fake relationship. I can kiss him, hold his hand, wear his sweaters, and pretend that I’m the one he loves. If I remind him of the existence of this other guy, it’ll all be over.” 

“Matthew,” Hanbin insists, begs even. “Please.” 

Matthew freezes. Hanbin said Matthew. Not Seokmae. Matthew can’t remember the last time that happened. His lip quivers. “Hyung, I’m scared.”

Hanbin’s gaze softens. “I know. But you owe it to him, and to yourself. You have to tell him.”

“After Seollal,” Matthew whispers. “I’ll tell him after Seollal.”

“Matthew–”

“Not before that, I can’t. I’m going home with him, I can’t ruin that–” 

“Okay,” Hanbin agrees before Matthew can babble his way to tearing up, and sighs. “Come here,” he says, hands reaching out to bring Matthew into a hug. Matthew gratefully accepts, running into his hyung’s arms and snuggling into the old comfort. Hanbin runs his hand down Matthew’s back, through his hair, calming, soothing. “It’ll all be okay, I promise.”  

You can’t promise that, Matthew thinks. But he nods and backs away, wiping away the wetness at the corners of his eyes. He’s cried so much today.

“But, don’t think I’ve gotten over you lying to me this entire time,” Hanbin teases, ruffling through Matthew’s hair, using his knuckle to catch one of the tears Matthew had missed. “You guys were convincing, though, like really convincing.” 

Matthew doesn’t want the reminder, it just hurts. “Hyung, please.”

“I’m sorry,” Hanbin pats his head one more time. “I’m just saying.”

 

---

wednesday, january 3rd. 

---

 

When Matthew leaves on the dance team’s workshop retreat, he doesn’t say goodbye. 

Jiwoong had almost forgotten it was happening, even though Matthew had mentioned it a few times leading up to and during their week together. That he’d be gone for the two weeks between New Year’s and Seollal on their yearly dance trip. As club leaders, he and Hanbin had been preparing the reservations weeks ago, making sure accommodations, buses and crew members were all accounted for. Jiwoong remembers how he had jokingly suggested that he’d come see them off, and how Matthew’s eyes had sparkled in a way that had made his heart stop. 

After seeing that sparkle, Jiwoong had been planning on actually going. He would’ve made sure Matthew had packed all his necessities, and wrapped an extra scarf around his neck to keep him bundled up nice and warm. Would’ve laughed when Matthew would’ve insisted that since he’s Canadian, he doesn’t get cold as much. Would’ve held his cheeks, cute and blushy from the cold, as he would’ve kissed him goodbye. Would’ve told him he was going to miss him and held his hand until Hanbin would’ve tugged him away to board the bus. 

But. 

Jiwoong hasn’t heard from Matthew since the party. Hanbin had texted him, saying they got home safe. Now, the closest thing to an update that he’s received has been through Hao telling him that both roommates were busy packing for their retreat. Even though it’s only been two days, after spending an entire week together, it seems obvious that Matthew is avoiding him. 

I’m sorry. 

Those two words were the last ones he’d heard from Matthew. That, and Matthew’s panic attack, have been haunting him to no end. He’s been driving himself sick trying to figure out their meaning, switching between pacing the floor of their apartment to Hao’s consternation, and sitting blankly staring at nothing, to Hao’s concern. He’s self-aware enough about that, at least.

But.

He’s reached two conclusions. One, that something had shifted after the kiss, and Matthew had figured something out. And two, that Minjun’s arrival had set something off in Matthew’s mind and made him completely panic over that sudden realisation. 

When connecting those two dots, Jiwoong can only reach one conclusion. 

Matthew knows that Jiwoong loves him. 

And, well. 

Jiwoong knows Matthew very well– better than most, he dares to say. He can easily trace the path between realisation and panic due to one simple fact: Matthew doesn’t love him back, and he feels guilty for it.

A completely irrational emotion, Jiwoong thinks. Jiwoong is the one that is taking advantage of him. Jiwoong is the one that should feel horrible– and he does. He’s ruined their friendship, his closest bond, just because he wanted to experience being loved by Matthew, even if it wasn’t real.

But it makes sense. If anything, it’s the only thing that makes sense about any of this. Matthew is the kindest person he’s ever met, and Jiwoong knows that he prioritizes his relationships with loved ones above all else. One time, when Matthew and Hanbin had an argument about how to run dance practice and it had gotten out of hand, he had spent hours crying in a locked bathroom, ignoring all of Hanbin’s calls, before texting Jiwoong for help. By then, he had completely blamed himself and was convinced that Hanbin would never speak to him again. 

This is all his fault. Matthew feels this way, and it’s his fault. He couldn’t be happy with what they had, and now he’s gone and ruined everything. 

Now, Jiwoong’s at a bit of a loss. He wants to respect Matthew’s boundaries, obviously. Give him time to come to grips with his realization, and hopefully, with his unneeded guilt. This part isn’t the issue. 

No, the issue is that guilt is eating away at Jiwoong’s entire being. He definitely has to confess now to clear the air and hopefully, their friendship will be able to survive it all; survive his opportunism, his greed, him. He couldn’t stand to lose Matthew’s presence in his life, but a voice inside his head keeps reminding him that he would deserve it. 

But what about Seollal?

His stomach shrinks further. He promised Matthew he could come home with him for Seollal. 

Would he still even want to?

The image of Matthew, homesick and nostalgic, sitting on Jiwoong’s bed as he called his mother. The tears bubbling prettily along his lash lines as he cursed out an airline. The shaky smile he gave to reassure Jiwoong that he would be okay as they squeezed one another’s hands. 

The hope that took over, sunshine smile on full display, when Jiwoong made his invitation. 

Would the confession ruin that? If there’s one thing Jiwoong knows about himself after this rollercoaster of a month –and even before that, if he’s being honest with himself– it’s that he would willingly withstand any amount of pain just to see Matthew smile. 

There can only be one conclusion. 

He promised Matthew he could come home with him for Seollal. He won’t ruin that for him. He won’t force him to spend the holiday alone in a cold, lonely apartment, hours away from all of his loved ones. 

If he can be one thing, just one thing, it’s Matthew’s hand to hold through any storm, no matter what. 

If Matthew can ignore the realization, and still wants to come home with him and spend the holiday with his family, then that’s what they’ll do. 

After that, however, it wouldn’t be fair to their friendship to keep going along like this. He’ll have to confess, and Matthew will get to decide what to rebuild, and what to let crumble into the sand like it never existed in the first place. Jiwoong will respect any boundary placed, any new rule created, let the waves drown him if need be. 

Matthew deserves better. 

After all, Matthew isn’t in love with Jiwoong.

Notes:

Notes for the panic attack scene (includes spoilers):
The scene is during the Matthew POV half of the holiday party, beginning with the words "When Minjun walks in through the front door [...]". Minjun shows up, uninvited and unannounced, interrupting a perspective-changing couch makeout session between our two idiots in love. Minjun's presence, paralleling mattwoong's first kiss at the club, reminds Matthew that despite how he might feel, everything about their 'relationship' is fake, and this sends him into a panic spiral of guilt and self hatred, particularly lined by the repeating of the words "Fake, it's all fake–" in his mind. Jiwoong manages to help him calm down by guiding him through the "54321" grounding exercise. The scene ends with the words "It’s at this point that Matthew is finally calm enough [...].

this is the shortest chapter at 10.6k words and it's also the chapter that kicked my ass the most... i'm happy with the end result though lol

last chapter should be up in a few days xoxo
thank you so much for all the comments and kudos, they mean so much to me <3

Chapter 4: chapter four: the privilege of being yours

Notes:

it's finally here! proofread and ready to go, here comes the final chapter of this fic. although i've posted it in its entirety within the span of a week, it's been a labour of love from months of work. thank you all so much for reading and giving it love <3

ps: it’s finally time for seollal! in this chapter, matthew meets jiwoong’s family. although this is purely a work of fiction, the family members' existences (age gaps, for example) are inspired by their real counterparts, and i felt weird about giving real people fake names. as such, please excuse the weird “jiwoong’s mother” “jiwoong’s father” “jiwoong’s older brother” “jiwoong’s younger brother” word tango <3

pps: indirect chapter spoiler (i listened to it on loop while writing) xoxo gossip girl (ps: it’s going to be the number one song on my wrapped this year bc of this i’m sure) (pps: let’s pretend that the end credits play this version and not the promise of the world ver, okay? thanks besties)

ppps: chapter title from 'turning page' by sleeping at last 

 

---

tuesday, january 10th. 

---

 

Matthew hasn’t heard from Jiwoong since the holiday party.

He’s being unfair, he knows. It's not like he’s made any attempt at communication either. He’s the one who said sorry and then just ran away without any explanation. He’s the one who’s ruined everything with his emotions, with his feelings. With his love. 

Jiwoong is the one that didn’t run after him, his heart argues. He’s the one who still hasn’t asked why. 

So it goes. 

Matthew knows his dancing is being affected by his mood. 

He can hear it in the stressed tone of Hanbin’s eight count. He can see it in the concerned puppy dog looks that Gunwook sends his way, offering his bear hugs that Matthew can just melt into. He can sense it in the way Yujin sits with him in silence during the water breaks, offering his second earbud so they can listen to music together. He can smell it in the fried chicken takeout that Ricky buys for him, and taste it in the snacks that Gyuvin shares with him late at night. The concern isn’t even limited to the dance team. He receives worried texts from Keita, playfully annoyed texts from Taerae due to his radio silence. 

He isn’t sure what else he can do. He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do. He had decided to give himself until after Seollal to irreversibly change his relationship with Jiwoong forever. It’s his own self-imposed deadline, driven by guilt and wistfulness and heartbreak all at once. 

But what if Jiwoong already hates him? 

The echo of Jiwoong’s prying gaze after Minjun left is burned into his mind’s eye. The way Jiwoong stroked his sides in concern, grounded him through his panic attack with so much love and patience it somehow preemptively broke Matthew’s heart beyond understanding. 

He knows, he knows–

What is Matthew supposed to do if Jiwoong knows? Jiwoong is too nice, Matthew is all too aware. He’d try so hard to break Matthew’s heart so gently, but it wouldn’t matter. His fragile heart is barely holding together as is– it would shatter regardless of how delicately Jiwoong tried to hold it in his hands. 

A knock at his door sends him out of his thoughts. “Come in,” he says, and is surprised to see Hanbin walk in. Not because he hadn’t expected to see him, but because he hadn't expected him to knock. They were sharing the room, after all. That can only mean one thing.

Hanbin shuffles over to his side, sits down right next to him, and grabs his hand, twining their fingers together without a word. 

Oh boy. 

“You have to talk to him.”

Indignation immediately floods Matthew, replacing the morose mood trailing after him all day. “Absolutely not,” he snaps, hackles raised.

Hanbin just looks at him. 

As it stands, Matthew knows he’s been difficult to be around for the past week, so he catches himself and tries to fix his attitude before continuing. “We said I didn’t have to tell him, not yet,” he mumbles defensively, apprehension sneaking into his tone. 

Hanbin’s gaze softens, a soft ‘ah’ slipping through his lips. “Oh, Seokmae-ya, I didn’t mean you had to confess. But you do need to talk to him.”

Dance practice today was rough. He’s lucky Hanbin knows why, and isn’t here to berate him for it. But… “Why,” he asks petulantly.  

“You know why.”

Matthew grumbles, feels his shaky heart crack just a touch more. Crosses his one free arm across his chest in primal self defence.

Hanbin watches him fondly, and Matthew can tell he’s withholding that little smile he always has when he’s exasperated with Matthew’s cute but bratty behaviour. “You aren’t coping well–“

“But–“

“No, let me speak.”

Matthew grumbles, looks away in defiance, but accepts Hanbin’s refusal of his interruption. 

“You know you aren’t. You’re barely keeping up with dance practice. You aren’t goofing around with Ricky and Gyuvin-ah as much. You aren’t coddling Gunwook and Yujinie, either. And you haven’t been sleeping well. Look at the bags under your pretty eyes, Seokmae-ya.”

Matthew grumbles some more, though the silly little compliment does help sweeten his sour mood.  

“Jiwoong-hyung isn’t doing well, either.”

At this, Matthew freezes. 

Hanbin continues. “He asked me to take you home, so I did. He asked me to tell him how you were doing, so I did, until I eventually told him to ask you himself, and now he’s asking Hao-hyung to ask me instead.”

Matthew kind of wants the floor to swallow him whole. Jiwoong wants to know how he’s doing, but he doesn’t want to talk to him?

“Hao is also worried. He says Jiwoong-hyung keeps switching between pacing the apartment and sitting still for hours on end and… hey, look at me.”

Against his better judgment, Matthew does. 

“I knew it. Don’t look like that, Seokmae-ya, he wants to talk to you. He just thinks that you don’t.”

Oh. 

“You’re both so worried about one another, but too scared to talk to each other.” Hanbin bites his lip. “Hao is convinced that you two are about to break up, and he’s confused because he doesn’t know why, and concerned because you’re both clearly miserable about it, and it’s even worse because Jiwoong-hyung won’t even open up to him about it.” Hanbin sighs, squeezes his hand. “And I think we both know why.”

Matthew can guess. “We said we’d keep it a secret,” he says quietly. 

“I know, and I get that, really I do, and you know I’d keep any secret you’d ever confide in me…” Hanbin replies, just as quietly, soothingly. “But I think this would all go just a little better if Hao knew.”

Despite his every emotion begging to keep the secret –he and Jiwoong had agreed it would be best– Matthew knows that Hanbin is right. Matthew has Hanbin to help him navigate through this mess. It isn’t fair that Jiwoong doesn’t have Hao to do the same. 

Matthew nods, but he feels far away, back in that cafe, back in that park, where he and Jiwoong laid out the terms for their downfall. 

Hanbin squeezes his hand once more, a comforting gesture written into the DNA of their friendship, and it helps Matthew feel just a bit more grounded. “You sure you’re okay with me telling Hao? I’ll just tell him about the fake dating part, not the real love part, promise.”

Matthew thinks about Jiwoong, switching between pacing his apartment and staring blankly at its wall. 

This is all his fault. 

He nods.

“Talk to your ‘Jiwoon-hyung’ soon, okay?”

Matthew blushes to the roots of his hair, but doesn’t promise anything.

 

---

wednesday, january 11th.

---

 

“Yah, Kim Jiwoong!”

Jiwoong jumps from his seat on the couch.

This is quite the change from watching the snowflakes drift by, misery for company as he considers the multiple different ways in which Matthew could reject his confessions. 

Now, instead, he has Hao for company, and he brings pure disbelief along with him –tinted with just a hint of rage– as he charges into their living room. 

“That’s hyung to you,” Jiwoong quips half-heartedly as he watches Hao pace. He doesn’t even know what he’s done to deserve being addressed this way in his own home. 

“You’ve only been “fake” dating Matthew this entire time?”

Ah. That would do it. 

Jiwoong winces. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, but this protest is even more half-hearted than the first one. 

Hao just raises an eyebrow. 

Jiwoong sighs. Looks like the cat is out of the bag. “…Did Hanbin figure it out?”

If possible, Hao looks even more bewildered than before, volume increasing with each word. “No, you guys are far too convincing. No, Matthew had to tell him, because he’s been just as depressed as you have been–“

Matthew’s been depressed?

“–and so, Hanbin and I have concluded that you need to talk to each other about this before you throw yourselves into the worst kind of misunderstanding and drive all four of us completely insane!!” By the end of the sentence, Hao is almost yelling, and he takes a few breaths to compose himself, but it barely works, because his next words are still shouted. “What were you thinking?”

And oh, there’s the look Jiwoong didn’t want to see. He’s been running away from it for the past week, avoiding Hao’s gaze at any cost. 

“Hyung, why would you fake date the boy you’re in love with?”

Pity. 

He’d much rather Hao be angry with him rather than upset on his behalf. He doesn’t deserve it. 

How does he even begin to explain it?

“Minjun…” he starts, but doesn’t finish the sentence, knowing it’s no use, and isn’t even the truth. “I’d do anything for Matthew,” is what he settles on, because it’s true, even though it hides the deep, ugly greed that’s seeded and grown in his heart since that fateful night in the club. 

Hao sighs. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Matthew, but you care more about that boy than you care about yourself.”

Well, as true as that may be, it isn’t fair, because Jiwoong isn’t being truthful– not fully. “I was being selfish,” he admits. 

“Selfish?” 

Jiwoong doesn’t understand why Hao looks so dumbfounded. 

“You were the one being selfish?” Now Hao almost looks angry on his behalf. “You, the one putting himself through heartbreak just to, what, help him avoid his barely-ex–“

“Hey,” Jiwoong interjects, “that isn’t fair to him. He isn’t being selfish. I’m the one that’s gotten the chance to date him, even if it isn’t real. I’ve gotten to hug him, cuddle him, kiss him.” He feels his voice get quieter as he lists ways he’s been able to show Matthew his devotion. “I’ve gotten to hold his hand, his waist, his face. I’ve gotten to spoil him like he deserves, shown him how much he deserves.” He stares Hao right in the eye. “I’ve gotten to show him how much I love him.”  

Hao simply lifts an eyebrow. 

“Sure,” Jiwoong insists, “he’s doing all of this out of his own volition, I know that, but it doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t actually want to.”

A short staccato laugh escapes Hao’s lips, but he quickly covers his mouth in apology. “I see how it is,” he says as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Well, one thing’s for sure, you two definitely need to talk.”

Now Jiwoong is the one that’s confused. “I’m the one that’s taking advantage of the situation, not the other way around.”

“I understand,” Hao says, but there’s still a bemused laugh tinting his words. He shakes his head again, as if to reorganize his thoughts. “Look, you still want to take him home for Seollal, right?”

Jiwoong can feel his ears redden, but he doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“So remind him that you do. Tell him that you want him there. You guys weren’t planning on extending the charade to your parents, were you?”

Jiwoong shakes his head. 

“Right, so it’ll just be like the old times. No need to pretend anything. Just be yourselves. But you need to talk to him first, okay?”

Right. Like old times. How hard could it be?

Ha.

---

 

When Matthew agreed to let Hanbin tell Hao the truth of the arrangement, he didn’t expect to receive a call the next day. 

It doesn’t stop him from fumbling for his phone and answering as quickly as possible despite the pit gnawing in his gut at the thought of addressing the elephant in the room.

“Jiwoon-hyung?”

“Hi, Maeddu.”

Maeddu. Matthew’s heart tumbles through his chest, but not in a bad way. It’s stupid, and it’s his own fault, but he’s missed his hyung’s voice. Despite everything, it makes the pit in his gut begin to disappear. 

“Hi,” he whispers back. He’s not sure how to go about this, he wasn’t ready, he doesn’t know what to say, even though all he wants to do is talk with him. He twirls a loose string on his sweater –Jiwoong’s sweater– anxiously. 

“Maeddu, about Seollal, I just wanted to say–“

“Wait,” Matthew cuts in, because if Jiwoong is about to retract his offer –as he should, after what Matthew’s done to them this past week– Matthew would nonetheless burst into tears without even having the chance to apologize. “Sorry, can I go first, please?” He’s quiet, unsure of himself, despite knowing that Jiwoong deserves to hear it before anything else. 

It’s quiet on the other side of the line, and Matthew is worried that maybe his interruption has completely thrown Jiwoong off, and oh, what was he thinking, but– 

“Yes, of course, anything for you,” Jiwoong’s whisper finally comes through the line, and Matthew’s heart jumps in his chest at hearing those words again, although out of love or guilt, he isn’t sure. 

“Okay.” The string unravels just a bit more as Matthew continues to tug at it. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for what happened at the party–“ 

“You don’t have to apologize for that–“

“Yes I do,” Matthew says. “I really do, please hyung?”

Matthew wishes he could see Jiwoong’s face as silence fills the void between them once again. He can see it in his mind’s eye, Jiwoong’s concerned look as he nonetheless nods his agreement to let Matthew continue. 

“I shouldn’t have left you there without an explanation and without letting you know I made it home safe.” Hanbin’s rant yesterday has been haunting him. “It wasn’t fair to you, or to Hanbin-hyung and Hao-hyung.” Now that he’s started, it’s so easy to keep going. Words keep spewing from his mouth, each one unveiling the pieces of guilt that were festering in the pit. “I really should’ve reached out first after running away. I'm also sorry if I somehow made you think it was your fault, because it really, really wasn’t, hyung, I mean it. I’m sorry if I worried you, or made you feel like I didn’t want to hear from you. I did. I do, I always do. You know that, right?”

Jiwoong doesn’t say anything. Maybe that’s what Matthew deserves. He thinks about Jiwoong sitting pensively on his couch, Jiwoong pacing the apartment like a ghost. Matthew hates that they’re having this conversation by call, that they’re hours away from each other. He hates that he can’t see Jiwoong’s face, can’t hold his hand, can’t whisper apologies as he brushes his fingers through his hair to comfort him despite being the cause of his pain. 

The dam has been broken, and now Matthew can’t stop, will go to any lengths to convince Jiwoong just how sorry he is. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, how I’ve done us wrong. You’re always on my mind, and I miss you, and now I’ve gone and told Hanbin-hyung– I’m so sorry, hyung, really–“

“I’m sorry, too.”

What? Matthew’s rant stops in its tracks. 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t come check on you after you left, and that I asked Hanbin about you instead of asking you directly. I’m sorry for making assumptions, for thinking that your silence meant that you didn’t want to hear from me, even though it’s never meant that.”

Matthew shakes his head, because no, Jiwoong’s choices were completely rational, and none of this is his fault. “Hyung, what–“

Jiwoong continues. “I’m sorry for making you feel like there’s something that you can’t tell me, and for making you feel like your only choice was to run away.” 

It’s a complete bullseye, and Matthew shouldn’t be surprised that Jiwoong’s caught on so easily. He pulls the string even further, ravelling it around his ring finger. Still, he cuts in, “No, that isn’t your fault–“

“Maeddu. Let me say it, okay?”

Matthew shuts up. 

“Before any of that, though, I want to say this, above all.”

He holds his breath. Here it comes: the rescinding of the offer. 

The gentle acknowledgment, and the even gentler rejection.

“I really, really want you to come home with me for Seollal.” Jiwoong takes a deep breath. “Do you still want to come?”

Oh. 

Matthew’s string breaks, taking his fear and doubt and guilt away with it. It’s like he can finally stop desperately fighting against the waves after a long day at sea, safely tethered to the port he calls home. 

He doesn’t deserve it, but oh, does he want it. 

“Yes, please,” and Matthew doesn’t care if he sounds desperate, as happy tears bubble along his vision, as relief courses through his veins. “I really, really do.”

Jiwoong lets out a short laugh in delight, bright and clear like the ring of the most perfect bell. “We need to stop abusing the word ‘really,’” he says, and now it’s Matthew’s turn to laugh, too. 

“I’m sorry,” Matthew says one more time, but it’s lighter now, unburdened by the layers of guilt and sadness piling up since he had stopped talking to Jiwoong. 

“No more apologies, not for this, okay? I missed you,” The emphasis in the word, the emotion, is almost tangible and it takes his breath away. In his mind’s eye, Matthew can see the fond smile that accompanies that particular tone of voice, the one he knows so well. 

“Okay,” Matthew agrees without any fight, and it’s his turn to smile now. “I missed you, too.” He hopes that Jiwoong is able to pick up on his tone in the same way.

The phone call doesn’t end for another hour, chatting about everything and nothing, catching up with one another about what they’ve missed for the past almost two weeks. Jiwoong’s been reading poetry books. Matthew’s been dancing for hours on end. Jiwoong’s visited that fragrance store he likes so much. Matthew’s been helping Gunwook and Yujin with their math and science homework (not grammar– he’s not confident enough in that field). Jiwoong’s been dragged out for dinner by Hao as a “replacement boyfriend” until their dance retreat comes to an end, much to Hanbin’s consternation. Matthew’s been dragged out by Hanbin for the same reasons under the guise of playful revenge. Jiwoong’s been perfecting his pancake craft and is somehow almost running out of maple syrup already. Matthew’s been force-fed by Ricky and Gyuvin more times than he can count, and has barely entered a kitchen since the retreat has started.

They haven’t discussed the real issue, but Matthew hardly cares. 

The elephant is still there, taking up a large corner of the room. But the metaphor isn’t quite right, because they’ve acknowledged that the elephant exists, and have agreed that he can exist for the time being. Something that you can’t tell me. Before any of that. It’s almost like he and Jiwoong had come to the same, unspoken conclusion. 

Not before Seollal. 

The promise they had made to spend the holiday together is too important to both of them. They’ve come to a truce, one last week where they can pretend like nothing has changed between them, like Matthew hasn’t done irreparable damage to their relationship in his selfish, greedy demands to build a lie over a truth. Like this entire situation won’t end in heartbreak. 

For now, they can just be. 

---

 

It’s almost funny how quickly things return to normal after the phone call. 

Matthew feels Jiwoong’s absence like a missing limb, this remains the same, but that’s where the similarities end. Because now, he knows that Jiwoong feels the same way about that, at least, that he misses Matthew, too. Weirdly enough, despite the continued existence of their unspoken secrets hanging over their heads, there isn’t any more guilt. 

Jiwoong knows, and he doesn’t hate him. Jiwoong knows, and he hasn’t distanced himself. Jiwoong knows, and he still misses him.  

It makes it a lot easier for him to loosen his tongue, lower his inhibitions. 

Matthew texts Jiwoong whenever he misses him, whenever he thinks of him. He meant it when he said that Jiwoong is always on his mind. So he texts him, a lot. Jiwoong always answers in a heartbeat, reassuring messages that calm the more volatile emotions swirling in his chest, soothes them into a love so enduring and consuming that it should overwhelm him. For now, it no longer scares him. 

Sometimes, he toes the line of silliness. 

<<hanbin-hyung seems both relieved yet exasperated that my dancing’s gone back to normal since we’ve called :P

<<[picture of a fox and butterfly] us <3 

<<ricky stopped buying all my meals and gyuvinie is no longer giving me free access to his snacks >:(  

Sometimes, he toes the line of confessing his feelings.

<<this stupid bed is so cold, i wish we were cuddling instead >:(

<<I wanna see you, i can’t wait to spend seollal together 

<<hyung, i miss you

Sometimes –read: last night– he toes the line of risking it all.

<<[attachment] hehe goodnight :P

Okay, so maybe he shouldn’t have sent that selfie in bed, shirtless, but he hopes the caption will make it fall under the ‘silly’ category and not the ‘thirst trap’ one. He blames sleep deprivation and Hanbin’s grueling workout regimen. The kids are exhausted, and that includes him too.

As much as he loves dancing with the members of the club, he’s excited that the camp is soon coming to an end.

After all, that means he’ll be able to see Jiwoong.

 

---

tuesday, january 17th.

---

 

Jiwoong wraps his coat around himself tighter as he waits in front of the bus stop, the wind and snow whizzing through his hair as they pick up. His hands alternate between fidgeting with the scarf around his neck and his phone, rereading Matthew’s last texts for the fiftieth time.

>>can’t find my scarf, i think one of the kids accidentally packed it with their stuff :/

<<the cute fluffy one you always wear? :(

>>no, i couldn’t find it when i was packing, so at least it’s my backup that i lost hahaha

Jiwoong knows why he couldn’t find it. Matthew had worn it on Christmas and had left it at his apartment in the week leading up to the holiday party. Jiwoong’s the one wearing it, now, and he continues to fiddle with it nervously. Ever since Matthew had sent him the texts this morning, he hadn’t been able to shake the memory of Matthew’s sparkling joy when he had joking suggested that he’d come see him off. Although that hadn’t been turned into reality, he thinks that picking him up might be just as good. 

And, well, even though he knows that he already apologized to Matthew for asking Hanbin about him rather than talking to him directly, he thinks Matthew will forgive him this time around, for the sake of the element of surprise.

<<what time will you guys be arriving? i wanna surprise matthew

>>lol cute. like 5:30 if traffic goes well

Hanbin didn’t ask if Hao had come too, and well, Jiwoong wasn’t going to ruin that surprise.

Hao gently slaps his arm with the back of his hand. “Put that away, the bus is finally arriving.”

In the distance, Jiwoong can finally see the obnoxiously large bus pulling into the street, and he awkwardly fumbles his phone into his pocket –making sure Hao doesn’t see his new wallpaper because really, he doesn’t need yet another berating from his roommate about how cruel he is to himself, and that picture is only for him, anyway– and waits with bated breath. 

The bus stops, and Yujin is the first one to pop out, bag slung on his shoulder. Before he fully walks out, he turns around and yells over his shoulder into the bus. “Jiwoong-hyung’s here!” 

The group’s baby jumps off the stairs of the bus, a satisfied little smile across his lips as he hobbles over to them through the light snow as a cacophony of shrieks and teasing explodes from within. Jiwoong can just about make out some of the different comments. 

“No way!” Gyuvin shouts.

“I’m not surprised,” Ricky says nonchalantly.

“Pay up, Gyuvin-ah!” Gunwook demands as he guffaws.

“I didn’t think he’d be so obvious!” Gyuvin protests in his own defense.

Jiwoong tries his best not to be offended.

“What about me, hmm?” Hao asks as Yujin huddles up between them both to hide from the cold of the wind and snow, quiet and cuddly. Jiwoong withholds the urge to ruffle the boy’s hair, but it seems that Hao does not have the same impulse control as he reaches out to do just that. “No announcement of my presence?” 

“This is funnier,” Yujin replies, peering at Jiwoong out of the corner of his eye with the same small, teasing smile as earlier.

“Move out of the way!” 

Someone shoves their way to the front of the bus.

Matthew stands at the top of the stairs, and time seems to freeze as they stare at each other for the first time in weeks. Matthew’s face betrays a range of emotions, rapid-fire through each one so quickly that Jiwoong barely has the time to process any of them.

In a flash, Matthew’s arms are wrapped tightly around his neck. They give him a tight squeeze before the boy backs up just enough to stare him directly in his eyes, completely ignoring the teasing laughs from the boys deboarding the bus. Jiwoong feels like Matthew is gazing directly into his soul as he plays with the hair at his nape. “Jiwoon-hyung,” he says, and it sounds so reverent that Jiwoong can’t even begin to hope that he’s reading him correctly. “I missed you,” he mumbles then, just for them.  

Jiwoong tightens the arms he had unconsciously wrapped around Matthew’s waist to balance him and stop them both from teetering due to Matthew’s eagerness. He rubs a thumb on Matthew’s back in reassurance, in reciprocation. “It’s only been seventeen days, baby,” Jiwoong whispers, but they both know he doesn’t mean it like that.

Matthew chuckles softly at the callback as he pulls his fingers through the wind-blown tangles of Jiwoong’s hair. “That’s seventeen days too many,” he replies dutifully. He seems to doubt himself for two seconds, but then he tightens his grip and tucks his face into Jiwoong’s neck, letting out a deep sigh of relief.

Jiwoong releases his own sigh at the reassuring, comforting feeling of Matthew in his arms once again, so entirely right that he feels himself settle. “I missed you too, Maeddu,” he whispers. If possible, he squeezes the boy even closer to himself.

“Alright, that’s enough, lovebirds,” Hanbin’s voice floats through, and Matthew jumps back, blush adorning his cheeks as he glares at his best friend. “Yujin’s seen enough,” Hanbin adds, completely unabashed in his teasing even as he hypocritically wraps his own arms around Hao’s waist and kisses him heatedly. 

“He hasn’t seen anything, actually,” Gyuvin chirps up cheekily from behind Yujin’s shoulders with his hands still covering the maknae in question’s eyes.

“You can let go now, hyung,” Yujin mumbles, and Jiwoong’s sure that he’s rolling his eyes under Gyuvin’s palms as he swats halfheartedly at his hyung’s arms. 

He feels a tug around his neck, and Jiwoong turns his gaze back to the only person who actually matters, once again back in his personal space after recovering from Hanbin’s teasing. 

“Jiwoon-hyung, is this my scarf?” The twinkle in Matthew’s eye shows that he already knows the answer.

Jiwoong chuckles fondly as he nods, removing the scarf and starting to wrap it around Matthew’s bare neck instead to keep him bundled up nice and warm. 

“Hyung, no, you’ll get cold.” Jiwoong laughs as Matthew paws at his wrapping efforts and pouts. “I’m Canadian, I don’t get cold as much. You need it more than I do,” he insists, but his actions contradict his words as he finally gives up his fight against the scarf settling around his neck. However, the pout doesn’t leave his face.

When Jiwoong is finally satisfied that the soft, fluffy scarf is properly protecting Matthew’s neck from the wind, he holds the boy’s cheeks instead, already cute and blushy from the cold, but now turning even pinker under his doting gaze as Matthew’s own eyes avoid him shyly. 

Jiwoong is so fond. He leans in and drops a soft kiss on the tip of Matthew’s nose and can’t help but smile at the boy’s surprised but pleased face as he pulls away. 

“Come on,” he says, grabbing Matthew’s bag from the floor where he had dropped it unceremoniously and slings it over his shoulder. He holds Matthew’s hand and tugs the boy away in the direction of their off-campus apartments. “Let me take you home.” 

When Jiwoong drops him off at the front door of his apartment, he has a hard time letting go of Matthew’s hand. He ignores his heart’s clamour to kiss his love goodbye and can’t take his eyes off of him until the door is finally closed. 

 

---

thursday, january 19th. 

---

 

The soft jingle of the golden bell rings through the cafe as Jiwoong pushes the door open. As he glances over to their usual corner, he notes that the banquette is still empty, and that Matthew has not yet arrived.

Perfect. 

He made sure to arrive even earlier this time.

Jiwoong heads over to the counter, lining up behind another couple before getting his chance. He keeps checking the door, making sure that Matthew hasn’t arrived yet. The couple moves over to the hand-off, and Jiwoong greets the barista on till and blushes when she rings through a raspberry moccachino with extra whipped cream and a hazelnut latte before he’s even ordered them, along with two white chocolate macadamia cookies. 

Jiwoong knows that he and Matthew attend this cafe often to study –especially in December– but to have most, if not all, of the baristas memorize their order is almost too telling. She asks if that will be all for now. He confirms the order with a bashful smile, pays successfully, and shuffles over to the bar area to wait for his order.

Jiwoong knows the barista on bar– she’s here the most often when they visit, and she’s the one that makes their drinks most often by consequence. She’s also the one that took their order, back on that fateful day. 

“Hi, Jiwoong-nim,” she says semi-attentively as she reads the receipt to confirm his order. “I don’t know why I bother reading the receipt, you both order the same thing every single time.” She flashes him a grin, prepares the first espresso shots and sets the milk to steam. “Where’s Matthew-nim?”

Jiwoong rolls his eyes at the honorific. “Hi, Arin-ssi. Clearly, I beat him here today, and made sure to arrive extra early so I could buy his coffee this time.” Now it’s his turn to grin smugly, and her turn to roll her eyes as she begins to swirl the espresso into the raspberry and mocha sauces. “And we both told you to drop the -nim, please.” 

“You’re still customers,” she retorts playfully as she pours the milk. “I haven’t seen you guys since exam season though,” she comments as she lifts an eyebrow, doling out the whipped cream in a perfect spiral.

“Arin-ssi!” 

Jiwoong hears the flutter of the golden bell and doesn’t even have the time to turn around before Matthew clings to his arm and drops a kiss to his cheek. “Hi, Jiwoon-hyung,” he says additionally. 

“Hi, Matthew-ssi,” Arin replies nonchalantly, preparing her next batch of espresso and milk, as if they hadn’t just been arguing about honorific choices. 

Jiwoong gapes. “What.”

“Your boyfriend’s too cute, Jiwoong-nim, I have to give him what he wants, at least,” she teases as the shots pour and the milk froths.

“Oh, come on,” Jiwoong complains half-heartedly, but really, he understands the impulse. 

Arin completely ignores his protest. “There you go,” and she serves them their mugs and their cookies on a plate. 

“Thanks Arin-ssi,” Matthew cheers as he snatches off a piece of a cookie and shoves it in his mouth greedily. “Come on, Jiwoon-hyung,” he says, muffled, as he tugs on Jiwoong’s sleeve towards their bench with one hand, cookie plate in the other. Jiwoong quickly grabs the mugs and thanks Arin as well before following along.

Matthew drops the plate on the table and takes off his coat and scarf with a smile as they slide into their usual spots. Jiwoong slides over his mug and Matthew takes it gratefully into his hands to warm them up from the cold outside. The boy blesses him with that one specific sunshine smile that Jiwoong now shakily and stubbornly wants to believe that Matthew keeps only for him. 

They chat for a bit about nothing much, Jiwoong confirming the timeline of their trip and details about the car he’s reserved for the long weekend through the car-sharing service he’s joined since living on campus. They’ll leave Saturday morning and return Tuesday evening, covering the entire holiday weekend.

“That’s not what you invited me here to talk about though, is it,” Matthew asks, 

At first, Jiwoong freezes at the question, but there’s no dread, no concern in Matthew’s eyes, just curiosity. The rounded eyes of his inquisitive gaze go well with the whipped cream on the tip of his nose. He’s so cute. Jiwoong loves him. “Well, I mean, the Saturday pick-up time is important.” 

Matthew points his teaspoon at him. “Come on, say it.”

Right.

“When we visit my parents…”

Matthew tilts his head, nods at him to encourage him to continue.

“Well, to start, they can’t wait to meet you, my mom can’t wait to feed you all her traditional favourites.” Matthew smiles that special little smile, Jiwoong continues. “I even made my brothers promise that they’d be nice to you.“ Matthew laughs at that, but Jiwoong knows he’s dragging on his sentences. 

“And, well… I never told them that we were ‘dating’, it didn’t feel right to lie to them, you know? So, we won’t need to… pretend, while we’re there.” Jiwoong knows he’s avoiding Matthew’s gaze, knows he really should be watching his face to see the relief that’s surely there. “We can just be ourselves… be how we used to be.” He swallows. 

Jiwoong feels warm fingers on the back of his hand, feels how Matthew spreads them between his, how he starts playing with them, lifting them up slightly and plopping them back on to the table. “A break from pretending,” Matthew says. 

Yes. Right. A break from pretending. He nods. Only, for Jiwoong, the real pretending will start the moment he walks through his family home’s front door. 

“Jiwoon-hyung.”

Against his better judgment, scared of what Matthew will see in his eyes, Jiwoong looks up. Matthew smiles, a soft smile, squeezes Jiwoong’s fingers under the small palm of his hand. “Thank you for taking me home, for letting me intrude on your family time.”

Jiwoong almost says, But you’re my family, too. Thankfully, he swallows it down before his mouth can voice his traitorous thoughts. He flips his hand over so that his is also palm-down, so he can intertwine his fingers with Matthew’s. “Well, I think you belong there with me.”

Fuck. That’s basically saying the same thing, just with different words.

But, Matthew smiles so brightly it would outshine the sun. “Yeah?”

Jiwoong loves him–

Jiwoong loves him–

Jiwoong loves him–

“Yeah.”

Now –more than ever, with every word, touch, kiss that this time together has allowed him– Jiwoong was going to have some serious problems pretending he wasn’t in love with Matthew. 

And maybe, just maybe, he’ll let that show.  

 

---

saturday, january 21st. 

---

 

Matthew fiddles with his necklace as he waits for Jiwoong to pull up to his apartment building in the shared car. The blue pendant twists around his finger, back and forth, and he has half a mind to put it in his mouth, although he’d kicked that nervous habit a long time ago. To deter the urge, he fidgets with the strap of his backpack slung haphazardly across one shoulder instead.  

A break from pretending. The moment those words had left his mouth, sneakily escaping as he soothed both Jiwoong and himself with his ministrations, he knew that they were put out into the world to mock his undeniable truth. 

A lie built on the truth is both the easiest and hardest to defend. The thought from so many weeks ago echoes in his mind, taunting him for his naivete. Matthew loves Jiwoong. Their lie was built on this truth –whether he had known it at the time or not– and he has no idea how he will be able to go back to pretending like the lie wasn’t true all along.

Matthew owes it to Jiwoong, he knows. Jiwoong doesn’t want to lie to his family, and that makes perfect sense. It’s silly, because really, he knew that they wouldn’t continue the charade during their visit to Seollal, but the reality of it has finally hit: Jiwoong will never be Matthew’s ‘boyfriend’ ever again, not after the inevitable confession he promised himself he would make after the trip was concluded.

“Maeddu!” 

Matthew snaps out of his spiral to see Jiwoong walking over, having left the car in the guest parking. He checks his phone for the time. “You’re late, hyung,” he jests. 

“Come on,” Jiwoong protests as he rolls his eyes and snatches Matthew’s backpack from his shoulder before he can stop him. “It’s only one minute past, sweetheart, you’re killing me here.” 

Matthew freezes– he wasn’t expecting to ever hear that term of endearment from Jiwoong’s lips ever again. “Force of habit, huh?” he jokes, mouth dry, as he follows Jiwoong over to the car. 

“Hmm?” 

Huh. He mustn’t have even noticed– just a slip of the tongue. 

Jiwoong’s heading over towards the passenger side of the car, and Matthew almost makes a joke about not having driven since leaving Canada, but then–

“There you go, baby,” Jiwoong says with a little flourish of a bow as he opens the door for Matthew to sit. There he goes, dropping another pet name, again, but– he has that goofy little smile, the one that adorns his face when the persona drops and he lets himself be silly to make Matthew laugh.

Matthew does his best attempt at a curtsy and takes his seat, rolling his eyes affectionately. “Hurry up, we’re gonna be late if you keep goofing around,” he says, but the seriousness of it is undercut by his disbelieving chuckles at Jiwoong’s endearing nonsense.

“At your feet or back seat?” Jiwoong asks deadpan, holding up Matthew’s backpack, as if nothing ridiculous had just happened. 

“Back seat’s fine.” 

“‘Kay,” Jiwoong says as he closes the door and rounds the car to the other side, putting the bag away and taking his seat. 

Jiwoong throws his keys with the car fob into the tray between them, and Matthew’s heart flutters as he sees the keychain he gifted him sitting on top of the pile. 

“I still feel weird about not bringing them any gifts,” Matthew mutters.

“They never would’ve had it,” Jiwoong interjects. “You’re their guest, not their son.”

Matthew continues to grumble as Jiwoong sets the car into reverse and pulls out of the parking, heading out to the street.

“Wanna play your music?” Jiwoong asks. 

“Maybe later, I wanna talk with you,” Matthew replies, a soft grin gracing his lips. “I missed you.”

Jiwoong returns the smile and reaches out, grabbing Matthew’s hand and intertwining their fingers. “Well, you have me now.” 

Like magnets, they fit together perfectly. 

Matthew immediately throws himself into a thorough description of his own family’s Seollal traditions, and his heart flutters each time Jiwoong hums and asks all the right questions to show he’s following along, each time he looks over and remembers how handsome Jiwoong is when he has that concentrated look of his, and each time Jiwoong’s thumb strokes the back of his hand like it’s normal, like it’s habit.

Later, when their conversation veers towards poetry and Matthew has to reluctantly let go of Jiwoong’s hand to reach into the back seat and get their book from his bag, he doesn’t say anything when Jiwoong’s hand drops to his lap instead. He doesn’t say anything when the hand strokes his thigh comfortingly, and he doesn’t say anything when he sees Jiwoong’s satisfied smile. 

---

 

“We’re here!”

Matthew fiddles with his necklace as Jiwoong opens the front door, both their bags slung on his shoulders. 

“Jiwoong-ah!” Matthew hears from an adjacent room. They take off their coats and shoes and slip their feet into the house slippers left at the door for them before a woman shuffles out, apron across her chest and hands covered in a marinade that she quickly tries to wipe off with a cloth as she reaches them. At first glance, Matthew doesn’t catch much of a family resemblance until the woman smiles at the sight of her son. Jiwoong’s is a carbon copy.

“Eomma,” Jiwoong replies with a bright smile.

“Welcome home, sweetie,” she says, and Matthew feels that bout of homesickness rear its ugly head as Jiwoong leans down to hug his mother. She grabs his face and kisses his forehead, Jiwoong’s eyes sparkle, and oh, are Matthew’s emotions going haywire for a myriad of reasons.

When they finally let go of one another, Jiwoong’s mother turns to him. “You must be Maeddu,” she greets cheerfully. She says his name the same way that Jiwoong does sometimes, and Matthew’s heart melts. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Jiwoong-ah has told us a lot about you.” 

Matthew blushes to the roots of his hair and quickly drops into a polite bow. “Eomonim, thank you so much for letting me intrude on your family home, and for hosting me during this time usually cherished for family. It means a lot to me.” 

“Nonsense,” she rebuts as she shakes her head and Matthew rises from his bow. “Jiwoong-ah has told me everything, we’re so happy to have you.” She quirks an eyebrow –the same way that Jiwoong does– and gives him a comforting smile, and Matthew knows that despite having just met her, she somehow already has the ability to read him like a book because she spreads her arms knowingly. “Come here.”

Matthew feels no awkwardness as he accepts her hug, sinking into the comfort of a mother’s embrace with a deep, gratified sigh. He already knows he’d do anything for this woman, who has raised such an amazing man, and who instinctively knows what to do to make him feel better.

When she leans back, she reaches up to ruffle Matthew’s hair. “You’re a cute one, aren’t you?” she says with a knowing smile.

“Eomma!” Jiwoong interjects shyly. 

“Well,” she continues as if nothing has happened, “you should both bring your bags upstairs. Maeddu, we’ve put out a guest mattress for you in Jiwoong’s room, we hope that’s okay. Ever since the boys moved out, we’ve transformed the guest room into a home office.”

Matthew laughs. “That’s perfect, thank you Eomonim. We’ll come back down to help you cook once we’ve unpacked if you’d like,” he suggests. 

She smiles. “That would be wonderful, thank you.” She then turns to Jiwoong. “Jiwoong-ah, your older brother arrived with his girlfriend earlier, and your younger brother is already in the kitchen. Take all the time you need, but come down soon to say hi to them as well, okay?”

“Yes, Eomma,” Jiwoong replies dutifully.  

When Jiwoong’s mother has returned to the kitchen, Matthew turns to face Jiwoong and snatches their bags from the floor. “I wanna see your childhood room,” he says mischievously before he books it for the stairs.

“Ah!” Jiwoong exclaims behind him. “Maeddu, you don’t even know which room is mine,” he groans as he chases after him up the stairs.

“I think I can guess,” Matthew rebuts as he reaches the landing and turns to the only room with a door open, giving Jiwoong an impish grin before heading in. 

Jiwoong’s childhood room is quite simple, Matthew thinks, but it’s also undeniably his in a way he can’t quite explain. It’s a small room, with just enough space for a small double bed tucked into the back left corner, with a simple dresser and closet near its foot. Over the closet door there is a mirror, and next to that, is a poster of SHINee’s Taemin. 

Matthew’s smile is playful as he turns around to tease Jiwoong, who is still standing, arms crossed leaning in the entryway, content to let Matthew explore. “Taemin, huh?”

Jiwoong rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too. “I don’t want to hear it, you know I love him.”

“This is an old poster too,” Matthew adds as he cackles. “From Sherlock, no? Man, his hair’s horrible.”

“In his defense, it was 2012. I was 14, and he was hot.”

Matthew snorts. “God, I forget you’re old.” 

“Shut up,” Jiwoong retorts, but there’s no heat in it. “Are you done?”

“Nope,” Matthew replies, and he continues his exploration. 

He gracefully stomps over the mattress on the floor –the one planned for him, as Jiwoong’s mom had let them know– to head over to the other side of the room, where a desk with a bookshelf hutch leans on the right wall. Matthew can imagine little teenage Jiwoong doing his homework there, munching on a snack or two with that concentrated look on his face, eyebrows scrunched in thought, glasses on the tip of his nose. There are a few old books on the shelves, but Matthew finally spots what he was hoping he would find. It was either that, or he would’ve had to ask Jiwoong’s mom, which would’ve been embarrassing. 

“Are these all you?” he asks, even though he knows the answer. There’s a large range of pictures, from baby pictures to more recent ones. In one, Matthew recognizes Jiwoong’s mother holding a newborn baby while being embraced by a man almost identical to Jiwoong. “That’s the day they took me home from the hospital,” Jiwoong explains from over his shoulder, and Matthew almost jumps at his sudden proximity. 

“This one is from my fifth birthday,” and he points to a picture of a kid covered in cake with a toothy grin. “This one is from when I played in little league soccer and lost two teeth after getting a ball kicked in the face– I was 8.” The kid in this picture is recognizably Jiwoong holding up a gold medal, with fuller cheeks, messier hair and an admittedly holey proud smile, with the two front teeth missing. 

One of Jiwoong’s hands leans on the desk while the other points out the different pictures, and Matthew adamantly refuses to blush at the feeling of being caged in, Jiwoong’s hips almost pushing his own into the desk, instead focusing on the explanations. Little Jiwoong is adorable, and Matthew wants to know everything about him.

“This is when we brought home my little brother,” and it’s a picture of all three brothers, the oldest –a slightly older copy of Jiwoong– holding the baby youngest while Jiwoong peers over his shoulder in curious awe. “I was 10, so I remember everything about that day, it’s one of my favourites.” Matthew looks over his shoulder to catch Jiwoong’s fond smile, and his stomach does somersaults. 

There are a few more family pictures, them on trips or milestones, and about three with some friends or relatives that he doesn’t recognize. However, when Matthew reaches the end of the shelf where the most recent picture lies, he freezes. 

In the final frame sits a picture of him and Jiwoong. It’s a candid, one he doesn’t remember taking. Jiwoong has his arm around Matthew’s shoulder, and he seems to be engaging in conversation with someone else. Matthew, on the other hand, has both arms circling Jiwoong’s waist, tucked into the man’s side, and his smile as he undeniably stares at Jiwoong’s face –while not the trademark sunshine one that he so often turns Jiwoong’s way– is so affectionate, so fond, that it takes Matthew’s breath away. How long has he been looking at Jiwoong like that? How long has he been in love with Jiwoong without knowing? 

“Hanbin gave me that one,” Jiwoong says weakly, so close to Matthew’s ear that he shivers. “Is that okay?”

Is what okay? Matthew wants to ask desperately. That Hanbin gave Jiwoong a photo of them? That Jiwoong has it framed and displayed in his room for anyone to see? That, in the picture, Matthew looks so undeniably in love that it hurts? Matthew turns around in the cage of Jiwoong’s arms and resists the urge to wrap his arms around his neck like he so desperately wants to, instead compromising for resting his hands on Jiwoong’s chest.

Regardless of the question, his answer would be the same. “Yes.”

Matthew really wants to kiss him. It’s too bad he no longer has a reason to do it. 

Jiwoong is so close, and when his breath stutters, Matthew can feel it across his cheeks, his lips. Even if Matthew wanted to distance himself, he couldn’t– his ass is already pressed back into the edge of the desk. He swears that he sees Jiwoong’s gaze flick from his eyes to his lips, notices as his pupils dilate. It’s torture, everything he wants quite literally within his grasp but forbidden to take, and yet Matthew can’t shy away, can’t look anywhere else.

Maybe he could kiss him. It would be ridiculous, Matthew’s rational brain argues. They’d only just agreed to not further their fake relationship while visiting Jiwoong’s family. He can’t just fold and give in at the first stirring in his gut, in his heart. He can’t just kiss Jiwoong at the first chance he gets, the first time they truly get to be alone in a private place. 

Are Jiwoong’s eyelids fluttering? Is Jiwoong leaning in? 

“Hyung?”

The voice from the door snaps them both out of their reverie. Surprisingly, neither of them jumps back as though they were burnt, although Matthew shakes his head in an attempt to rid himself of the demons of greed and temptation, and Jiwoong leans back slightly, Matthew mourning the weight of his hips pinning him to the desk.

“Are you coming down soon?” Jiwoong’s little brother asks, and Matthew is delighted to notice that although Jiwoong’s teenage brother clearly got his features from their mother, his ears still have the same blushing ability as Jiwoong’s. “Eomma said you were just dropping your bags, she asked me to come check what was taking so long.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Jiwoong replies as he lifts an eyebrow at his brother and gestures to Matthew with an incline of his head. “We’ll be right down.” 

“Right, sorry,” Jiwoong’s little brother averts his gaze, the blush of his ears intensifying. “Nice to meet you, Maeddu-hyung,” he says, and Matthew barely has the time to wave warmly in reply before the young teen bolts down the stairs. 

Jiwoong leans back fully before saying anything else, and Matthew’s hands mournfully drop from their place across his chest. “We should go down.”

Matthew withholds the urge to sigh, the need to kiss Jiwoong still deeply embedded in his bones, coursing through his blood, even after the interruption. His mind tries to remind him that this is for the best. “Yup.”

---

 

The kitchen is a whirlwind of enthused shouts, of ingredients, marinades and sauces when Matthew and Jiwoong enter it hand in hand, Matthew somewhat shyly hiding, peeking from behind Jiwoong’s shoulder. Everyone suddenly quiets down, wipes their hands clean from the food prep, and waits patiently. Matthew’s mind plays games on him, keeps reminding him that this situation is all too similar to a son presenting his boyfriend to the family. He prays, even begs, that his brain can give him a break from the fantasies for once.

“Everyone, this is Seok Matthew,” Jiwoong says with a soft smile, and Matthew is both proud and disappointed at the perfect pronunciation. “He’s my best friend,” he continues, squeezing Matthew’s hand tight in his own, “so be nice to him.” 

Once again, Matthew’s imagination plays games with him, making him imagine Jiwoong’s hesitance in calling him his best friend. Nonetheless, Matthew waves at them all with his free hand before dropping into a polite bow. “Thank you for having me, and for letting me intrude on your family time,” he says, but his words are met with a wave of protests. 

One by one, Jiwoong introduces his different family members. Matthew had already met his mother but she nonetheless gives him another warm smile and welcoming hug. After that brief run-in with him upstairs, Jiwoong’s younger brother gives him a somewhat shy hello, which Matthew replicates in full. 

Matthew had gotten a glimpse at Jiwoong’s father and older brother through the pictures, but it’s another thing entirely to see them in person. Jiwoong looks so similar to them both that it’s almost surprising, even though they’re related. Jiwoong’s father has a few more gray hairs, a few more wrinkles, and his eyes and smile aren’t quite the same– those, Jiwoong had gotten from their mother, Matthew’s sure of it. But, what’s even stranger is how Jiwoong’s older brother is almost an exact copy of him. His face is slightly rounder, his nose slightly more downturned, but that’s where most of the differences end. The girlfriend also gives a greeting wave of her own, open and kind, with a lovely, melodic laugh. 

Jiwoong’s brothers congregate around him, and he releases Matthew’s hand to give them proper greetings, with short but heartfelt hugs. Seeing all three of them together, throwing teasing remarks and playful hits, reminds Matthew all too much of Yaebin, and he tries to not let it get to him. 

Matthew thinks it must nonetheless show on his face, though, because once Jiwoong looks at him once more, his smile softens, and Matthew’s fingers are quickly intertwined with Jiwoong’s once again. Jiwoong’s thumb strokes the back of his palm comfortingly, and Matthew’s homesickness quiets enough to put him at ease. 

“Matthew-ssi,” Jiwoong’s older brother interjects as he stares at them. “Be sure to be nice to my little brother, yeah?” 

Matthew isn’t sure what that means, but he somehow knows that this moment is important. “Of course, hyungnim,” he replies with the same kind of intensity. 

“Good, good,” he says, seemingly satisfied, relief coursing through Matthew’s blood as he pats Matthew’s back.

“Hyung–” Jiwoong tries to say.

“Don’t worry about it, Jiwoong-ah,” he turns and smiles at his brother, “I’m just making sure your heart is in safe hands.” 

His heart?

“Come on,” he says as he claps Jiwoong on the back, “the food won’t prepare itself.”

Before they start, Jiwoong helps Matthew with a guest apron, tying it around his waist and adjusting the neck strap before pulling out the chain from underneath it, making sure it is centred. When Jiwoong’s mother smiles at them and asks him where he had gotten his necklace, Matthew shyly admits to it being a Christmas gift from Jiwoong. 

Later when preparing dessert, Jiwoong absently swats at his hair to try and get it out of his face and accidentally gets cream on his browbone. Of course, Matthew giggles fondly and instinctively reaches out to rub at the sullied spot. When the dried sauce doesn’t give the first time around, he wets his thumb in his mouth and tries again with success. “There you go, all clean,” he says, licking his thumb clean without a second thought. Suspiciously after, Jiwoong’s two brothers devolve into twin chortles.

When they finally all sit down together for a simple late dinner –with all the prep they could do ahead of time for tomorrow stored in the fridges and ready to go– Matthew tries not to blush as Jiwoong puts items into his plate first to make sure he’s well fed. “You’re my guest,” Jiwoong reasons, but it doesn’t quite justify when he leans over, chopsticks in hand, and says, “Try this,” before Matthew obediently opens his mouth and chews, preening at the attention and the taste of the meat. 

In his eagerness, Matthew almost misses how the table goes quiet before Jiwoong’s father coughs and the conversation returns to normal. 

---

 

The evening comes to a quick close, everyone tired from the day’s travelling and cooking, and looking forward to a long day tomorrow. They bid each other goodnight before each heading to their rooms, but not before Jiwoong’s younger brother calls dibs on the shower. Matthew sits down on Jiwoong’s bed with a content smile as he ruffles through his bag looking for his pyjamas, yanking out his pieces once they’ve been found.

“Is that my sweater?” Jiwoong asks, but Matthew is sure the question is purely teasing, rhetorical. After all, since they’d started their whole charade, Matthew’s pyjama collection had progressively and undeniably become comprised of Jiwoong’s sweatshirts paired with Matthew’s comfiest short shorts. 

“It’s comfy,” Matthew defends. He does momentarily consider that maybe he shouldn’t have packed the black monarch sweatshirt when he knew that they were no longer pretending to be in a relationship, but those doubts fade away when he sees Jiwoong’s coy grin.

“I like it when you wear my clothes,” Jiwoong says as he turns to unpack his own clothes and then freezes. 

When Matthew processes what he’s just said, his heart races, and then it’s his turn to smile shyly. “Oh yeah?” Jiwoong isn’t facing him, but Matthew can see the tips of his ears turning bright red. 

Jiwoong turns back, tank top and shorts in hand. “Yeah, because otherwise, you’re always complaining that you’re cold.”

“Not true,” Matthew bites back, standing up, and, as if to prove his point, he takes his shirt off. “See, I’m not cold at all.” He ignores how the air in the room makes his muscles tense up, trying their hardest to prove him wrong.

Jiwoong takes a while to respond. “Yeah, well, I don’t believe you.” 

Matthew doesn’t believe him. “Oh, yeah? Come feel, you’ll see,” a playful challenge, chin lifted and eyebrows raised as he gestures vaguely to himself with flailing hands. 

Matthew wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting to happen next– Jiwoong rolling his eyes and telling him to put the sweatshirt on, probably. And yet, one second, Jiwoong was across the room holding his own clothes, and the next, his hands had dropped the items and were holding Matthew’s waist tightly instead. The inane voice inside his heart promptly informs him that Jiwoong’s hands alone almost entirely encircle his waist. 

“Ah, your hands are cold,” Matthew complains, but his voice sounds far away.

“You’re warmer than I thought,” Jiwoong concedes. 

“Comparing hands to waists just isn’t fair,” Matthew argues on principle, running on instinct, even though he’s already winning. 

“Fair enough,” he whispers, sending goosebumps across Matthew’s flesh. Jiwoong lets go of his waist –Matthew almost whines at the loss– to take off his own shirt. What? Matthew’s complaint quickly dies in his throat as Jiwoong returns his hold and even intensifies it, feet tripping over themselves as Jiwoong presses them up against the wall, moulding their bodies together until they’re almost chest to chest, Matthew’s hands the only thing in the way. “That better?”

Any retort Matthew could’ve possibly developed dies in his throat. How did he even get here? A silly joke, a playful provocation, has somehow led to this. There’s so much contact, so much uncovered skin. Matthew’s never had the chance to stare at Jiwoong’s chest so freely, only having snuck glances when changing or the rare times they’ve all gone swimming at the beach during summer breaks. 

His eyes roam freely now, taking in every single piece, every moment of it, avoiding Jiwoong’s gaze as he takes his fill. Jiwoong is so warm, Matthew’s hands following the path down and leaching off the heat emanating from his skin. He keeps going, silent and uninterrupted, until they trail through the hairs at the waistband of Jiwoong’s pants and stop abruptly, his brain finally catching up on runaway instinct and impulse. 

Against his will, he takes a shuttering breath, frozen in place. He should apologize right away, run away if possible–

“Hyung? I’m done taking my shower if you guys want to use the bathroom to brush your teeth–” 

Jiwoong’s younger brother opens the door and stands frozen, jaw dropped. “Oh. Sorry, my bad, I should’ve knocked–”

Before anyone can say anything else, the boy slams the door shut and runs away. The sound of it snaps them to their senses, Jiwoong’s hands dropping immediately as he backs away and Matthew’s hands falling to his sides. 

A silence. 

“You win,” Matthew mumbles.

“Hmm?”

“You’re warmer.” 

A pause. Finally, after what could’ve been seconds or hours –Matthew wouldn’t know, not now– Jiwoong shakes his head, snorts. “Well, yeah, we already knew that, didn’t we?”

Matthew averts his gaze, can’t stand looking at Jiwoong’s bare skin, broad shoulders and firm compact muscle, within his grasp moments ago but now forbidden to touch. And god, does he want to touch. “Let’s go brush our teeth then,” he says, mouth dry, hands clammy.

“Yeah.”

---

 

After brushing their teeth, playful elbows knocking into one another, trying to cut the tension, they settle in for bed with little fanfare, dressing in their pyjamas without a word. Matthew steals one of Jiwoong’s pillows and snuggles into the sheets of the guest mattress on the floor and tries to stifle his disappointment when it doesn’t smell like him. 

Jiwoong turns off the light before shuffling over to his bed as well. 

“Don’t step on me,” Matthew warns, and Jiwoong snorts.

When Matthew finally lies on his back, he notices something he hadn’t seen before and smiles. “Hyung, you had these too?”

“Hmm?”

“The glow-in-the-dark stars,” Matthew points to the ceiling with his finger, sure that Jiwoong can see him well enough with the help of the moonlight streaming through the curtains. 

“Oh.” Matthew can imagine Jiwoong’s soft smile in his mind’s eye. “Yeah, I used to count them when I couldn’t fall asleep.”

“So cute,” Matthew gushes. He imagines the kid he saw in those photos, lying in this same room, staring up at those same stickers on the ceiling. A stretch of silence passes.

“Goodnight, Maeddu.” 

“Goodnight, Jiwoon-hyung.”

Matthews lies on his back and waits for sleep to come. He tries to sleep– really, he does. He closes his eyes, counts imaginary sheep, counts backwards from one hundred. He even counts the glow-in-the-dark stars, just like Jiwoong did as a kid, and nothing works. Twist and turn, try as he might, Matthew can’t fall asleep. And it’s not like he isn’t tired– really, he is. He can feel the exhaustion pulling at his eyelids, but he just can’t settle. He pulls the blankets tighter around himself, tries to tuck them into his sides, but it’s all worthless, nothing works. He doesn’t even know how long he’s been restless. And it certainly isn’t the mattress’ fault.

No, Matthew knows why he can’t sleep. 

“Jiwoon-hyung?”

It takes a moment, but he replies. “Hmm?”

“Are you awake?”

“No,” Jiwoong denies, and Matthew rolls his eyes.

“Well, I’m cold,” he complains, lies. 

Jiwoong snorts, and mumbles– maybe he had been asleep after all. “Of course you are.” 

“Aren’t you going to do something about it?” Matthew asks, and even he knows he’s playing with the devil, asking for too much, showing too much of his hand. He supposes this is what happens, who he becomes, when he’s desperate despite having everything to lose.  

But then, Jiwoong’s low voice grumbles, “Come here then, sweetheart.” 

Oh. 

There he goes again. Jiwoong keeps slipping up, setting the trap for him, and Matthew keeps falling in, no sense of self preservation or fear capable of stopping him from absolutely melting at those words, that tone. 

Hesitantly, Matthew sits up on the floor mattress and tries to catch a glimpse of Jiwoong under the mellow moonlight, under the glow of the stars, desperate to know what he is thinking. He hears shuffling, sees a hand lift the corner of the duvet under the cover of night. “Aren’t you coming?”

Tentatively, he hauls himself up and shimmies himself under the covers, making sure to keep his distance. His conflicting emotions fight, one half wanting Jiwoong to approve every step he takes, the other begging him to just throw himself into his arms.

Once again, Jiwoong seems to just know what he wants, needs. “Come on, the bed’s too small, you’ll fall off if you sleep on the edge of it.” Jiwoong wraps an arm under his back and drags him closer, chest to chest. He uses his other hand to cradle Matthew’s head and tuck his face into his neck. Matthew wraps his own arms around Jiwoong’s waist and tangles his legs into his.

Jiwoong lets out a deep sigh of contentment, tip of his nose nestling in the crown of Matthew’s head. “Is that better now, baby?”

Despite the warmth of the embrace, Matthew shivers before he nods his head ‘yes’ from his spot in the crook of Jiwoong’s neck.

“Good. Go to sleep now, love,” Jiwoong whispers as he brushes his fingers through Matthew’s hair.

“Thank you, Jiwoon-hyung,” Matthew hears himself whisper back, but the smooth comfort is already lulling him to sleep.

Jiwoong is a furnace, perfect to keep Matthew warm, and oh, does he burn. 

With shame, at being unable to deny himself what he wants, at his inability to sleep without it when it is so close. With want, at the feeling of Jiwoong’s hand sneaking under his sweater to the small of his back, the smell of Jiwoong’s sweat under his nose, the warmth of their tangled legs, of their breath as one. With love, as he tightens his hold around Jiwoong’s waist and buries his face deeper into the crook of his neck, close enough for his lips to inadvertently kiss skin with every exhale. 

The yearning that has been churning deep in his gut finally settles, choppy waves stilling into contented stillness, like a cat curling up on itself when it finds the perfect sun spot. 

In Jiwoong’s warm and attentive embrace, he falls asleep.

 

---

sunday, january 22nd. 

---

 

A knock on the door wakes Jiwoong up.

“Boys, it’s time to get up,” he hears his mother say from the other side, groggy mind trying to catch up with the words his ears are registering. “Don’t forget to wear your hanboks!” Jiwoong can hear her steps shuffle back down the hallway, and is grateful that she had the tact not to open the door. 

Matthew sits up and stretches out of Jiwoong’s reach, but turns around to give him a hint of his shy smile, blush adorning his cheeks. “Good morning, hyung.”

“Good morning, Maeddu.” 

Neither of them address the bed sharing. Neither of them want to, Jiwoong thinks. His head rings with the unspoken promise of truth once the trip is over, the elephant in the room stomping all over their peace and quiet. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, however. 

“Did your mother say hanbok?”

Matthew looks flustered. Jiwoong quirks an eyebrow at him. “Matthew-ah, did you not pack a hanbok with you? It’s literally Seollal.”

“I don’t… own one? I had a few as a kid, but they’re all back home and wouldn’t fit me anymore, anyways.” 

Jiwoong tries to stifle a laugh. “You’ve lived in Korea for almost three years but still don’t have a hanbok?”

Matthew pouts at him as he stands up and playfully kicks at his bag on the floor as if it were the culprit in this situation and not him. Jiwoong tries not to stare at the long line of exposed skin. His already short shorts have bunched up even higher in sleep, and his thigh and calf muscles are on full display. Jiwoong thanks his lucky, glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars that Matthew at the very least wears a bulky sweater, so that he doesn’t have to be subject to the even worser view of Matthew’s biceps as he curls one up to scratch at his head sheepishly before shrugging helplessly.

Jiwoong finally shuffles out of bed as he rolls his eyes, heading over to his closet. “Come on, I’m sure my old one from high school would fit you.” 

Matthew perks up, pleased smile as he hops over the mattress on the floor to follow Jiwoong into the corner and gratefully receive the hanger holding the hanbok. “Thank you, Jiwoonie-hyung,” he teases, throwing his sweet sunshine smile Jiwoong’s way. Then he freezes, blushes, mutters something about changing in the bathroom, and scurries away. 

He quickly grabs his own hanbok from the closet and changes before Matthew has the chance to come back. He can’t decide whether he’s relieved or disappointed that Matthew had gone to another room to avoid a repeat of yesterday. Jiwoong shakes his head, trying to clear his mind from the images of Matthew removing his shirt, challenge burning in his eyes, and the pure heat and want that had immediately burned in Jiwoong’s gut. 

“Jiwoon-hyung? Is it okay?”

He turns his head to see Matthew fiddling with the tie of his clothes in the doorway. Jiwoong had done most of his growing in the early years of high school, so the hanbok is still actually a bit big on Matthew. It makes Jiwoong’s heart flutter in a familiar cocktail of possessiveness and cuteness aggression that he can never quite seem to shake when Matthew wears his clothes. 

“Good enough,” Jiwoong teases as he walks over and reaches for Matthew’s waist to adjust the tie, to pull on the sleeves where they tighten around Matthew’s biceps. His arms might be too thick, especially when compared to Jiwoong’s high school noodle ones, and Jiwoong can feel his mouth go dry in record time. Matthew, shirtless yesterday, expanse of skin asking to be marked, firm muscles yelling to be touched, tiny waist begging to be grabbed, gaze daring him to come across the room and just do it–

Matthew pouts. “Tell me I look good, hyung.”

Jiwoong blinks back to the present, his mouth drier than the desert. “You look good,” he says. His words run away from him. “You always look good.”

Matthew preens, perfect smile across perfect teeth, blush adorning his cheeks. He reaches over for Jiwoong’s hand. “Come on, hyung,” he says. “Let’s not keep your mother waiting.” 

And so, off they go.

Their day, for the most part, is filled with traditional Seollal activities. They perform charye for their ancestors, and eat tteokguk along with the many dishes they had mostly prepared the day before for lunch. Jiwoong’s favourite part is when they play yutnori, Matthew’s eyes sparkling at the smallest hint of competitive opportunity. They cheer when they win, and accuse the others of cheating (somehow) when they lose. “Their yut-sticks are loaded,” Matthew whispers conspiratorily, and Jiwoong eggs him on good naturedly, mostly to piss off his brothers with a shit-eating grin. 

After their final victory, the family shuffles together to the kitchen to do the final preparations for dinner, and eat and talk for hours on end afterwards. Jiwoong can’t help but preen, being surrounded by his loved ones, seeing Matthew get along so well with his family, especially his mother and younger brother. 

After the meal finally comes to a close, Matthew and Jiwoong do the dishes. “It’s the least we can do,” Matthew had said, and his mother had cooed about how he’d make such a good son-in-law. Jiwoong almost agreed with her before he processed what she had said, but Matthew had just laughed it off good naturedly, thankfully. 

Now, with the dishes washed and dried, Jiwoong tugs Matthew towards the casual living room, where everyone else is already sitting and arguing over streaming options. They’ve only left the loveseat open. Neither Jiwoong nor Matthew have any qualms with that whatsoever –if anything, they prefer it this way, Jiwoong thinks smugly– and they settle in to their usual couch position without a word, Jiwoong’s arm slung across Matthew’s shoulders as he settles into his side, content to spectate the debate together without giving any input whatsoever. 

However, it seems as though his older brother does not share the same acceptance of their nonchalance. He quirks an eyebrow at them. “Does Matthew-ssi have a favourite movie, Jiwoong-ah?” The question, surprisingly, shuts everyone up as they turn to them, gazes inquisitive. 

“Howl’s Moving Castle,” Jiwoong responds instinctively, without thought. 

“Explains the necklace,” his younger brother mutters. 

“It also came with the earrings,” Matthew adds, retreating shyly back into Jiwoong afterwards. Jiwoong runs his fingers through his hair soothingly, fondness rushing through him. 

Jiwoong’s older brother starts typing it into the search bar. “Any objections?”

His mother mentions how it’s one of her favourite Ghibli movies, as does his brother’s girlfriend, and they high five cutely. His father comments that he hasn’t watched it in a while and wouldn’t mind the refresher. His younger brother even mentions that Calcifer is one of his favourite animated characters. 

Matthew barely listens, apparently. “Jiwoon-hyung,” he rises up a bit to whisper in his ear, and Jiwoong leans in closer, already knowing what he’s about to say. “We just watched it on your birthday, it’s barely been a month… We should watch something else.” 

“So you don’t want to watch it?” Jiwoong teases in just as low of a tone.

“I didn’t say that,” Matthew whines.

“Would you rather we watch Pororo? I’m sure my little brother would be thrilled,” he says, completely deadpan.

“You’re the worst, hyung,” Matthew says as he pokes him in the side before settling back down, snuggling into Jiwoong’s shoulder with a sigh. Jiwoong makes a wounded noise, complains a little for the sake of it, but he can still see the corner of Matthew’s lips tilted up into a contented smile, and feels his own heart flutter in his chest. 

The movie starts, and the twinkle in Matthew’s eyes that comes with it never gets old. 

Matthew mostly keeps his commentary to himself, this time –most likely conscious of the others watching– but it seems as though he can’t stop himself fully, as he points out the glowing ring during Sophie and Howl’s meeting scene. “Look, the ring’s shining.”

Jiwoong smiles at him, and leans in even closer. “There you are, sweetheart,” he whispers in Matthew’s ear at the same time as Howl does in Sophie’s, and Matthew scoffs and shoves his chest playfully, but Jiwoong is satisfied to see his blush start at his cheeks and reach the roots of his hair. Matthew rolls his eyes and yanks at his hand in supposed revenge, playing with its fingers as the movie continues. 

As the movie proceeds into the latter half, Matthew’s head starts to get heavier on his shoulder, and droops further and further, face turning away from the screen and nudging into Jiwoong’s neck. Matthew’s fingers slowly stop fidgeting with his, hands resting still against Matthew’s thigh, Jiwoong’s covering his, thumb stroking back and forth in slow, soothing motions. They’ve had a long day both today and yesterday, and it’s getting really late, dinner having gone late into the night well before they even began the movie. Jiwoong stifles a yawn himself as he settles into a better angle to accommodate Matthew’s position, tucking his head properly under his chin.

“You falling asleep, love?” Jiwoong whispers as Sophie enters the door to Howl’s childhood, ring shining and trembling.

“No,” Matthew mumbles, lids fully fluttering shut. 

“Whatever you say,” Jiwoong says, so fond he can feel it in his teeth. 

Of course, Matthew falls asleep soon after, soft, deeper exhales blowing across Jiwoong’s throat. Jiwoong can’t help but drop a kiss to the top of his head, affection coursing through his veins as he brushes his fingers through his hair. Not even ten minutes later, the movie comes to an end, his family shuffling out quietly, the only sounds in the room coming from the trailing melodies of the ending credits and some quick whispered goodnights. His older brother quirks a brow at him in question, but Jiwoong shoos him away, all too happy to wait it out until they’re gone to wake Matthew up and shuffle him over to their room to sleep. 

“Sweetheart,” Jiwoong whispers as he begins to play with Matthew’s fingers to wake him up. “We have to go to bed.”

Matthew mumbles something incomprehensible, tucking himself even further into Jiwoong’s embrace, hands snaking out from under Jiwoong’s to instead anchor themselves in his shirt. 

“What was that, baby?”

“I’m good here,” Matthew protests sweetly, nuzzling into the crook of Jiwoong’s neck, warm breath making him shiver. “Jiwoon-hyung,” he utters.

Oh. Jiwoong almost capitulates immediately, all too willing to handle the ridicule his family would throw his way if they were to find them still cuddled up on the couch in the morning. He tries one last thing, for Matthew’s sake, his last sliver of common sense fighting with his pure, unadulterated adoration for the boy in his arms. “You missed the end of the movie, love.” 

“What?” Matthew peeks out of his little corner, tired eyes blinking open. “No I didn’t,” he denies so adorably, pout on such a full display that Jiwoong barely withholds the urge to kiss the top of his head once again. 

“Mhm, you did.” 

Matthew’s eyebrows furrow as his pout deepens. “Put it back on, then.”

“Maeddu–”

He sits up a bit more. “No, I remember! Sophie was about to give up, that’s the last thing I saw– We can’t leave her there!” The more Matthew wakes up from his nap, the clingier he becomes, arms roaming up to wrap around Jiwoong’s neck, and staring up at him with big, wishful eyes. “Please?” 

There is very little that Jiwoong wouldn’t do for Matthew– in fact, right at this moment, he can’t think of a single thing he would ever be able to deny him. 

“Anything for you,” he says as he rolls his eyes to downplay the seriousness of his statement. Matthew preens for just about two seconds before Jiwoong peels himself away to reach across to the other couch for the remote, rewinding the last fifteen minutes of the movie. Matthew makes grabby hands at him until he leans back in, and the boy settles in with absolutely no respect for his personal space– just the way they like it.

“Thank you, Jiwoonie-hyung.”

Final nail in the coffin, and all that. 

With the rest of his family gone, Matthew seems to once again take the liberties of chirping up with his little commentary as the scenes go by. “The ring, it’s guiding her back to him,” Matthew whispers in awe, as if he hadn’t already watched this movie five hundred times. “His heart, it belongs to her,” when Sophie finally returns the fluttering thing to Howl’s chest. 

Jiwoong’s heart, it belongs to him, and oh, does it flutter when Matthew turns to him with that special smile that’s only for him, so brightly it outshines the stars, when the credits finally start to roll once again. Matthew tries to blink away the remnants of sleep from his eyes, gushes about the movie, and the music, and the scenery, and the characters, and how much he loves it all, until an oh-so familiar melody begins once again. 

Merry-Go-Round of Life, Jiwoong remembers Matthew saying. 

Jiwoong only just has enough time to see the spark in Matthew’s eyes light up before he jumps up from the couch, the last remnants of his energy booting back up thanks to his quick power nap. Jiwoong mourns the heat of his body pressed into his immediately, but then, the boy turns around, and smiles, so happy, so bright, and Jiwoong feels warm all over again. 

“Jiwoon-hyung,” Matthew says in that playful, lilting voice that Jiwoong loves so much. “Dance with me?”

Jiwoong laughs softly, easily, a smile gracing his lips as he shakes his head in disbelief, never once looking away from the hand extended out to reach for his.

“Too much?” Matthew asks rhethorically, smile shining even brighter as Jiwoong stands from the couch and does a little curtsy, earning a giggle for his efforts. 

“Never,” Jiwoong says, then he takes his hand, and then his waist. 

They start stepping to the three count beat just as the tune picks up, Jiwoong’s hand on Matthew’s waist guiding their movements across the room, careful not to hit any of the furniture or his mother’s beautiful potted plants. Their silly attempt at a waltz slowly loses its form when the count changes from three to four, but the enchanting melody nonetheless guides them, caressing their bodies and turning them into one. Even with the undeniably beloved instrumental playing in the background, Jiwoong thinks that Matthew’s melodious laugh is the most beautiful sound of them all. Jiwoong twirls him over and over again, to the point of making them both dizzy, and Matthew laughs, laughs, laughs. 

When he finally spins Matthew back into his arms, holds him tight to make sure neither of them fall, Jiwoong gives in to temptation and dips him, one arm around his shoulders and the other around his waist, and he’s rewarded with the sweetest, most blissful giggle of them all. Matthew’s one hand rests across his chest while the fingers of the other card through his hair. His laugh slowly dissipates, and they simply stare at each other, entranced. 

Their lips meet –slowly, easily, religiously– and Jiwoong’s body trembles as he secures Matthew in his hold. Of all of their kisses, this one is the most chaste, the most patient. Jiwoong doesn’t know who started it –maybe their lips met in the middle– but no, he’s sure it was him, too captivated, too eclipsed by Matthew’s radiance to realize what he was doing. Matthew’s fingers anchor in the hairs at the base of his nape, and his nose nudges into Jiwoong’s cheek as their lips part. Jiwoong swivels them back into an upright position, and even before they’re both stable, their lips meet again, and again, and again, so familiar, so comforting, and Jiwoong hums in contentment. 

Arms around waists, fingers through hair. Endless kisses and pretty, gasping sighs. Jiwoong wants it all. Jiwoong wants Matthew, loves him. He tries to catalogue every single detail. How Matthew’s nose scrunches up against his cheek as he deepens the kiss. How his tongue explores, running across teeth and tangling with his own until he’s made sure to have touched every corner. How, when their lips finally separate, their foreheads lean into one another, colliding under Matthew’s insistence. They stay there, almost frozen in time, in each other.

But then, Matthew backs away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers before he tries to turn and run away, again. 

Jiwoong’s heart lurches in his chest. Fortunately, he learned his lesson from last time, and he grabs Matthew’s wrist before he fully escapes his reach. “Hey,” he reassures, cradling Matthew’s cheek in his other hand until the boy meets his eye. “There’s nothing to apologize for,” he swallows, trying in vain to gain control over his haywire emotions, feeling the tingle that Matthew’s lips left behind like a prayer, like a ghost. 

Matthew’s lip wobbles, and Jiwoong racks his brain trying to figure out what to say. This is it, the elephant, the one he doesn’t know how to address. “I, I know the past two months have made everything complicated,” he starts. How is his mouth so wet that he needs to swallow and yet so dry that he can’t speak? “We’ve blurred lines,” he takes a breath, “even though we don’t feel the same way.” Matthew’s eyes get even more watery, but he nods in acknowledgment, to show that he’s listening. Jiwoong tries to not let that confirmation and indirect rejection distract him from his point. “But the most important part for me, Maeddu,” he continues as he brushes twin thumbs across Matthew’s wet lashlines, palms cradling his cheeks,” is that we haven’t lost each other.” 

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “You’ll never lose me, Maeddu. I promised, and I meant it.” A choked laugh, a lie. “Friends no matter what, right?”

Jiwoong hadn’t even noticed, but the credits had been long gone once again, and the music had come to a close. He’s left in the quiet as Matthew stares, and stares, and stares, gaze trembling as it scurries all over Jiwoong’s face. The silence is so loud, and Jiwoong almost can’t take it. All he can do is watch as Matthew closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, the exhale quivering as he releases it from his lungs. Wish he could read his gaze, if only it weren’t hidden away behind his pretty lashes. Pray to a god he doesn’t believe in that he could understand what was going on inside his beautiful mind. 

Freeze completely still when Matthew’s hands drift up to cup his own on Matthew’s cheeks, stopping his trailing thumbs from swiping across the bubbling rivulets of his tear tracks.

“Thank you, Jiwoon-hyung,” Matthew whispers as he slowly peels his hands away from his face. “For everything.” 

Matthew doesn’t maintain his hold, doesn’t swing their joint hands together between them. He drops them, staring into his eyes for one last brief second before he tears his gaze away and runs up the stairs, before Jiwoong’s even had the chance to say another word. 

The buzz of emotions in Jiwoong’s head turns tinny and hollow. He falls to the couch without a word. Maybe the tears were unavoidable, after all. 

For the first time since the arrangement began, Jiwoong cries.

---

 

Jiwoong doesn’t know how it’s possible, but he sits there, lies there, emotional and emotionless at once, tears streaming down his nose, his cheeks, his temples, in complete silence. He doesn’t know how long he’s laid there, melancholy and heartbreak making its home in his chest, turning him into a numb shell. It could be minutes, it could be hours, and he doesn’t think the feeling could ever quite go away. 

But, he does know that what snaps him out of his daze is the sound of the fridge door opening in the other room. He lets himself dwell just a bit more before he sits up from his awkward, uncomfortably slumped position on the couch and pads over to the kitchen, dragging his feet and rubbing at his surely red-rimmed eyes along the way. He peers around the corner. “Hyung?”

“Jiwoong-ah?” His older brother seems surprised to see him, and Jiwoong understands when he sees the time blinking up at him from the microwave. It’s almost three in the morning. “What are you doing up?”

He shrugs vaguely. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

His brother’s brow furrows under the harsh glow of the refrigerator light, door held open by his hip. “Are you okay?”

Jiwoong feels his lip begin to tremble at the question. 

His brother’s face shifts into one of understanding. “Oh, come here.” 

Those words open the floodgates, and Jiwoong rushes into his older brother’s embrace, choked sobs working their way through his throat, tears flowing freely down his cheeks once again. He doesn’t think he’s been comforted by his brother like this since he moved out of the family home for the first time for college and had to say goodbye to their parents and little brother. 

“Did you and Matthew have an argument?” his brother asks knowingly.

For the first time since they’ve arrived home for the holiday, maybe even for the first time since he’s met the man he considers to be the love of his life, Jiwoong hates how transparent he is about how much he loves Matthew. Even worse, how he’s almost let himself hope, if even for one deluded second, that Matthew feels the same way. He nods into his brother’s shoulder, surely spreading his snot everywhere, but he doesn’t have the energy to care.

“I’ll kill him,” his brother mutters.

Jiwoong almost laughs, but the thought ricocheting through his brain, of Matthew dropping his hands and turning away from him, immediately sobers him up. “No, don’t,” he whispers. “It’s not his fault.”

His brother considers that statement. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head.

“I’m sure it’ll work out,” his brother says haphazardly.

Jiwoong doesn’t answer.

There’s a period of silence where his brother just comforts him with long strokes down his back in broad, soothing motions.  And then, when Jiwoong has somewhat calmed down, borderline sobs turning back into steadied breaths, his brother asks, “Would you like some hot chocolate?”

This time, Jiwoong does laugh. “Yes please,” he answers, voice hoarse. 

His brother separates from him after giving him one last pat on the back, grabbing the milk in the fridge and two mugs from the shelves. “We’re doing this the easy way,” he states, putting the two filled cups in the microwave before reaching for the not-so-secret stash of hot chocolate packets that their dad always ensures is stocked. 

“Fine by me,” Jiwoong says, amusement vaguely present in the back of his mind but still overshadowed by the deep misery shrouding his every thought. 

The microwave beeps, his brother stirs the powder in and, when he’s finally satisfied with the consistency, hands him the mug without a word. Jiwoong blows on it a bit, steam wafting up, before taking his first sip. They sit there for a bit, Jiwoong on the counter swinging his legs and his brother on the stool, slowly draining their hot chocolates in companionable silence. Jiwoong knows that it won’t last, though. He can see it in his brother’s eyes, a burning need to ask a question. 

His brother watches as he takes his final sip.

“Jiwoong-ah,” his brother finally says. Jiwoong recognizes that look, has seen it multiple times throughout his childhood, still sees it sometimes when he looks at himself in the mirror. Despite his resolution to ask, his brother is nervous, uncertain. “I have a question.”

Well, might as well bite the bullet. Even though he looks nervous, Jiwoong knows that once his brother has set himself to something, it’s impossible to change his mind. “Shoot.” 

“You came out to Mom and Dad years ago.”

It’s not a question. Jiwoong nods anyway.

“Then, why haven’t you told us that you and Matthew are dating?”

If Jiwoong had just taken a sip of his hot chocolate, he would’ve done a magnificent spit take. As it stands, his brother had kindly waited until he was done with his drink before asking the question, so he kind of just gapes like a fish. “Well, we’re not.” 

Jiwoong’s brother quirks an eyebrow.

“We’re not!” Jiwoong insists, the conversation picking at a scab that hasn’t even had the time to heal, engraves itself in the tear tracks that haven’t yet faded off of his face. 

Jiwoong’s brother frowns, both at his answer and at his expression. 

“We really aren’t,” Jiwoong repeats. 

His brother just stares at him, deadpan. 

He sighs, grits his teeth. “Okay, fine, I’m in love with him,” and god, does it hurt, now more than ever, “we’ve been fake dating to get his ex off his back, but honestly, we really, really, aren’t dating.” 

Jiwoong catches a split-second flash of surprise across his brother’s features before he turns to sigh. Honestly, Jiwoong’s lucky to have taken a masterclass in his brother’s facial expressions since, well, birth. Finally, he says, “Jiwoong-ah, this is a lot, even for you.” 

“I know.” He doesn’t even try to defend himself.

“That boy’s definitely in love with you too, and yet you’re both just sitting here, torturing yourselves.” 

Jiwoong nods morosely. “Yeah, I know– wait, what?”

He shrugs. “I said what I said.” 

“Hyung, Matthew isn’t in love with me.” 

Jiwoong’s brother quirks an eyebrow.

“He isn’t!” Jiwoong insists. 

Jiwoong’s brother arches his eyebrow even further.  

“He really isn’t,” Jiwoong repeats. 

Jiwoong’s brother just stares at him, deadpan. Jiwoong is getting deja vu. The man sighs and raises his fingers to count on them, a move reminiscent of their childhood, and Jiwoong immediately knows that he’s about to be read for filth. 

“In the barely two days since I’ve met Matthew, he’s: eaten from your chopsticks, blushed every single time you’ve called him pet names,” he starts enumerating like he isn’t absolutely annihilating Jiwoong’s sense of existence. “Cuddled with you on the couch, worn your clothes because he ‘forgot his’,” he continues, finger quotes accompanying an eye roll. “Slow danced with you in the living room to the melody of his favourite movie,” he says with the quirk of an eyebrow, and Jiwoong doesn’t even know how his brother knows about that. “And, perhaps most damning of all, he’s slept with you, in your bed, even though he’s been provided a perfectly fine guest mattress to sleep on.” 

Both eyebrows raised, lips pursed, Jiwoong’s brother gives him a look, one that screams, I dare you to argue against any of that. Jiwoong doesn’t even bother to ask how he knows about the dancing, or the bed sharing. It would be too damning. 

And well, when it’s all laid out like that, Jiwoong might have to reconsider a few core truths by which he has been living his days. 

Is Matthew in love with him? 

There’s no way– 

Does Matthew think that Jiwoong doesn’t love him?

There’s no way that could be possible, not with how obvious Jiwoong has been, and yet–

Matthew, dropping his hands with tears in his eyes. Not because he knows he’s breaking Jiwoong’s heart and is simply too good, but because he’s just as heartbroken as Jiwoong is.  

Matthew, kissing him –even without the premise of the arrangement– with pure desperation, memorizing every detail, because he knows it’s the last time he can ever let himself have it before he forces himself to let it go. 

Oh. 

Matthew finding any excuse to wear his clothes, to sit in his lap. Matthew taking the time during exam season to properly celebrate his birthday with seaweed soup and homemade cake. Matthew seeking him out for comfort when he misses home. Matthew in his house, in his bed, for over a week despite it being completely unnecessary for the arrangement. 

Matthew, panicking and running away at Minjun’s interruption. Not because of guilt at not returning Jiwoong’s love, but because he’s been reminded of the origins, of the falsity of their relationship, after an entire evening acting on their true feelings– after a kiss that felt so honest, so raw, so real, that it completely shifted their perception of it all. 

Because Matthew loves him. 

Because Matthew thinks Jiwoong doesn’t love him back.

Oh. 

Oh. 

His brother pats him on the back with a knowing smile, and bids him a whispered goodnight. 

Jiwoong barely stews in it, waiting for his brother to turn in for the night, before he runs to his bedroom, making a ruckus up the stairs with hardly a care, almost tripping over himself in his hurry.

And then stops in his tracks once he opens his bedroom door. 

Matthew lies on the guest mattress on the floor, tucked within Jiwoong’s blankets, crown of hair mussed up across Jiwoong’s pillow, dried tear tracks just barely visible under the moonlight. 

Jiwoong almost wakes him up. He’s vibrating, adrenaline from the realisation pumping through his veins. They’ve both been so stupid, and he wants to tell Matthew that he loves him, that he loves him, and he wants to tell him right now. But, it’s past three, nearing four in the morning. He winces. 

Jiwoong almost crawls into the guest bed with him, wants to be close to him so badly, but considers that it would most definitely freak Matthew out once he wakes up in the morning, lack of realisation and all. He’s set his boundary, and Jiwoong would first throw himself off of a bridge before breaking it. 

Jiwoong almost returns to the living room to camp out there instead, because he can’t stomach being in the same room as Matthew now without confessing. The words are there, right at the tip of his tongue, begging to be spoken, freed, put out into the universe for Matthew to hear, to receive, to hoard in his own heart. Wants to hear the same words pouring out from Matthew’s lips, wants to put an end to the agony they’ve dealt themselves. 

Realistically, reluctantly, he sneaks over to his bed instead, yanking up the covers without even bothering to change out of his hanbok.

He settles, but Jiwoong knows he’s going to have a hard time falling asleep.

Tomorrow, this all ends. 

For the first time, the thought doesn’t fill him with dread. 

 

---

monday, january 23rd.

---

 

Matthew wakes up earlier than he usually does, cold, alone and completely heartbroken. 

He wasn’t aware of just how much his heart was willing to go through, but he supposes it finally hit its limit yesterday. In that moment, he wasn’t sure he would have the strength to peel Jiwoong’s hands off his cheeks for the last time, to tear his gaze away for both their sakes. Even after, he knows something inside of him broke the moment he did it. 

Today, this all ends. 

He can’t put it off any longer. It has to be today. He wants to shove his head into the pillow and scream. Cry, maybe. He knows what to do instead– maybe he can delay the inevitable, just for a few more hours. He craves it, needs it, denial on its last knees but still giving its all. He puts on one of Jiwoong’s sweatshirts –ouch, why had he only packed those– and some sweatpants, and heads for the door. 

And yet, he can’t quite help himself. Maybe he hasn’t hit his limit after all. He turns back around.

Jiwoong looks lovely with the first beams of early morning sunlight streaming through the window and cascading over his face, hair perfectly laid across his pillow. At peace. Serene, even. It’s the last time Matthew will ever have the chance to see it. He wants to mold himself to him, carve out a little piece of his heart and make his home there. He shuts the door.

“Matthew-hyung?”

Matthew startles so hard he almost trips over himself. 

Jiwoong’s younger brother? “What are you doing up so early?” Matthew winces, his voice choked up from last night, hoarse and rough.

The boy shrugs. “I run every morning, middle school track team.” Explanatory enough, even though it isn’t even seven in the morning yet, and on a holiday at that. ‘You?” The eyebrow raise is so similar to Jiwoong’s, Matthew almost cries on the spot. 

It’s Matthew’s turn to shrug, but even to him it feels frail, wavering. “Couldn’t sleep.”

The boy studies him, and god, his gaze is the same as Jiwoong’s too, even though everything else is different. Matthew wants to die. “Wanna come run with me?”

Matthew was literally about to go do just that– anything to get out of the house right now. It would be weird for him to turn the boy down and then head out right after him. He nods faintly. “Sure, thanks.” 

“Okay,” he says. “Come on, then.” 

It’s still mostly dark when they head out. The sun hasn’t yet begun to rise but its colours still start to shadow the horizon line. Jiwoong’s little brother starts at a brisk pace –he’s a track kid alright– and soon, he guides Matthew over to the local park. After about thirty minutes of doing laps of both the park and of the nearby blocks, he slows down near the childrens’ playground. 

“Wanna swing?”

Matthew truly, deeply believes that the universe is playing a dark, insidious prank on him. “Sure.” 

They both settle. Matthew doesn’t so much as swing– he mostly just sways there, early morning breeze chilling his face as he wraps his fingers in the sleeves of his –Jiwoong’s– sweater. Swaying, like he did last night in Jiwoong’s arms, right before they kissed for the last time–

“You know,” Jiwoong’s little brother interrupts his train of thought, “When you both arrived a few days ago, I immediately thought you were in love.” 

Matthew freezes.

“It was so obvious, you know,” the boy continues. “Jiwoong-hyung has never brought someone home for Seollal –not before this– and he talks about you all the time, so. We just thought that hyung wasn’t ready to tell us officially, for whatever reason. Even our mom thought it, and she was so happy, so excited, to finally meet the Maeddu that my brother talks about so much.”

Matthew can’t move. 

“And well,” Jiwoong’s younger brother snorts, “I walked in on you two, twice, and that kind of just confirmed my suspicions.” He pauses. “So imagine my surprise when I woke up this morning to texts from my oldest brother.”  

Texts from Jiwoong’s hyung? The boy stares him down. Matthew can’t look him in the eye. He can’t find words. He can’t do anything. 

“Now, I know I’m the youngest brother, and they think it’s their job to take care of me, but let me make one thing clear: I’ll be damned if you break my Jiwoong-hyung’s heart with your obliviousness and stupidity. Got it?”

Matthew’s eyes are as wide as saucers. Jiwoong’s heart? He nods, confused beyond all belief.

“Good.” Jiwoong’s younger brother nods his head assertively. “Wait here.” And then, as quickly as he appeared in the hallway at the house, he bolts.  

Matthew sits there, trying to process what has just happened. 

Was he just given a shovel talk by a fourteen year old? 

He thinks about the brothers’ words, both yesterday and today. Jiwoong’s heart. His own broken heart flutters in his chest, slowly melding with a strange kind of disbelief, a forceful kind of realisation that can only be thrust upon him by the meddling of two brothers that want the best for Jiwoong’s heart. 

Is Jiwoong in love with him?

Matthew thinks, maybe for the first time since this arrangement began, not with his heart, but with his head. Tries his best not to be oblivious or stupid –really, since when do fourteen year olds talk to their older brother’s friends that way? 

Thinks about Jiwoong using pet names even now, even without the pretense of pretending. Thinks about Jiwoong’s hands around him, on his waist, pressing him up into the nearest available surface. Thinks about Jiwoong taking him into his bed with open arms and a warmth so loving it takes Matthew’s breath away. Thinks about slow dancing in Jiwoong’s arms, thinks about the kiss. Thinks about the split-second he stared into Jiwoong’s eyes before he ran away like a coward and saw what could only be described as heartbreak. 

Thinks about every single time that he imagined, wished, hoped that Jiwoong might just feel the same way. 

Thinks about the one thing that has always stopped him from ever reaching that conclusion– Hanbin’s joke, about Jiwoong “waiting for the love of his life”. 

For the first time, he lets himself consider that person could be him. 

Meddling brothers asking him to stay put be damned.

Matthew runs.

---

 

When Jiwoong wakes up and Matthew is gone, his heart shatters all over again until he remembers his conversation with his brother. 

Matthew. 

He barely takes the time to change out of his clothes, almost tripping over himself in his haste, before he books it down the stairs. 

His brothers sit in the kitchen, matching orange juice glasses in hand, and it seems that Jiwoong has just interrupted their conversation. Jiwoong doesn’t care. “Where’s Matthew?”

His older brother quirks an eyebrow. “Well, good morning to you too.”

Jiwoong gets closer to them, panting despite having only rushed down the stairs. He doesn’t have time for this. “Hyung, come on.” 

 

His little brother stares at him, takes a sip of his juice. “He’s at the park,” he says.

The park. Of course. “Thank you,” he rushes out, and turns to the door–

His younger brother grabs his sleeve.

His older brother says, “Are you sure?” 

And there’s that little spark in both of their eyes, the kind that shows in the eyes of a brother who knows that he broke down completely last night, and who now wants nothing more than to protect him from anything, anyone, who might hurt him.

Jiwoong smiles. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

His little brother lets go of his sleeve. “Go get him, then.”

Jiwoong runs. 

---

 

The childrens’ playground is at the other end of the park, and so Matthew runs, runs, runs from it and towards the direction of Jiwoong’s house. He has to get to him, has to tell him, has to finally put an end to the agony they’ve put themselves in. Wants him to know, wants to say the words out loud, wants to hear Jiwoong say the words back, wants to feel Jiwoong’s hands on him once again. It wasn’t the last time, it will never be the last time if Matthew has a say in the matter. Wants to kiss him, really kiss him, and know that it’s real.  

He spots him in the distance. 

“Jiwoon-hyung!” Matthew shouts across the park, panting from more than just the run. 

Matthew thanks his lucky, glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars that Jiwoong’s neck doesn’t crack at the speed with which he swivels his head in the direction of Matthew’s voice. He freezes, and Matthew can only just barely make out the tremble of his lips as he smiles.

Matthew sprints, making it across the stretch between them in record time, and throws himself into Jiwoong’s embrace, arms wrapped around his shoulders, face tucked into his neck, Jiwoong’s arms around his waist holding him up off the ground, so warm, so tight, so right it takes his breath away. 

When Jiwoong finally puts him down, Matthew’s hands fly across every piece of Jiwoong they can reach, fluttering from hair, to neck, to shoulders, unable to pick a spot and just needing to touch. Jiwoong’s arms leave his waist, and Matthew almost mourns the touch until they land on his face, and he finally freezes, hands drifting down to the front of Jiwoong’s chest, fingers gripping onto his sweatshirt like a lifeline. Jiwoong’s hands cup his cold, blushy cheeks, thumbs stroking at his lashline, starting to clump with tears– only this time, they’re happy ones. And there’s the feeling, the one that echoes in his chest, in his bones, in the entirety of his being.

Home. 

Love.

“I love you, Jiwoon-hyung,” he confesses wholly, ardently, like the words aren’t quite enough. 

The devotion flows like rivers from Jiwoong’s eyes, and oh, how could Matthew have ever mistaken it for anything else? Jiwoong loves him. Jiwoong loves him.

“I love you too, Maeddu.” Jiwoong chuckles wetly. “I always have.” 

Kissing Jiwoong is like coming home, it’s the very reason for his existence, it’s everything he’ll ever want, need, and somehow even more. The golden hour shines through the naked trees, and Matthew has never felt more bare– more seen, more understood, more loved. The sun cascades over them, slipping through the horizon, shrouding them in its serenity, crisp air of winter growing warmer, and warmer, and warmer as Matthew wraps one arm around Jiwoong’s neck, pours his every emotion into Jiwoong’s mouth, down Jiwoong’s throat. 

So many apologies, for being blind, oblivious, stupid, for getting so into his head about a stupid comment that Hanbin had made months ago, that he refused to truly believe what was right in front of him. For running away not once but twice, hurting them both when he should’ve just taken the leap so they could fly. 

Jiwoong responds in full –a stroke of the tongue here, for being a coward and for not confessing sooner, even before any of this had begun –a lick of the lips there, for any possible miscommunication that led Matthew to believe that Jiwoong’s entire heart wasn’t his to begin with– and Matthew swallows each apology down gratefully, reverently, even though he doesn’t think that Jiwoong has anything he needs to apologize for. 

Their lips only barely separate for breath– Matthew can still feel the tip of Jiwoong’s nose fluttering against his cheek. “I’m sorry,” Matthew whispers still, because despite it all, he still needs to say it out loud. 

Jiwoong’s forehead shakes back and forth where it’s pressed against Matthew’s, and he drops another kiss to Matthew’s lips, chaste but leaving him wanting so much more. “No need.”

“But–”

“We were both so scared it made us stupid,” Jiwoong says as he drops another kiss, this time to the tip of Matthew’s nose. The humour is there, and yet neither of them feel it, too entranced in one another. Matthew shivers, wrapping his arm just that bit tighter around Jiwoong’s neck, trying to pull him closer, somehow take Jiwoong inside and keep him with him, always. “I would’ve done anything to keep you in my life, accepted any terms you would’ve given me, and I didn’t dare to ask for more, too afraid it would scare you away.” 

Matthew nods, dragging his nose up and down Jiwoong’s cheek, scraping his nails through the hairs at the base of his skull. “Me too, hyung. I wanted you more than anything. I would’ve taken anything,” he continues desperately, “As long as it meant I wouldn’t lose you.” 

Jiwoong’s hands rub up and down his flank soothingly, grip never floating too far away from his waist. “I know, sweetheart, I know.”

Matthew melts. Sweetheart. It’s real. 

“You’ll never lose me, I promise.” Jiwoong continues, the echo of the words reverberating through Matthew’s entire being, completely changing his body chemistry. “I’m yours, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever, then,” Matthew interjects, broad smile spreading across his teeth, giddiness coursing through his veins, nuzzling his nose against Jiwoong’s. “My Jiwoon-hyung.”

“Yours,” Jiwoong agrees. 

“On one condition,” Matthew says playfully, giggling when Jiwoong pinches his side. 

Jiwoong humours him, fond smile ever present. “And what’s that, love?”

“That I’m yours too, of course,” Matthew whispers. 

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t you know?” Jiwoong whispers right back, pulling himself away just enough so that they can look each other in the eye. “You’re the love of my life.” 

Oh. 

Matthew crashes his lips into Jiwoong’s with no control, teeth knocking together in his fervour. Jiwoong corrects the angle, tilting his head just enough to let them swallow each other whole. His arm rises up to join the other around Jiwoong’s neck, removing the final barrier between them, and pulls him even closer, any distance between their bodies feeling wrong, borderline sacrilegious. It’s not enough, he needs more, and he backs up, up, up, dragging Jiwoong along with him, until his back finally runs into something solid– a tree, probably– and he gasps at the impact, groans when Jiwoong finally slams into him, completely pinning Matthew between him and the trunk, greedy hands grabbing his waist hard enough to bruise. 

“Hyung,” Matthew exhales between his pants, dragging Jiwoong up from where he’s started depositing a litany of kisses across his neck with pure abandon.

“Hmm?”

“You’re the love of my life, too,” Matthew says simply, with the conviction of someone who knows they’ve spoken an undeniable truth, one engrained into their very existence. Matthew was made to love Jiwoong: this, he knows with such certainty, that even the universe wouldn’t dare go against it.

Jiwoong licks into his mouth, this time softly, reverently. Their tongues dance with one another, and if Matthew wanted to make a romantic parallel, he’d say that it was a waltz. It isn’t to devour, but to taste, to savor, to indulge– every inch explored, mapped, divined. To know what makes his heart beat faster, makes him sigh in satisfaction, makes him moan in pleasure. To discover every single secret his body holds until each one becomes known to him. 

When they reluctantly separate for breath, Jiwoong wastes no time, peppering kisses along Matthew’s jawline, down his neck, towards his collarbone. Matthew tries to pull him even closer, grasping at his hair frantically, gasping when Jiwoong sucks a mark into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and Jiwoong gets the memo, sliding a thigh between Matthew’s legs, rising him into his top toes, making him moan and grasp at Jiwoong’s back for purchase. Jiwoong’s hands sneak under Matthew’s –Jiwoong’s– sweatshirt, cold hands grabbing burning skin, the contrast in temperature so delicious it makes Matthew shiver.

Wait– cold hands? 

Matthew giggles, his laugh bright, free, and so in love, fingers back in Jiwoong’s hair to try and pull him off. “Hyung, we’re still outside.” 

Jiwoong hums noncommittally, kisses the mark that he’s already made earlier before migrating just slightly lower to create a second one. 

Matthew gasps, nails scratching against Jiwoong’s scalp. “The sun’s rising, someone’s gonna see us.” 

“Oh, like you wouldn’t be into that,” Jiwoong mumbles into his skin.

Matthew blushes furiously. “That is not the point and you know it!” 

Jiwoong peers up at him, mischievous little derpy smile that Matthew loves so much on display. “Fine,” he relents, but not before leaning in to nibble at Matthew’s collarbone one more time and then rising up to give him one last deep, all-encompassing kiss. Matthew hums into it, vibrating with just a bit more than happiness. 

“You know,” Jiwoong says once they’ve parted, one hand cupping his cheek while the other continues to squeeze his waist just right, “If we stop now, you won’t be able to get your hands on me until tonight.”

“We’ve waited months–” Matthew starts.

“Years,” Jiwoong corrects.

“Years,” Matthew repeats, amends. “What’s a few more hours?”

---

 

Ha. 

A few more hours is, of course, a lot harder than Matthew would be willing to admit– if he weren’t so in love, that is. 

When they finally make it back to the house, Jiwoong holds his hand –they haven’t let go since leaving the park– as they walk to the kitchen, where the entire family is finishing the last dregs of their breakfasts. The chatter dies down as they both stay in the doorway, Jiwoong’s brothers with matching, satisfied grins. 

“Everyone, as you know, this is Maeddu,” Jiwoong says, never once looking away from him, with a smile so bright, Matthew truly believes it would rival the moon at its fullest glow. “He’s the love of my life,” he says, squeezing Matthew’s hand tight in his own, gazing at him with so much love that it takes Matthew’s breath away. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.

“A normal person would just say ‘boyfriend’,” Jiwoong’s little brother pipes up with an eye roll, but he turns to high five the oldest nonetheless. 

Jiwoong’s mother rises up from her seat and walks over to them, looking up at Matthew with a kind, knowing smile. “Welcome to the family,” she says lovingly. And then clearly, because Jiwoong had to have gotten his dramatics from somewhere, she whispers, conspiratorially, “I’m sure I’ll be calling you my son-in-law soon enough!” 

“Eomma!” Jiwoong interjects, ears turning tomato red. 

“Gay marriage is legal in Canada,” Matthew comments, “if you’d be willing to make the flight.”  

“Matthew!” 

Jiwoong’s mother laughs heartily. “Oh, you’re perfect for my son.” 

Despite his clear embarrassment, Matthew can see how Jiwoong preens at that. “Now, if you don’t mind,” he interjects once again, this time shooing everyone out of the room.

None of them protest as they’ve already finished their plates, but Jiwoong’s older brother does drop a quick comment, eyebrows waggling to push his brother even further. “Nice hickies, Matthew-ya.” 

Matthew’s playful toothy smile has a touch of tongue peeking out. Dropping honorifics, huh? “Thanks, hyung.” 

“You’re way too smug about this,” Jiwoong mutters, to whom Matthew isn’t sure, but he does know that his eyes roll further into his skull when Matthew raises his hand to give Jiwoong’s hyung a high five, the man bolting out the kitchen with a cackle straight after before Jiwoong can get sibling-violent. 

Jiwoong sighs before dragging Matthew by the hand towards the stove, lifting him up to sit on the counter –not necessary but very hot– before reaching towards the fridge and grabbing the carton of eggs. “Sunny-side up?”

Matthew looks over at the table to confirm they’re alone, and– well, Jiwoong’s family has put him in a teasing mood. “Maybe scrambled, today?” he says, blinking innocently. 

Jiwoong stares at him for a second in disbelief, sidling up in between his spread thighs, grabbing them in his palms. “Oh, baby, you’re no good for my health,” he mutters under his breath. Matthew giggles. 

“What are you going to do about it?” Matthew asks breathily, fingers itching for their anchor in Jiwoong’s hair, but he keeps them where they are, holding him up against the counter. 

“For now?” Jiwoong says, and he’s so close, nose nudging into Matthew’s cheek, lips an exhale apart. “Nothing.”

And then he backs away, leaning back down towards the cupboard to take the frying pan out. 

Matthew pouts. Damn. Guess it won’t be that easy.

He makes a game of it, after that. 

To be honest, he isn’t sure why. It’s as much torture for him as it is for Jiwoong. But he likes pressing his buttons, trying to find one that will make him snap. He’s never thought it of himself, but maybe Matthew’s a little bit of a brat. 

Once they’ve finished their eggs –Jiwoong made his sunny-side up despite the joke, knowing better than to come between Matthew and his love for dipping toast in yolks– and put away their dishes, Matthew says nonchalantly, “I think I should go change, these clothes are sweaty from the run.”

Matthew can see Jiwoong attempt to conceal how the corner of his lip quirks in amusement. “Oh yeah?” he responds, a brave attempt at indifference himself. 

“Mhm.” 

“That makes sense.” 

“It sure does.”

Jiwoong gives him a quick once-over, gaze pausing twice: once at Matthew’s –Jiwoong’s– sweater, the other at his lips. “Better get to it, then.”

Matthew reaches for Jiwoong’s hand and guides him up the stairs without a word. 

---

 

Jiwoong knows exactly what game Matthew is playing, and he’s all too willing to be a participant. He’s always loved this part of their relationship: the push, the pull, and now the fall, Matthew one of the only people ever impervious to Jiwoong’s siren’s call, instead flipping the dynamic on its head and making Jiwoong test his resolve.

He likes it when Matthew puts on a show, when he parades himself for Jiwoong’s attention with sly comments, with entrancing movements. Etches himself into Jiwoong’s every waking thought. Tempts Jiwoong into giving up his finely-tuned control that he’s been steadily building since the day he met him. 

Which one of them is truly in control? By asking this question, Jiwoong knows he has his answer. 

He knows exactly which trap he’s walking into now, but he would be a fool to deny himself the indulgence, at the very least. He knows he can stop himself– he’s had practice for months, years, after all.

And yet, it shouldn’t surprise him when those years of practice seem to disappear the moment Matthew closes the bedroom door behind them, a tease of a smile across his lips, and raises his arms to strip his sweater without a word. They’ve played this game before, Jiwoong knows, and yet now, with the knowledge that Matthew is all his, the compulsion to walk across the room, to touch, to cage him against the wall is stronger than ever. Jiwoong’s mouth is already dry, fingers already aching to grab, to take, but Matthew doesn’t stop there. His hands go to his waistband, and his sweatpants fall next. Matthew doesn’t let go of their eye contact even once. 

Powerful muscles, strong thighs, and oh, can Jiwoong imagine them clamping down around his waist, or even better, his head–

“Aren’t you going to change, too?” Matthew asks, head tilted innocently. 

Tease. Not one to be beaten, Jiwoong removes his own sweatshirt, satisfied when it becomes Matthew’s turn to finally blush, gaze roaming across Jiwoong’s chest, Jiwoong’s arms, Jiwoong’s happy trail. 

“Is that it?” Matthew asks breathily. 

Jiwoong quirks an eyebrow and shrugs, an attempt at nonchalance that he knows doesn’t quite convey, before taking off his pants as well. Matthew’s gaze drops to his crotch, his breathing getting heavier when he sees the semi Jiwoong is sporting in his briefs. He mutters something under his breath, something Jiwoong doesn’t quite catch, but he thinks he might’ve heard the word “mouth”, and God, Matthew might win after all. 

“I’m going to shower,” Matthew says finally. “Want to join me?” 

Jiwoong can’t help himself. He’s across the room before Matthew can even blink, crowding up against him until they reach the wall. Matthew gasps, hands trailing down Jiwoong’s chest and towards his crotch–

Jiwoong grabs his hands and pins them above his head before Matthew reaches his goal. His pulse is kicking up a storm, quick as a rabbit, blood rushing every which way and making him almost dizzy with arousal. “Not yet, sweetheart.” Jiwoong coos, trying to regain control over the situation. Matthew keens at the pet name, at the tone, at being restrained. So perfect for Jiwoong, he almost breaks again. “I said tonight, remember?”

“Jiwoon-hyung,” Matthew whines. “Please, I want you…” 

The temptation is so, so strong, and Jiwoong only keeps his will intact by transferring both of Matthew’s wrists to one hand and trailing the other down his spine and towards his firm ass, giving it a nice squeeze. Matthew moans, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. 

“Tonight, love. Not before.” Jiwoong gives Matthew’s ass another squeeze. If he’d had the space, he might’ve even given into the impulse to spank it. “Go on, go shower.” 

When Matthew realizes he’s lost, his eyes flutter open once again, and he pouts, bending over to his bag –God, Jiwoong’s so close to giving in– to get a change of clothes. He cracks open the door, peeks into the hallway, and when he’s sure he won’t be seen, makes it to the bathroom across the hall. 

Ha. Maybe Jiwoong has more control than he thought.

---

 

The Kim family usually spends the last day of their Seollal holiday very peacefully. Reading books, watching favourite shows, talking about recent events in their lives since they’ve last seen one another.

Matthew is trying his best to disturb Jiwoong’s peace. 

It seems his failed attempt at seduction earlier hasn’t deterred him, because he continues to toe the line of indecency, fingers trailing up and down Jiwoong’s thigh, once again cuddled up together on the loveseat, but this time with a blanket. Each pass, Matthew’s hand trails higher, taking advantage of the distraction created by Jiwoong’s mother and his hyung’s girlfriend chatting up a storm about the k-drama they’ve put on the television, apparently a household favourite. 

Jiwoong’s breathing gets heavier, and he sends Matthew a few warning glances –but not to stop, never to stop. Matthew simply chuckles under his breath before giving up all pretext and slipping his palm up and over his crotch and giving it a tight squeeze. 

Jiwoong buries his face into the crown of Matthew’s head to stifle his moan. Matthew giggles, pleased with himself, proud of getting Jiwoong all riled up. 

Well, that simply won’t do.

Jiwoong checks the time. “Matthew needs to call his family for Seollal,” he says, grabbing Matthew’s hand and pulling him away from the couch and towards the stairs. 

Matthew has the decency to wait until they’re on the second floor to say it. “It’s the middle of the night in Vancouver right now.” His grin is sly.

“Oh, I know,” Jiwoong assures, pulling Matthew into the bathroom and locking the door behind them. “I just hope that they won’t notice that.” Matthew smiles at him through the mirror, and Jiwoong finally takes what he wants, grabs Matthew’s hips from behind and pushes them until they’re flush with the counter, grinding up into Matthew’s ass– and god, does he look good in those sinful shorts. The pressure against his erection feels so good, already wound up so tight just from some simple teasing, and he groans into Matthew’s nape before moving to the side to suck and kiss along his neck.

Matthew sighs, tilts his head to the side to give him more space, eyelids drooping shut as he reaches back to bury a hand in Jiwoong’s hair, the other too busy holding himself up steadily against the counter. 

Well, Jiwoong can’t have that. 

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” Jiwoong demands. “Look at yourself in the mirror.”

Matthew obeys, lashes fluttering open as he pants under Jiwoong’s ministrations, but not without grinding back into Jiwoong’s hips. They both watch, entranced, as Matthew’s skin turns rosier, as he pulls at Jiwoong’s hair with nothing to show for it, as his movements turn more desperate. 

“Look at you,” Jiwoong clicks his tongue. “I’m the one that’s been played with all afternoon, but you’re the one that’s all worked up now, aren’t you love?” They both watch as Jiwoong brushes his hands up and down Matthew’s chest, gropes his arms, palms at his lower abdomen, pinches at his nipples through yet another one of Jiwoong’s sweatshirts, touching everywhere– but only above the hips, which only makes Matthew squirm even more. “Are you desperate, darling?” 

“Only for you,” Matthew bucks backwards helplessly, sweat collecting at his brow, never looking away from their reflection in the mirror. “Want you to lose it,” he quivers. “Want you to give in, to do what I want.”

Jiwoong hums, nibbles on his earlobe, warm, humid breath panting against it as he murmurs, “And what is it that you want, sweetheart?”

“Make me yours, Jiwoon-hyung,” Matthew whimpers, begs.

“Sweet boy,” Jiwoong tuts. “You’re already mine.” 

Matthew keens, and it takes every single morsel of Jiwoong’s willpower to back away, to let go of the delectable mess he’s made. Matthew whines, and Jiwoong turns him around by the hips before cradling his face in his hands.

“Tonight, love.” Jiwoong reassures, promises. “I’ll make you mine tonight.” Matthew nods, lashes drooping with unshed, needy tears. He drops one last kiss to Matthew’s nose as he strokes his cheeks with his thumbs, back and forth in a familiar, comforting motion. When he’s calmed down a bit, Jiwoong whispers, “Go get ready for dinner, baby.” 

Matthew shudders, nods once more, and leaves the bathroom, most likely to go take a breather in their bedroom. 

Jiwoong splashes cold water across his face as the tap runs, stares himself in the mirror, takes deep breaths to steady himself. 

Dinner. They only have to make it through dinner. 

---

 

Miraculously, they somehow make it through dinner. Neither of them were able to fully rid themselves of the need, the tension simmering in their veins, thighs pressed together, feet dragging up against shins underneath the dining room table. 

Jiwoong can’t stop himself from thinking about the park, about Matthew’s gasp when his back hit the tree, Matthew’s sigh when he sneaked his cold hands up his sweatshirt, Matthew’s moan when he slid his leg in between his thighs. The hunger in his eyes when they strip teased each other in the morning, the satisfaction when Jiwoong pinned his hands up against the wall, the desperation exuding from his every move when they played in front of the mirror. 

Thankfully, everyone turns in for an early night, wanting to relax before their long days of travelling or cleaning tomorrow. 

And yet, even with all that, when Jiwoong finally bids the last goodnight, when everyone is back to their own rooms down the hall and Jiwoong closes the door, he can’t help but feel… shy. 

“Hi,” Jiwoong says. 

“Hi,” Matthew replies, bathed under the golden light of Jiwoong’s desk lamp, tan skin glowing and making him look divine. 

Jiwoong isn’t sure what it is– performance anxiety, maybe, but that feels ridiculous. He isn’t sure where to start, his mind rushing with five hundred different ideas and yet no thoughts at all. 

And then, Matthew snorts, covering his mouth at the sound, delightful giggles escaping nonetheless, and the anxious butterflies in Jiwoong’s stomach disappear, nerves settling in an instant. 

“Shhh,” Jiwoong shushes him, but he’s giggling now as well. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Matthew says between muffled laughs. “It’s just, you were rutting against my ass just a few hours ago, and yet now we’re getting nervous.” Jiwoong guffaws at that, and now it’s Matthew’s turn to shush him, bright smile on his face. 

He closes the distance between him and Matthew now, not a single care as they continue to laugh quietly, and cups his face, shaking him a bit, caught up in the elation, the hilarity of the moment, the high that always comes from being together. 

Jiwoong’s palms on Matthew’s cheeks has become such a habit that it has the ability to ground them both, and when their giggles finally die down, they simply gaze at each other, entranced and oh so in love. They bathe in the feeling, refusing to ever take it for granted after weeks of convincing themselves that they were only on borrowed, no, stolen time. 

“I love you,” Jiwoong whispers, because he can say it now, and he will, everyday, for the rest of his life. 

“I love you,” Matthew whispers back, gaze aflutter as he memorizes every single inch of Jiwoong’s face as it is now, in this moment. 

Jiwoong tilts his head down and Matthew rises on his tiptoes to meet him halfway, their lips joining in an unhurried kiss, bliss outlining their every move. 

However, the slow pace can only last for so long, the pent-up lust simmering under their skin slowly coming to the surface. Soon, Matthew wraps his arms snugly around Jiwoong’s neck –the weight of it feeling so natural, so right it settles right into Jiwoong’s being, his very existence– and pulls Jiwoong closer, licking into his mouth. Jiwoong sighs into it, drifts his grip down to Matthew’s waist, gives it a squeeze before sneaking his hands to the small of his back under his shirt, giving into his need to touch skin, to pull him closer, to have his hips flush against his. 

Matthew’s hands move down slightly to grip at the back of his shirt, pulling at it without a word. Jiwoong understands immediately and reluctantly lets go of him to raise his arms up, eyebrow quirked. Matthew rolls his eyes but complies nonetheless, slowly dragging his fingers down Jiwoong’s chest before reaching the hem of his shirt. However, instead of pulling up the shirt immediately, he sneaks his hands under it instead, scraping his nails across the plains of Jiwoong’s abs, one hand even going further up to pinch a nipple. 

“Brat,” Jiwoong hisses through his teeth, the buzz of pleasure at the touch amplifying the rush of blood heading south. 

“Only for you,” Matthew replies, dropping a kiss to Jiwoong’s sternum before finally peeling the layer up and off of him with slow precision, gaze following the expanse of skin as it gets exposed, throwing the shirt with little care for where it drops. 

Matthew’s greedy hands immediately go for his chest, the skin-on-skin contact sending his body aflame. Each spot his hands touch burns with the memory of him, of every single time Jiwoong thought it would be the last time that he’d get to have him like this. Only now, he knows that those fears were for nothing. Now, he knows that they get to keep this forever. 

Matthew’s fingers hook into the waistband of his pants and, without warning, Jiwoong gets tugged rather urgently in the direction of the bookshelf, Matthew sighing when his ass collides with the edge of the desk, leaning up to take Jiwoong’s lips in a wet, messy kiss. Jiwoong leans into it, into him, one hand on each side of Matthew’s hips, effectively caging him in. 

However, when Matthew’s nails start scraping at his lower abdomen, start trying to sneak beneath the waistband, Jiwoong grabs his wrists in both hands before he can go any further. “Ah,” Jiwoong tuts, “It’s my turn now, sweetheart,” and he guides Matthew’s arms upwards. “Keep them there for hyung, hmm?”

Matthew’s cheeks flush prettily as he accepts his new position obediently, gaze darkening with need the moment his fingers reach back and clutch the edge of the top of the bookshelf in a white-knuckle grip. Jiwoong’s hands slide down Matthew’s arms, the back of his fingers fluttering along the sleeves in light touches. 

Even with his arms raised, the hem of his sweatshirt still covers his abdomen, a fact that Jiwoong both greatly enjoys and also deeply mourns– enjoys, because Jiwoong knows it means this is his sweater, and mourns, because all he wants is to catch a glimpse of what’s to come, his impatience at war with his need to savour every single part of this. 

“I lied to you, earlier,” Jiwoong whispers as his fingers reach the hem of the sweatshirt. 

“Oh yeah?” Matthew replies, mirth joining the lust in his eyes, completely unworried. “About what?”

“I said that I like it when you wear my clothes,” he continues as the piece of clothing is slowly but surely peeled upwards, exposing abdomen muscles that immediately make Jiwoong salivate.

“So you don’t?” Matthew teases. 

“Huh?” Jiwoong answers distractedly, nails grazing the other tattoos exposed at Matthew’s ribcage. Matthew raises an eyebrow, playful look betrayed by his panting breath. “Oh, sweetheart, no, I meant the reason for it.”

“Well, obviously that was a lie, I’m never cold– Ah!” Matthew gasps when Jiwoong bends down to pant wetly and then blow cold air on his now exposed nipple. He smiles pointedly at his reaction before pulling the sweater the rest of the way off, struggling a bit with the sleeves, causing them to both laugh together before Jiwoong finally drops it unceremoniously on the floor. 

“It’s because it makes you look like you’re mine,” Jiwoong whispers, the obvious confession nonetheless making him feel more bare than his state of dress. 

Matthew smiles at him, that one special smile that Jiwoong now knows is for him, and only him. “Silly hyung,” he says, wrapping his arms right where they belong around his neck to pull them together, chest to chest, skin to skin, and brushing their noses together. “I am yours.” 

The words make Jiwoong’s heart titillate in his chest, the feeling never getting old, simply etching itself into every piece of his existence, in his bloodstream, his bones, his soul. “I love you,” Jiwoong whispers, the words absolutely everything and yet never enough. 

Matthew stares at him, that deep, soul-searching gaze that used to scare Jiwoong so much, the one that used to scare them both. But this time, rather than fear, Jiwoong can see a relieved sort of disbelief develop before it settles into recognition, solace, home. “You really do, don’t you?” His fingers tremble along the shell of Jiwoong’s ear, along his temple and down his cheek, in pure reverence, in absolute adoration. Matthew doesn’t say it, not out loud, but Jiwoong can see it in his eyes. As much as I love you. 

“Yes,” he breathes out, easy, true. “It was always you,” and he knows at that moment that he would spend his entire life repeating those words if that’s what it would take to make Matthew believe it. “It could never have been anyone else.”

Matthew’s nails scrape along his jawline, cradling his face gently, tenderly, his thumb ghosting over Jiwoong’s lips, gaze unable to slip away. “Jiwoon-hyung…” he whispers, the tone of it reverent, conveying it all, and that’s all it takes for Jiwoong to dive back in, the wave of emotion too strong to communicate through words.

Lips crash against lips, Matthew immediately sneaking his tongue into Jiwoong’s mouth, noses crushed in their urgency to remove all space between them. Matthew’s hands crawl all over, the touches already becoming a welcome obsession, and yet a distraction to Jiwoong’s current goals, and he grabs them to pin them on both sides of Matthew’s head on the edge of the shelf to focus on larger endeavours, such as sucking marks into every inch of Matthew’s skin. 

The clothes aren’t the only way that Jiwoong can stake his claim, after all. 

“Ah, hyung,” Matthew whimpers a litany of moans lowly under his breath as Jiwoong licks, kisses, sucks on the love bites he left earlier that morning, the sounds a melody to Jiwoong’s ears, one that makes him hungrier, greedier for more. 

When Jiwoong is satisfied that Matthew will keep his hands in place, he trails his own down, from chest, to waist, to lower back, to his ass, giving the final stop a quick squeeze just to make Matthew keen before giving it a light smack. “Up.” Matthew complies immediately, hopping up to sit on the desk, Jiwoong helping him by lifting him at the waist. “Good boy,” Jiwoong praises, satisfied when Matthew’s hips buck at the words before pinning them down to the desk with a bruising grip. 

He dives back into the crook of Matthew’s neck –one of his favourite spots, Matthew is just so sensitive and responsive, gasping and sighing and keening– before slowly making his way downwards, a delicate kiss on his throat here, a sundry of bites on his collarbones there. 

He drifts over to Matthew’s bicep, tracing the letters of his tattoo with his tongue before dropping a wet, open-mouthed kiss to it and continuing to lavish him with bites and soothing licks. Jiwoong loves every single part of Matthew’s body, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t have any favourites. He remembers the first time they met, when Hanbin had eagerly dragged his new roommate over and introduced them, and all Jiwoong could do was stare at the defined muscles exposed by the stupid muscle shirt he had been wearing, how much they contrasted with Matthew’s bubbly personality, and how much that combination immediately drew him in like the moon is helplessly drawn to the sun. When he returns from his reverie, Matthew is panting heavily, barely watching him through half-lidded eyes. 

Pleased with his results, Jiwoong travels lower and gives into his next temptation, licking his nipple before taking it into his mouth and between his teeth. Matthew moans, loudly, and Jiwoong immediately pauses his ministrations, staring up at Matthew through his eyelashes. 

“No, no, hyung, keep going, please,“ Matthew mumbles, head tilted back, one hand holding onto the shelf behind him but the other coming down to tangle its fingers in Jiwoong’s hair and press his head back closer to his chest. 

“Shhh, sweet thing, it’s alright,” Jiwoong reassures, petting his flank soothingly, desperately trying to ignore the blood rushing to his cock from Matthew’s franticness alone, lightheaded from lust and need. “But can you be quiet for hyung, Matthew?”

“Yes, yes, anything for you,” Matthew answers, half out of it. 

He gives the nipple one more lick, and Matthew whimpers but manages to otherwise stay quiet. “So good for hyung,” Jiwoong coos as he moves across Matthew’s chest to give the other nipple the same treatment, way past half-hard and going out of his mind with need to lavish every inch of Matthew with his love and praise.

Jiwoong pleasures Matthew with a single-minded focus, dropping kisses to the tattoos along his ribs, down to his navel, on his hip bones, finally kneeling down between his spread thighs to worship at his altar. He passes over where Matthew wants him the most –if the protesting whine is any indication– to hold and press kisses from the ankle upwards, revering his sculpted calves, sucking marks into the soft skin of his muscular inner thighs, and finally pushing up the scandalous shorts that have been both the star of his fantasies and the bane of his existence with nothing but his nose, frozen once he’s finally reached his goal. 

Matthew has given up all pretense of holding on to the bookshelf, instead digging both hands into the thick of Jiwoong’s hair and gripping it for dear life, watching him with that gaze, pupils dilated and attention undivided. Without breaking eye contact, Jiwoong pants as his nose nudges into Matthew’s bulge, the urge to put it in his mouth so overwhelming that he gives in, wetting the fabric still in his way as he kisses the part he can reach.

Matthew keens and his hips buck as much as they can under Jiwoong’s grip on his outer thighs, eyes fluttering shut and head falling back to the shelf, knocking something over in the process. “Oh my god,” he moans lowly between pants, lifting his hips more insistently, his fingers flying from Jiwoong’s scalp to reach for one of Jiwoong’s hands and pull it towards the waistband of his shorts. “Take them off, take them off–” 

“So demanding,” Jiwoong tuts, hiding his smile in the cradle of Matthew’s thighs as his other hand slides up to comply, but not before dropping another kiss to his covered erection– just to feel Matthew’s hips squirm, just to hear his choked-off moan as he tries his hardest to stay quiet, just like Jiwoong asked. “Stand up, this won’t work otherwise.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Matthew quickly lifts himself from his perch on the desk, just enough so that Jiwoong will be able to remove his layers with ease. Jiwoong doesn’t waste any time, hooking his fingers in both waistbands and pulling down, eagerness finally bleeding through after fully satisfying his urge, his need, to venerate every inch of Matthew’s body– only for now, of course.

Jiwoong’s hands freeze when Matthew’s cock bobs up, finally without obstruction, his kneeling position lining it up inches away from his mouth. He leans forward, peering up at Matthew’s desperate, half-lidded gaze through his eyelashes. “Keep looking at me, sweetheart,” he whispers before finally closing the distance and licking a strip from base to tip. Instead of pitching backwards like Jiwoong had suspected, Matthew’s head droops forward, chin almost digging into his chest, his gaze never leaving Jiwoong as he pants. 

Jiwoong’s heart warms in his chest. “Sweet boy, you’re doing so well.” Matthew’s hips twitch at the praise, making the tip press into Jiwoong’s lips. Jiwoong doesn’t mind, and he lets his hands drift up from thighs to ass and hold him there. His sweet boy deserves a reward, if anything, for being so diligent and listening to his every word. 

Keeping eye contact and without a word, he parts his lips and sinks down, taking the entire length in one go, tongue pillowing, throat relaxing with ease. He enjoys the view as Matthew’s gaze goes from half-lidded to wide in disbelief, both hands scrambling for purchase in Jiwoong’s hair, eyes shutting at the pleasure and then immediately reopening to keep watching like he promised. Such a good boy. 

Jiwoong hums in appreciation, salt and tang and most importantly Matthew, and the vibrations make Matthew’s hips buck forward even further, apologies on the tip of his tongue as he tries to back up, a movement that Jiwoong adamantly refuses as he tightens his grip on Matthew’s ass to keep him in place. Jiwoong enjoys taking Matthew as deeply down his throat as he can, and he stays there for a few moments, soaking in the surrealness of the moment, nose exhaling against sculpted abdomen, staring up at the love of his life through his eyelashes. He hopes he paints a pretty picture.

When he starts to feel Matthew getting restless, glutes quivering under his fingers in their attempt to stay still, he finally lets go, sliding back up and keeping just the tip in his mouth, tonguing at the slit. 

“Fuck, hyung,” Matthew curses under his breath, thighs shaking and barely keeping him up, but eyes still open, still watching. Jiwoong slides off completely, lips breaking their seal with a pop. Matthew’s brow furrows but he doesn’t utter a single protest. 

Without a word, Jiwoong lets go with one hand to bring his finger to his mouth. Matthew’s shudders as he watches, understanding flickering in his lustful gaze, as Jiwoong wets it profusely and drifts it back to slide between Matthew’s asscheeks. He moves it back and forth a bit, watching for the clues of Matthew’s desperation with exhilaration, before settling at the rim of his entrance and just playing with it, circling but not entering.

When he’s sure that Matthew is completely focused on his finger –through the shift of his hips, angling for better access– he takes the head of his cock back into his mouth and sucks.

“Oh my god,” Matthew wails, finally breaking his promise as his head pitches backwards, back of his thighs leaning against the edge of the desk to support his weight, volume no longer under control as he moans, fingers scrambling for purchase in Jiwoong’s hair. Jiwoong can tell that Matthew no longer knows which way to go, hips canting back and forth, towards his finger, towards his mouth, broken little pants no matter which way he moves. Jiwoong continues his ministrations, licking at the underside and tonguing at the tip before dragging his lips down to the base once again, finger twirling around his hole in a never-ending, teasing circle. 

This goes on for seconds, minutes, hours, Jiwoong wouldn’t know. All he knows is that he could stay here forever, kneeling for Matthew, bracketed by his increasingly trembling thighs as Jiwoong brings him to the height of his pleasure. Spit and precome dribble from the corner of his lips, the noises becoming increasingly indecent, Matthew’s self control dwindles by the second; and Jiwoong thrives off of it, can’t find it in himself to care that Matthew’s moans and whines are getting louder than they should be. If anything, a part of him preens at the knowledge that he’s gotten Matthew to snap despite his best efforts to follow Jiwoong’s orders. 

“Hah– wait, hyung,” Matthew pants, yanking on his hair to try and pull him off. Jiwoong isn’t worried, he knows what Matthew is trying to warn him about, and that only encourages him further. “Stop, stop, I’m gonna come–”

Jiwoong has half a mind to continue, every instinct in his body begging him not to stop, to keep going until he feels Matthew’s cum shoot down his throat, hot and just for him, a reward for his efforts, his reverence, his veneration–

“Ah, Jiwoon, please,” Matthew whines, begs. “Wanna come on your cock.”

This finally gets Jiwoong to stop in his tracks, finger freezing in its movements and the tip of Matthew’s cock reluctantly dropping from his lips. He peers up at Matthew, taps at his asscheek with the tip of his finger to get his attention. “Look at me, sweetheart.” Finally, Jiwoong gets another glimpse of Matthew’s lust-blown gaze, lashes fluttering open to show dilated pupils focusing only on him. “Hyung will give you what you need.” 

“Ah, yes, please–“

Jiwoong starts circling his finger again, half-drunk on the noises Matthew makes in response as he rambles on, mumbling progressively desperate pleas as he shifts his hips to settle his weight properly on the desk while still giving Jiwoong the room to work. 

“Hyung, ah, get the lube, the lube–“

Jiwoong freezes. 

“Hyung?” Matthew pants when Jiwoong’s hands slowly drift back from their perch on his ass to grasp Matthew’s thighs instead, tucking his face into them to stifle his laughs.

Jiwoong dissolves into a fit of giggles. He can’t help himself. 

Through the haze of lust, comprehension finally seems to trickle through. “Oh, my god,” Matthew whines. “There’s no way.” 

“Did you pack any?” Jiwoong finds himself able to ask, dropping a wet kiss to Matthew’s inner thigh before getting up to stand face to face instead, smiling at him incredulously.

“No,” Matthew whines, disbelieving pout on full display, banging his fists playfully on Jiwoong’s chest. “I didn’t exactly think I’d get laid this weekend.” 

Jiwoong chuckles, reminded of the contrast between his expectations for Seollal and the reality he’s ended up miraculously gaining instead. “Yeah, well, me neither.” 

“But this is your room,” Matthew protests. 

“Sweetheart,” Jiwoong whispers, “you’re the only one I’ve ever brought home– ever,” he reminds him, heart fluttering when Matthew looks at him with those eyes again, the ones that appear just for him when Jiwoong tells him he loves him. “Plus, I haven’t lived here in years.”

“Right,” Matthew says, and even though his eyes are shining with love, his tone still sounds somewhat disappointed. Jiwoong understands why all too well. Just a minute ago, he was experiencing heaven on earth, and while the rest of this is wonderful too –life redefining, even– he is no longer mere seconds away from seeing Matthew come for the first time. 

He taps Matthew’s thighs to get him to sit properly on the desk, smile mirthful and fond when Matthew follows his silent instructions and even kicks his shorts and underwear off from where they’d been dangling from his ankles –abandoned halfway earlier in their haste– to instead wrap his thighs around Jiwoong’s hips, ankles locked on his lower back. 

The feeling of it is quickly becoming one of Jiwoong’s biggest weaknesses, judgment immediately clouded and Matthew taking over his every thought. He tries his best to focus.

“Maybe this is a good thing,” Jiwoong whispers under the cover of night, under the glow of the singular light. “I don’t think I’d want our first time to be in my childhood bed, with my family down the hall.” 

“Hyung, you promised,” Matthew sneaks his fingers into Jiwoong’s hair as he pouts, even though Jiwoong knows he agrees with the point he just made. “You said tonight.” 

“I did, you’re right,” Jiwoong passes his own fingers through the front of Matthew’s hair, brushing the tangled mess out of the way to get a better look at his eyes. “But Matthew, sweetheart,” he says nonchalantly, “when I fuck you for the first time, I want to do it right.” He comes in closer to drop a kiss behind Matthew’s ear, “Want to hear every single noise you make,” nibbles at the lobe just to make Matthew shiver, “Want to see the tears you’ll shed from how good I make you feel.” 

“Hyung…” Matthew sighs, nails scratching down towards Jiwoong’s nape.

Jiwoong hums. “Is that alright for you, love? Hyung will take care of you when we get home.”

Matthew keens, nods his agreement into Jiwoong’s temple, but still says, “Tomorrow seems so far away. I want you now.”

Jiwoong agrees, the lock of Matthew’s thighs around his hips making him feel dizzy, not to mention the press of Matthew’s naked cock against his own clothed erection through the cotton of his sweats. He’s been too preoccupied with Matthew’s pleasure to care about his own, but Jiwoong suddenly becomes aware of how constraining the fabric feels against him, how much he wants Matthew’s touch. He feels overdressed, feels an itch to reach for his waistband and just yank down, just so that they can finally be fully skin to skin. 

Jiwoong backs up just enough to look Matthew in the eye, and even that distance feels painful. “Okay, sweetheart, I can’t give you what I promised, but we can try something else.”

“Yes, yes, anything,” Matthew nods quickly and repeatedly, so needy that it kicks Jiwoong’s instincts into overdrive. 

Without warning, he scoops Matthew up from his perch on the desk, palms cupping handfuls of soft skin, firm thigh. Matthew lets out a little surprised shriek as his arms tighten along Jiwoong’s shoulders, as he tucks his face into Jiwoong’s neck to stifle his sweet little giggles. Jiwoong can’t help but laugh either as he half heartedly shushes him, as he lovingly lays him in the plush comfort of their bed, trailing after to drop a litany of kisses on every inch of his face, behind his ear, along the line of his neck–

“Hyung,” Matthew moans, half thorough enjoyment, half impatient complaint, fingers still twined in hair, ever present. “Your idea…?”

“Right,” Jiwoong sighs, dropping a few more kisses and bites as he reluctantly peels himself away to go dig through his travel bag.

Matthew waits about five seconds before being a brat. “Your ass looks so good when you bend over like that,” he catcalls from his comfortable waiting position on the bed, head propped up by his hand, neck craned and dilated pupils nonetheless shining with a mischievous twinkle. 

“You’re a menace,” Jiwoong calls back quietly as he shakes his head, heat coursing through his cheeks, still rifling through the bag, now checking a different pocket. Where did he leave it? 

“No really,” Matthew continues to whisper-babble, clearly trying to distract and torture Jiwoong, for whatever reason, “I know that you have a thing with my ass, and I get it, I really do, but have you seen yours? There’s this one pair of high-waisted pants that you wear to parties, and by god, even when I didn’t know I was in love with you, I didn’t know why but I wanted so badly to just pull your cock out and suck it dry while you kept those goddamned pants on just for the visual of it–” 

God. 

“One time, I fantasized about you fucking me fully clothed in the bathroom, wearing those stupid fucking pants, bent over the counter while you made me watch us in the mirror, and it was so hot, and this afternoon was so close to that memory that I almost came just from that–”

Oh my god.

What was he even looking for again? Right. Where– oh, finally, why was it all the way at the bottom of the main compartment? Jiwoong straightens up and brandishes the bottle victoriously. 

“Lotion?” Matthew giggles as Jiwoong shushes him. “What are we, teenage boys?”

“Work with me, baby, come on,” he replies with a besotted grin and eye roll, crawling over Matthew’s body and leaving a trail of kisses on his way up. “This is my good stuff too, unscented, for sensitive skin.”

“Oh, are you going to use it to fuck my thighs, then?” 

The image pops up into his head unbidden, Matthew bent over, full ass funnelling into small waist just begging to be grabbed, Jiwoong’s hands encircling it entirely, fingers leaving their marks as his grip strengthens to hold Matthew in place as he thrusts. Jiwoong’s cock disappearing back and forth into the clench of his pretty thighs locked tight and snug, friction so close to the real thing. Matthew’s soft cries, cock dripping as he comes untouched, and Jiwoong’s mess soon joining it after, painting his skin white and watching it trickle down his thighs towards the sullied sheets–

And there’s that grin again. 

“Do you want me to die, is that it?” Jiwoong asks breathily, holding himself up over Matthew, just barely leaving space between their bodies. 

“Is that a no?” Matthew replies, tongue peeking out from the corner of his cheeky smile as he drags his nails down Jiwoong’s spine. 

“Definitely not,” Jiwoong shakes his head. “Next time, though.”

Matthew quirks an eyebrow, playful, locking his legs around Jiwoong’s hips. “Aren’t you supposed to fuck me right next time, though?”

“Yes, baby, but who said I’d only fuck you once?”

Matthew barely has time to gasp at his words before Jiwoong finally closes the distance between their bodies, grinding down on Matthew’s cock. The friction is so good, even with the fabric in the way, and Jiwoong shivers at the way Matthew pants and moans directly into his ear, at the way Matthew’s legs tighten around his hips with every thrust, at the way Matthew’s nails leave tracks where they scrape down along his back, leaving the mark of his pleasure. 

“Not so bratty now, are you, sweetheart?”

He does it again, and again, rocking his hips just to get that bit of friction, greedy for every little reaction from Matthew’s lips, Matthew’s body, Matthew’s gaze. Every moan, every hiss, every plea. Every tightening, every flutter, every stare. All of it, his. 

The feeling tingles through his bloodstream, the possessiveness, the belonging, stronger than any high, and he craves more. He needs to feel Matthew’s skin on his, his entire body shudders just at the thought of the feeling it would give him, of how he could make Matthew feel. 

“No, wait,” Matthew’s hand races to Jiwoong’s hip, stopping the movement of his hand towards his waistband, pulse fluttering in between pants, lashes fluttering in his attempt to keep his eyes open to stare at Jiwoong. “Keep them on.”

Jiwoong is confused for about half a second before Matthew’s hand sneaks its way past the waistband and into his briefs. 

“So big,” Matthew mumbles as he wraps his pretty fingers around Jiwoong’s cock, half out of his mind in pleasure, yet focused on a single minded goal. “I was almost wondering if I imagined it, all those times, through the fabric.” Jiwoong almost whimpers when Matthew’s thumb presses into the tip to collect the copious amounts of precome awaiting there, before swiping down along the vein on the underside. “Would it even fit inside me?”

Jiwoong’s arms shake where he holds himself up, hips kicking in short aborted thrusts. Matthew’s fingers teasingly trail up and down his length, not once breaking eye contact. 

“God, I can barely wrap my fingers around it,” Matthew whispers, thumbing at the tip once more, fingers encircling as much as they can. Jiwoong can feel it, and he pictures it in his mind, Matthew’s small hand wrapped around his cock.

Matthew starts stroking his cock lazily, slow, unhurried movements nonetheless making Jiwoong shudder. “Hyung, am I doing good?” The question is asked with a pout, and really, Matthew shouldn’t look so cute when he’s being so downright sinful.  The pace picks up a little, and the almost-dry friction is a rare treat, one that Jiwoong rarely enjoys on his own, but he thinks he could enjoy anything if Matthew were the one giving it to him. 

“Oh, sweet boy,” Jiwoong coos in Matthew’s ear. “You’re doing so well for hyung, making hyung feel so good.” Matthew’s breath hitches and his hand’s movement stutters when Jiwoong licks into his mouth for a deep kiss, increasingly desperate with every stroke. 

When their lips separate, breaths panting, foreheads stuck like glue, Jiwoong genuinely thinks he could swallow Matthew whole and it still wouldn’t be enough. The need to touch Matthew –to feel all of Matthew’s skin against his– resurfaces even stronger than before, and Jiwoong can’t wait a single second longer. 

Panting, dizzy with want, overcome with need, Jiwoong delicately holds Matthew’s wrist, halting him mid-stroke and slowly pulling his hand away. 

“Hyung?”

“You’re perfect, sweetheart,” Jiwoong reassures immediately, still panting, dropping yet another kiss on Matthew’s lips, satisfied when he sees the doubt in his beloved’s eyes melt away. “I just think we should move on to my plans for the lotion before I come in my pants like a teenage boy.”

The callback makes Matthew giggle, and Jiwoong takes advantage of the momentary distraction to grab Matthew’s thighs and roll them over so that Matthew is straddling his lap.

To his credit, Matthew steadies himself quickly, hands on Jiwoong’s chest and thighs promptly adjusting themselves so that they perfectly bracket Jiwoong’s hips, ass perched on Jiwoong’s mid thighs. He grins breathily, rosy glow across his cheeks, gaze borderline cocky despite the ever present panting and neediness permeating the air. “I always knew you’d have a thing for this position.”

Not one to be outdone, Jiwoong raises his knees, flattens his feet against the mattress, and bucks his hips, grip on thighs sliding Matthew into the perfect position so that Jiwoong can grind his cock up into his ass. The smirk on Matthew’s face immediately disappears, replaced by an open-mouthed moan, lashes fluttering as he fights instinct to maintain eye contact. Satisfied, Jiwoong uses his core strength to sit up, once again a breath away from Matthew’s tempting lips. With one hand still on Matthew’s thigh, he uses the other to scooch them backwards until his back can rest comfortably against the headboard. 

With Matthew so delectably trapped in the space between his lap and chest, Jiwoong can’t help but grind his hips upwards into the cleft of Matthew’s ass just a few more times just to hear his moans and feel him trembling. However, the promise of full skin contact finally within reach convinces him to pause if only for just a moment. 

“Sweetheart, would you like to help?”

Matthew nods vigorously, nose fluttering against Jiwoong’s cheek from the movement. “Yes, please.”

Jiwoong lowers his thighs slightly so that Matthew slides backwards just a bit, to align their cocks perfectly. And then finally, unceremoniously, Jiwoong frees his cock from his boxers, pulling the waistband down just enough that it rests at his upper thigh, full thick length on display for Matthew to stare at. He tries not to preen when Matthew’s head tilts downwards to do exactly that. 

“Be a good boy for hyung and get the lotion?”

Matthew scrambles, hands blindly swatting around them and through the sheets until he finds the bottle and offers it to Jiwoong. Shamelessly, his gaze hasn’t drifted even an inch. 

“Thank you, baby,” Jiwoong says as he takes the proffered lotion, grabs Matthew’s hand and squeezes a liberal amount into his palm before doing the same for himself and dropping the bottle back into the sheets. “Go on then, sweetheart.”

Matthew doesn’t need to be told twice– his hand flies right back to where it was, picking up right where he left off. Only this time, he takes up a brisk pace, determined to please, watching, spellbound, at how each stroke produces more precome. And this time, Jiwoong can see how small Matthew’s hand looks wrapped around his cock, thumb grazing the tip on the upstroke, pretty fingers barely able to wrap around the entire girth. Jiwoong stares, transfixed for a moment, before putting his own hand around Matthew’s cock, grin curling at the edges of his panting mouth when Matthew whines, grinds back into Jiwoong’s lap, short needy thrusts into Jiwoong’s fist. 

They settle into a rhythm, strokes matching, heavy breaths into each other’s mouths, foreheads stuck together. Jiwoong ducks his head to trace the trail of bites he left on Matthew’s collarbone and neck with his tongue, satisfied to see the marks already blooming, showing his claim for all to see. He lavishes kisses in the junction of his neck and jaw before leaning back just enough to see the expression on Matthew’s face, head tilted back, eyelids fluttered shut, wet swollen lips just a breath’s width apart, just enough to voice every little moan and whine from the back of his throat as both of their fists keep stroking. 

“Look at me, love.”

Matthew’s eyes flutter open when Jiwoong’s fingers land along his jaw to level his gaze, making sure his grasp is in the right position before giving a light squeeze. Jiwoong feels Matthew’s pulse kick under the tips of his fingers at the pressure. If they could, he’s sure that the younger boy’s pupils would dilate even further, and Jiwoong feels a high rush through him at the feeling that thought produces. He releases a bit of the pressure to thumb at Matthew’s bruised lip instead, and relishes the feeling of Matthew’s shuddering exhale against his skin. His entire body leans into the touch, begging for more, dazed neediness dripping from his gaze. 

And then, Jiwoong shifts his hips just so, angling them just right so that he can wrap his hand around both of their cocks in one grip. 

Matthew gasps. “Please,” he sighs, begs blissfully, unshed tears clinging to the corners of his lashes, keeping eye contact just like Jiwoong asked.

And well, Jiwoong has never been able to say no to Matthew, and he doesn’t think he ever will. 

Using the hold of his one hand, he licks into Matthew’s mouth as he begins to stroke them together with the other, the skin to skin contact absolutely religious and sacrilegious all at once, life changing. The kiss is wet, filthy, desecrating and yet divine, as they pour need, belonging, possession, comfort, understanding– love, into each other, feeling it thrum through their bodies, into the fabric of their existences.

Each stroke gets them both more and more highly strung, pleasure thrumming through their entire bodies like live wires and curling up their spines like springs, ready to pop. Both of them know they won’t last long, not with all the tension built up– from their night, from the day, from the weeks of the arrangement leading up to this moment. If anything, Jiwoong is surprised that either of them have lasted this long. 

And, as if it weren’t enough, when they just barely separate for breath, motions felt under his fingertips, Matthew leans down just enough to drop a mouthful of spit down on their cocks, saliva joining lotion and precome to make it all even messier, not once breaking eye contact. 

Unreal. 

“You like it wet, is that it, baby?” Jiwoong pants into Matthew’s mouth, light upward thrusts bouncing him on his lap and aiding the slide of their cocks against each other. 

Matthew hums lightly as he nods, resting his lips against Jiwoong’s chin. 

Temporarily stopping his movements –earning him a choked cry and whining string of mumbled pleas and protests– Jiwoong grabs one of Matthew’s free hands and raises it to his lips, spitting into the palm before directing it back downwards. “Come on, then.”

Matthew desperately wraps his hand around their joint erections, tears running down his cheeks as he sobs in relief at the renewed pressure, and Jiwoong quickly follows suit, molding his own over Matthew’s and moaning when both of their joint hands create the most delicious pressure. With the return of Matthew’s pretty fingers wrapped around his cock, Jiwoong knows he won’t last long.

“Look at you, sweetheart, sitting all prettily in my lap, fist wrapped around our cocks,” Jiwoong simpers, unable to look away from Matthew’s face, gaze curtained by fluttering wet lashes, cockdumb yet focused, sweat dripping into his brow, tears streaming down his face, blush undeniable and lips kiss-bruised, leaning into the press of Jiwoong’s fingers. “You’re doing so well for hyung, I’m so proud of you.”

Matthew moans at the praise, leans in for a kiss but Jiwoong holds him back, and he whines.

“Are you going to come for hyung soon?” Jiwoong asks, because he’s getting to the edge soon himself– but he wants, needs, to see Matthew come first, needs to see the look across his face as he does, more than he needs air to breathe.

Matthew nods rapidly, the movement causing more tears to fall from his lashes. “M’close, hyung.” 

This time, Jiwoong doesn’t hold him back when he draws in for a needy, wet kiss, and he bathes in the feeling of Matthew’s wet cheeks mushed against his, eats up every moan and sigh and pant and whine that Matthew breathes into his mouth, loves the taste of salt and tang and Matthew all across his tongue. 

When they separate, Matthew whimpers, even needier than before, and Jiwoong’s blood sings.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Jiwoong asks, thrusting into their joint fists, Matthew practically bouncing on his lap, the slide of their cocks against each other driving him a little insane, so close to the edge. Matthew mumbles something, but Jiwoong can’t hear him well. “Hm?”

“Please.”

“What, my love?”

“Please, hyung,” Matthew begs. “Let me come.”

Oh, my god. 

The words send Jiwoong off kilter, a little unhinged, fingers under jaw squeezing just a bit where they’d gotten loose in shock. “Are you waiting for hyung’s permission?” 

Matthew whimpers, whines, nods his head into the grip. 

“Oh, sweet thing,” Jiwoong coos. “You’d do anything for hyung, wouldn’t you?”

He nods again, this time even more adamantly, knocking their foreheads together in his haste. “Anything for hyung,” he echoes, breath shuddering. “Only for you.”

Jiwoong feels untethered to earth, orbiting only around Matthew’s every move, every word– nothing else matters. “You’ve been so good for hyung tonight, baby, so good,” he praises.

Matthew wails, hips stuttering into their fists, slippery and wet and messy and hot and so good, and this is it, this is the moment–

“Look at me, Matthew.”

Matthew does. 

“Come for hyung, sweetheart.” 

Matthew’s eyelids flutter, tears streaming down his face as he sobs through a jaw-dropping, toe-curling moan, cum shooting across both of their stomachs and chests. He’s perfect, Jiwoong memorizing every detail of this moment, now. ”Jiwoon-hyung,” he cries out weepingly, and it seems to go on forever, spurts of cum just coating their fists as Jiwoong continues to guide their hands, stroking their cocks through his pleasure.

“Good boy,” Jiwoong repeats, “so good for hyung,” words slurring together, thoughts getting jumbled, mind only focused on Matthew, Matthew, Matthew–

A deep, guttural moan punches its way out of his chest as Jiwoong comes harder than he ever has in his life, ropes of cum coating as far as Matthew’s chin, covering both of their fists and cocks in sticky fluid. 

“Hyung, hyung, Jiwoon-hyung,” Matthew chants as they both feebly keep stroking until there’s nothing left. It’s a mess, a downright filthy slippery slide, and Jiwoong’s short thrusts stutter until he feels overstimulated, and then some. 

Matthew whines into his mouth, lips and teeth clashing in barely satiated relief, and Jiwoong kisses, kisses, kisses him, until the whines turn into giggles, until the giggles turn into fake shocked gasps when Jiwoong takes his filthy, cum-covered hand to wrap it around Matthew’s waist and pull him closer, chest to chest. 

Matthew’s own cum-covered hand reaches around for Jiwoong’s, grip tight and unrelenting as he raises it to his lips and starts licking them both clean, going as far as to taking every single digit in his mouth, one by one, without breaking eye contact.

Jiwoong can only stare, disbelief caught in his throat, until he finishes the job. “We’re both a little insane, I think.”

Matthew snorts and immediately hides in Jiwoong’s neck and laughs, warm and melodious, and Jiwoong incredulously remembers that he will get to experience this every day for the rest of his life. When Matthew’s gaze returns to him, Jiwoong is overwhelmed with the gentle love he finds there. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to get used to it. 

“Only for you,” Matthew says playfully, yet so earnestly it echoes in his very being, and Jiwoong, in that moment, knows he’ll never know a greater love in any lifetime.

“Only for you,” Jiwoong repeats, the statement reverberating in his bones. He drops a kiss to the tip of Matthew’s nose and feels his heart beat in his chest when Matthew preens, pleased and content. 

“You know, our hands were the least of our worries,” Jiwoong teases, vaguely gesturing to their entire bodies, still covered in a vaguely concerning amount of fluids.

“Later,” Matthew says, running his fingers through Jiwoong’s messy hair, as if that would fix anything. 

Jiwoong rolls his eyes playfully, enjoying the sensation of Matthew’s fingernails scratching across his scalp, hand finding their way around Matthew’s waist. “Let me go get a towel, at least.” 

“Best I can do is a dirty shirt,” Matthew shrugs, breath brushing across his lips in proximity. “I don’t want to let you out of my sight.”

Well, when he puts it that way. 

Jiwoong glances around quickly to see if anything is within reach and grasps his discarded shirt, lucky that Matthew’s throw earlier made it land on the edge of the bed. He delicately starts wiping them both dry –clean just seems impossible– under Matthew’s enamoured gaze, taking extra care with the sensitive areas, licking the spurt of cum on Matthew’s chin for good measure.

Satisfied enough with how much he’s removed, Jiwoong wraps an arm around Matthew’s waist and pulls them down until they’re horizontal, Matthew half laying across him, head nestled on his shoulder and legs tangled together. 

“I can’t wait for you to come inside, next time.” 

Jiwoong chuckles in disbelief, endless images, scenarios and positions filtering through his mind, endeared and turned on by Matthew’s insatiable enthusiasm. His cock betrays him, twitching in interest, and Matthew presses down when he can feel it against his thigh.

“Do you think you could get me pregnant?”

Jiwoong almost chokes on his spit and Matthew laughs his bratty little giggle, proud grin stretched across his features. 

“God, you’re kinky.” 

“You love it,” Matthew declares, cuddling deeper into Jiwoong’s embrace.

“I do,” Jiwoong confirms. “I love you.” 

Matthew’s smile softens, elbows digging into Jiwoong’s chest –ow– so he can raise himself up and hover his face over Jiwoong’s. “And I love you.”

This time, the kiss is deep, but sweet, tongues caressing one another in a dance known only to them. Matthew’s nose presses into Jiwoong’s cheek, and Jiwoong’s heart flutters in his chest at the feeling of completion. Everything is good, perfect, right. Their lips part tenderly, and Jiwoong smiles fondly when Matthew yawns. 

“Is it bedtime, darling?”

Matthew nods vaguely before leaving one more chaste kiss on Jiwoong’s lips before dropping his face down into the crook of Jiwoong’s neck. 

“Alright, sweetheart.” Jiwoong reaches for and flicks the bedside table’s light switch before settling himself fully, tucking his face into the crown of Matthew’s head and dropping a kiss there. “Go to sleep now, love,” Jiwoong whispers, taking up one of his new favourite rituals of brushing his fingers through Matthew’s hair until he falls asleep. “Goodnight, Maeddu.”

“Goodnight, hyung,” Matthew mumbles back softly.

It doesn’t take long before the warmth of Matthew’s body against his and the smooth comfort of Matthew’s breath lulls Jiwoong to sleep.

 

---

tuesday, january 24th. 

---

 

When Jiwoong wakes up the next morning, he instinctually reaches out towards the other side of the bed, eyes closed, wanting to extend the dreamy warmth of cuddling the one he loves. 

This time around, Jiwoong doesn’t need to reach far; in fact, he doesn’t need to reach at all. The dream solidifies, and when Jiwoong tightens his arms, Matthew is there in his embrace, staring at him like he’s hung all of the stars in the sky just for him. 

Matthew smiles, whispers, “Good morning, Jiwoon-hyung, love of my life.” 

And Jiwoong knows everything will be alright. Perfect, even.

---

 

When Matthew wakes up the next morning, he feels so warm. 

This time around, he doesn’t stubbornly keep his eyes shut, doesn’t refuse the pull of consciousness. He embraces the light shining into his field of vision, streaming through the curtains and across their bed. However, he still refuses to leave the cocoon formed around him. 

After all, although he isn’t wearing Jiwoong’s clothes this time, there’s still no place he’d rather be than wrapped up in Jiwoong’s bed, in Jiwoong’s arms. 

He doesn’t even have to move any muscle other than the one for his neck, craning it just so that he can stare at Jiwoong’s face. He traces every minute detail, from lashes and cheekbones, to nose and lips. His love brims in his heart, overflowing with its intensity into the rest of his body, as he realizes that if he wants to, he could wake to this view, every day, for the rest of his life– although he’s sure that Jiwoong would want to experience the same thing. Okay, then. Half of all the days for the rest of his life. Love is about compromise sometimes, after all.

As he lies there, peaceful and warm, Matthew thinks about the last few weeks. They’ve undeniably changed his life. Despite all of the insanity that came from it, the highs and lows that he’s experienced in such rapid succession, Matthew knows that he can’t resent the choice that he made that one fateful night at the club, not even one bit. He remembers the morning after Christmas –the morning of his realization– and the morning even before that one, after Haruto’s birthday party –the original truth, even when he hadn’t known it then– both so similar to this one. 

He thinks he can forgive himself for being so blind at the time, because after all, it still led him to this.

Jiwoong’s eyes flutter open, and Matthew smiles, heart skipping a beat in his chest. “Good morning, Jiwoon-hyung, love of my life.” 

Jiwoong’s arms tighten around his waist to pull him in closer, and he drops a kiss to the tip of his nose, the endeared, fond smile that Matthew has come to blissfully and almost disbelievingly recognize and accept –after so long denying it– as the one that Jiwoong keeps just for him slowly spreading across his lips. “Good morning, Maeddu, love of my life.” 

Matthew giggles, overcome with a cocktail of emotion so strong it’s indescribable, and almost overwhelming. He might cry, maybe, but he knows they’d be happy tears. 

Real, it’s all real.

Sometimes, it still doesn’t feel it, and Matthew wonders how long it will take before that feeling goes away. But, he knows that eventually, it will. 

Because, well.

After all, Matthew is in love with Jiwoong.

(And now –Matthew knows– that Jiwoong is in love with him.)

Notes:

yeah when i started this fic i thought it would be max 30k words... the last chapter ALONE is 30k whoops but also you're welcome LOL, i hope you guys enjoyed <3

thank you all so much for reading!! if enough people beg for an epilogue... well... then maybe i have an idea even though it isn't written yet so you'd have to wait a while hehe <3