Work Text:
It’s a Friday night — well, morning — when Matthew gets a notification of one new voicemail in his inbox.
It was inevitable for it to be declined automatically; his phone is on silent mode or Do not Disturb from 10:00 PM to 6:00 AM. Fortunately for whoever the caller is, he’s not able to stay asleep for more than four hours in a row these days. And there’s just one habit that he’s been unable to break for what’s felt like decades: grabbing his phone the minute he opens his eyes.
(1 Missed Call from Gunwookie)
(1 New Voicemail)
That’s what he thinks he sees when his phone flashes awake. He’s squinting because it’s too bright and his vision is still blurry, so making the words out isn’t that easy. Blinking rapidly helps a little. Then after rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he actually makes a proper attempt to open his phone.
Ugh. Suddenly his password feels really long as he types it in. Home page. Scroll. Scroll. Scroll. Why doesn’t he just put his phone app in the dock like a normal person? Stupid iPhones. His old Samsung was nothing like this. It was way more dependable.
He eventually finds it on the fifth page and clicks it. There’s a transcript of some sort waiting for him to read when he navigates to the voicemail tab, but it’s a lot of words. A literal block of text. One that Matthew doesn’t have half the mind to read at the moment. Instead he rather blindly hits the play button, fumbles around to make the sound project on speaker when it doesn’t by default, drops his phone beside where his head lays, and then finally closes his eyes.
Hyungggggggg.
His eyes crack back open. That voice. Gunwook. Right, that’s who called him.
Matthew hasn’t spoken to him in years — maybe like, three or four? God. That's a really long time, now that he’s thinking about it. Definitely too long for them. He and Gunwook were supposed to do a better job at keeping in touch after they went their separate ways. It’s hard to believe they live in a universe where they don't.
You still have the same phone number…right? If this is a random person that’d be really embarrassing.
Matthew has this thought about laughing at that, but it doesn’t exactly come out. He just thinks, yup, still me.
He’s had the same number since he moved here years ago. Things are easier nowadays. Just because you get a new phone, doesn’t mean you get a new number.
But anyway I-I…Matthew-hyung. I’ve…kinda had a lot to drink, but I needed the courage to tell you something…
He’s not really listening. He's too busy focusing on how mature Gunwook sounds compared to the last time they spoke. His voice is deeper — kind of rough, but familiar still. When he says Hyung, he sounds like a baby all over again. He’s not really around younger people anymore, so he doesn’t get called that honorific as frequently. He decides that it’s nice to hear it again.
Aw. And there’s that nostalgic feeling overtaking him suddenly, the one that he’s been getting a lot recently, but it’s not exactly fond this time. It’s kind of horrible. Painful. It’s bitter — like acid fizzing in his stomach and trying to rise up his throat. There’s plenty of excuses Matthew could make to explain why he hasn’t talked to Gunwook in so long. If he tried to say them out loud, they wouldn’t make sense. Matthew let them drift apart. He’s estranged. That's it.
I’ve always liked you…like really really liked you-seriously liked you forreal! Do you believe me? Gosh, it’s really cold outside right now. I wish you were here.
The line cuts out after that’s said. The voicemail is over, he thinks. Gunwook’s phone might have died. His finger could have slipped — ended the whole thing by accident. He can’t help but think that Gunwook had more to say and that the incompleteness of his message was unintentional.
Matthew sits up — way too fast for his body’s liking — and grabs his phone. He finds himself frantically tapping on the phone screen to make it flash awake.
He unlocks it with his face this time, and spots the time stamp. This was sent four minutes ago.
Okay. That’s a good thing. That means Matthew can call him back. Gunwook would most likely answer since it’s in the same window of time.
Matthew begins to do exactly that, but he finds his finger hovering over Gunwook’s name. Even when he commands his brain to press his thumb against the screen, it never happens. He feels like he’s been disconnected and unplugged.
His heart is doing a weird thing it’s never done before. It beats thinly — like he’s walking a fine line between death and life.
That just…couldn’t have been what Matthew thinks it was, right? A confession? Maybe he should listen to it again. It wouldn’t hurt; when you’re half asleep you start to hallucinate things. He didn’t exactly eat much last night and his sleep schedule always fucks him raw when the weekend roles around. He’s not even in his right mind, technically.
Slow down. Matthew forces himself to take a breath when he notices that he isn’t breathing at all. He places his palm flat to his chest. Think about this Matthew, Gunwook admitted to being drunk. The knowledge of that doesn’t make processing this any better, but Matthew will sure pretend it does.
There’s a possibility that Gunwook didn’t mean what he said. If he did, it was never meant to be revealed. Matthew will respect that. He will take the words at face value — no — he will forget about them entirely. That sounds better. This is not a big problem. He has control over this situation. End of story.
More than ready to go back to bed, Matthew lays down and closes his eyes. After a few minutes, when he starts feeling more like a corpse than an actual person trying to sleep, he sits back up.
Matthew surmises that the feeling haunting him must be panic. It has to be. A fucking near panic attack over this!
Okay, what you learned in therapy. If you can even remember. Matthew closes his eyes, and thinks about the simplest thing he can muster — like spelling out his own name in his head. Seven letters. Two syllables. He does it three times, then stops.
After that, a rather distorted memory of Gunwook pronouncing his name the first time they met accompanies his thoughts. Matt-tyu or Matt-chu? he had asked. He was just a harmless little thing in Matthew’s eyes back then, seriously. Curious. Caring. Down to earth. Most people weren’t really like that. Both are fine, Matthew responded.
Matthew misses him.
He decides that he should call Gunwook back. And he does, after another 10 minutes of staring and not moving and not doing anything. It takes a nightmare mix of curiosity, dissatisfaction, and unease to finally push him into action.
Deep down, the idea of leaving this unresolved is terrifying to him. So, he presses Gunwook’s name, this time with no hesitation, and listens to the phone ring.
It’s difficult to focus only on that, but he tries. He’d rather not acknowledge the fact that he does not know what will happen if Gunwook picks up the phone. Matthew’s not ready for this. He’s not ready for anything at all, really.
It rings for a seventh time. Matthew figures maybe it wasn’t meant to be, and that he should just call it a night. He can half-live with this knowing that he tried.
Just before he decides to pull his phone away from his ear, the line decides to connect.
It’s silent at first, for an extended moment, kind of in the way it’s quiet before a jump scare in a horror movie comes.
“Tyu-hyungggg.”
His heart stops for a split second when he hears that. Then when it’s back, it’s banging in his chest like it’s trying to break through his ribcage. He feels like he might die — of heart failure or something of that nature. He suddenly imagines the phrase R.I.P carved into his tombstone, settled right under his name. They’ll tell everyone that it was bittersweet nostalgia that put him in his grave. It becomes a worldwide fear to have a death similar to his.
Matthew clears his throat in a sort of ugly way, to prepare himself to speak.
“Gunwook-ah,” he manages to say, stably, but still unsure. How long has it been since they talked? How long has it been since he’s said his name? How long has it been since Matthew has contacted him, or anyone for that matter?
Matthew pinches the skin at his own neck. “Are you alright?” he asks, deciding not to focus on the how-longs for the sake of his sanity.
There’s a piercing yelp, then the sound of a car honking after. Matthew squints, wondering where he could be. He’s outside, obviously. Drunk and outside at night is never a good combination. Trust him, he would know. He’s had a lot of those nights.
Gunwook having a night out on the town or leaving a bar or club or something is a funny picture in Matthew’s head. He can do things like that now. He’s been able to for a while, right. Gunwook just never seemed to really fit into that scene, but what does Matthew know? Time has passed. Gunwook may as well be a stranger to him now.
When Matthew notices that lack of response, he tries again — moving his phone closer to his mouth as if it’ll help. “Hey,” Matthew says at him, “where are you?”
“I…don’t know,” Gunwook finally slurs out, “‘N Hongdae…somewhere. Hyung can you come get me? I-I want to see you.”
Matthew’s heart pounds, and he can practically feel it in his cheekbones. If he didn’t know what he knows now — or if the past decade didn’t go the way it did — he’d find this cute and endearing. Heartwarming. Grounds for a long awaited emotional reunion.
He feels the opposite. He feels worse. The idea of actually meeting Gunwook in person feels more arbitrary than practical. He takes a quick glance at the clock on his nightstand, something purely for decoration because he’s always using his phone, it reads: 1:56 AM.
It would be smart to say no. Matthew has every right to say no. This is inconvenient. Unexpected. He has to get up and do things like go to work in a few hours. It’s a lackluster job as a radio show host, but there’s still standards Matthew holds himself to. For example, showing up on time.
The obligation to look after Gunwook is not his. He’s what — 28? Not 19. There’s no group tying them together anymore. The threat of facing him tomorrow, and every day after that, doesn’t exist anymore. This shouldn’t be — is not — his problem.
Then Matthew feels uncomfortable in his own skin at the notion of Gunwook not being his problem. It doesn’t sound right. It dies on his tongue like candy, but leaves a bad aftertaste. It’s hard to acknowledge the things that they no longer share anymore.
“Gunwookie…” Matthew says quietly — more to himself — as he tries to figure this entire disaster out. It’s only hard because of him. All he has to do is say yes or no. This moment is only intense for him. Gunwook’s humming a song on the other side of the line. He almost can't even believe it.
Gunwook standing on the sidewalk, by himself, in the cold, careless, drunk, and lost is a worrying image. Almost 30 or not, he doesn’t want Gunwook to be out alone with no one to look after him.
If Gunwook wants to see him, Matthew should just go. He nearly laughs to himself. The heart of a people pleaser never dies, does it.
“Send me your location, okay? Can you do that?” Matthew says slowly, flushing when he realizes he is talking to Gunwook like he’s five years old.
“Yeah, I can do that.”
He rids his body of his sheets and covers and steps out of bed — bare feet cold against the wooden floor. He still feels odd. On edge. All wrong. It makes him pause in the middle of his room.
He considers it. The idea of actually going through with this — committing to it. Matthew is avoidant. He’s beating around acknowledging what changes if he decides to go see Gunwook tonight.
The space he carved out for himself away from them — the members — is safe. Seeing them pains him. It’s dramatic, but it’s too reminiscent of that time. Every time he ached for his job as an idol.
Even now, at 31, Matthew is trying to figure out if it was all worth it.
He toughed through a bit of therapy. It helped some days and on others it didn’t. To put it in short: it made him feel more pathetic than anything. He imagines himself being the only member who feels this way. He imagines no one expecting this to be the way he turned out.
“Hyung, you..still there..?” Gunwook says, grasping at his attention again.
Matthew stares at his shadow on the wood.
“Just…stay where you are, okay? I’ll come and get you,” he rushes out, no air fit between any of those words. He starts fumbling around his room with his phone crushed between his elbow and his ear, making a sort of crazed attempt at pulling on appropriate enough clothes and shoes. The sooner he gets there the faster one worry will cease to exist.
“You’ll come and get me? Really?” Gunwook says with a brash amount of excitement. Matthew pictures a dog in his head — perking up when it gets attention. “Okay! Bye!”
“Yes, I will,” Matthew replies, smiling sort of, because he can’t help himself, “...bye.”
He hears some sort of small giggle erupt from Gunwook. Oh God, that was cute. This will be hard. “Byeeeeee.”
Matthew laughs lightly, before saying bye once more, and hanging up. Then Gunwook is gone and admittedly, Matthew misses him already. He sighs, and stuffs his phone into his pocket.
In the grand scheme of things, the voicemail shouldn’t be as torturous as it is.
Gunwook likes Matthew. Okay. Matthew has been liked — loved — by many people before. That itself has caused him some emotional damage down the line, but it’s not his first time hearing a confession.
It’s just that it’s Gunwook. It’s him saying always — a word that Matthew never expected to feel like a literal slap to the face. Gunwook has always liked Matthew. He always liked Matthew and he needed the courage to tell him exactly so.
Matthew doesn’t like that he’s failed to pick up on something important. He doesn’t like this actually — being drunk dialed. Admittedly, it’s the only thing he probably deserves. Not a sober confession, but a tinny voicemail he can barely make out.
When he stops at a red light, Matthew rests his head against the steering wheel for a short moment. He laughs.
He kind of blocked out most of his early 20s for good reason. His memory isn’t the best to begin with anyway. What he remembers is him and Gunwook being close and telling each other things they wouldn't tell just anyone. Gunwook was always really easy to talk to. He was personable. Matthew was also pretty selfish back then. He took advantage of Gunwook’s clinginess to him. He liked to be held by someone bigger than him.
And they made some jokes, because fans liked it, but that was it. It ended there. He's sure Gunwook had a girlfriend actually — around the halfway point of their career. It wasn’t Matthew’s business. He's probably had many girlfriends and partners by now.
Matthew doesn’t know why, but he starts thinking about Gunwook being intimate with someone in his head. A girl. She has long black hair and manicured nails. She’s hairless — smooth. Gunwook would like that. She’d laugh when he shoves his face into the crook of her neck to place a kiss there.
Matthew burns over in hot shame when he realizes what he’s doing, and stops immediately.
The light turns green, and he presses his foot on the gas a little too abruptly — making the car jerk into motion.
For the middle of the night, there’s still quite a lot of people out. According to Gunwook’s location on his GPS he’s “around” this area, but there’s no telling where the exact spot is.
After passing nameless faces and buildings, he wraps around the block just to drive on the opposite side of the road. It’s not a huge deal. He’s learned to have more patience over the years. And his head is preoccupied with thoughts of Gunwook anyway.
What if Gunwook changed his hair? What if he’s changed everything? What if he looks nothing like Matthew remembered? Is he supposed to be okay with that? Does Matthew have the right to not be okay with that?
Matthew should know all of those things; he has an abandoned Instagram account with more than a million followers. He follows all the members, some of his other friends, and industry colleagues. These days it’s merely a stealth outlet. Matthew looks up hook-ups, people he used to know in Canada, but never the members. They stay untouched — avoided.
Gunwook is one of the more active ones, if he’s remembering that correctly. Matthew briefly wonders what would await him if he were to open Gunwook’s page right now. If there’s years of captured memories or long gaps of inactivity.
He boredly looks on at a sea of partygoers coming out of a building after pulling over into a parking space next to the curb. No luck finding Gunwook there either.
Matthew considers calling again, maybe even sending a text (that’d be more convenient anyway), but immediately shuts down the idea. If he opens their chat he’ll be confronted with the time he ignored the last message Gunwook sent to him about three years ago. He already caught a glimpse of it when Gunwook sent his location and some gibberish earlier. He immediately felt like a piece of shit.
Gunwook gave up on sending him anything else after that day.
Matthew feels himself sinking down in his seat. No, stop it, you’re not allowed to feel this way. This is turning into exactly what he thought it would be — a terrible idea. He’s so worried over Gunwook not being the same without considering if Gunwook can even accept his change. And man, is he not the same. To know Seok Matthew now, is to hate everything he’s turned into.
Matthew hikes himself back up and begins to start his car again. He should go, before he starts crying. That would be embarrassing. The worst and best part of this was that he didn’t even get to see Gunwook in person.
That’s okay. Matthew can learn to make peace with that and this eventually. Gunwook will be okay — he’s a big boy. Matthew will find the courage to shoot him an apology later and hope it’s enough. Sorry I said I’d come get you then didn’t show. Fell asleep. Hope you’re good, he writes out in his head. The message is lifeless.
A bright billboard splayed over the side of a building catches his attention after he looks up from where he’s buckled himself back in. It’s a little ways down, but huge enough to make out. It displays an ad for a makeup company that sounds oddly familiar. It flashes to a picture of people — a K-pop group most likely. Matthew squints.
It's them. ZEROBASEONE, it reads in bold blue letters.
It’s an ancient thing from their debut days. Matthew’s hair looks fried and his face is still more fat than hollow. He buzzes, feeling the sweeter part of nostalgia hit him again. This always happens — the small moment of happiness he gets before dread washes over him.
Then the ad disappears in another flash, like it was never there to begin with.
Matthew’s eyes flick back down to where his hands are gripped on the wheel. He can make out the veins on his white knuckles. He should go. He sure feels ready to. However, coincidentally enough, that’s the moment when Matthew sees him.
It’s not cinematic or anything. The world doesn’t stop or slow down for them. In fact it’s busier than ever, but Matthew just looks out at where Gunwook stands, frozen in his own seat, wondering if this will be enough to keep him from leaving entirely.
Gunwook is near a light pole, with his eyes closed and half of his face hidden in a scarf bunched around his neck. He’s doing this thing — like trying to fit as many of his fingers as he can into his shallow jean pockets — it’s not working, but he keeps trying. While at it, he sways forward, kind of like the branches of a tree in the wind, until he catches himself almost falling and jerks back.
A kind of dumb smile creeps onto Matthew’s face as he observes the scene. His outfit is interesting, to say the least. He has on a scarf, but no jacket or coat, just a t-shirt and jeans. That’s it. Matthew is between wanting to nag at him and finding him cool.
However, the thing that is making something deep inside of Matthew cry for joy is that Gunwook is still the same. Matthew, who has been trying to keep up with a world that’s moving too fast for him and had to adapt to this new normal, has finally found a constant.
An influx of urges to call out Gunwook’s name, jump out of his car, run to him, and tackle him vex him. It’ll be like something out of a movie, like he’s been waiting for this moment his entire life. It’ll be perfect.
No, it can’t be that easy. It won’t be. Matthew is still the standoffish bum he was before he came here, and Gunwook still hasn’t seen him in years.
He wants to call someone about this — anyone — to ask for advice on what to do. His therapist always encouraged him to reach out even after he stopped sessions, but Matthew never found it to be appropriate. He doesn’t pay her anymore. Free help can’t be as good as paid.
Matthew finds himself doing nothing. He’s sitting in his car, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling he gets as he watches Gunwook from a distance. He’s being kind of creepy. It’s just to give him time to prepare himself before he gets out of the car.
He will get out of the car eventually, right?
Gunwook sways forward again, except this time Matthew genuinely fears for his well being. He steps out of his car — cursing under his breath, as he rushes his way.
“Gunwook!” Matthew shouts loud enough to catch his attention, feeling nervous when Gunwook doesn’t look his way immediately like he hopes. How out of it is he? He does it one more time — straining his voice — begging to be heard.
Matthew is relieved when their eyes meet.
“Hyung,” Gunwook cries. He’s really still the same. Matthew can’t even believe that he considered the possibility of him changing. Same wide smile. Same bright energy. Same everything. He spreads his arms out wide as an invitation to come closer.
Matthew doesn’t hesitate to cut the distance between them. Gunwook engulfs him in a bear hug, and the overthinking he once did over this sounds silly now. No matter how long it’s been, this is still just Gunwook.
Gunwook still hugs Matthew in the same, distinct way. His arms still bend to the shape of Matthew’s body. Matthew frees his face from where it had been stuffed in Gunwok’s shoulder and props his chin on it instead.
“Hyunggggg,” Gunwook mumbles after a little hiccup. Matthew stumbles, trying his best to keep them both upright and steady. Jesus. This right here is his responsibility now. His person to take care of. He doesn’t even know what he signed himself up for.
Matthew pats his back a couple of times, even though he’s sure Gunwook is barely listening. “Let’s get you in the car, yeah?”
Gunwook hums, but doesn’t let him go. He only holds him tighter — like if he doesn’t, Matthew will break into a bunch of pieces.
Matthew lets out a shallow breath and frantically glances around them, to see if there’s anyone looking, maybe. That’s just one habit he can’t quite shake — making sure he’s not being watched.
There isn’t. The people that pass by pay them no mind, in fact they don’t even spare them a single glance. They’re not exactly important anymore. They haven't been for years. He can’t say he misses the burden of being followed or having pictures snapped of him from a distance, but it made him feel significant.
One day we won’t have this, Gunwook had said a while back. They were stowed behind a few crates in an alley — hiding from a couple of girls who were trailing them.
If they led anyone back to their dorm they’d get an earful about it from management. And Yujin, who back then, never had a problem with telling fans to leave their front door.
Gunwook’s mask covered his face, but Matthew could tell by the tone of his voice that he wasn’t bothered by the intrusive fans. He never really was actually. It was the thing that set him apart from everyone else.
You know? We’ll be able to walk in public with no one calling out our names or recognizing us, he continued, in a hushed voice.
Gunwook told Matthew that he wasn’t looking forward to that day. When that day came, it meant all of his hard work had gone to waste. His dream would be over and he’d have to move on. Moving on wouldn’t be easy, it would be hard for him.
He felt babyish at times, when he said things like that. Innocent. Back then, Matthew only knew one thing; everything had to come to an end eventually. They would get over it. They would learn to accept it.
Gunwook had a more distinct — passionate — perspective. Their career was more than singing and dancing, it was about having a desire to be the best. To be someone and no longer nobody. To leave an impact. Bearing your soul to earn your stripes, he had said in reference to the survival show at a press conference.
Matthew didn’t know it then, but he too, wasn’t looking forward to when that day came either.
“Hyungggg, ‘m tired,” Gunwook complains, resting his head atop Matthew's. He still towers over him by a head’s length. Wrapped up in his arms like this, Matthew realizes just how big he is. He’s much bulkier and more solid than he used to be — maybe the outcome of his stint in the military. The visual of him being intimate with someone crawls back into Matthew’s mind. This time it’s less about the girl he’s with and just the image of Gunwook — the glow of his skin and smooth plane of his body. Matthew blinks, then shakes the thought away.
Trying to get Gunwook into the car is easier said than done. Matthew’s supporting arm around his waist isn’t much of anything and they kind of waddle on the way there, surely looking like an odd pair to any outsider. Gunwook is giggling every time they stumble, and rings through Matthew’s ears like a siren.
When Gunwook is finally settled in the passenger's seat, Matthew yanks the seatbelt over his body.
“Hyung,” he says suddenly, less whiny and more clear. Matthew has been trying to ignore the steady gaze Gunwook has kept on his face — taking flighty glances around the car and back to what his hands are doing instead.
Matthew caves and looks at him. The first thing he notices is that he’s thinner. He’s not sure if that came with age or because he lost weight, but it’s a sick reminder of the time that’s passed. He’s still so undeniably boyish though. His eyes twinkle. Matthew remembers what it was like to admire him — call him pretty.
“Yeah?” he says, watching Gunwook’s eyes droop. His long eyelashes dust the top of his cheeks.
Now that Matthew is actually here with Gunwook, he can't help but be worried that he’ll say more things that Matthew isn’t prepared to hear.
“I missed you.” It comes out as a mumble, barely even there. The corners of his mouth kick up after he says it, as if it’s funny.
Gunwook’s hand touches him without warning and Matthew flinches, unintentionally. His eyes watch the way Gunwook’s fingers climb under the sleeve of his hoodie to curl around his wrist.
Matthew lets him do that, even if the contact is making him feel this thing that still doesn’t have a name. Gunwook’s thumb brushes against his pulse once, then again. “Missed you,” he says one more time, almost in a whisper.
“I missed you too,” Matthew responds, clipped. Not because he means to, but because he needs to separate them as fast as he can. He pulls his hand away, does one more quick check, to make sure Gunwook is fully situated, then closes the door.
Matthew lets out a single breath he didn’t even know he was holding in. He balls his sleeves over his hands — trying to keep in the warmth Gunwook left behind.
So, there’s a man in Matthew’s car. A boy, really. One that he used to know better than anyone else. He’s told Matthew he’s liked him for years and it makes him uncomfortable, yet extremely excited.
There’s a conversation waiting to be had, Matthew just doesn’t know if it'll ever happen.
It wasn’t his first choice, but Matthew takes Gunwook back to his apartment.
He feels like he’s doing something wrong the entire ride there — Gunwook passing out doesn’t ease his worries either. Matthew wonders where home for Gunwook is now. If it’s at his parent’s house or in a tiny studio apartment. His parents are well off, Matthew knew that much. Had he been a homeowner before 30? With his parents' help or without it?
Matthew hates that he wants to know these things. It makes him realize that letting this pass as a one time thing won’t be easy. It won’t just be Gunwook crashing at his place and getting himself together in the morning. It’ll be him invading Matthew’s home. His life. His mind.
It’s not just his either. Matthew lives with his sister, who decided to move to South Korea in the midst of his idol career. The apartment they share sits on a narrow street — edged between buildings with different purposes. It’s nice. It's suitable, for the two of them. Matthew has never been someone with a specific taste for luxury. Those were short lived joys anyway. He preferred the homey things.
When they arrive, Matthew dreads waking Gunwook up from his sleep, but he does so anyway. If he knew he could do it without getting tired, he’d carry Gunwook all the way up to his apartment, but Matthew’s not that strong anymore. His gym obsessed personality kind of came and went with time.
Gunwook is conscious enough, but still wilts into Matthew’s side the entire walk to the building. The edge of his face is heavy and warm against the top of Matthew’s head. He tries not to let himself like it too much.
Matthew doesn’t remember him being like this whenever they all drank together in the past. Granted, it wasn’t an often occurrence. Matthew hates drinking to this day (he still does it, from time to time, but definitely hates it, especially the aftermath) and a handful of their members swore off of it as well.
The drunk version of Gunwook was cute. Loose. Clingy. The simple, ordinary drunk stuff. That was the outcome of drinks with 85% juice, though. Tonight Gunwook smells like…cologne and beer. Soju. It’s gross, kind of, but it doesn’t push Matthew away. It makes him want to stay close — take care of him until he’s back to normal. What had he done to himself? Is he okay?
“You okay?” Matthew asks, since it's on his mind. Keeping him talking while they’re walking is a strategy. Matthew wants to not fear him tipping over suddenly. Gunwook hums. It vibrates against Matthew’s body.
When they enter the building, Matthew guides them toward the elevator — passing by the door to the staircase that he usually takes. It's just a bad idea. All he can think of is Gunwook face-planting up the stairs.
No one’s around since it’s the middle of the night. The elevator opens the moment he presses the button, so he leads Gunwook into it.
He is only half-startled when Gunwook decides to suddenly squirm out of his hold the moment they get in. Matthew watches him slump against the wall of the elevator, wondering if he should pull him back up. He doesn’t. He just presses the button for the fifth floor and keeps his eyes trained on the numbers flashing on the screen. He prays they can get upstairs before Gunwook passes out or worse, throws up.
“Hyungggg.”
He sounds like he’s whining out for Matthew. It makes something tug in his guts. It’s perfect material for the new scene in his head. This time there’s not only no girl and just Gunwook, but Matthew is there with him. He’s the person being intimate with Gunwook. He shivers. He needs to go to bed.
Gunwook’s arms are over Matthew’s shoulders before he knows it. Matthew stiffens when his back presses to Gunwook’s front. It’s not exactly a hug, but close to it. His eyes flicker up to see what floor they’re on. Only the second. This is why he takes the stairs; the elevators in this building take forever just to climb five floors. It's horrible.
Matthew’s heart kind of stutters when Gunwook dips down to rest his head on his shoulder. He can make out a part of him in his peripheral — his long eyelashes and small nose. Matthew shuts his eyes tight, thinking that maybe if he does, he’ll wake up in his bed again, and none of this will be real.
“Did you,” Gunwook says, low and slow, reminding him that this is in fact real. Matthew’s anxiety is sky-high now. “...Listen to my voicemail?”
The voicemail.
Okay, he was unintentionally trying to get through the night without that being brought up. Maybe he was naive to think Gunwook would forget about the whole thing. No, he is. It’s what got him — them — here in the first place. If Matthew hadn't listened, there's no way he'd be standing here right now.
Matthew doesn’t exactly trust himself to respond, for some reason. At least not with anything more than yes. Or maybe he should just say no, that would be better. Denying it all would avoid more problems, but Matthew has never been a good liar.
The whole running himself in circles thing doesn’t persist. Gunwook is getting closer to him and he can’t focus on the question. Matthew squeaks, kind of pathetically, when he feels Gunwook’s nose brush against his neck.
Matthew edges his head away in sensitivity. “Ah-Gunwookie,” he near pleads. Scared out of his mind at how this all makes him feel.
Thankfully, the elevator screeches to an abrupt stop. The moment the doors slide open, Matthew grabs Gunwook’s hand and drags him out into the hallway.
When they get to his door Matthew pats around his pockets and thinks, fuck me. He left his keys in the car. Great. Another problem. Another thing to worry about. And yet, another thing keeping Gunwook way too close to him — he’s still draped over Matthew’s back right now — saying something about going to get his keys for him, which is a ridiculous idea.
Matthew ignores him, and rings the worn out doorbell twice, knowing that it’ll be enough to knock his sister out of her sleep. She’ll be pissed at him for doing so, but that’s something he can apologize for later.
Moments pass, he rings it one more time, then within seconds, the door is swinging open.
Yaebin appears, but with her back to them already. She disappears further into the dark apartment until Matthew can't make her out at all. She could afford to be a little more aware, but whatever. Matthew is more than happy that he doesn’t have to explain the guy hanging off of him right now.
He slides his shoes off, before whispering at Gunwook to kick off his. Matthew intertwines their hands and leads Gunwook to his room because they don’t have a guest one. Matthew just doesn’t feel right about throwing Gunwook on his couch.
“I’m tired,” Gunwook announces, heading directly for Matthew’s bed the moment they enter. Matthew doesn’t give himself a chance to laugh at the sight of him looking too big for his bed when he falls into it.
“Hey, no, take your clothes off,” Matthew snaps as he removes his own jacket. Gunwook’s response is muffled, lost into the pillow.
Not on his watch. Matthew walks over and pulls on his arm to yank him upright. Gunwook groans.
“I feel like your mom tonight, geez,” Matthew jokes, pulling Gunwook’s scarf from around his neck. He folds it up, messily, before placing it on the nearby nightstand.
“Lift your arms.”
Gunwook throws his head back and kind of stomps his feet — similar to a child throwing a fit. Matthew’s eyebrows lift in something between shock and amusement. Gunwook squints at him with a frown. “Hyunggggg, I’ll get cold.”
Matthew kind of whips his arms around, considering the temperature. It’s not that cold in here, or the apartment in general, he thinks. He doesn’t even have the fan on.
“You’re not sleeping in my bed with your dirty bar clothes on, sorry,” Matthew responds with a slight laugh. He takes initiative and grabs the hem of Gunwook’s shirt, tugging it up until Gunwook throws his arms up in defeat. His hair flies in different directions when they finally get it over his head.
“‘S not funny,” Gunwook says when he notices Matthew grinning. He cradles his arms around himself. Matthew watches his face for a second, then lets his eyes trail down to his body. His torso is as defined as it felt when they hugged — when Gunwook was pressed to his back. It feels wrong to look, for some reason. It’s not like he hasn’t seen it before, but he can’t help but think of all the times Gunwook wore a shirt in the pool when Matthew went shirtless. Matthew reminds himself that time has passed. More people than him have seen this. They've touched him.
“Yeah,” Matthew comments absentmindedly, eyes flicking back up to his face. Gunwook hadn’t noticed he was staring. “Take your pants off.”
Gunwook’s eyes bulge out of his head animatedly. Matthew probably shouldn’t have said that so forwardly.
He glances away from Matthew, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. The corner of his mouth twitches and Matthew finds himself being sort of annoyed for some reason. It’s fleeting. He just can’t seriously believe Gunwook is acting coy right now. He’s laid it all out there for Matthew tonight already.
“Hyung, I’ll have no clothes on,” he mumbles, letting his head hang down.
Matthew lets out a choke of a laugh. This is dumb. “I’m pretty sure I've seen you naked a few times,” Matthew supplies, in an effort to make this less weird. It doesn’t work. Gunwook’s face is adorned with a blush. Matthew forgot how easily he gets flustered. The alcohol probably doesn’t help.
“Just take them off, Gunwookie, it’s just me,” he says when Gunwook doesn’t budge. After he says it, he wonders if it’s even enough. Matthew is a stranger — a distant friend — a glance of the past. He shouldn’t refer to himself with such casualty, should he.
Gunwook does eventually move though. Matthew watches him pull his belt loose enough to shove his jeans down his thighs. Matthew feels weird, again, about watching, but he’s lucky he does so he can help pull them off (they’re on the skinnier side and Gunwook struggles).
Gunwook scrambles to hide himself under the covers the moment his clothes are gone. Matthew smiles, then tucks the clothes into a corner that he'll be able to find when he wakes up.
The next hour seems to drag on. Then, as he’s doing a nighttime routine that he’s never had before, Matthew is faced with the mortifying ordeal that he’s hesitating. He has to sleep in the same bed as Gunwook, he realizes.
In retrospect, sharing a bed should be nothing, especially with Gunwook, who Matthew has squeezed into even smaller spaces with before. They were so clingy back then. For a long time Matthew considered that to be abnormal — especially when he was first adapting to South Korea. He didn’t engage with his friends back in Canada the way he did with his group members. The contact they made was a shove to the shoulder, followed by a c’mon bro, stop fucking around man.
Gunwook was just young — they both were. Matthew liked his duty of being an older member to take care of the younger ones. But that was years ago. The first time they met was about a decade ago, to be exact. They’re not exactly what everyone considers ‘kids’ anymore either. They’re two adult men. Maybe it would be better if Matthew slept on the couch. Gunwook can have the bed. This is what a good Hyung would do.
When he gets back to the room, Gunwook is cozily wrapped in his sheets and comforter. He looks so peaceful like that.
Matthew’s peace, on the other hand, feels disrupted.
He turns off the lights, hoping that being freed from the image will make this easier. When he’s about to make his way to the door to go sleep in the main room, he hears Gunwook say, “Hyunggggg, are you going to get in bed?”
Matthew blinks. “Nah. I’m…gonna go sleep on the couch. I might kick you or something,” he says, trying to be funny again to ease his anxiety.
Gunwook doesn’t laugh. He lets out this wounded puppy noise that hits Matthew straight in the face. Please don’t do that, Matthew thinks. It’ll be hard to say no. I’m weak willed.
“Stay with me? Please?”
“Okay,” Matthew easily agrees, taking quiet steps to get across the room.
Gunwook’s body heat feels like this unfamiliar thing when he climbs into the bed. It’s been a long time since Matthew has slept next to anyone in general. The last one was a one night stand. That probably barely counts.
He settles on his back instead of his usual side position, and feels like a corpse again. Getting rest tonight will be a challenge.
Matthew peeks at Gunwook out of curiosity, still being able to make him out in the dark. With his eyes closed and his breathing evened out, Matthew assumes he’s already fallen back asleep.
It almost even feels like they’re back in that rickety dorm where nothing works properly. Someone is about to barge in and tell them to get up for a schedule at any moment. Matthew doesn’t remember getting much sleep at all during those days. If you gave him that schedule now, he thinks he wouldn't make it.
“Hyung.”
Matthew flinches, not expecting for him to still be awake. Gunwook’s eyes are still closed, but they kind of twitch, like he wants to open them, but is choosing not to. Maybe he can feel Matthew staring at him.
Matthew hesitates. “…Yeah?”
“You didn’t tell me if you listened to the voicemail,” he says, voice surprisingly stable and less slurred.
That again. Matthew is now thankful that he doesn’t have his eyes open. This is already hard enough. He looks away from him and back up to the ceiling, ignoring the way his heart skips a beat.
“I did,” he admits, finally.
He has nowhere to run, and you know what, Matthew will accept the change that’s so blatantly trying to break into his life. He’s been spending all this time feeling stuck. Stagnant. It’s never been ideal, so why let it keep being this way?
“Cool,” Gunwook says. Matthew sucks in a breath, preparing for what comes next. An unfamilar thrill creeps up his back and to his face at the thought of Gunwook doubling down on what he said. Matthew doesn’t know how he’ll even respond, but he’ll figure it out.
“Forget about it, okay.”
Matthew feels his face twist up. “What?”
"I just–wanted to get it off my chest, I feel better now that I did,” Gunwook says, then suddenly just stops talking after.
Matthew rolls his head over to look at him again, but all he’s met with is Gunwook’s back. He didn’t realize that he’d been shifting around. He’s turned on his side, away from Matthew, like this conversation isn’t one to be continued.
“...Gunwook,” Matthew says, voice shaky and dripping with something unknown.
Silence is the only response he gets, even though Gunwook’s breathing is still too shallow for him to be asleep. That’s when Matthew remembers that Gunwook is drunk. Tonight had only felt this way because he was not himself — he was intoxicated. When Gunwook is sober it’ll be nothing like this. It may be nothing at all.
Matthew still glares at his back and thinks about just pushing him off the bed in a fit of rage. You can’t come back into my life and fuck everything I thought I knew up. Get back here. Take accountability. What the fuck.
He won’t forget. Matthew isn’t busy enough for things to just slip from his mind anymore. You know what, he should stop. He needs to. Technically this is good. This should be what he wants. Gunwook is making it easy for him so they don’t have to have any more uncomfortable conversations.
No matter what Matthew thought this was or could’ve been — he should erase it from his memory.
Yeah. He can do that. He’ll sleep it off.
So he does, but when he turns on his side too — away from Gunwook — his heartbeat is thin again, ready to explode out of his chest and paint the sheets with blood. Matthew spells his own name out in his head once more, and then closes his eyes.
Matthew wakes up in Gunwook’s arms, and it's as if they gravitated towards each other like magnets in their sleep.
The memory of last night comes in a wave of shame and humiliation. It almost feels like he somehow got rejected — even though he was the one who didn’t confess.
He shifts slightly, eyes tiredly blinking open and closed. Gunwook’s hands are taking up space on his lower back — under his shirt and against his bare skin. He can feel the tips of Gunwook’s pinkies dipped into the waistband of his shorts. Matthew’s mouth feels drier than ever.
Matthew is horrified, when his first thought is to pull him closer. Does he miss the embrace of another person that much?
He thinks about pulling away and getting up. Gunwook is a heavy sleeper, so it’d be easy to do so without being bothersome, but he doesn’t move. He wants to be selfish and bask in this and pretend the events of last night didn’t even happen in the first place.
A soft snore from Gunwook catches Matthew’s attention. He moves before he really thinks about it — lifting his arm from where it was thrown across Gunwook’s hip to touch his cheek. He’s met with cold and soft skin.
Again, Matthew can’t help but notice that he’s thinner. His face is more pinched around the edges. Matthew traces out the line of his cheekbone. And smiles privately as he pokes Gunwook’s top lip with his thumb, and then his bottom one right after.
He holds Gunwook’s face again with his free hand after that, pinching his cheek with two fingers. Not hard. How long have you looked like this? Where’s your fat, Matthew thinks. Where’s the little boy I knew? Why are you all mature now?
Misery crashes into him all at once, but he still rests his head on Gunwook’s shoulder and thinks about them inhabiting a different universe — a thing that’s starting to simultaneously bring him comfort and make him insane. Gunwook will wake up, mumble good morning in a groggy voice, and then press his lips to Matthew’s temple or something. It’ll be nice.
Somewhere right before Matthew ends up falling asleep again, he swears he can feel Gunwook pull him closer.
Matthew never considered the possibility of something like this happening.
Not only Gunwook’s confession — that’s a whole other thing. It’s him being here with Matthew in general — being the first member he’s had contact with in years.
To be honest, Matthew expected it to be Hanbin. He was the closest to him. They have the most history. They even have matching rings (Matthew's sits untouched in his sister's jewelry box now). Matthew is sure that he has a few unread texts from him sitting in his phone too. He’s one among many people Matthew has failed to keep in touch with.
By the time he finishes washing up and telling his manager he won’t be at work today through text, Gunwook is still asleep. Matthew ignores his urge to crawl back up against him and wanders into the hallway.
If it was any other regular day, he’d probably just eat a slice of toast with jam spread over it or whatever his sister decides to make. If it’s a work day, he’ll just mooch off of what the staff brings for everyone in the break room. All of that sounds bleak, huh. Long gone are the days of restaurant breakfast and hotel buffets. That was an occasional privilege anyway — most days they were all too focused on starving themselves. Matthew had a pretty healthy relationship with food on the surface, then when the cameras were off, and he put his phone away, he didn’t.
Admittedly, it’s not a regular day. Matthew isn’t alone. His former band mate is sleeping in his bed and Matthew kind of wishes he would just vanish right now so his problems and urges would too. When enters the kitchen and makes it to the fridge, he opens it, and mouths what the fuck am I gonna do, to himself.
His sister has already left for work and saying he’s thankful she has would be an understatement. She probably noticed something was up based on the extra pair of unrecognizable shoes at the door. Maybe she thinks he brought home someone to mess around with. It’s something like that.
Matthew settles on making pancakes — something he knows he can make well and that Gunwook likes. Win-win. Though, halfway through he realizes that he’s stress cooking. Even going the extra-mile to put chocolate chips in Gunwook’s pancake.
He dozes off into thought. Does he care that much about the impression he’s making? It practically feels like the first one all over again. What if Gunwook goes and tells everyone that Matthew is living like a bum and has bummy fucking nature and doesn’t even feed Gunwook as a guest in his home? What is he going to do then?
Matthew mindlessly flips the pancake. He sighs when he realizes that he burnt it.
Just when he turns around to drop it into the trash, he’s met with Gunwook, standing in the doorway that connects the hallway to the living room.
Without the alcohol, and the glaze of it being the first time they’re seeing each other again, the moment feels odd. Gunwook looks out of place in his apartment. Matthew imagines him waking up in a frantic state, trying to figure out where he is, and rushing to put his clothes on. To humor himself, he pretends that he’s Gunwook’s one night stand. He imagines Gunwook being a lousy-lover that skips out without even a stiff goodbye, just to make himself hate the idea of him more.
It doesn’t work, because of course, that’s not what this is. They know each other.
Matthew swallows the lump in his throat as he dumps the pancake into the trash can — looking away from Gunwook as if it’ll erase him from his mind.
“I see you found your clothes,” is the first thing he decides to say, knowing it’d be rude to say nothing at all. The silence that follows was inevitable — or at least that’s what Matthew is telling himself so humiliation doesn’t devour him. He focuses on not burning the next pancake.
“Hyung,” Gunwook says, in a way that sounds like he can’t even believe he’s looking at Matthew in the flesh. Matthew’s hand gripped around the spatula trembles. “What did I- how did I-”
“I picked you up last night, you drunk dialed me,” Matthew explains, cutting him off.
Gunwook lets out something between a groan and a sigh. He must be humiliated, thinking about Matthew seeing him like that. Matthew hopes he is. It’d bring him down to his level and make Matthew feel better.
“How bad was I?”
You were horrible. Really bad. You’re making me rethink everything. You fucked me over too. “You were fine. Gunwook-ah, I don’t mind, really,” Matthew responds.
“Really?” Gunwook says hesitantly, like he doesn’t really believe him.
Why’s he pushing? Matthew immediately notices when Gunwook starts moving across the floor. His footsteps are heavy against the wood. His hand wobbles again. Matthew knows he’s coming closer to him, the heat from his torso radiates off of him when he gets there.
“If that’s for me…can you make it bigger?” Gunwook shamelessly asks, peering over Matthew’s shoulder. The top of his chest presses into Matthew’s shoulder blades. He wishes he wouldn’t stand this close. This must be natural behavior for Gunwook — to be clingy — even without the alcohol.
Matthew elbows him in the stomach playfully, but it doesn’t fit the self-conscious laugh he lets out. “Hey, go sit down already. I’ll make you two.”
“Three? I’m a big boy,” Gunwook jokes. Matthew scoops the pancake from the skillet and onto a plate. He nods. “I’m surprised you’re not throwing up in my toilet right now.”
Gunwook shifts away from him finally. Matthew’s breathing becomes less ragged. “Ew, Hyung. I’m about to eat. Don’t talk about that.”
It’s good how Gunwook fills up the silence by talking a mile a minute. If he didn’t, Matthew’s head would probably explode with his own thoughts. So, he’d rather them be stuffed with Gunwook’s. Hyung, oh I like your apartment, it’s nice. I didn’t expect it to look like this. Your room is really clean too, I looked around in there. I hope you don’t mind.
Matthew can’t help but wonder how long the naturalness of this will last. It doesn’t feel practical for Gunwook to leave here without questions of what took place last night — shit — what took place for years. He’s sober now. In his right mind. Matthew is scared shitless. There’s no life jacket to keep him afloat if he says the wrong thing.
“Here ya go,” Matthew announces, resting another two pancakes on his plate after he’s finished the first one. He takes a seat at the table — in the chair nearest to Gunwook — momentarily wondering if he should’ve sat further away. Matthew is just trying to not make this weird. He thinks if he acts like a cat sprayed with water then it’ll only make everything harder. He doesn’t want it to be.
“You’re not eating?” Gunwook asks after he swallows a bit of pancake. His eyes glaze over Matthew’s figure. It would probably come off as rude to someone else — or perhaps even flirting to another person. Matthew knows that’s not what this is. Gunwook stares at him with the concern of a doctor. It could even be disgust. Gunwook used to praise the body he used to have. Now that only a shell of it is left, maybe Gunwook is disappointed.
Matthew shakes his head slowly. He already knows whatever he eats will not settle right in his stomach, so for now, he’ll pass. Maybe eat once he gets Gunwook out of his house. “I'm not that hungry.”
“You should eat, you look thin, Hyung,” Gunwook comments. He reaches over to tug at the skin of Matthew’s arm, then pulls away a mere second later — like he just got shocked.
“Uh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that so directly,” Gunwook apologizes, eyes dropping back down to his food.
Aw. He’s too caring. He’s still like that — mindful of how his words come off to other people. Matthew doesn’t know how the world hasn’t eaten him up yet. It’s fine anyway. He's right. Matthew is kind of thin these days.
“‘S alright. I’ll eat later,” Matthew shrugs off, hoping to ease Gunwook’s worries. He curls his hand around his own arm and squeezes it.
“Hey, so what were you doing out last night? I’ve never seen you like that before,” Matthew asks, propping his elbow up on the table. Gunwook’s cheeks darken. Honestly, Matthew shouldn’t have asked, he doesn’t have the right to, but curiosity is killing him.
“I know…I’m embarrassed. I’m sorry. I don’t even really like drinking– I was just having a hard day. I guess,” he rushes out, shutting himself up with more food after.
Matthew almost wants to laugh. He shrugs. “It’s okay. We all have them.”
Gunwook nods, but doesn’t respond. It gets awkward after that. He figures that last night has to remain a secret between him and the drunk Gunwook — that it’ll implode if it’s shared to the sober one.
“So,” Matthew begins, wanting to crawl out of his skin at the idea of making small talk, “what are you doing now? And where do you live? I wanted to take you home honestly, it probably would’ve been more comfortable for you.”
Gunwook meets his eyes and shakes his head. “This was better than being home because I got to see you.”
Matthew shyly looks away, yet another nervous laugh slipping out of him. "Okay, cool."
“I’m just crashing at my parent’s house,” Gunwook reveals, answering one question Matthew had last night. “Never tried to live on my own. I’ve been in college for a while since I…had the time.” Something lingers behind those words. Matthew again, wants to start asking a bunch of questions, but some don’t feel right to say. Matthew knows he’s no longer an idol, but asking why feels invasive.
Gunwook as a college student fills his head. He smiles, thinking about him with a backpack and an arm full of books — being hard at work in his classes.
“Do you go to campus?”
“Not really. They’re all online. I started back when I was still in a group.”
“That’s still nice. I like that,” Matthew responds.
Gunwook laughs at him, like it was a joke. “You like that?”
“Yeah, I like that.”
They officially catch up. It’s nice, but gruesome. They’re kind of toeing around each other like two species who are unfamiliar.
Matthew throws out an offer to drive Gunwook home, but he surprisingly declines, saying he’s already done enough for him. Which is true. Matthew has done more than enough and suffered emotional brain damage while at it, but he isn’t okay with letting him wander outside alone for some reason. So, he accompanies Gunwook to the bus stop that’s a short walk down the street.
“You’re so difficult,” Matthew says the second they’re outside the building.
Gunwook’s voice lifts, “am I?”
“Yes, you should let me drive you home. You still have time to change your mind,” Matthew suggests, gazing at Gunwook’s backside. He’s walking about two steps ahead of Matthew, which should mean nothing, but Matthew can’t help but wonder if he’s trying to get away from him.
He’s still in his clothes from last night — a too small white t-shirt and black jeans. The scarf around his neck is probably the only thing providing him warmth in the cold weather. Matthew can see his own breath in the air.
Earlier, they attempted to make one of Matthew’s jackets work for him, but it became very apparent that Gunwook cannot fit into Matthew’s clothes. He should’ve forced it to work, in Matthew’s opinion.
“No, it’s fine,” Gunwook responds over his shoulder.
“You’re shivering. You get cold easily, I know that,” Matthew points out — indirectly begging for a gold star for remembering something about Gunwook. When they talked earlier, it seemed like everything about Matthew was filed inside Gunwook’s brain. He’s a walking supercomputer. Matthew felt lackluster compared to him.
“I’ll live. I’m strong,” he says, patting his hand against his chest, then quickly tucking it back into the fold of his arm. It’s funny.
They end up being the only people at the bus stop. And it's eerily silent for the time of day. No cars pass by, nor do stray animals begging for a place to take them in and be fed. It’s just this street and them. Matthew thinks something has to happen here.
Gunwook’s not talking; he’s talked less as the hour has passed, as if the horrors of last night hit him all at once. Matthew wishes so badly to know what he’s thinking, but does he really? Staying in the dark sounds better.
“You’re just going to stay here?” Gunwook asks suddenly. They’re standing at least two feet apart — Gunwook closer to the pole with the bus stop sign.
Matthew pivots to him. “Until you get onto the bus, yeah? Are you trying to get rid of me?” It’s a joke, but deep down, he wants to know the truth.
“No, not at all,” Gunwook responds, then says, “can I tell you something?”
It’s probably something Matthew doesn’t know how to respond to. It seems like those are the only things Gunwook is able to share with him. He can’t be a coward about this stuff anymore, though. He lets out a little breath. It dissipates into the air. “Of course," he says, with a nod.
Gunwook’s expression turns solid — which means he’s serious — which frightens Matthew.
“I thought you were gone, you know.”
Matthew doesn’t know. He rocks on his heels. “Gone?”
Gunwook’s face doesn’t even move an inch. “Back in Canada," he says slower.
“Oh.”
He hasn’t been there very much since he became an idol. He thought about moving back after everything was officially over, because it would probably be easier there than here. It never happened for some reason.
“When I got discharged, I…” Gunwook trails off, “...wanted to call you. But it was like there was no sign of you anywhere. I even asked Hanbin-hyung if he knew, but he didn’t.”
Matthew stares at him, thinking of Gunwook being in the military. He goes back to the thought of a world where they’re in yet another type of relationship. This time it’s deep, sincere, and passionate. Gunwook carries a photo of Matthew in his pocket and a gun hooked into the opening of his other. He wears headgear because he’s a guard of some sort — the kind of job no one wants because you spend all day standing in place — but Gunwook prefers it to the other options. It all hides his face, and everyone’s always surprised when they find out he’s handsome underneath. He comes back occasionally, to visit, when he’s allowed, but it never feels like enough for Matthew.
“That kind of scared me,” he says.
Matthew snaps his brain back. “Scared you?”
“I thought that I might not ever see you again.” Gunwook’s pupils wobble. Matthew notes that this must be as painful for him to talk about as it is for Matthew to be made aware of.
Matthew missed all of those parts of Gunwook’s life — his enlistment and discharge. He didn’t check up on him. It makes him nauseous, thinking of all the members sending Gunwook off to the military without him. He knows that was unlikely and probably didn't even happen, but the thought still torments him. Matthew was ignoring everyone and staying off of social media for a long time.
This must be why his voicemail sounded that way — why he left it all. He thought it’d never get to Matthew because he got a new number. In the case that wasn’t true, and he did receive it, Matthew would be back in Canada and unable to do anything about it.
Matthew watches Gunwook watch him. He bristles when he remembers that he has to choke up a response to this. Then, he has this urge to do something stupid, like remind Gunwook about all the things he said to him last night to get the attention off of him. But his drunken behavior is only a minor thing compared to Matthew’s years of silence.
He shouldn’t. He can’t risk the idea of Gunwook shutting it down once he tells him. Rejection is a set back or nothing at all to most people, but to Matthew, it’s a conclusion.
His head spins. “I know,” Matthew forces out. “And I'm sorry. I wasn’t in the right headspace for a while, if I’m honest. I know that doesn’t really explain much,” he says lamely, wishing he could talk in English to explain himself better.
Gunwook nods and glances elsewhere, looking like he knows better than to push it further. It makes Matthew feel stupid. Like a small thing.
“Well,” he sighs, stretching and loosening up his previously tense stance, “I barely remember what happened last night, but I’m glad I got to see you. I’m probably never drinking that much again.”
“Yeah, you were a hot mess,” Matthew stalely jokes, feeling disappointed at the confirmation that Gunwook doesn’t remember. He tells himself he’s lying — that he’ll confess to him — sober — in a few moments.
Gunwook grimaces. “Please don’t elaborate. I might die,” he pleads, eyes screwed shut.
That serves as Matthew’s final wake up call. Gunwook asked him to forget about it, so he will.
He and Gunwook are not fated. They're not exactly best friends forever — not twined together by age. They’re just two different people who used to be in the same group. Both of them live different lives away from each other now. He’s foolish to think that they could be anything other than distant friends. He should stop acting like they could be anything more.
The bus is coming. Matthew can see it slowly rolling down the street toward where they stand. Sure, this probably won’t be the last time he sees Gunwook, but it’ll be the last time that they’re ever this close. He knows that. Matthew will walk back to his apartment alone, lay in his bed, and crumble because the boy he wished to vanish from his apartment has finally done so. And nothing will be resolved. It’ll just fizzle out, eventually, until it’s gone.
“Ah, it’s coming,” Gunwook mentions, looking over his shoulder before turning back to Matthew. He suddenly looks nervous — like he wants to ask something, but is hesitating. Matthew can tell, based on the way his eyes dart around his face.
“Hyung,” he says. He reaches over at him, then stops, looking at his own hands like he has no clue what to do with them. He decides to grasp Matthew’s shoulders and squeeze them — in a way that makes Matthew feel like he’s getting a talk from his father or something. It’s almost awkward.
“Let’s- we should be in each other’s lives again,” he says, unsurely.
Matthew hates this. This feels like someone is pressing down on an open wound — desperate to keep it closed — to stop him from bleeding out.
The sound of the bus inching closer is obnoxious. The engine is loud. The brakes screech.
“If that’s okay with you,” Gunwook adds on, raising his voice over the noise. There’s this faint splash of red on his cheeks. Matthew wants to reach up and touch him.
He sounds as desperate as Matthew feels. It wasn’t easy to get a hold of Matthew. He’s difficult. Hard to keep track of. If Gunwook lets him walk away right now, it may be the last time.
“Sure, Gunwookie,” Matthew finds himself responding. Then, with no warning Gunwook is hugging him, providing absolutely no warmth from his ice cold flesh, but Matthew is okay with it. He slumps against him.
He watches Gunwok leave on the bus, waving after it until it disappears over a hill.
They don’t talk for months after that day, aside from a few texts here and there. Matthew figures it’s due to conflicting schedules — adult things.
It’s not like he has much time to ponder over it anyway. There’s always a mass influx of comebacks in the first half of the year, which means his work-life balance becomes next to nonexistent.
The idol industry nowadays feels odd — like something that shouldn’t even persist anymore. In a way, it had already hit its peak before Matthew became an idol himself, but it’s not like he would’ve known. This was all a foreign concept to him in the beginning. Now that he’s experienced it — lived it — all the bad and good parts — Matthew can’t help but want to tell everyone he meets to quit. They should quit now, before it gets too serious.
This career will ruin you permanently, cause you emotional damage, he thinks, but never says. He has no right to say things like that. He’s only enabling the industry by having this job, right? He’s a hypocrite.
Months of that drab lifestyle pass, as do the seasons, then suddenly, it's summer, and Gunwook is the only thing he can think about.
In a way, Matthew thinks he was always there, lingering somewhere in the crowd of all his thoughts. Matthew just kept ignoring him until he was no longer anything at all. It was for the better.
Then a week ago, Matthew had a bad day, and used Gunwook as leverage to recover. Work was too much, his energy was too little, and then when he stepped outside to get away from it all, he was only met with hot and humid air.
Summer is definitely one of those things he’s grown to dislike over time. The sun being up in the sky longer becomes less favorable when all you get in return is a constant layer of sweat on your skin. Summer and his life don’t go hand in hand anymore. He’s not a kid — looking forward to being out of school and playing with his friends. He’s no longer an idol — touring the world and its beaches. No, global warming is nothing but a cunt.
A little ways down the street from where he was standing at the time, emerged a pack of school children. Occasionally Matthew would pass by them on his way out if he left early for the day. Some had chalk in their hands — drawing all kinds of things on the hot concrete. It almost immediately reminded Matthew of a similar scene, back when the group was out in the states for a concert.
He has this weird thing going on — where he only remembers days in bits and pieces — never the full thing. He wouldn’t be able to tell you what he ate or what their schedule was that day, but he could tell you about Gunwook.
He had purple hair, a bright smile, and a blue shirt that he complained about feeling weird against his skin. He also had a cone of chocolate ice cream in his hand and he looked cute eating it — almost like a baby — because of the mess he was making. Matthew felt his face burn at the memory, and the fact that he found Gunwook cute, like it was something new.
Because of that small fond feeling he got, Matthew becomes desperate to occupy his mind with Gunwook. He revisits Instagram, like it’s an old friend or book with a worn out spine and a layer of dust over it. And Gunwook’s page becomes a bad habit — a gateway drug, really. One he can’t stop coming back to. It’s the first thing he opens when he wakes up, for five days in a row.
That’s where Matthew is able to learn about the way his life has unfolded over the years. Understanding him this way is much easier than talking to him. He has 450 posts, which seemed like a lot at first, but when Matthew quickly runs through them over the span of a work week, suddenly it’s not enough.
Most of his posts are selfies at various places. A lot are from his idol days. Matthew can’t help but notice a gap of inactivity from the time he thinks Gunwook’s second group disbanded to his enlistment announcement. He can’t stop his mouth from pulling up into a grin when he gets to the picture of Gunwook’s shaved head. Oh God, he wishes he got to run his fingers through his buzz cut.
His posts still get thousands of likes. Matthew looks through the comments on a few and feels his throat constrict whenever he sees a member in the replies. They’ve kept up with him in a way Matthew hasn't — it hurts him — even if it’s his fault. There’s some pictures of him with Gyuvin. Matthew quickly realizes that he’s still Gunwook’s best friend. That’s sweet.
One thing Gunwook never posts about his college. Probably just in case he still has a couple of die hard fans itching to see him. Matthew entertains himself and makes up what Gunwook’s first day of school was like; no one recognizes him, because it’s far after they’ve disbanded, but he’s still an idol, working towards his dreams. He wears a mask. A girl in his first class recognizes him by his eyes and builds the courage to ask. He’s flattered when she does, insanely, and talks to her all day because he can’t help but love the attention. Matthew finds himself being jealous already, just thinking about it. He’s stupid.
The most recent picture on his page is scenery — a sunset. There’s no caption. When Matthew finally gets to it at the end of the week, he feels empty and wishes to relive finding out about Gunwook all over again.
It becomes strikingly clear that nothing has resulted from them meeting again.
NOTHING HAS CHANGED, everything screams at him. His reflection. His commute to work. His empty bed. His zero notifications. They all mock him. Matthew is living exactly how he was before he met Gunwook again. He doesn’t like it, but he fails to do anything about it.
Not until he’s forced to, at least.
Gunwook stands at his apartment door on a Friday afternoon, 5 months post-voicemail-confession. Now 29, because Matthew definitely missed his birthday like a terrible person. Matthew stares at him through the peephole, on his tip-toes, considering pretending he’s not home.
That would be wrong, and he’s being weird. He’s been silently hoping for this: Gunwook budging first so he wouldn’t have to. Now that it’s here, he doesn’t want it. The memories — the way he felt the last time they were together — come racing back. He’s not prepared. He thinks he was suited to solely have a secret infatuation with Gunwook that he’ll never have a clue about. It’s better this way. It makes Matthew feel like he’s the one in control.
Matthew sucks in a breath when Gunwook holds his eye to the peephole. It’s not like he’ll be able to see anything. He pulls back after a short moment. Matthew releases the breath, but then panics when he sees Gunwook fish his phone out from his pocket. No, no, no, no, he thinks. If he calls Matthew the phone in his own pocket will blast a really annoying siren ringtone (only thing that can wake him up) and Gunwook will definitely be able to hear it through the crack of the door.
So he swings it open, rather fast, probably giving them both whiplash. Gunwook takes a cautionary step back.
Matthew is sure a deer in headlights couldn’t even be used to describe him at the moment. He’s not nearly as graceful. A raccoon getting caught digging around in the trash is a better metaphor. He looks like shit. It’s a lazy day. Lazy days mean a pair of worn-out sweats and a baggy t-shirt.
Gunwook looks the opposite. He looks perfect, honestly. His ability to make something as simple as faded jeans and white t-shirt look good is impressive. Matthew notes the bag slung over his shoulder — wondering where he just came from. Must have been school.
“Hi,” Gunwook says.
“Uh. Hi, Gunwookie,” Matthew says, practically like a robot. He’s suddenly embarrassed, probably because he’s taken a shit shot at that being in each other’s lives again suggestion. “What are you doing here?” he asks, quickly regretting saying it and wondering if it came off as rude.
Luckily, Gunwook doesn’t seem fazed at all. That brings Matthew a little relief. He smiles, revealing the straight row of his teeth. “I wanted to see you,” he says.
Matthew starts thinking of a bunch of excuses to explain why he hasn’t been in touch. Work. I’m a mess. Job got busy and I'm exhausted. I know how you feel about me. Sometimes I don’t know how to act around you because of it. I imagine us together because of it. I hate you.
Gunwook doesn’t give him the chance to say any of those. “I just finished my last semester of school a few minutes ago. I graduate in a month,” he reveals, like it’s just something people do everyday.
Matthew is baffled. “You just finished and you…came here? You should be celebrating. What are you-” he stutters out, before settling on, “you’re weird, you know.”
Gunwook looks at him and then laughs. When he reaches a hand up to brush through his hair, the fabric of his shirt pulls taut against his torso, straining. Matthew snaps his eyes away — heart kicking in his chest when he realizes he looked longer than he should have.
“I came here to ask you to celebrate with me,” Gunwook says.
Matthew is working on something — not being a lame self deprecating downer, but he still thinks, really? Me? Of all people? Gunwook should be doing this with his family. All the college friends Matthew materialized for him in his head. The partner he imagined him with. Not Matthew.
But his ego swells until it feels like it'll burst. Gunwook came all the way to his apartment to ask him on short notice. He remembered where Matthew lived after only being here once. Matthew is significant. He likes it.
Matthew tightens his grip on the door. His body is reluctant, but his mind says go. So his voice has confidence when he says, “sure, let me go get changed.” Like this is a casual occurrence between them.
This time, he thinks about Gunwook being his college boyfriend who he doesn’t live with. In this imaginary world, he always does things like this — run across town the second he gets a chance to see the emotionally unavailable and older Matthew. But Matthew loves it, and him, because he’s a play thing that gives him a thrill.
Matthew laughs louder than he means to at the thought when he’s halfway across his living room. He’s sure Gunwook is wondering what’s on his mind.
Matthew wears some of his best clothes to accompany Gunwook to a restaurant within walking distance of his apartment. It’s obvious that he tried. Gunwook was waiting a little over 30 minutes for him to get ready. It just felt right to look nicer than usual. Matthew feels embarrassed at the idea of Gunwook noticing that.
“Sorry, for not texting you as often. That’s my fault,” Matthew apologizes before draining the last of his cocktail.
They’re out on a balcony now — a secluded seating area for weirdos who like to eat outside with the bugs. The stool he’s on is making his ass go numb, but he doesn't mind. Or, let’s say he’s distracted, by how Gunwook’s knee is settled between the two of his. They’re not exactly touching, but if Matthew pushed his thighs together he’d be able to trap him there.
It took alcohol in Matthew’s system to finally get them to stop small talking. After the second drink, he loosened up — things started flowing more easily. He briefly imagined this being some sort of date and almost lost his mind. That’s when the third drink was ordered.
Gunwook shrugs. “It’s okay. I preferred it.”
Matthew focuses on him. “...You preferred it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Gunwook suddenly smiles slightly — cheeky — eyes glazing over Matthew’s face. He’s about to say something corny, Matthew thinks. “I would’ve failed if we kept in touch. I’d be too busy thinking about you.”
“Shut up man,” Matthew laughs, squeezing his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to see his face. Blood is already rushing to his ears when he feels Gunwook nudge this knee against his. The first slip of contact they’ve had since that day months ago.
“It’s fine though, I don’t mind. We’re all busy,” he mentions, sounding more serious and really mature this time. He looks out over the railing. Matthew watches his face — how his brow creases slightly and his nose wrinkles as he sniffles.
“So, what’s next for you?” Matthew wonders outloud. Graduating is no easy feat. Gunwook is ready to move on to the working class, officially. He sounds like someone’s parent, doesn't he.
Gunwook laughs lightly, like Matthew just tried to be funny. He turns back to him and taps Matthew’s thigh twice. “You act like we’re colleagues or something.”
“I mean…technically we are…or were. At one point.”
Gunwook hums, eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment. Matthew takes a glance at his half full glass. He got something light — something that wouldn’t bulldoze through him like the last time he got drunk. Matthew doesn’t think it makes that big of a difference; he’s a total lightweight. His face is already harboring a flush, but he is, admittedly, better.
“I dunno,” Gunwook sighs, leaning his face into his palm, “do I have to get a job now?”
“It would be in your best interest, probably.”
“Can I host the radio show with you then?”
Matthew would love that, actually. As outgoing as he is or, used to be, he finds himself getting drained at times. Having someone else there to carry the weight would help. Especially someone he knows and is fond of. It can’t be that easy though. He’s grown to be more realistic, sometimes.
“Would be a waste of your degree. You could get a better job.”
Gunwook majored in something serious like Business Economics. If he wants money, he should sign his life away to be an office worker. It’s probably not ideal, but nothing that makes you money really is.
“Not really. I don’t think I’m ready for a real serious job anyway,” he says, sounding more 19 than 29. It makes Matthew feel light.
“Are you suggesting that my job isn’t serious and, or…real?” Matthew teases, feeling casual enough to be annoying. Gunwook rolls his eyes and then laughs in that squeaky way. Matthew joins in, unable to help himself. It almost seems like nothing has changed. They’re still close friends. Matthew never disappeared from the public eye. They never spent time apart. He never did any of that at all.
“Hey, what’s got your head so busy?” Gunwook asks after a few silent moments. He reaches up to comb pieces of Matthew’s hair that the wind has whipped through back into place.
Matthew blinks slowly. “Us.”
Gunwook’s hand pauses for a second, then returns to fixing Matthew’s hair. “Us?” He repeats.
“Yeah.”
“What about us?” Gunwook asks, pulling back when he’s finally deemed Matthew’s hair normal again.
“Come live with me,” Matthew blurts out suddenly, without even thinking about it. It’s half the alcohol, half intrusive thought. He can hold his liquor pretty well, actually, kind of.
Gunwook looks dumbfounded. His eyebrows pull together. “You want me to move into your apartment?”
Matthew just nods, knowing that it’s too late to take it back. He reaches for Gunwook’s drink, having finished his own already and in dire need of another. Gunwook isn’t going to finish it, so he will. He’s embarrassing himself.
“My sister is moving back to Canada,” Matthew reveals. It’s true. The news came on short notice a few weeks ago. Matthew has just been avoiding thinking about it.
She offered that maybe it was a good idea for him to come along, that is, if he wanted to, of course. Which meant that Matthew would have to pack up his shit and figure out how he’ll fit it all into his what, two luggages? It sounded like a complete nightmare, but Matthew didn’t rule the idea out completely.
Going home. That could be good for him. He could rebuild himself as something — lead a more normal life without all the distractions of the past. It could be the official start of moving on.
However there are things that are holding him back. He’s spent over a decade in this country — grown used to it. What if he goes back to Canada and doesn’t know how to function? Hates it?
“Oh really? I should drop by to say goodbye to her. I’ve missed her both times,” Gunwook says.
“Mm. If I stay, I’ll need a roommate to take her spot, but I’m considering going with her,” Matthew mentions next.
Gunwook’s expression shifts into something unreadable after he says that. It makes Matthew stuff his face in his drink instead, so he doesn’t have to see.
“You are?”
Matthew swallows in a painful gulp. He nods slowly, twisting his straw around the drink instead of meeting his eyes. “I am,” he confirms.
“I’ve…I think I’ve spent a long time here,” he adds on, because he has. Him being in South Korea was only supposed to be something temporary — it was never supposed to turn into what it is now. Matthew was eventually going to go back to Canada, he just didn’t know when.
“I see,” Gunwook says. And it feels like twisting a knife in his gut.
Of course, Gunwook is understanding and wouldn’t tell him to stay. That would be childish. They’re grown adults now and he’s the kind of person to put others' feelings before his own. Ha. He’s probably about to say something trailing the lines of how it’s a shame that they’ve only reconnected, but that Matthew should do what makes him happy. It’ll feel bittersweet more than heartwarming. All Matthew will think of is Gunwook saying that he’s always liked him. He'll replay the voicemail over and over until it fucking kills him.
“Can I be selfish?”
Matthew lifts his head and cocks it to the side, straw bit between his teeth. “Huh?”
“Would you,” Gunwook says, like he’s correcting himself. He straightens his previously sluggish posture and yanks Matthew’s stool closer to him. Matthew yelps, wobbles, and nearly drops his glass. Gunwook doesn’t seem to take notice or care.
They’re touching for real now — legs tangled all together. Matthew can feel the warmth radiating off of Gunwook as he leans closer, reminding Matthew of his solid nature.
“Would you let me be selfish?”
There’s this flicker of a pained expression on his face that doesn't go unnoticed. And Matthew feels like he’s being drained of all the blood that’s keeping his body running. He feels like shriveling up, folding in on himself, because Gunwook’s making it hard for Matthew to forget what he knows. Matthew can’t forget when he acts like this — like Matthew is special.
“Don’t go,” he says, before Matthew can even think of what to respond back with.
He pulls the drink coddled in Matthew’s hands out of them and sits it on the table.
“Don’t leave. Stay here,” Gunwook pleads, intertwining their fingers.
There’s no tremble present in his voice and his eyes never leave Matthew’s face. Matthew hates when he looks at him like this. It makes him want to act up and do something he’ll regret like — kiss him. And he can’t do that. He might not ever.
Matthew rears back a little — shaking his hands out of Gunwook’s and reaching for the drink again. “Okay, I will,” he says, definitely not realizing that there’s no coming back from this. “Be my roommate then. That’s my only requirement.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
“Okay then. Of course I will.”
Matthew side eyes him, laughing into his drink at Gunwook’s serious face. “You’ll really move in with me,” Matthew states for confirmation, baffled at how easily he agreed.
Gunwook smiles. “Sure. Why not? I can’t live with my mom forever.”
Matthew points at himself, then at Gunwook. “I’m 31 and you’re 29. Isn’t it weird?”
Gunwook looks at him like he’s grown two heads for a minute, then laughs. “Last time I checked you can’t put an age on roommates.”
“Yeah,” Matthew accentuates like he’s saying duhh, “but don’t you think…” he trails off, glancing away again and deciding not to say every single thing he’s thinking. It’s troublesome. He’s tipsy. He’ll dig himself a personal ditch.
Gunwook spreads a large hand across Matthew’s thigh and squeezes. Matthew wishes he wouldn’t. He can’t focus. “What?”
“You…should be settling down by now. Find someone nice,” Matthew lectures, ignoring how it sort of pains him to say. It’s the truth though, he should. Gunwook suits having a family — having a happy ending. Whatever that may be.
Gunwook stares at him. Not moving his hand from Matthew’s thigh. “You’re my someone.”
Matthew laughs loudly. His body shakes with it. His neck is burning. “You’re drunk,” he responds.
“No, I’m not.”
“I meant settle down as in, someone you would start a relationship with and marry. Have kids…?” Matthew clarifies, knowing Gunwook would have to say something insane to weasel out of this. He almost wonders if he will.
He doesn’t. “When the right time comes it’ll come, I guess,” he says, looking away. Matthew already feels empty without his attention.
They spend time arguing over who pays (Matthew wins. It’s your graduation and birthday present. On me, he says). He likes it. It makes them feel like a couple — like they share things. Even if it’s something as minor as words and numbers on a slip of paper.
On their way back to Matthew’s apartment, he realizes that it’s him who is the one kind of out of it. Not nearly as bad as Gunwook was that one night, but Matthew does have to grapple onto Gunwook’s arm so he doesn’t trip over nothing and fall.
That itself leads to a conversation about staying the night, then Gunwook is back in Matthew’s bed, again, after five months, and it feels like time hasn’t even passed.
“Can I ask you something?” Gunwook says, a little past midnight.
Matthew has spent the last hour or so going in and out of sleep. He drank too much — feels like he’s on a rollercoaster that never ends.
He shifts, when he realizes Gunwook is talking to him. They’re facing each other. Matthew’s legs graze Gunwook’s bare ones. Gunwook is close to naked again because he keeps coming over without meaning to. At least this time Matthew didn’t have to help him undress. Actually, he’s kind of upset about that. He enjoyed doing that.
Matthew blinks tiredly. “You…keep doing that…asking me if you can ask. Why not just say it?”
Gunwook yawns, before his eyes droop with sleep as well. “What if you don’t want to talk?”
He sounds small when he says that. “I’ll talk. What is it?”
“It’s kind of childish. I think.”
“It’s fine.”
“Do you get jealous sometimes? Of- you know, the members?”
Matthew’s mouth tightens — not daring to ask him what he means. He knows. He honestly knows it better than anyone else. And it’s funny, even though he and Gunwook have both debuted twice, they only ever talk about one group. They only refer to one point in time.
“Yes,” Matthew admits, suddenly feeling terminally sober.
His heart starts beating fast and hard, because they’re doing the thing — talking about it. The thing that lurks in the dark and around edges. It’s supposed to go unacknowledged, like speaking of it is on the same level as talking about a curse. Gunwook’s face kind of softens after he says it, like he wasn’t sure what Matthew would say. “All the time,” he adds on, suddenly craving for a secret to share with Gunwook.
They don’t prepare you for the aftermath of a group disbandment at all. Matthew especially had no idea what all this would entail. He was not ready for the line to be drawn between them so quickly — the one separating the busy members from everyone else.
Unfortunately, Matthew falls into that retched everyone else category. He fell into oblivion quite fast after everything was over. It bothers him more than he lets on.
“Me too,” Gunwook whispers, as if it’d been a weight he’d been carrying for a while. Matthew wonders if he carried that to the military with him. It wasn’t Matthew’s picture in his pocket, but instead a fear that he was too ambitious — that the world wasn’t ready for him in the way it was for the others.
He suddenly looks fragile and young. 18. Kind of like the boy who once talked about dreading the day he’d go unrecognized in public. Matthew is drunk, and can barely make sense of it all, but he aches for him.
“Sometimes I look at Yujin and try to imagine what it’s like to be him,” Gunwook says.
Matthew knows exactly what he’s feeling. A few years ago, Matthew stopped using Youtube for a month straight because he kept getting a skincare ad that featured Hanbin in it. Just a few months ago the billboard outside of his job had Yujin’s face on it. Sometimes — without even realizing it — he thinks about what it’s like to be them too. He wonders if he would be happy living like them, or if he'd be even worse off.
“Sorry– I know I shouldn’t,” Gunwook says, looking mortified that he just admitted that. He shuts his eyes. Matthew watches him freak out — wondering if he’ll go to sleep now so Matthew won’t see. He doesn’t, because he’s not like Matthew at all.
“It feels wrong to feel this way,” Gunwook whines, “it’s not their fault things didn’t go the way I had hoped.”
“You’ve done a great job,” Matthew assures him. When he rests his hand on Gunwook’s arm, he shuffles closer. He’s lying lower than Matthew is, so his face rests against Matthew’s chest. Matthew cradles his head in his hand, like he’s a child – a small human Matthew needs to protect from the world.
“And what you’re feeling is normal.”
Jealousy, Matthew knows that well. It’s an ugly thing that keeps coming back in bits and pieces, until it’s spreading through your body like an infection. Jealousy eats you up until there’s nothing left of you at all.
My dream is over, I have to be okay with that, is the last thing Gunwook whispers before he falls asleep in Matthew’s arms. Matthew lays there, with a dizzy head, wondering if he’s even built to comfort him, or anyone for that matter.
Matthew doesn’t remember, but his downfall started at the first and only reunion the group ever had.
He was 25, in his nicest black suit — maybe one from Versace. One he definitely didn’t pay for. He was drunk off his ass, and letting himself be pulled into a hotel room.
They had all stayed in this fancy one in Bangkok at the time. The reunion content they filmed was a “special” three-day event that took over everyone’s weekend. It was less special and more inconvenient, honestly.
That wasn’t the first time Matthew had seen the members since disbanding either. No, it was impossible to avoid some of them. Comebacks overlapped, award shows had them seated on the same couches, and on a rare occasion, sometimes Matthew would just see them on the street. It happened. This affair however, was the first time they’d all been in the same building and room in years.
His back hit the bed first, then he blinked through his hazy vision to get the picture of Gunwook standing over him.
You’re about to fall over, Hyung, come on, he had said into Matthew’s ear, moments earlier, when they were still downstairs.
Matthew tried to protest against that or something, because he wanted another martini, but it was no use. Gunwook was onto something; he was being sloppy down there, and saying things he probably shouldn’t have. He could recall the mortified expression on Hanbin’s face every time Matthew opened his mouth to speak.
He fucked up. He needed someone to hold him and tell him it was okay that he did.
“Stay,” Matthew whined out to Gunwook, eyes falling closed again. He lifted his arms out in front of him kind of stupidly, surely not even angled Gunwook’s way, and waited.
He heard some shuffling around before he felt an eventual dip in the bed. Matthew peeked his eyes open when Gunwook engulfed him into a hug. It felt the best — like everything he ever needed. He made a place in Gunwook’s arms, smoothing his own hands down Gunwook's back. Then he found himself wanting to laugh suddenly, because Gunwook kept his suit on. The two of them fully clothed in a hotel bed like that had to be a silly sight.
“You okay?” Gunwook whispered, after it was silent for a while. As if it was a proper response, Matthew only stuffed his face into the crook of his neck.
No. Not exactly. I think I’m falling apart, Matthew thought. It was all supposed to be a really nice and sort of simple thing, but his mind was kind of in the gutter before he even got there.
To him, it — their reunion — was more like a high school one, where everyone came back to brag about their achievements and what not.
The problem was that there was no room for fluff and pretending you’re doing well in their situation. Everything he did was broadcasted to the industry, the fans, the critics. There was nowhere to escape. And at 25, Matthew wasn’t much compared to his ex-band mates. There had been some shitty articles and even shittier Youtube videos that were titled: WHERE ARE THE MEMBERS OF ZEROBASEONE NOW? Those were never kind to him. They weren’t to half of them.
At the time, he was in his second group, with a handful of boys younger than him. Their sales only declined with each comeback. And to be honest, their charts never started. That was where he was. He was inching along, never making progress. If it felt like he was, he’d quickly start speeding back.
It shouldn’t have been like that. He didn’t want it to be a competition, especially between those eight other people he considered his friends, but at the time, it felt like there was no other way to view it.
Matthew did not say any of that to Gunwook. He could’ve. This was the one moment they didn’t have microphones attached to the fit of their blazers and pinched onto lapels. He'd most likely understand better than a few of the others, but it seemed like Matthew’s own problem to deal with.
“I miss you…and everyone else, I miss having people to depend on,” Matthew slurred out, barely even aware of what he was saying.
He was the leader of his second group, but in the back of his head he was always thinking about how he wasn’t cut out for it. His mentality only became more wounded as time passed. He missed how it was before.
Matthew was no one to look up to. No one to admire. No one to lean on.
“Miss you…” Matthew whispered, lips grazing the place where Gunwook’s neck met his jaw. He didn’t know what he was doing. He couldn't tell you why he placed a kiss on Gunwook’s soft skin, but it felt right. It felt perfect.
Gunwook said something in response, something Matthew probably would have benefited from hearing if he listened, but he didn’t. The information goes unheard because Matthew fell asleep.
When Matthew woke up the next morning, Gunwook was still beside him, knocked out. There was a text flashed on his phone from Hanbin saying, you should apologize to them for what you said last night, I know you don’t remember, but just do it.
Matthew doesn’t do that. He leaves the hotel as fast as he can, departing from their reunion a few hours earlier than expected. It causes them to scrap the day three filming entirely. Matthew should have felt flattered that he was important enough to make the show not go on, but he had felt nothing of the sort. He gave no goodbye to Gunwook or an apology to the members that he had unintentionally disrespected — not knowing that it’d be the last time he’d see them for years.
Gunwookie
[3:56pm]— full circle moment?
[3:57pm]— https://x.com/wookietexts/status/279t372t9q7…
Matthew’s lazing around on the couch when he gets the messages. It’s been two days since Gunwook’s pre-graduation celebration. Matthew thinks about him all the time, but never texts first.
He clicks on the link — phone auto playing a video clip that looks about a thousand years old now because of the way technology keeps advancing. Matthew checks that date. It says 2025. Jesus Chirst.
It’s a video of a Gunwook from back in the day. There’s a cake in front of him. Matthew puts two and two together quickly. This was Gunwook’s 20th birthday.
“I can't do without Matthew-hyung in my life. We talked about it one day. If I live alone, should we live on the upper and lower floors or next door in the same apartment? I think I said it last year but Tyu still says it now.”
He barely recalls saying those things or Gunwook recounting them to fans, but he’s ecstatic to be reminded. He focuses less on the words and more on the way Gunwook’s facial expression changes when he talks about Matthew. He looks happy — genuinely — sick with it.
Matthew loops the video, finding new things to focus on each watch. He plays it so much he’s memorized what Gunwook will say and do before it happens.
If you showed him this back then, he wouldn’t have thought anything of it. He’d feel happy, pleased at Gunwook wanting him in his life even when they’re older, but that would be the end of it. And Matthew doesn’t want to say that was oblivion — he just adapted.
Again, friendships here were special and at times, as passionate as a romance. He learned that a lingering touch meant as much as a passing thought. That people said certain things because they liked you, not because they were in love with you. Matthew adapted because he was desperate to fit into a place he’d have to call home. Though there were those small moments — where he thought something could be more — he never let it linger in his head.
Gunwook liked Matthew more than a friend here. Matthew knows that now.
For a while, the entire roommates thing feels like a bit between them.
Even if Matthew and Gunwook have asked each other a billion times if they’re being serious, it still feels like a meaningless joke.
And Matthew could live without a roommate if he stays. He’d just have to either get a second job or buy little to nothing to survive. He could downsize — to one of those studio apartments. It’s not like he needs much space.
His savings is shallow. What he has now is just enough to be considered emergency funds. If you’re wondering, the idol life didn’t pay well. You think it does, when you’re freshly 20 and still more of a kid than adult that knows the basics of financial responsibilities. It feels like it does, until a company is holding a slave contract over your head like an anvil.
Matthew has no money, to put it in short.
So he considers going back to Canada, again. He just doesn’t tell Gunwook. That proves to be hard because they start spending all their time together — and he means all. Now that he’s out of school and Matthew’s work schedule has mellowed out — Gunwook always wants to do something. Matthew always goes along.
They stick to doing activities outside. It’s the most active Matthew has been in years. For a while he stayed in the apartment — only leaving for therapy sessions. Leaving meant risking being spotted, so he stopped leaving in general. He traded going out to jog for sitting pretzeled in his desk chair — scouring the internet.
Now, things are different. Things have changed — evolved.
Matthew is walking through a park with Gunwook, at the peak of summer. He’s hot already — probably a little sweaty — but it doesn’t bother him that much. They both have their masks on — Gunwook’s is pulled down to rest below his mouth so he can suck on a popsicle that they got from a convenience store. Once he’s done, he pulls it back up. Matthew sneaks glances at him occasionally.
He imagines that they’re idols still. Maybe somewhere even in the past. He’s 23 and Gunwook is 20. This is their only break and they’re spending it together. The park isn’t busy and it’s an awkward time of day, so Gunwook takes the chance to pull Matthew closer. It’s almost nothing at all — but someone still sees it and captures it. They get wrapped up in a dating scandal. Everyone hates it. Gunwook never talks to him again.
“The sun is pretty,” Gunwook comments, taking his phone out of his pocket to snap a picture of the sky. Matthew watches him do that, and thinks about telling him then, that he is still considering going back to Canada, but he doesn’t.
Matthew wonders if he’s lived his 20s all wrong.
It’s a bit, until Gunwook's graduation dinner.
Matthew’s invitation to it is informal. Gunwook had his head resting in Matthew’s lap — eyes fluttering open and closed because of the way Matthew’s fingers crawled through his hair. Come out to eat with us, he said. Matthew had no idea who us was referring to, but he said yes. He always says yes when it comes to Gunwook.
It turns out to be dinner with Gunwook’s family. Once again, none of the friends Matthew imagined him having are there nor are any of the members. There’s something solidifying in his chest when he realizes that he’s the only outsider there. He’s gotten to be a part of a milestone event in Gunwook’s life — his graduation. He’s selfish to hope that it overtakes the events Matthew wasn’t there for.
Gunwook’s family is still the same. His mother lights up like a Christmas tree when she sees Matthew. She’s tattered with age now, but light on her feet. Aigoo, Mattyu, you’re still the same, she fussed the moment they arrived. Matthew bowed, feeling his face warm at the attention. She reminds him of his own mother — and how he should call her soon. She’s worried sick about him now that Yaebin is gone.
He ends up sitting beside Gunwook instead of across from him like he initially planned. Gunwook scooted out the chair for him — like a gentleman — and told him to sit. So, Matthew did.
Another scenario: this is Matthew’s meeting the parents visit. They’ve been dating for months and now it’s getting serious. No one says it aloud, but they question Matthew’s authenticity — whether he’s good or not for their golden child of a son. Somehow Matthew charms his way into their good graces by the end of the night. And at the end, when Gunwook’s parents have left in their car and disappeared onto a busy street, Gunwook tells Matthew that he loves him.
Throughout the course of dinner Gunwook will reach over to squeeze Matthew’s thigh occasionally, or he’ll graze his knuckles against Matthew’s knee when something is particularly funny. No one can see, that’s why Matthew thinks he’s doing it. If they could, he wouldn’t bother, but it almost makes one of Matthew’s daydreams feel real.
“Mattyu,” Gunwook’s mom says sweetly, in the same way Gunwook pronounces his name. They’re winding down now. Long done with their food. Matthew doesn’t even want to think about how much his meal cost. They said it’s fine and that they have it covered. Matthew will still feel indebted to them.
“Gunwookie told us he’s moving in with you soon.”
Matthew sets down his silverware and looks at Gunwook out the corner of his eye. You told your mom?
Matthew laughs. “Ah, it was a suggestion. I may just downsize apartments honestly. I know Gunwookie doesn’t wanna be trapped with me,” Matthew says. The smile that his lips pull into feels practiced. Ever since that night at the restaurant everything feels like a performance. He finds himself saying and doing things that he knows will catch Gunwook’s attention.
“No, I’m moving in,” Gunwook says, throwing his arm around the top of Matthew’s seat. His hand touches Matthew’s shoulder.
“How long has your sister been gone?” Gunwook’s dad asks.
“Since last Saturday,” he responds, remembering the last hug they shared at the airport. When she walked away, Matthew thought about chasing after her and begging her to say — desperate to keep his last piece of home.
“Oh, you poor thing! You must be so lonely,” Gunwook’s mom frowns. Gunwook’s brother laughs from across the table then says, “hey, Matthew, you need to make sure Gunwook gets a job and doesn’t freeload off you.”
Gunwook rolls his eyes. “My savings are actually pretty legit.”
His brother’s face kind of turns up. “From what? When you were-” he cuts himself off immediately, pinching his mouth shut and looking back down to his plate.
His brother is a doctor, a well established one. Gunwook has told Matthew how he’s been offering Gunwook a job to be a medical assistant at his practice even though he has no experience. Gunwook tells Matthew that’s the last thing he would like to do with his life right now.
Matthew doesn’t dare take a look at Gunwook’s expression — he knows it’ll ruin him inside because of what he knows. They supported Gunwook’s dream until it came true, then when it was gone they told him it was time to find his genuine self and to stop chasing the one he wishes he was.
Gunwook removes his arm from the back of his seat.
“Ay, Gunwook is right. I’m the one who budgeted all his money,” Gunwok’s mom says, changing the conversation topic.
“Matthew-hyung is gonna come back to the house with us after dinner and help me pack up all my stuff,” Gunwook announces, like it’s something that they had discussed together beforehand. They hadn’t, but he nods.
It’s fine. The space Yaebin previously occupied is bare and empty — waiting for someone else to come fill it and make it their own. Matthew keeps her door shut so he doesn’t have a constant reminder that he lives alone now.
Gunwook’s mother excitedly claps her hands together “I’ll help out.”
“Eager to get rid of me?”
She frowns. “Of course not sweetie.”
“Yes she is,” his brother interrupts. A smile crawls onto Matthew’s face as he watches Gunwook reach over to push him on the shoulder.
Matthew has actually never been to the house Gunwook grew up in. It’s nice — stretches out across the hump of a hill it sits on.
The second they enter Gunwook’s brother is bidding them a goodbye and racing off in his own car, back to what Matthew assumes is his own home.
Gunwook’s mom puts them to work in the mean time. And Gunwook has a terrible idea to stuff things in trash bags when they run out of space. His mom smacks him on the arm causing Gunwook to recoil back. No trash bags, she says. Matthew laughs, mentioning that they’ll just have to make multiple trips to transfer everything in Matthew’s car.
As he packs up Gunwook’s things into boxes and bags he keeps remembering that he’ll get to help unpack them as well. They’ll be living together — like old times.
Long after Gunwook’s mother is gone to turn in for the night, Matthew sits on Gunwook’s floor — wedged between the foot of Gunwook’s bed and his dresser.
In his lap lies a photo book of old pictures. Matthew’s been leafing through tons of them while waiting for Gunwook to get out of the shower. Matthew’s mouth crooks into a smile whenever he sees a younger Gunwook, but this photo album he’s looking through right now has pictures from their time in the group. The very last picture — the one tucked into the cover on the back of the book — is actually one of just them. It’s a small polaroid. A picture of Matthew fast asleep in Gunwook’s lap.
Matthew wants to believe that this means something. That Gunwook hesitated to put this picture in the front pocket so he put it in the back instead. Matthew wonders how heavy it was to keep the secret to himself.
He wishes he had the courage to ask — push it — but there’s a frightening thing about blurring the line between friendship and romance. For now, he’ll keep this knowledge private and locked away.
They had a useless argument about Matthew staying the night here. He was completely prepared to go home, but before he knew it, it was 11 PM, and way dark outside.
No, sleep here. It’s the least I could do after you’ve hosted me twice, Gunwook had said.
That’s going to be your home soon, Matthew responded.
Gunwook told him to stay, with a pointed look that made Matthew feel like he was going to get in trouble or something if he defied. It kind of sent a thrill through him.
He’s already in bed — dressed in Gunwook’s too big shirt and baggy basketball shorts — when Gunwook exits from the bathroom. Matthew pretends to be asleep, raising the comforter over his head.
“The clothes fit okay?” Gunwook asks, probably knowing Matthew is still awake.
Matthew lets out a noise of confirmation.
“Don’t pretend to be asleep,” Gunwook says. The bed sinks and suddenly the cover Matthew had over his head is being pulled down. Gunwook is lying beside him.
“I’ll be bored.”
Matthew lets a huff of air out through his nose. “Okay, what do you want to talk about?”
“You still want to go home don’t you? It’s all over your face,” Gunwook says, ignoring his question.
“What? No, I don’t,” Matthew denies, voice cracking in surprise.
Gunwook squints at him. “My bed is probably way softer than yours.”
He’s right, it is much better than his. Matthew got that mattress on his bed at some discount store or something at the time. Replacing it sounded like too much work.
“I’ll let you have that.”
Gunwook smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Matthew presses himself further to the wall that his bed is pushed against.
“Were you really not sure about staying in Korea up until tonight?”
They’ve had this conversation before, just not sober. Matthew’s eyes close. “Yes.”
“What are the things that make you want to leave?”
Everything. This, Matthew fears, deep down. He’s not dumb. He’s known that the feeling he gets when he looks at Gunwook now is wrong since the first time he imagined the two of them in a relationship. Matthew’s mind has run wild since — like a dog who’s found his way out of his leash. It is a path to destruction.
“I think it would be easier to start new there. I could get a real job, with a salary.” Matthew says, poking fun at the conversation they had weeks prior.
“Those exist here too,” Gunwook responds, “what about things that make you want to stay?”
Matthew opens his eyes. Gunwook’s face shifts suddenly, as if he put up appearances now that Matthew is looking at him. “My job — I enjoy it. Most times,” Matthew says. “Uh…the culture? It’s nice, I got used to it, but sometimes I feel like I will never fit in.”
“How so?”
Matthew considers something. “For example, when people are touchy with you here, it doesn’t mean anything because that’s normal. In Canada, that means someone has interest in you.”
“It’s not always normal, some people are different and only clingy when they like someone,” Gunwook responds.
“Are you?”
Matthew says it before he can stop himself. Gunwook blinks a bunch of times. Matthew hopes he says something like how he’s naturally clingy, so Matthew can have a reason to forget about this all.
Discomfort suddenly crawls all over him when he remembers that Gunwook is moving in with him. He has to live with Gunwook knowing what he knows and he can’t do anything about it. He is signing himself up to be in the torture chamber. What the fuck am I doing, Matthew thinks.
“It depends. I like to give people their space most of the time, but when I get excited I hang all over people,” Gunwook says. The most vague answer in history. Matthew wants to kill him.
“I’m gonna go to sleep now,” Matthew says, flipping onto his other side to face the wall instead. He’s mad at himself for letting this happen — knowing he can’t handle any way it decides to progress. He’s stupid.
Gunwook shifts closer to him — he can hear it, and then feel when his torso fits against Matthew’s back. His hands curl around Matthew’s waist, before he rests his chin on Matthew’s shoulder.
“You seem more like yourself again,” Gunwook says quietly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Gunwook’s hands twitch. “Nothing– I didn’t mean-”
“I’m just kidding,” he says, getting second hand embarrassment from hearing Gunwook scramble for a response. “Sorry, I– dunno. I think for a long time I was trying to figure out how to interact with you again. It’s been a long time.”
He’s guilty. He’s always felt guilty about the time that has passed. He even wants to say that, but decides not to.
“It’s okay Hyung.”
He wants to say it’s because they were that close, but that night is the first time Matthew thinks of him and Gunwook having sex. Worst of all, it’s in wet dream form.
They’re still in Gunwook’s bedroom. Gunwook’s hand slips into Matthew’s shorts. Matthew drops all shame and begs for Gunwook to fuck him — because it’s been so long. He does as told, from the back, shoving Matthew’s face into the belly of a stuffed teddy bear so his parents don’t hear from down the hall.
It's dumb. When Matthew wakes up, Gunwook's not sporting a hard on or anything. He's probably not even attracted to him. Matthew considers the possibility of Gunwook using like, not in the way Matthew thinks it means. This entire thing, could have been platonic.
It takes about two weekends in a row, but Gunwook eventually settles into the apartment. He brings heaps of stuff and things to personalize his new room. It’s much cooler looking than Matthew’s — Yaebin got the bigger room anyway.
When he goes to get the last of his things, he tells Matthew that he’ll be back soon in a day or so — wanting to spend a few more days with his parents before he officially stops seeing them everyday. And Matthew is more than understanding, for a few reasons.
A couple of days ago, he fell down a hole and started lurking fan spaces online — more specifically, the things they used to say about him. Him and Gunwook.
Matthew knew fans did the whole “shipping” thing. They all knew because fanservice was one pillar of what was keeping the idol industry afloat. You either pretended to be a fan’s significant other, or you pretended that you were interested in one of your bandmates. In many such cases — you did both.
The push for this showed through every aspect of their content from start to finish. They rarely did group activities and only focused on solos, duos, and trios. Matthew found out the hard way that he was scraping the bottom of the totem pole in popularity. The managers would give them these papers every month of things to work on and/or things to play up. Matthew recalls one sheet he was given telling him to do more skinship with everyone. That was the main thing fans liked about him. Don’t frown on camera, you look unsettled. It’s uncomfortable.
It bothered some of them — the interim reviews and the orders to act a certain way. To others it came more naturally. Matthew was — well — Matthew. He thought he owed it to people who made him famous to make them happy. So he did what he was told.
He found out quickly that people liked him with almost everyone. He guesses some of that tactic ended up working. Of course, not anymore. It’s a wasteland of abandoned accounts and broken links to posts from a decade ago, but he almost likes it that way. It’s a hidden thing of the past — a museum Matthew has an all access pass to.
Similar to Gunwook’s Instagram, it becomes something he returns to. Except this time, Matthew feels shame.
He learns that he and Gunwook were a really popular thing. And the fan content of them seems to never end, unlike Gunwook’s collection of posts. Matthew indulges, further, until he catches a glimpse of Archive of Our Own one day. He immediately figures out what it is with one glance — a fanfiction website. He closes out of it in a rush, and doesn’t open it again all day.
He’d find himself thinking about it a lot. Even at work. With Gunwook roaming in and out of his apartment — being next to him all the time — he knew he couldn’t open the browser back up until he was alone.
So when he finally is, it’s the first thing he does.
Matthew is in between losing his mind and admitting that this is all right up his alley when he scrolls through the website. He finds this story, about him and Gunwook, written over 11 years ago. Matthew is absolutely amazed by how much engagement it has. This was a community once, huh. A thing — no matter how objectively crazy it is — that their fans bonded over.
“Wow,” he finds himself saying out loud. He takes a seat on his bed, then eventually lays down in it entirely. The story about them is pretty good. It’s set in a different universe to this one — kind of unrealistic — they’re like hybrid animals of some sort. Matthew still finds himself laughing at some points, thinking, yeah, actually, I would do that. Other times, he does insane things that surprise him.
He grimaces when he realizes that the sun has set after he’s finished the story, but it doesn’t stop him from reading more. He finds a shorter one this time, knowing he’s close to falling asleep and that it’ll be enough to get him there.
It opens in the middle of a scene — with a string of words that stir the heat in his abdomen. Matthew freezes, for a split second, and scrolls back up to see what this is supposedly about. These tags are supposed to tell you, he thinks. The user interface of this website feels outdated.
This is written porn of them. His skin prickles, but he scrolls back down anyway — curiosity eating him dinner. It’s written in third person, but it suggests that they’re in Matthew’s head and not Gunwook’s. In this scenario he’s in a confined space with Gunwook — an elevator. They’re strangers who are attracted to each other at first glance. They get stuck on the third floor and wait for help. Fictional Gunwook starts hitting on him, and fictional Matthew likes it.
Matthew squirms when he gets to a part where they start kissing. He abruptly clicks off his phone and pulls his covers over himself.
He can’t do this. Right? Doing this means he’s violating the friendship he has with Gunwook — if he hasn’t already. It’s weird and wrong, even if this was written a long time ago. Even if Gunwook never knows. Matthew closes his eyes and prays he falls asleep. His head swarms with thoughts of who he is and every mistake he’s ever made.
He doesn’t end up going to sleep. He opens his phone again and flips onto his stomach. He doesn’t touch himself, but provides enough friction between his crotch and the mattress. Intentional or not, it doesn’t matter.
In that story, Gunwook fucks Matthew in that elevator — makes a mess of him. Matthew wishes it were real. He wishes to erase it from his memory all together. He also wishes for the courage to face Gunwook the next time he sees him.
At his core, Matthew is only imperfect. He wonders why Gunwook likes him. That is, if he really does.
If you take the bridge that connects Mok-dong to Mapo-gu and go through the Seongsan-ro underpass, you’ll be in the area where their first dorm used to be located. It sat at the top of a winding road — hidden, but obviously, not enough. People still found them.
Matthew remembers the first night they moved in. The room he shared with Yujin had been tiny, but that never stopped people from coming in. Matthew had no idea that it would be routine — the first time Gunwook had appeared in the frame of their door.
Now he stands at Matthew’s apartment door, with the last nine years of his life packed up into tons of bags and boxes.
For the first few days of Gunwook officially being Matthew’s roommate, it feels weird. As natural as it sounded when they talked about it — Matthew is on edge almost all of the time. He’s carefully monitoring every thing he does, like making sure he doesn’t walk out into the main room with less clothes on than usual or talk aloud to himself as if no one’s here. He doesn’t want Gunwook to think he’s crazy.
Sometimes — most nights actually — Gunwook will leave the door to his room ajar. Matthew thinks it may be an invitation to come in or maybe it’s just so he can make sure he’s not doing anything wrong when Matthew comes back home from work. Maybe he gets lonely like Matthew does, and just wants to know someone is here.
But Matthew never goes in. Whenever he thinks about doing it, he changes his mind — turning on his heels and heading back down to where his own room is.
It’s like that for about a week and a half, until Gunwook asks Matthew about any roommate rules he has. Matthew provides no help — not wanting to be a stickler for anything at all — and says I dunno.
So if I just blast my music every night until 5 AM you won’t care? Gunwook asked, smiling. Matthew had hit him, saying that he better not.
That’s when things become easier — when they fall into routine. Gunwook gets up and cooks food every morning, because that’s something he’s gotten better at over the years, apparently. Yeah, I had to make food for the kids in my other group all the time. They said I sucked and hurt my pride, he explained one morning over their plates of french toast. Him referring to people as kids always makes Matthew want to laugh, but he can imagine Gunwook as an authoritative figure. He was probably a great leader. Matthew on the other hand, never felt like it suited him.
But without college classes to attend, Gunwook seems more like his puppy dog waiting for him to come home and play every evening.
“Woah,” Matthew says, startled. He holds a hand to his chest, feeling his heart thrum underneath his palm. “Were you waiting in front of the door?” His voice cracks out.
Gunwook curls his shoulders in, looking sort of embarrassed. “I heard your keys in the door and I – sorry.”
Matthew laughs, and pushes the door closed behind him. “It’s fine.” He props his foot on the back of his other to pull one shoe off. “So…what have you been doing?”
Not much, is what Matthew makes of the response Gunwook kind of fumbles out. He doesn’t judge Gunwook — he kind of finds it cute, oddly enough. His boredom makes him seem younger.
“Do you want to do something together? Watch a movie?” Matthew asks when he’s gathered that Gunwook has missed him. Gunwook nods excitedly.
His work schedule has gotten busy again — every group out there is trying to take their shot at obtaining a summer hit. Sometimes they do radio shows at night because it’s more convenient for idols.
He and his sister had never bought a TV. It felt useless with their phones and array of other technology they had. So he and Gunwook end up lying on Gunwook’s bed — watching random videos on an iPad.
Though Matthew helped out (when he could) moving his things into the room, it’s the first time he’s getting a glance at how Gunwook has situated everything.
He’s done a nice thing with the place. Much different than his room at his parent’s house. Posters take the place of framed photos and debate and sports trophies are replaced with awards.
Matthew glances back at the mirror that Gunwook pointed out to him when they first walked in. You got this for me, remember? I never had space for it until now, he said.
Matthew actually does remember that. He was particularly stressed about what to get Gunwook for that birthday. It was his second one with the group and they were much closer than they’d been for the first one. He just had too many options — he knew too much about what Gunwook liked because they spent so much time together.
Gunwook mentioned wanting a mirror for his dorm — to practice his facial expressions in private — so that’s what Matthew settled on. He knew that was important to him. But he went overboard and got the biggest mirror he could find. He remembers Gunwook busting out into laughter. It made Matthew feel like he’d chosen the wrong gift all together.
Hyung, I’m going to have to put this under my bed I think, he said through a grin. Then when he noticed the nervous expression on Matthew’s face, he reached over and pulled him into his arms. I’ll use it one day, thank you.
Something about it coming full circle does wondrous things for Matthew’s ego, but also makes him want to crawl into a hole because he’s held onto it for so long.
They end up watching a few things and even an entire movie. Matthew gets tired around the time the clock hits 11 PM, unable to stop yawning. He waves off Gunwook insisting that he goes to bed, responding that he enjoys this.
He does. The times like this, where their interactions are more of dumb jokes and laughter than awkward conversations, are times he wants to drag out for as long as possible. He wants to officially say he’s comfortable around Gunwook.
“Do you want to watch this?” Gunwook asks, shifting his iPad to give Matthew a better view. It’s an old encore performance from their group days. The thumbnail is of Hanbin clutching a trophy with the brightest smile on his face.
“Sure, yeah. Put it on. Try not to cringe challenge,” he jokes, trying not to sound as apprehensive as he feels. Telling Gunwook no would be too much, even if it’s the truth. It would destroy the comfortableness that they’ve built.
The video plays, and it’s a song Matthew hasn’t heard in years. He’s almost glad that they were never insanely popular with the general public. If they were, he’s sure he’d never be able to escape their songs being played in cafes and on streets.
“I could never cringe at you,” Gunwook says when the pre-chorus rolls around. Matthew’s eyes shift around the screen, trying to focus on too many things at once. He finds himself eventually — where he and Gunwook are attached at the hip. His stomach curls.
“That’s good,” he laughs, “dunno if I can say the same about you.”
Gunwook drives his shoulder into Matthew’s, making him laugh some more.
The Gunwook on the screen — the younger Gunwook — suddenly looks down at Matthew, who he’s holding in the grasp of his arm. He doesn’t smile yet, just stares. Matthew from the past hasn’t noticed yet, because he still has his mic lifted to his mouth, singing his heart out. But then, Matthew turns his way — gazing up at Gunwook with a grin Matthew doesn’t even think he has the ability to do anymore. That’s when Gunwook smiles back.
“Did you know you liked me there?” Matthew asks, before he can keep it from slipping out.
Gunwook’s fingers twitch over where he’s holding the iPad. Matthew already feels him staring at him, and it makes him wonder how he’s going to get himself out of this. Fuck him.
But there’s something that takes over Matthew when he turns his head to stare back. Gunwook looks startled — wide-eyed. It makes Matthew feel 20 and Gunwook 18 — back when he had the power to make Gunwook a flustered mess. He loves it. He wants to hang onto this feeling and get answers.
“I- what?”
It could never be that easy. That’s not who Matthew is anymore. Matthew swallows and looks away from him. “I’m just kidding, come on,” he says, forcing out a laugh.
“Oh,” Gunwook responds, eyes still boring into the side of Matthew’s face. He lets out a dry ha too, then, they never bring it back up.
“This came while you were gone,” Gunwook says one evening, handing Matthew an envelope. It’s addressed to him — not written by anyone — but instead with all of his information printed on a sticker.
Matthew breaks the seal and pulls out a light pink card decorated with flowers. The front of it says You’re Invited in calligraphy.
He doesn’t get many invitations, or much mail at all, actually. So, he can’t help but start feeling anxious about what this event is. Gunwook’s not moving away from him either, he’s watching, curious himself.
Matthew knocks open the card and sees absolutely nothing he expected.
SAVE THE DATE! it says near the top. Under it is a picture of Jiwoong — him and a woman. It’s a backshot of them in a field — holding hands. He’s getting married.
“Jiwoong-hyung is getting married, I guess.”
“Wow, really?” Gunwook gasps, leaning over to get a better look. Matthew ends up handing him the card after he’s done reading it.
They all knew Jiwoong was in a relationship pretty early on. He didn’t live with them during the group and his presence at outside activities was more of a special occasion rather than a frequent occurrence. Matthew never blamed him. More than half of them were still under 20 when they all met. It wasn’t exactly a generation gap, just more of a difference in interests.
He was always really nice to Matthew though, gave him advice about the industry back when he knew nothing. They haven’t talked in years.
“I guess we’re officially old now, huh?” Matthew says as he starts removing his bag. “The first ZB1 member to get married, can you believe that?”
Gunwook’s eyes scan over the card for a moment, then he says, without looking up: “Do you think his fiancé is pregnant and that’s why?”
Matthew skips and breath and nearly chokes. “What? I don’t know…when did you get so gossipy?”
“Gossipy?” Gunwook repeats in a near laugh. He shrugs. “I’m just wondering,” he mutters, putting the card back into the envelope. “Imagine, you get someone pregnant before you’re married, would you propose?”
Matthew considers it. Even though he’s having trouble thinking about himself settling down with a woman. He likes girls. They’re soft and squishy and their nails feel nice against his skin. But sometimes Matthew wants the touch of another man. Calloused fingers holding his jaw steady and the smell of aftershave.
“Depends on the relationship,” he says, biting back the would you? He wants to ask back.
Gunwook nods. “Fair enough,” he says, pulling the card back out of the envelope and walking over to the kitchen — to a part of the house Matthew can’t see from where he’s standing. “Putting it on the fridge,” Gunwook shouts out. “We should go! I’m sure everyone else will be there.”
Matthew immediately doesn’t like the idea.
He should, because he’s working on being open to the idea of reconnecting with everyone. He told Guwook exactly that. But his mood still sours. His pulse still quickens to the beat of a snare drum.
Gunwook says something else that Matthew can’t hear. But he’s far away, his words come out like he’s underwater.
Matthew isn’t ready to see everyone else. They probably haven’t forgotten what Matthew has done and dread to see the kind of person he turned out to be. Their smiles will fall when he walks into the room. They’ll turn to whisper at each other about him. When Matthew tries to apologize it won’t come out. If it does, it’ll be shaky and barely audible. They won’t accept it.
Matthew wobbles — suddenly feeling unable to keep himself on his feet. Gunwook reappears from the kitchen, a smile etched onto his face. It drops off completely when he sees Matthew.
“Tyu?”
“I…” Matthew shakes his head, eyes falling closed. “I don’t think I can go,” he trembles out. The fear in his chest hardens into a roadblock in his throat. He can’t breathe.
“Oh God–Matt—I didn't mean,” Gunwook tries to say, rushing over to him. Matthew lets him swoop him up in his arms and pull them back onto the couch to sit down.
“We don’t have to,” he whispers. Matthew wants to tell him that he can go without him — he wouldn’t mind. Then he wants to say that maybe by the time the date rolls around, hopefully they can go together. But nothing comes out. Gunwook rocks him back and forth, until he stops shaking.
Matthew sleeps in Gunwook’s bed that night and the next few nights that follow. Sometimes Gunwook will creek his way into his room and sleep in his as well.
“Hey,” Gunwook whispers, once Matthew has stuck his head through the crack of his door. He just finished washing up for the night and was about to dry his hair. His plan afterwards was to stalk into Gunwook’s room and nuzzle against him.
Matthew knows that won’t be happening the second he notices someone standing nearby.
“I have company, I hope that’s alright,” Gunwook mentions, gesturing behind him.
Matthew’s eyes fall on the boy standing a few steps away. He’s shorter, around Matthew’s height. His eyes are round and his face is slim in the way that resembles a bunny — fans would call him that if he was an idol. Is he one?
“Oh,” Matthew says, eyes tracking down the boy’s figure. He’s wearing loose, but nice looking clothing. The kind that you would wear to someone’s house when you’re going to hook up with them. There’s a crossbody bag slung across his torso.
“Cool,” Matthew says, looking away from him and back to Gunwook. He wants to not think like this — assume what will happen — but Gunwook doesn’t make an effort to introduce his friend. Company, he referred to him as.
Matthew digs his fingers into the palm of his hand, an outlet for what he’s feeling, but a way to keep him grounded.
“If the music gets too loud, just text me or knock on the door,” he mentions. Matthew looks back to where the boy was standing only to find that he’s gone. Maybe already entering Gunwook’s room. There’s a chance he’s already been here before — when Matthew was at work. Matthew has no way of knowing what Gunwook does when he’s gone. He doesn't have the right to ask. It's not only his apartment now, but Gunwook's.
Matthew feels his entire body callous over with anger. He wishes it was a girl. That would be better. If she was a tall one with long hair — one that looks like a supermodel. At least that would make it harder to compare himself to her.
“Kay,” Matthew pinches out, before shutting the door in his face.
Once it’s closed, he doesn’t cry. No, it’s way worse. He feels hollow. Even more so when he puts headphones on over his ears and lays down in bed. Gunwook didn’t mean what he said in that voicemail — he couldn’t have. Or, maybe he did, but now that he’s seen what Matthew’s like — how vulnerable he’s been for a month straight — he’s lost interest.
This roommate thing was a mistake. Now he has to watch Gunwook’s love story unfurl from his front row seat. And all Matthew can do is accept it.
Matthew is outside alone one night, taking a walk by the river. He imagines a world where he’s loved Gunwook for years without him ever knowing.
The horrible thing about Matthew is that when he’s upset, it shows through all of his behavior.
He’s going the extra mile to avoid Gunwook after that night. He gets up earlier than ever to leave for work. He stays out later — taking walks — until he knows Gunwook will be asleep by the time he comes back.
He locks himself in his room and puts his headphones on so he pretends he lives alone again. He knows it’s shitty and that he’s dramatic, but he can’t stand to look at him. The painful wave of clarity — that he has a stupid crush on Gunwook — hit him. He’s finally accepted it when he can’t even have him.
The shift between them is noticeable, but it goes unacknowledged until two weeks pass.
Matthew comes home early from work, wanting to do nothing but go to sleep, and finds Gunwook in his bed instead.
Matthew freezes, but his eyes rest upon him boredly.
“Hey,” Gunwook says.
Matthew purses his lips and puffs his cheeks out to blow some air out of his mouth. He removes his bag. “You know, the point of us each having our own room is that we spend time in them,” he says, heading to his closet. Gunwook mumbles what’s the fun in that. Matthew prompts himself to laugh, so he can pretend everything is normal between them, but it doesn’t happen. It’s silent. Matthew thinks of telling Gunwook to get out of his room.
That would be rude, he shouldn’t. Once he parts from his closet, he takes a seat on the edge of his bed — facing away from Gunwook. “Sorry, if I’m being weird. Long day.”
“You’re avoiding me.”
Matthew’s neck burns. “I’m not,” he denies, childishly.
Gunwook knows he’s lying. “Why?” He crawls across the bed until he’s sitting right beside Matthew on the edge. Matthew shivers at the closeness — Gunwook’s bare thigh is pressed against his.
“Maybe I’m just in a bad mood. Not everything has to do with you,” Matthew says, immediately regretting it after. That was mean. What’s wrong with him?
Gunwook erupts into laughter, Matthew doesn’t expect it. “So it is about me, what did I do? Tell me," he eggs on.
“I just,” Matthew releases a shudder of a breath when Gunwook’s hand reaches behind him to touch his waist. Why is he this close?
“Give me...a two-day notice next time you wanna hook up with someone here.”
Gunwook’s hand that was rubbing Matthew’s waist stops. “Huh? You think…I was having sex with someone?”
Matthew picks at his nails so he doesn’t have to look at him. “Mm. Your little friend.”
“Are you jealous?”
“What? No-” Matthew snaps his head to him, then shifts back when he realizes how close Gunwook is. “No, I’m not.”
Gunwook smiles brightly, like he just caught him. “We were in my last group together. He was helping me with a song.”
“Oh,” Matthew says, face flushing for assuming. He looks away, back down to his lap. The silence between them feels too heavy now. He's made a fool out of himself.
“I knew that I liked you then,” Gunwook says out of nowhere. “I know that I like you now.”
“Gunwook,” Matthew warns.
“And I meant what I said about you being my someone,” he continues. Gunwook rests his face against the side of Matthew’s — forehead pressed to his head. Matthew’s breath catches.
“I don’t think-”
“Don’t,” Gunwook says, leaning further into him if possible. “I know it’s wrong for me to ask, but don’t say we can’t.”
He sounds sad. It breaks Matthew in half. “I’ve been waiting for you, without even realizing it.”
Matthew turns his head slightly, fighting the weight of Gunwook’s against his. Their eyes meet — Gunwook’s watery ones to Matthew’s.
He decides to kiss Matthew then, but it’s so light, like a stone that only skips once in the water when thrown. Like he’s scared that Matthew will push him back and punch him in the face. Matthew’s heart pulses into the ground.
Gunwook pulls back, looking dizzy. He wipes a hand at a tear that had fallen on his cheek and starts to say, “I’m sorry.”
Matthew kisses him again, this time with everything in him. With the desire for this that’s been budding up in him for months.
They fall back onto the bed, lying side by side. Matthew’s arms bind around Gunwook’s shoulders, pulling him closer — as if how close they are still isn’t enough. Matthew kisses him until the corners of his mouth burn. Until the sun finally sets. Until he’s falling asleep.
Gunwook doesn’t give Matthew a chance to make it awkward. He trails him everywhere and Matthew thinks he needed it. Anytime he’s alone he just thinks, oh fuck, it really happened, what now?
Matthew wants to say that they’re like, dating or something. They do the things couples do and some more. Grocery shopping on Sundays (Gunwook pushes the cart, carries the bags, and cooks. He’s really like a househusband). Furniture shopping — they only did this once, but Matthew kept finding himself getting giddy whenever Gunwook said “our.”
The intimacy trails behind. Matthew doesn’t mind though, being close to Gunwook sometimes makes him nervous. He’s afraid want will chase through him and he’ll try to reenact every fantasy he’s ever had. God, he’s read fanfiction of them. That has to go to his grave.
That is, until Matthew’s birthday. They spend it inside the apartment instead of going out — doing all of Matthew’s favorite things. And he doesn’t get drunk, but is admittedly something even worse — he has a mission to get all of Gunwook’s attention.
“Kiss me, again,” Matthew says, crawling into his lap. He does, lips soft against Matthew’s chapped ones. It feels like time stands still when they do this — when they share the same breath. Matthew leans into him, trying to become one with him.
The date for Jiwoong’s wedding is here before they know it, Matthew decides to take a chance and go. But he hasn’t told anyone he’s attending.
It makes him anxious — his presence being a surprise — but he’d rather it be that than people know ahead of time. He doesn’t want people to skip out on Jiwoong’s wedding just because they know he’ll be there. He’d feel terrible.
Matthew fixes his tie and tries to break the tension in his shoulders. Gunwook emerges from the hallway and into his room. He looks handsome, like he was made to be a model for black tie apparel.
“I think it’ll be fine,” Gunwook says like he can read Matthew's mind. He takes a place behind him and circles Matthew’s waist. Matthew observes the image of their reflection and almost blushes. “And in the case it isn’t, we can always leave.”
Matthew likes Gunwook so much. He always tries to push him, but never makes him feel crazy. He doesn’t even think he deserves it.
“You’re too nice to me I think,” Matthew says, turning around in his arms to hug him.
Jiwoong’s wedding is taking place on a private golf course on the coast of the country. It’s a city Matthew has never been to before in his life. Namhae Island. Gunwook said he hasn’t been there either. The pictures that he finds on Google are pretty, though.
The four hour drive there passes by fast, and Matthew misses it extremely when it’s gone. When it’s no longer just him and his Gunwook, he semi-panics inside. It’s not all bad, or as bad as it could be, because he does have Gunwook by his side always.
The ceremony hasn’t started yet when they get there, but you can tell that they’re a part of the stragglers coming in at the last minute. They slip into two seats in the back row and scoot their chairs together. It’s a beautiful venue really — and right before sunset. The bugs around aren’t ideal however.
Matthew’s dozing off into space gets interrupted when he realizes Gunwook is waving at someone. Curiosity getting the best of him, Matthew follows his line of sight to find Gyuvin. He’s sitting on the other side of the aisle the bride will eventually walk down — in a few rows ahead of them. He immediately notices Matthew when he looks, eyes turning into the size of saucers. His mouth forms into a wide O before he waves frantically at him with a smile.
“He’s so dramatic,” Gunwook mentions. Matthew shyly does it back.
Gyuvin snaps back around suddenly when the person next to him smacks him. Matthew gets a glimpse of their profile. Matthew already knows it’s Hanbin even if he doesn’t turn around. He tries to keep his stomach from sinking.
Jiwoong eventually appears at the altar, greeting all his groomsmen and the priest. He looks so mature — a clear picture of everything you should be at 35. An engaged man, ready to settle down. Matthew tells himself that can be him one day, maybe.
Jiwoong looks nervous though, as he wipes his hands on his slacks. That’s probably the way anyone would feel. Gunwook seems to notice the same. He leans over and whispers, “hyung looks like he’s about to shit himself.”
Matthew laughs, covering his mouth with his hand.
Matthew hasn’t been to many weddings, but the ceremony is wholesome. Gunwook tears up when he hears Jiwoong’s and his wife's vows to each other. Then before Matthew knows it, he is too. They help throw rice on them as they walk down the aisle hand in hand. Matthew can’t help but take a glance at his wife’s stomach and wonder if Gunwook was onto something. Not his business, he supposes.
The reception is a zoo of a party.
It’s when they’re in that wide room — on the bottom floor of the golf club — when Matthew takes in just how many people know Jiwoong. Gunwook told him that he invited the members of his past groups and their families. Matthew spots them, and then some notable figures in the entertainment industry as well. There’s a camera crew. Matthew wonders if this will be broadcasted for the internet to see or if it’s just for personal keep.
The hard part eventually rolls around — Matthew had monopolized his attention on having fun with Gunwook that he completely forgot what was keeping him from being here in the first place.
Jiwoong is first, which is the polite thing to do in Matthew’s opinion. He hands him a wrapped gift that he and Gunwook picked up about a week ago. It’s a blender. They kept the receipt tucked inside in case they want to return it.
“My babies! Hyung hasn’t seen you all in so long,” Jiwoong cries happily. Matthew can tell he’s drunk and can smell it on him, but he still laughs when Jiwoong wraps his arms around him and Gunwook. When he starts to jump giddily though, Matthew gets kind of scared for his well being.
“Congratulations Hyung,” Gunwook beams, cracking up at how silly Jiwoong is acting. He always had a hard time controlling his laughter around Jiwoong.
“Thanks Gunwookie,” Jiwoong says, fake kissing him. "Tell Yujin he broke my heart by not being here." He peers down at Matthew and tightens his grip. “Matt-chu, you’re still the same.” Aigooo, he says, it’s been a while.
Their conversation and reunion gets cut up when some of the groomsmen drag him away. They tell them he has to sober up before the first dance, mentioning it along with a quick apology.
That opens up a window for Taerae, Hao, and Hanbin. Matthew feels less relaxed about seeing them and immediately tenses up. These are the three people who he’s sure he’s hurt the most in the past.
But he keeps up his appearances, like an adult. He returns their hugs and says hello, hey, hiya back when they greet him, just like he practiced in his head and in the car with Gunwook. They went through plenty of scenarios — and he means plenty. Gunwook played along even when Matthew was being difficult. What am I gonna do when they throw a drink in my face? Are you going to take me to the hospital? Matthew had said. Yes, I will take you to the hospital, Gunwook responded.
“Gyuvin went to the bathroom, he’s on the phone arguing with Ricky since he couldn’t make it,” Hao says as they all crowd around a table.
Gunwook nods and goes ahhh, before asking, “where is he?”
“LA.”
He hums. “Fancy. Okay, everyone go around and update about your life. Lying is always okay,” Gunwook jokes. Matthew envies his ability to be so natural. He on the other hand wants to run and hide. He can feel Hanbin staring at him.
Taerae takes a sip of his champagne. He’s a little flushed in the face so Matthew can tell it’s not his first. He wonders when he started drinking. “I work an office job,” he says with a shrug.
“Hey,” Hanbin says, elbowing him, “I remember you telling me about that, how’s it going?”
He shrugs again. “It’s fine. Good. I play games on my computer when no one’s looking.”
A chorus of laughs ring out. Taerae seems to like the way he made everyone laugh, so he continues. “I tell people I used to be in an idol group and they usually go really? You don’t seem like the type. And then I kill myself 500 times in my head,” he laughs before downing some more of his drink. His eyes catch on Matthew’s figure. “What about you Matthew?”
“Uh,” Matthew mumbles out, gazing at the floor, then some partygoers nearby. He didn’t expect them to ask him this soon. Maybe at the end, after everyone else explained what they had been up to.
“I saw you on that radio show, you’re good at being an MC,” Taerae tacks on, noticing how awkward he is. That’s the kind of thing Matthew used to do for Taerae, long ago. He appreciates that.
Matthew bobs his head. “Yeah it’s cool. Nice.”
Taerae’s mouth forms into a wide grin that shows all of his straight teeth. “Nice.”
No one says anything immediately after that. Matthew absolutely hates it, so he forces the conversation to continue. “What about everyone else? I’m not that interesting, honestly.”
“I’m sure that’s far from true, but they just bought their first house together,” Taerae reveals, jerking his thumb in Hanbin and Hao’s direction. So they’re together finally. Matthew’s eyes latch onto them when he knows they won’t notice. They both look the same — young still. Like they follow a prestigious skin care routine or make frequent trips to a dermatology clinic. Hanbin looks down in embarrassment when Taerae says it. Matthew wonders why.
“Yeah. That. And I play violin for the orchestra out in Seoul. And he,” Hao says dramatically, pressing his hand down on Hanbin’s shoulder. “Is doing big things in the movies.”
“Stop,” Hanbin says again, but with no seriousness behind it. He looks up. “They’re K-dramas.”
It’s nice, when Matthew finally feels like he can look Hanbin’s acting up and not want to turn it off. It’s not really jealousy anymore, but curiosity. A small part of him has finally moved on.
Hanbin turns his attention to who’s beside him. “What about you Gunwookie?”
“Moved into an apartment,” Gunwook says.
“Nice. He’s all grown up now,” Taerae laughs.
Matthew glances at him and wonders if he’ll mention that they live together. He almost doesn’t want him to. Telling them means the secret between them slips away and becomes general knowledge for everyone. Matthew decides to open his mouth. “He also graduated college. Even better,” he mentions, hand hitting Gunwook’s arm lightly.
“What?” Hao squawks. He turns to Gunwook with an incredulous expression before it drops into a pout. “Why didn’t you invite us,” he complains. Gunwook shrugs sheepishly. “Sorry, Hyung. I thought everyone would be busy.”
Matthew smiles to himself, loving that he got to celebrate that with Gunwook and they didn’t. He’s so selfish. When he looks up he catches Hanbin staring at him curiously. Matthew folds his lips, trying to telepathically communicate with him, don’t ask about it.
Eventually Hao pulls Hanbin away to go dance and Matthew accepts that it might be the last time he talks to them, but Hanbin looks over his shoulder and mouths text me, before he’s too far away. Matthew smiles and gives him an okay back.
“I’m gonna go try to find Gyuvin,” Gunwook says stretching his limbs out, “he’s weird when he’s angry. Be back,” he mentions to Matthew. He squeezes Matthew’s waist, a place out of view, before leaving.
That leaves Matthew alone, with Taerae.
“Heyyyyy,” Taerae says, joking. He leans onto the table and rests his chin in his palm. Matthew laughs.
“Hi. I- I miss you,” Matthew blurts out. Taerae’s eyes soften behind the frames of his glasses. “I’m sorry too about everything.”
A long time ago, Matthew insulted Taerae at the reunion. The memory of it is still hazy, but he knows it wasn’t nice. That he made him feel less than just because Matthew had felt that way as well.
Taerae watches him for a moment and then shrugs. “It’s okay. Things happen. It felt like payback for all the things I’ve ever said to you.”
Matthew bubbles with laughter when Taerae talks about being a total T. They used to fight over stupid useless things all the time. Matthew thinks he did it just because he liked someone going toe to toe with him.
“I just feel bad. And everyone’s still perfect like I expected them to be,” Matthew says, like an insecure bastard. He’s being so annoying.
Taerae cocks his head. “I mean. Not really. I can tell you about anything you want to know about them.”
“Okay, Mr. Gossip, how are Hao and Hanbin?”
“I think they broke up 10 times over the past three years. They’re in that kind of subtle toxic relationship where you keep going back because you don’t know any better,” he explains, glancing at where the two of them dance out on the floor. Matthew looks too.
“I didn’t expect that,” Matthew responds.
“I don’t think anyone does.”
“What about Gyuvin?” he asks, thinking of Gunwook going to get him.
Taerae straightens back up and makes a face. “Oh, he’s a total pain in my ass. You know I got him hired at the company I work at and he completely embarrassed me in front of all my colleagues.”
Matthew laughs. “Sounds like you guys. Are he and Ricky…?”
Taerae cocks his head. “Do you think everyone is together or something?”
“No I just, I dunno,” Matthew shrugs, considering taking a drink before he remembers he has to drive, “they used to act weird around each other, in my opinion.” He and Ricky had a lot in common being from the west.
“They’re not dating. If they did, they’d have to be long distance. Ricky is always traveling for modeling,” Taerae says. “I don’t even think they ever tried. It was like one of those weird broships.”
“Broships,” Matthew mimics him.
Taerae rolls his eyes before throwing the last of his drink back. “Don’t tell, but,” he looks around cautiously, before leaning and whispering, “I’d totally fuck Gyuvin.”
Matthew grins in half-shock-half-amusement. “What?”
“Okay- not totally. Maybe like 70%. I feel like his room at his house is messy and when I think about that I get mad.” Matthew laughs so hard his stomach starts hurting.
“What about you,” Taerae comments, “and… Gunwook?”
Matthew bites his lip. He knew it was coming. “What about us?”
Taerae narrows his eyes. “Don’t try to deny it, I saw it all over your face.”
Matthew looks away from him and tries to search his brain for information he can give Taerae without revealing too much. Matthew still wants his secrets.
“We…kissed twice.”
Taerae’s face flips into shock as he slams his hand against the table. “No way!”
“Stop. I’m embarrassed,” Matthew laughs nervously.
“He’s like, in love with you y’know? He always has been,” Taerae mentions casually. So casually that it makes Matthew want to throw himself off a bridge. Always!!!!! his head screams, torturing him.
Matthew shakes his head and closes his eyes, still unable to help his laughter. He knows his face is red. “Stop. stop stop stop stop-”
“Oh my god,” Taerae says like he just realized something. Matthew opens his eyes. “You’re in love with him back. It’s so disgusting,” he grimaces, but scoots closer. “Make me your best man instead of Hanbin or I’ll never talk to you again.”
“Really?”
“I mean it.”
Gunwook eventually exits the bathroom with an in distress Gyuvin. He ends up handing him off to Taerae (which Taerae seems to enjoy. He strokes his back and grins mischievously at Matthew across the room. He must be too drunk).
He and Gunwook settle down at their dining table seats. They’re all in the square around where Jiwoong and his wife sit. Jiwoong announces that he wants to make a toast — banging a fork onto a glass and accidentally breaking it. A collection of gasps sound out while Gunwook breaks out into laughter beside him. Matthew hits his thigh.
Jiwoong ends up trying again, and makes a toast that barely makes sense. Matthew wonders how hard it was for them to get water in his system. He can’t lie though, it’s a funny scene. His wife pulls on his sleeve to get him to sit down — obviously mortified. Matthew watches the entire thing with a grin on his face.
“Hey.” Gunwook whispers, once they’re done and the party is back on. Most people have left the tables already, so it’s just them.
Matthew turns his head to look at him, and for the first time Gunwook actually feels mature. Matthew can see the age around his eyes and the deepening smile lines. His dimples fatten up when he grins — more noticeable now than ever before.
“I like you,” he says.
“Hush,” Matthew responds, but his hand scrambles to grab Gunwook’s and hold it in his. "I like you too."
“Was everyone as perfect as you imagined?” Gunwook asks quietly.
They’re in Matthew’s parked car — on the road right before where the street turns into sand. The sun has already set, so they’re looking at the stars through Matthew’s windshield.
He hums in delight, thinking of all the things Taerae told him about everyone. “Not quite.” He rolls his head over to look at Gunwook. “Are you about to tell me you told me so?”
“No,” Gunwook responds, but his mouth quivers into a grin.
Matthew reaches over to hit him. “You want to.”
Gunwook catches his arm before he can pull it away. “Come over here,” he says.
Matthew stares at him for a moment, but listens. He gets out of his side of the car and rounds the front to get to the other. Gunwook props the door open and scoots his seat back, then does something so ridiculous Matthew can’t help but laugh. “Here,” he says stupidly, patting his thighs.
Matthew crawls inside, shutting the door behind him. He settles onto Gunwook’s lap. “Are you trying to do something weird with me in public right now?” he accuses, grinning down at him.
“No,” Gunwook says, “we’re just sitting in your car. That has tinted windows. Nothing strange about this.”
Matthew laughs, then kisses him. It’s a mess, because they’re both smiling and it makes their teeth clack together. Matthew has to pull away and rest his face on his shoulder instead.
When Gunwook’s hands dig under his blazer and slide it off his shoulders, Matthew can guess where this is going. He aids him in shaking it off, then returns his hands to their place on Gunwook’s shoulder.
Their mouths meet again, except the laughing is over and Matthew now feels like something snapped in him. Gunwook’s kisses are languid — not in an uncaring way — but like he wants this to last forever. Matthew shudders when he feels him undoing the buttons of his shirt.
“You want to…” Matthew starts vaguely, sentence getting cut off when Gunwook starts flicking at his nipples with his index fingers over and over. Matthew curls into him, bracing himself on the seat behind Gunwook instead. “Okay,” he says in English, before batting Gunwook’s hands away. “Too much. Too much.”
Gunwook looks up at him innocently, like he had no clue what he was doing. Matthew lets out a battered breath that's not quite a laugh. Gunwook returns to undo the rest of the buttons, ripping it off of him when he’s done. “So only I get naked?” Matthew jokes, to stop himself from thinking about how exposed he is right now. He’ll get insecure and start acting dumb. He’d hate to ruin the moment.
“Yes, I’ll get cold.”
“I’m cold!” Matthew laughs.
“I can tell,” Gunwook says, before grasping him by the ribs and pushing his chest to his mouth. A moan is trying to break out of him when Gunwook sucks on his nipple. Matthew blushes when their eyes meet as he does it. He watches haphazardly as Gunwook’s tongue circles around it then laps at it slowly. Oh my god, Matthew thinks. He wants to push him away and tell him to stop being freaky before he cums in his pants. It’s been a while and he’s quickly turning into a horny mess on top of him.
“I wanna make love to you,” Gunwook says, staring up at him through his eyelashes, chin tucked between his pecs.
Matthew can’t even believe what he’s seeing. “You…what?” his voice cracks out. This is so humiliating. He wishes it wasn’t, but he’s not used to this amount of attention. Matthew goes closer to him again, so his face is out of view.
“There’s…condoms in my drawer thing,” Matthew mutters out.
“Whaaaaat?” Gunwook says, dramatically, bracing a hand on Matthew’s back as he sits up to look. Matthew cringes, hoping he doesn’t ask if he fucks a lot of people in his car. He never has actually. It was something he carried with him when he used to meet people at hotels. He sounds pathetic, he didn’t do that a lot. Only a few times.
He did have suggestive intentions today though. His plan was to take Gunwook to a hotel because driving back this late would be too tiring. They’d fuck there, not here. But plans change.
He can hear Gunwook ripping through the wrapper. “I’m imagining you as a sexy office vixen who seduced me,” he says.
Matthew shoves on his chest, actually laughing. “You’re so dumb.”
Gunwook smiles, going for his zipper. Matthew is thankful he didn’t wear a belt. “Am I?” he asks, grinning.
Getting Matthew’s pants off is a train wreck of legs and limbs (they eventually had to just open the door to get it done and prayed no one was around to get flashed).
Now, Matthew’s back is folded between the dashboard and Gunwook’s lap, with his knees hiked up and legs spread. Gunwook’s drizzling lube over his entrance — probably too much — it’s definitely getting on his slacks. He seems to not mind. He looks hypnotized by what he’s doing. Matthew shuts his eyes as tight as possible.
He feels his index and middle finger graze over his hole and squirms. Gunwook places a hand on his thigh and Matthew doesn’t know if he’s trying to calm him or keep his legs open.
“Hyung,” Gunwook calls out. Matthew’s cock twitches. Don’t call me that, please, he thinks.
“Hyungie,” he says again. Matthew’s eyes fly open and he’s met with the grin on Gunwook’s face. “I’m gonna put them in, try to relax.”
“Your fingers are big,” Matthew whines.
“I know, I’m sorry,” Gunwook apologizes unconsciously, probably. Matthew wishes he could laugh.
Gunwook pushes one in and Matthew’s chest arches up. “Gunwookie,” Matthew says, name tumbling into a moan.
“I know,” he responds. He wraps a hand around Matthew’s neglected cock to distract him when he pushes the second finger in after a while. They do a bit of that and Gunwook is telling him he likes it so much, Matthew can’t even string together a proper thought. Three fingers plunged into him is what makes Matthew cum all over his stomach.
Gunwook moving with haste to get his dick out of his pants after that. It looks wrong when he pulls it out of his fly — like they’re doing something in actual public. Matthew watches him roll the condom over it and looks back up to his face.
“You’re being a pervert. You want to fuck me not make love.” Gunwook coughs out a laugh, screwing his eyes shut as he covers himself in lube.
“Maybe. This isn’t the best place to make love. I was mistaken,” he says, grabbing Matthew back into his lap and pushing the button to make the seat lean back again. Matthew braces his hands on his chest.
“But I am…in love with you. I have been," he confesses. Matthew looks at him.
“Don’t say that right now, wait until after and I’ll say it back.”
Gunwook smiles almost starting to laugh, but clearly riled up. “Don’t people say it during this though?”
“Have you?”
“No, not until now.”
Matthew’s heart pangs, because he really is special.
“I love you too, Gunwook-ah,” Matthew says.
Gunwook's face flushes more red than it was before. "Okay, you were right. I feel rude because I'm about to ask you if I can put it in."
Matthew leans back sort of, looking down. "Let me just-" He grabs Gunwook's cock and holds it in place. Gunwook sucks in a sharp breath.
The tip already feels like too much when Matthew sinks down on it, but he's impatient and forces it all. He knows he's going to regret this in the morning.
For a few moments they just sit there, gasping into each other's mouths. Matthew tries to move his hips, but Gunwook stops him. He buries his face against Matthew's collarbone and tells him he likes it like that. Matthew is annoyed, but finds it kind of hot. Cockwarming him like this. He knows it's taking everything in Gunwook to not start ramming his hips up into him. The way his hands are gripped at his hips serve as proof.
Matthew shivers, when too many moments pass, feeling his second orgasm about to come up and snap. "Gunwookie, just move, please."
He doesn't expect for Gunwook to lean up suddenly, because it defeats the purpose of moving his chair back at all. Then, before Matthew can even blink, he's back against the dashboard. Their mouths fuse together and then Gunwook is fucking into him like it's the last thing he'll ever do.
Their bodies slotted together like this make it too hot. Matthew's sure Gunwook's position can't be comfortable as his isn't either. Both of their bodies will ache with the pain of an idol tomorrow, but somehow it's perfect. Being close to each other like this.
"I've waited for this," Gunwook says, breathlessly. Matthew whines. "And it was worth it," he says, moving closer to mouth over Matthew's jaw. Gunwook pushes in deep and stays there, cock twitching inside of him. Matthew squirms, especially when Gunwook grabs his cock and pumps it in his hand. Then he's seeing a flash of white again, and coming undone.
Gunwook pulls back, observing the complete mess he made of Matthew. Matthew laughs, wanting to tell him something stupid, like how he read about them doing this online, but again. That's going to his grave.
It takes him a while to gather the courage to ask about it, but Matthew knows Gunwook has been working on music.
Gunwook is hunched over at his desk when he enters, with his headphones on. It’s a quite legit set-up actually.
“You know, the point of us each having our own rooms is that we spend time in them,” Gunwook says, sliding his earphones off to rest around his neck.
“Ha-ha,” Matthew fake laughs, caping himself over Gunwook’s back. Gunwook’s hands slide up the expanse of his arms before he pulls Matthew around to sit in his lap instead.
“You’re working on something, show me,” Matthew demands with no real seriousness. Gunwook reaches for his mouse and navigates to a screen that was minimized. All this studio stuff that Matthew really has no idea how to use comes up. He doesn’t get a chance to ask. Gunwook places his headphones over Matthew’s ears, and then hits the space button.
It's just an instrumental, but it’s catchy. Matthew nods his head to the rhythm and whistles because he knows Gunwook will think it’s lame. “Yo, this is tight,” he says in English.
“Are you just saying that because you love me?”
“No! It was good, c’mon,” Matthew says in defense, pulling the headphones off once the song ends.
“Imagine if I make this into a real song,” he says.
“And you put it on streaming services,” Matthew continues for him. Gunwook looks at him and then grins.
“It blows up, tops the charts. Nobody sees it coming," he says dramatically.
Matthew leans in closer. “You get invited to places and sign with a huge company as a solo artist.”
Gunwook frowns, and making a fake crying face. “My first studio album is too indie...people don’t understand it.”
“But your second is an EP and suddenly the world loves you.”
“I break away from the company and start my own. Tour the world, even until I’m 50.”
Matthew grabs his shoulders and shakes him. “You’re the DILF everyone wants.”
Gunwook laughs. “Enough.”
“But you tell them you have me and they back off.”
“That sounds perfect. Happy ending.”
Matthew's posture slouches. “It’s awesome Gunwook. People will love it,” Matthew says, hoping he doesn’t sound like a guidance counselor. He really means it. It's super cool and Gunwook is one of the most innovative people he's ever met.
Gunwook smiles. "I hope so.”