Chapter Text
"You what?" Matthew's voice cracked. He exchanged a bewildered glance with Gunwook.
Their manager's expression didn't shift. "We need you two to step up the fanservice. Make it seem like you're secretly dating."
Gunwook scoffed. "Us? Acting all lovey-dovey?" He shook his head. "We're way too unserious for that."
"Yeah." Matthew let out a huff. "One of us is gonna laugh and blow the whole thing in the first ten seconds."
The manager leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Look, you know how much the fans love 'haobin,' but that wave won't last forever. We need fresh dynamics to keep momentum going." He tapped his iPad. "And right now, you two are trending."
Matthew's stomach twisted. But Hanbin and Hao are different. Management didn't know—or pretended not to know—they were actually together. He and Gunwook? Just friends.
"Why us, though?" The words came out sharper than intended.
The manager turned his iPad around. Tweets. Fan edits with millions of views. Compilation videos of moments Matthew didn't even remember. "The fans are already shipping you two. I'm not asking for a full drama—just lean into it." He scrolled. "And now that Gunwook's presented as an alpha, he's drawing even more attention. Play up that confident, flirty side. Trust me."
The silence stretched. Above them, the fluorescent lights hummed.
Matthew knew this wasn't unusual. Every group did fanservice—it was part of the performance, part of what made fans feel connected. But something about this felt different. More complicated.
"Okay." The word came out resigned. "We'll do it."
Gunwook nodded. "Fine."
"Good." The manager stood, already moving toward the door. "Just make sure to still engage with fans individually. We don't want to lose the ones who see you as potential mates for themselves. Balance is key."
The door clicked shut. The silence that followed pressed down like humidity before a storm.
Matthew leaned back, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling tiles.
"So..." Gunwook's voice carried a note of disbelief. "That was insane, right?"
A quiet laugh escaped Matthew. "I mean, yeah. But not unexpected." He'd seen this coming—the way fans reacted to their interactions, the comments on every video.
Gunwook paced, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets. "Still. Us? Fake-dating for fanservice? It sounds like a bad Kdrama."
Matthew cracked a grin. "Do we at least get matching outfits?"
"Don't give them ideas." Gunwook groaned, but a smile tugged at his lips.
The tension dissolved, replaced with their usual comfortable teasing.
"I mean, come on." Matthew spread his hands. "You and me? They're going to eat it up."
"Right?" Gunwook sounded both horrified and amused. "They're going to make us do all that heart pose stuff and act like we're madly in love."
Matthew's laughter broke through, rich and genuine. "We should practice then."
"What?"
"You know." He grinned. "So it doesn't look awkward on stage. Don't want to disappoint the fans."
Gunwook gave him a deadpan look, but his ears turned pink. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"I think it's hilarious. You and me, pretending to date?" Matthew shrugged. "What could possibly go wrong?"
Gunwook didn't answer right away. When he finally looked at Matthew, something shifted in his expression—a hesitation, a flicker of something unspoken. The pause lasted one beat too long.
Matthew crossed the room and rested a hand on Gunwook's shoulder. Light. Grounding.
"Hey." His voice dropped. "I'm good with this. If I wasn't, I'd say so. You know that, right?"
Gunwook looked down. "I just don't want it to get weird between us."
Matthew squeezed his shoulder once before dropping his hand. "It won't. We're friends. We've got this. I promise."
Gunwook exhaled—almost a laugh. His shoulders loosened. "Okay. Then we need rules."
"Rules?"
"Yeah. Like… no kissing."
Matthew snorted. "Noted. Anything else?"
Gunwook pretended to think, a mischievous glint entering his eyes. "Don't call me baby in front of the cameras."
"What about behind the cameras?"
Gunwook turned red. "Shut up."
Matthew burst into laughter, and Gunwook—after a second's resistance—joined in, shaking his head. The sound filled the small room, washing away the last remnants of awkwardness.
"I promise I'll be careful." Matthew's voice turned sincere as their laughter faded. "And if you ever want to stop, just say so. No drama, no questions asked."
Gunwook's expression softened. "Okay."
A beat passed.
"You know," Matthew added, eyes crinkling, "for someone who thinks this is awkward, you're taking it pretty seriously."
Gunwook shrugged, looking at his feet. "I just don't want to mess things up between us."
Matthew's smile faded into something quieter. The weight of Gunwook's words settled in his chest—how much this friendship meant to both of them, how much they both had to lose.
"Me neither."
Before they walked on stage the next day, their manager caught them in the hallway, one hand on each of their shoulders. "Remember—be more touchy. Nothing over the top, just... natural. Make it look effortless."
Simple enough, Matthew thought. Just touch more. How hard could it be?
The fan meet stage was scattered with props—cat ears, flower crowns, plushies laid out like colourful bait.
Matthew's eyes locked onto the Pokémon plushies. He nudged Gunwook's arm and made a beeline for the table, weaving between members. Without hesitation, he grabbed a giant Pikachu and held it up.
Beside him, Gunwook reached for the oversized Snorlax.
"Snorlax suits you." Matthew couldn't resist saying. "All you do is sleep when we're not rehearsing."
Gunwook scoffed and brandished the plush like a weapon. "Bold words for someone who naps during warm-ups."
Matthew leaned over, expression turning wicked. "Just saying. You're basically a Snorlax. Big. Quiet. Always in my way."
Gunwook retaliated instantly, lobbing the Snorlax into Matthew's chest with a satisfying thud.
Chaos broke out.
Soft limbs flew through the air. Fans squealed. The two idols battled it out with increasingly dramatic attacks, their laughter infectious and uncontrolled.
"Pikachu used slam!" Matthew announced with theatrical flair, smacking Gunwook again. He was giggling so hard he could barely breathe.
Fans screamed their names. Camera flashes went off like strobe lights.
They were in their own little world—smiling too wide, laughing too loud, faces flushed. The rest of the venue faded into background noise.
Gunwook took a breath and leaned in, crowding into Matthew's space with a mischievous glint that promised retaliation. They were still laughing, caught up in their game, but then their faces were suddenly close—really close. The scent of fresh linen and honey hit Matthew's senses like a wave. He could feel the edge of the table pressed against his hip. Barely a few inches of space between them.
Matthew's breath caught. His laughter died. Gunwook's smile faltered as their eyes met and held, something unspoken passing between them.
"Yah, we're supposed to be professionals!" Jiwoong called from across the stage, his voice cutting through their bubble with a knowing laugh.
Both boys startled, jerking back.
"Tell that to Snorlax!" Matthew gasped, forcing a laugh even as his heart hammered.
Matthew became suddenly hyperaware—hundreds of eyes watching, cameras pointed at them, other members observing with amusement. Their private bubble had burst, leaving him oddly exposed.
Someone from the crowd called out, asking them to pose for a picture.
"Oh—uh, sure." Matthew grabbed his Pikachu, scrambling to stand straight, smoothing down his shirt.
Gunwook mirrored him, Snorlax cradled in his arm. They posed—Gunwook's arm sliding naturally behind Matthew's back, their shoulders touching, both grinning broadly. The position felt easy despite the newness. Natural, even.
The camera flashes were blinding, but Matthew kept his smile fixed, hyperaware of the solid warmth of Gunwook's arm against his back, the way their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces.
Maybe this wouldn't be so hard after all.
Back at the dorm that evening, Matthew flopped onto the couch with a dramatic groan, his socked feet hanging off the edge. His muscles ached, but his mind was still wired, buzzing with leftover adrenaline. Taerae and Ricky squabbled over who got the last piece of chicken while Jiwoong scrolled through his phone nearby, occasionally cackling.
"You guys broke Twitter." Jiwoong's grin widened. "Mattparkz ship edits are already going up. The fans are going absolutely insane."
Gunwook froze with a soda can halfway to his mouth. "Why are you even looking at that stuff?"
Matthew raised a brow, smirk tugging at his lips. "Told you we were naturals."
Gunwook looked vaguely horrified. "We're going to have to do this all the time now, aren't we?"
"We could make it easier on ourselves." Matthew stretched lazily as an idea formed. "Start getting used to it off-stage. You know, so it becomes second nature."
Gunwook blinked. "Practice?"
The other members giggled, exchanging knowing looks.
Matthew nodded. "Yeah. Fanservice. Physical stuff. Touching, closeness, eye contact. If it becomes second nature, it won't feel weird on stage."
Gunwook hesitated, then shrugged. "Okay. That makes sense."
"Oh, please don't subject us to your PDA," Gyuvin interjected dramatically, fake gagging. "The real couple here is already bad enough." He gestured pointedly at Hanbin and Hao, who existed in their own private world, currently feeding each other pieces of chicken with soft smiles.
"Fine, we won't traumatize the children," Gunwook said with mock seriousness.
"You're literally the second youngest person here," Yujin pointed out, raising his eyebrows.
Gunwook stole Yujin's chicken in response, grinning unrepentantly as the youngest member squawked in protest.
Later that night, after the chaos had died down and most members had retreated to their rooms, Matthew and Gunwook sat in their shared bedroom on Gunwook's bed, scrolling through their phones. Both had showered, their hair still damp and smelling of shampoo.
Matthew nudged his shoulder with a grin. "We should practice now. Y'know, so we don't get awkward mid-show tomorrow."
Gunwook hesitated, his thumb stopping mid-scroll. "Like… touching?"
"Don't say it like that." Matthew choked out around a surprised laugh.
Gunwook joined in laughing, the tension breaking as it always did between them.
Matthew shifted closer until their shoulders brushed, his body still warm with post-shower heat. The closeness wasn't unusual—not for him—but there was a deliberate quality to it this time, a consciousness that hadn't been there before. Matthew became suddenly aware of how their scents were mixing. His own was dull, barely there, but Gunwook's surrounded him, earthy and rich. It smelled like honey in tea and the warmth of sunlight on clean fabric, something indefinably comforting.
Matthew reached over and linked his fingers with Gunwook's. An unexpected jolt shot through his system. They sat in silence for a few seconds, their earlier laughter having died down into something more contemplative. The weight of Gunwook's hand in his felt significant somehow.
"Okay, this is awkward," Matthew admitted finally, pulling his hand back. His fingers felt cold without Gunwook's warmth.
"It's only awkward because you're thinking about it," Gunwook replied. "You hold my hand all the time."
"Are you keeping track?"
"No, you just do." Gunwook's voice was matter-of-fact. "You're usually touchy with everyone, so doing it a bit more often shouldn't be that difficult."
"You're right, sorry." Matthew reached out and linked their hands again, this time with more confidence.
They sat like that for a few heartbeats, both pretending the moment was entirely normal and not charged with something neither wanted to name. Matthew tapped at his phone screen with his free hand, not really reading anything, just giving himself something to focus on besides the feeling of Gunwook's palm pressed against his.
He could feel Gunwook's presence against his side, solid and grounding. It was... nice. Not distracting, exactly, but not nothing either. The warmth radiating from Gunwook's body was comforting in a way Matthew hadn't expected.
The silence stretched, not quite awkward but definitely charged with unspoken awareness.
Then Gunwook shifted slightly closer, just enough for their arms to press fully together from shoulder to elbow. The contact was deliberate. Intentional.
Matthew froze for half a second, his breath catching, then forced his body to relax into the touch. He didn't know why it made his chest feel strange—warm and full, like laughter and tension coexisting in the same space. He was usually the one initiating touches, always reaching out first, so being on the receiving end was unexpectedly pleasant. Different, but not unwelcome.
Over the next few days, the casual touches became woven into the fabric of their routine. A shared blanket on the couch during movie nights. Matthew's hand gripping the back of Gunwook's hoodie while walking through crowds. Legs pressed together under tables during meals. Shoulders bumping in hallways.
It became easy. Natural. Not too far from how they'd acted already, just... more. More intentional, more frequent, more aware.
There were still awkward moments—the occasional flinch when fingers brushed unexpectedly, a laugh too loud when they caught each other staring for a beat too long, the flush that would creep up Matthew's neck when Gunwook's hand lingered on his waist. But the hesitations became less frequent as the days passed, the touches more fluid and comfortable.
One night, they watched a movie on Gunwook's laptop, curled up under the same blanket in a tangle of limbs that would have been impossible to explain to anyone who walked in. Gunwook leaned against the headboard, and Matthew rested beside him, his head close to Gunwook's shoulder, their knees touching beneath the shared blanket. Neither said a word about the intimacy of their position. Neither moved away either.
Matthew found himself reaching for Gunwook more and more when he felt tired or overwhelmed. Like Gunwook's presence could anchor him, keep him steady when everything else felt like too much. He was beginning to seek out Gunwook's touch with an intensity that should have worried him, but mostly just felt right.
They sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch during a post-concert Weverse Live, still buzzing with performance adrenaline. Matthew was sandwiched between Gunwook and Jiwoong, the couch cushions dipping under their combined weight.
The live started casual enough. Jiwoong told a story about forgetting lyrics during rehearsal that had them all laughing. Matthew joked about tripping over a speaker cord, complete with exaggerated reenactment. Gunwook laughed at everything Matthew said, his thigh pressed lightly but deliberately against Matthew's, the contact warm even through their clothes.
About fifteen minutes into the broadcast, Matthew leaned a little closer to Jiwoong as they joked about a behind-the-scenes moment that had the fans in the comments going wild. The distance between him and Gunwook grew slightly—only a few inches, barely noticeable, but enough.
Gunwook didn't say anything. He didn't frown or show any outward sign of displeasure. He simply reached over with practiced ease and tugged Matthew back into his side, his arm slipping around Matthew's waist like it belonged there, like this was something they did all the time. His hand was warm and possessive.
Matthew stiffened for just a moment, his breath catching. The solid weight of Gunwook's hand on his hip was pleasant—more than pleasant, if he was honest with himself. But it was Gunwook's scent that really got him—stronger now, almost addicting as it crowded Matthew's senses and made it difficult to think about anything else.
He forced himself to stay relaxed, to keep smiling, to keep chatting with the fans like nothing significant was happening. But it was harder to stay focused than it should have been. His brain kept returning to the feeling of Gunwook's arm around him, solid and sure. To the strange yearning for more of that scent, stronger and closer. You're overthinking this. It's just skinship. Just fanservice. This doesn't mean anything.
But Gunwook's scent seemed to wrap around him like a blanket, warm and comforting and impossibly distracting.
Gunwook didn't move his arm for the rest of the live, keeping Matthew tucked against his side.
The moment the camera shut off, chaos resumed. Yujin and Taerae started mock-fighting in the corner over who had gotten more screen time. Jiwoong tossed his mic down with a dramatic sigh, complaining about how his face looked puffy on camera. The manager walked in with a clipboard and a satisfied grin.
"That was good." He looked directly at Matthew and Gunwook with unmistakable approval. "Really good. That little moment between you two—with the arm around the waist? Fans are losing their minds over it already. The trending tags are insane. Keep that energy up. It's working exactly like we hoped."
Matthew rubbed the back of his neck, heat creeping up into his cheeks. "Thanks."
Gunwook nodded quietly beside him, his expression carefully neutral.
Matthew tried to ignore the way his skin still buzzed where Gunwook's hand had rested just minutes ago, the phantom sensation lingering like an echo. He tried to ignore how much he'd liked it, how safe it had made him feel.
It's just fanservice. Just performance.
But somewhere deep in his chest, in a place he didn't want to examine too closely, he didn't know if he was just pretending.
The next day found the group seated in a sterile clinic that smelled sharply of antiseptic. Going overseas for tour meant mandatory vaccines—a tedious but necessary evil. Matthew wasn't particularly scared of needles. He just preferred not to look at them.
The waiting room was filled with an awkward quiet—only the hum of fluorescent lights overhead and the soft clicking of receptionists typing. Matthew sat between Gunwook and Hanbin, hands tucked under his thighs, trying not to fidget even as anxiety coiled in his stomach.
"Matthew?" the nurse called, her voice professional and clipped.
He stood quickly, brushing invisible lint from his hoodie with nervous hands. Gunwook gave him a small nudge on the shoulder—playful, reassuring, familiar. "Don't cry."
Matthew smiled faintly, but the expression didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll try my best."
Inside the small examination room, the doctor checked his chart with practiced efficiency, tapping away on her keyboard. The sound seemed loud in the quiet space.
"Just the vaccinations today?" she asked without looking up.
"Yes."
She nodded absently. "Perfect. But first, just a few basic questions about your health." She finally looked up. "Your file says you're unpresented?"
Matthew's stomach dropped like a stone. The familiar shame washed over him, cold and uncomfortable.
He hesitated for a fraction too long, then nodded stiffly. "Yeah."
She glanced up more carefully this time, her eyes assessing. "Have you experienced any symptoms recently? Changes in scent, increased temperature fluctuations, persistent headaches, emotional instability?"
Matthew shook his head too quickly. "No. Nothing's changed."
The doctor hummed and made notes, the clicking of keys somehow judgmental. "You're nearing the upper range for late presentation. It's still within normal, but I strongly recommend you come in for a formal evaluation if anything shifts—even minor things that seem insignificant. We need to catch it early if a dynamic does start expressing. It can be dangerous if left unmonitored."
"Right," Matthew murmured, staring fixedly at a spot on the wall. "Of course."
As she prepped the syringes with brisk efficiency, Matthew sat silently on the exam table, eyes fixed on the floor tiles, counting them to distract himself. The pattern was predictable, orderly—unlike the chaos in his head.
It always felt like this in these moments.
The clinical detachment. The assumption that something was about to happen to him, that his body was just a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. Like he was a clock that hadn't sounded its alarm yet but inevitably would.
Everyone in the group had assumed he was a beta from the start—and he'd never corrected them. It was easier that way. Betas didn't draw attention or cause complications. Betas didn't have heats or ruts or sudden scent spikes that could disrupt group dynamics. Betas were safe, uncomplicated, normal.
Gunwook had already presented as an alpha. Everyone in the group had presented, actually, except for Yujin... and him. Yujin was the youngest, still within the normal range, so no one questioned it. But Matthew? Matthew was running out of time, running out of excuses.
He hated lying to his members, but it felt too embarrassing to admit the truth. Too vulnerable to confess that something fundamental was wrong with him that kept his body from doing what it was supposed to do.
The needle pierced his skin, and Matthew barely felt it. The physical pain was nothing compared to the ache that had taken up permanent residence in his chest.
The roar of the crowd was absolutely deafening, a wall of sound that hit them like a physical force. The lights above the stage pulsed in blinding bursts of colour, illuminating an endless sea of lightsticks that swayed like stars across a living galaxy. The members stood backstage in a whirlwind of adrenaline and nerves, the air thick with anticipation and the sharp scent of anxiety.
Matthew's heart was pounding so violently he thought it might echo louder than the music itself. This was it—their first concert of their world tour. Years of training, months of preparation, countless sleepless nights—all leading to this single moment.
Matthew pressed a trembling hand against his chest, like he could physically steady the storm raging inside his ribcage. His fingers shook slightly despite his best efforts to calm them, but his face held a quiet smile that was equal parts nerves and overwhelming pride. His body buzzed with an energy he couldn't name—anticipation so intense it bordered on painful. Pride. Disbelief. Joy so profound it threatened to spill out of him in tears.
Everything felt surreal, like he was living in a dream he might wake up from at any moment.
Beside him, Gunwook tugged lightly at his sleeve, grounding him in the present moment.
"You okay?" Gunwook's voice was low, almost drowned out by the opening notes already blasting through the massive stadium speakers, vibrating through the floor beneath their feet.
Matthew turned, and for a second his throat caught on words that wouldn't come. Gunwook looked impossibly calm—confident and solid in a way that made Matthew's chest ache with gratitude. His in-ears were looped around his neck, mic already clipped to his face with professional precision, eyes steady and focused completely on Matthew. There was something infinitely grounding in his gaze.
"I think I'm gonna cry," Matthew admitted with a soft, shaky laugh.
Gunwook's smile was crooked and unbearably fond. "You cry, I cry. Don't start, or we'll both be a mess."
Matthew laughed again, but his eyes were already misting over. "It's just... we worked so hard for this. For so long." His voice cracked on the last word, years of struggle and hope compressed into that single sentence.
Gunwook nodded, understanding flooding his expression. "I know. So let's enjoy every single second of it."
The stage manager gave them the signal—sharp and urgent, no time for second thoughts. One by one, the members ran out into the blinding lights and the screaming, deafening cheers of thousands of fans who had come to see them. To see them.
Matthew hesitated for half a second longer, sucking in a breath that felt like it carried the weight of years of dreams, years of doubt, years of hoping against hope that this moment would actually come.
Then he ran.
The heat hit him first when he burst onto the stage—the intense lights beating down like physical pressure, the sweat already beginning to form, the roar of voices calling his name in a chorus that made his heart swell impossibly large in his chest. It was overwhelming in the absolute best way, like being swallowed whole by pure joy. He beamed, his whole face aching from smiling too hard, muscles straining with the force of his happiness.
The music started and Matthew hit every move on pure instinct. His body knew the choreography like muscle memory, movements so practiced they felt like breathing. But his heart was somewhere else entirely—soaring over the crowd, catching on signs with his name written in dozens of languages, landing in the middle of fan chants that shook the floor beneath his feet.
This was real. This was actually happening.
Somewhere in the middle of the setlist, Gunwook was supposed to fall into formation behind Matthew during a chorus—they'd practiced it a hundred times, the positioning precise and rehearsed.
But instead, he changed it.
It was such a small modification that most people wouldn't even catch it, wouldn't register that anything was different from the planned choreography. But Matthew felt it instantly, like a spark of electricity shooting down his spine. Instead of hitting his assigned mark to the side, Gunwook shifted closer. His arm slid smoothly around Matthew's waist mid-spin, pulling him just slightly into his side as they finished the final counts together, their bodies moving as one.
It was smooth. Seamless. Not disruptive at all to the overall performance. But the fans definitely noticed—judging by the sudden explosion of squeals and the blinding flash of cameras going off like fireworks.
Gunwook grinned as they hit the last pose, his arm still loosely but possessively around Matthew's back, warm and solid.
Matthew glanced at him with wide eyes, genuinely surprised. "That wasn't in the choreography."
Gunwook just winked, his expression pleased and just a little bit smug. "Fanservice."
Later, during the encore as they sang the final song with hoarse voices and aching muscles, Gunwook did it again. This time, he didn't even try to hide his intentions or make it subtle. He slung his arm confidently around Matthew's shoulders for most of the song, holding the mic out with his other hand so the crowd could sing along, their voices joining together in a beautiful, chaotic harmony.
Every time Matthew tried to step away—just to give them both space, just to interact with other members—Gunwook's arm would tug him right back, firm but gentle, like he couldn't bear to let him go.
Matthew laughed breathlessly through it all, flushed and stupidly giddy with exhaustion and joy. "You're clingy today," he managed to say between verses, loud enough for only Gunwook to hear over the music.
"It's for the fans," Gunwook said teasingly, his breath warm against Matthew's ear in a way that made him shiver.
But Matthew caught it then—the shift in Gunwook's expression during the bridge. The way he looked at Matthew wasn't the exaggerated, camera-ready affection they'd been practicing. It wasn't playful or teasing. It was soft. Focused. Intense in a way that made Matthew's breath catch painfully in his chest.
Gunwook was looking at him like Matthew was the only person in the entire stadium full of thousands of screaming fans. Like nothing else existed except for this moment, this connection between them.
Matthew blinked hard, his heart skipping several beats as understanding tried to dawn but he refused to let it, pushing the realization away because it was too much, too complicated, too dangerous to acknowledge.
After the concert, they collapsed backstage in various states of exhaustion—sweaty, trembling with spent adrenaline, beaming so hard their faces hurt.
Taerae immediately flopped onto the nearest couch with all the grace of a dying fish, yelling hoarsely, "We're rockstars!" while pumping his fist weakly in the air. Jiwoong wiped tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, muttering something emotional about never forgetting this night.
Matthew sank to the floor right where he stood, legs spreading wide, head falling back against the wall as he tried desperately to catch his breath. His lungs burned, his muscles screamed, but he'd never felt more alive.
Gunwook dropped beside him immediately, their knees knocking together, shoulders pressed close despite the available space. "You didn't cry."
"Yet," Matthew corrected with a tired smile, his eyes already stinging with the tears he'd been holding back. The emotion was building like a wave, threatening to crash over him at any moment.
They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, just breathing, just existing in the aftermath of something profound. The room buzzed with post-show adrenaline and laughter, their members' voices creating a comforting background noise.
"You were amazing tonight," Gunwook said suddenly, his voice dropping low and sincere.
Matthew turned to him, genuinely surprised by the raw honesty in Gunwook's tone. Gunwook wasn't typically one for open displays of sentiment—he showed his care through actions more than words. "You think so?"
Gunwook nodded firmly, his eyes intense as they held Matthew's. "Yeah. You looked... happy. Like you were exactly where you're supposed to be. Like you were born for this."
Matthew swallowed hard, that persistent lump returning to his throat with a vengeance. The weight of Gunwook's words settled over him like a warm blanket, and he had to blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay. "I am. I really am exactly where I'm supposed to be."
Gunwook just smiled—soft and genuine and understanding in a way that made Matthew's chest ache—then bumped his shoulder gently against Matthew's in that familiar gesture of affection. "Let's make every night like this then. Every single show."
Matthew nodded, blinking fast against the burning in his eyes. "Definitely. I promise."
Gunwook's scent was stronger than usual this close, rich and warm and achingly familiar. It washed over Matthew like a comfort, grounding him in this moment. All he knew was that even after the lights finally dimmed, after the fans screamed their last cheers and the confetti settled onto the empty stage, this moment—right here, with Gunwook's shoulder pressed against his and that honey-sweet scent surrounding him—felt just as real and significant as the concert itself.
Maybe even more so.