Chapter Text
The first time Gunwook had to speak about his situation in front of a panel, it hadn’t turned out too well. His voice had wavered, his hands had been clammy, and the cold, unfeeling stares had made every word feel like an uphill climb.
The second time… well, Gunwook hadn’t expected much of a difference. So when he found himself seated at the long table again, the fluorescent lights overhead humming softly, he braced for the worst. But then something strange happened.
They were listening. Actually listening.
Gunwook could feel it in the way their heads tilted slightly as he spoke, in the faint scribbling of pens against paper. It wasn’t the same dismissive glances or impatient sighs he’d grown used to. This time, there was weight behind their attention, a sharp seriousness that caught him off guard.
“What happened after that?” a middle-aged woman asked. Her voice was steady and flat, the kind that could cut through a room effortlessly. She was poised, her hair drawn back into a sleek, no-nonsense bun that matched her demeanor.
Gunwook’s fingers twitched inside the pocket of his hoodie, the fabric suddenly feeling too thin, too scratchy. “Uhm,” he started, eyes flickering between the woman and the papers in front of her. “I reported the situation to the administration.”
“Case number AD678?” she clarified without missing a beat, flipping through a stack of documents neatly clipped together.
Gunwook blinked. AD678? Who remembers case numbers like that? He felt an incredulous laugh bubble up inside him but swallowed it down. “If I recall correctly, yes,” he replied, nodding weakly.
The woman hummed, jotting something down with a sharp click of her pen before passing the baton to the young man beside her. He looked a little out of place in this setting, perhaps in his mid-twenties, dressed in a slightly rumpled blazer that didn’t quite fit his frame. His brow furrowed as he scanned through his own notes, mouth pulling into a thoughtful frown.
“It says here,” he began, tapping the paper for emphasis, “they deemed your report invalid.” He looked up, his gaze pinning Gunwook in place. “What happened there?”
Gunwook bit the inside of his cheek, a habit he’d been trying to break for months. He could see it, the words printed on the page, the judgment passed down by the last panel as though his story had been nothing more than background noise. Invalid. The word still sat heavy in his gut.
The guy clearly had the full picture in front of him — Gunwook could see the notes peeking from the corner of his folder, lines of bullet points and highlighted text scribbled in tight handwriting. So what did he want? Was he asking Gunwook to correct the record? Or to validate what was already obvious: that the first panel hadn’t gotten it right?
“They had,” Gunwook said, a small swell of pride flickering in his chest when his voice remained steady. “They said Mr. Park’s report of events had more validity than mine, and that perhaps I had been a little jealous… that I wasn’t given the same treatment as the other players.”
The words left his mouth bitterly, laced with the sting of disbelief he still carried. Jealous. Like it had all been a game.
Across the table, one of the other women—her sharp glasses and neatly pressed blazer not quite hiding the fatigue on her face—let out an unintentional scoff, a soft sound that broke through the air before she straightened and recollected herself. It was quick, but Gunwook caught it. Someone believed him.
“Well…” The young man looked contemplative, flipping to a fresh page in his folder, his brow furrowed like he was piecing something together. “Given the current accusations unrelated to your case, it seems we cannot completely confirm Mr. Park’s claims as of now.”
Gunwook blinked. What?
The middle-aged woman — still poised and composed — added on, her voice more measured but just as meaningful. “It seems there have been some… inaccuracies with the documents.”
Gunwook’s breath hitched, the words landing like a punch to his gut. He could feel his heartbeat quicken, thundering loud in his chest. “Inaccuracies?” His voice came out rougher than he’d intended, eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and sudden hope.
The woman adjusted the papers in front of her, her lips pursed as if choosing her words carefully. “Certain details appear to have been altered or omitted in the official case notes submitted previously. Some of what you reported may not have been accounted for.”
Gunwook leaned back slightly in his chair, his fingers tightening into fists inside his hoodie pocket as he tried to process what he was hearing. Altered? Omitted? For months, he had carried the weight of dismissal, the shame of being called unreliable — of being treated like he was the problem.
“And you’re just now realizing this?” he asked before he could stop himself. His tone wasn’t confrontational, but the exhaustion bled through.
The man across from him exhaled, nodding faintly. “I’m afraid so. Sometimes, it takes more… pressing circumstances for people to look at things closely.”
Gunwook glanced between them, trying to make sense of it all. Part of him wanted to feel vindicated, to throw his hands up and demand why it had taken this for someone to listen. Another part, though — the part that was just tired — felt his shoulders sag, as if a small piece of the burden had been lifted.
“Your report was not treated as seriously as protocol requires it to be,” the man explained, his voice steady but tinged with regret. “Which leads us to conclude that the final decision is unfounded.”
Unfounded.
Gunwook blinked, the word echoing in his ears as if it had been spoken in a vacuum. Unfounded?
“Oh,” he inhaled sharply, his voice nearly lost as he stared at the armrest of the chair where his fingers now grasped, knuckles pale with pressure.
“The resulting dismissal of yours should not have happened,” the second woman added, her tone measured but compassionate. “Nor should the continuation of Mr. Park’s employment, or the contract of his son.”
Gunwook blinked again, stunned. “Oh,” he repeated dumbly. It was all he could muster. What else was there to say? What words exist to describe the mess of devastation, relief, and sadness twisting and turning inside him? How can he explain the fire in his chest — equal parts smoldering grief and bittersweet relief — at knowing his past self, the version of him that stood trembling and unheard, had finally been seen? How can he even begin to articulate just how much he’d needed this back then?
“I’m sorry,” the man said quietly. The words cut through Gunwook’s thoughts like a sharp but gentle knife. “I’m sorry this happened to you.” It was the first time the man had spoken like that — as a person rather than a panelist, as if he understood the weight of the apology and how little and yet how much it meant.
Gunwook swallowed hard, throat tight. His voice came out softer than he intended. “Thank you.” It was all he could say — simple words for something far more complicated.
He let out a slow breath, as though willing the knot in his chest to loosen. “So what happens now?”
The woman with the sleek bun gave him a nod of acknowledgment, the sharp authority in her voice softened by something that sounded almost… kind. “We’ll be reviewing the full case again, Mr. Park. Your testimony today will be a part of that. For now, just keep answering our questions as you have been.”
Gunwook nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Right.”
The woman paused, almost as if preparing for what came next. Her sharp eyes searched Gunwook’s for a moment before continuing, her tone deliberate. “Which now leads us to the next part…” She leaned forward slightly. “You have the choice to return to KU as a student, and as a player of our team.”
Gunwook’s head snapped up so fast that he nearly startled himself. His wide eyes darted between the three of them, trying to gauge if they were serious.
“It’s up to you,” the woman finished simply, like the decision wasn’t monumental, like the words didn’t carry the weight of a thousand complicated feelings.
Gunwook stared at them, his breath caught somewhere in his chest. It was an offer that would have made him cry tears of happiness a year ago, when KU felt like the center of his world and everything he had worked for. Back then, he would have leapt at the chance to fix what had been broken. But now, with the new life he has built at SNU, surrounded by teammates who respect him and a routine that feels safe, he knows the answer right away.
“No,” he says softly but firmly, the word carrying more certainty than anything he’s said all day.
The panel members blink, a flicker of surprise crossing their faces as they process his response. Gunwook shifts slightly in his seat, his hands resting more loosely on his knees now, his shoulders no longer weighed down by indecision.
“Thank you for the offer,” he continues, his voice steady, “but I’m doing okay where I am now. I’ve moved on, and… I don’t think going back would be right for me.”
The woman with the sleek bun tilts her head, studying him carefully before giving a small, almost imperceptible nod of respect. “I understand,” she says. “This is your choice, and we’ll honor that.”
Gunwook exhales a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The weight of KU, the ghost of everything he lost there, finally feels like it’s lifting off his shoulders. He doesn’t need to go back to heal.
The young man on the panel clears his throat, his contemplative expression softening. “It’s good that you’re in a better place now,” he says simply, as if recognizing the strength in Gunwook’s decision.
Gunwook offers a small, polite smile. “Yeah… it is.”
The room settles into a quiet calm. For the first time since he walked in, Gunwook feels like the past has loosened its grip on him. This is closure. Not the kind he thought he wanted, but maybe the kind he actually needed.
And with that, for the first time in a long time, Gunwook feels ready to step forward — not back.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
Zhang Hao scoffs, an indignant roll of his eyes accompanied by a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Who do you think you’re talking to right now?”
Gunwook stares at his hyung blankly, his expression flat and unimpressed. “Forgive me, hyung, for being a bit skeptical,” he sighs, voice tinged with resigned exasperation. “But considering you’ve never cooked a singular meal in your life—”
“Okay, now that’s just a lie,” Zhang Hao interrupts, his tone climbing defensively.
“—I am not sure if baking would be an area you are an expert in,” Gunwook finishes, undeterred.
Huffing at the insinuation, Zhang Hao rounds the table, planting himself in front of Gunwook, who is too busy texting Matthew about what time he should arrive to look up. Zhang Hao’s fists are planted firmly at his hips, the picture of offended determination. “Be happy I've agreed to help you,” he declares with the air of someone making a great personal sacrifice. “Imagine if you had Gyuvin, or even worse — Ricky — helping you right now.”
“Gyuvin already has,” Gunwook replies simply, not even sparing a glance.
Zhang Hao's jaw drops, an gasp escaping him before he collects himself with a self-satisfied smile. “Well, sometimes you need a little help from your favorite and most trusted hyung,” he beams, leaning in slightly with a teasing glint in his eye.
“Ah, Matthew hyung,” Gunwook nods, his lips twitching upward in victory when Zhang Hao playfully smacks his arm.
“Just be grateful I went through all this trouble for you,” Zhang Hao insists. “Personally, this is way cuter than whatever Gyuvin-ah did for Ricky.”
“I’d rather die than do what Gyuvin hyung did,” Gunwook deadpans, dead serious.
“Exactly!” Zhang Hao intones, as if Gunwook had proven his point entirely. He claps his hands together, the sound sharp and final. “Alright, let’s get started!”, his determined grin widening as he surveys the array of baking ingredients scattered across the counter.
Gunwook leans back against the counter, arms crossed, watching with mild amusement as Zhang Hao fumbles with the recipe on his phone.
“Watch and learn,” Zhang Hao declares, swiping flour into the bowl with the enthusiasm of someone who thinks baking is ninety percent confidence.
Zhang Hao mutters under his breath, carefully measuring sugar. When he only allows Gunwook to help for the shortest amount of time, Gunwook raises a skeptical eyebrow but says nothing, deciding to let him dig his own grave.
Things take a turn when Zhang Hao moves on to cracking eggs. The first one slips out of his hand, shattering on the counter. The second cracks too hard against the bowl, scattering tiny shell fragments into the batter.
Gunwook can’t hold back anymore. He presses a hand to his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter, but a snort escapes, loud and sudden. “Hyung,” he chokes out between bursts of laughter, “what are you doing?”
Zhang Hao glares at him, though his indignant expression is betrayed by the faintest twitch of a smile. “It’s called artistic freedom, Gunwook-yah. Something you wouldn’t understand.”
“Artistic freedom doesn’t mean making scrambled eggs in the batter,” Gunwook counters, doubling over as another wave of laughter hits.
“Okay, first of all, rude,” Zhang Hao huffs, snatching a whisk and furiously mixing the batter in retaliation. “Second of all, I don’t see you helping!”
“I offered to help,” Gunwook reminds him, still laughing as he steps forward to clean up the eggy mess on the counter. “You insisted you didn’t need me. ‘Hyung can handle it,’ remember?”
Zhang Hao groans dramatically, dragging a hand down his face before pointing the whisk at Gunwook like a weapon. “You’re lucky you’re a valuable roommate,” he says, though his tone is light.
“Is that all I am to you?” Gunwook grins, grabbing the recipe from the counter and nudging Zhang Hao aside.
Zhang Hao protests loudly but relents, hovering over Gunwook’s shoulder as he takes charge. “You know,” Zhang Hao says after a beat, his voice softer, “I am a bit surprised it’s taken you two this long.”
“What do you mean?” Gunwook asks curiously, lips pursed in concentration at the mess in front of him.
“If you hadn’t told me, I would’ve assumed one of you had asked a long time ago,” Zhang Hao continues.
Gunwook tilts his head in thought, proceeding to whisk the contents in the bowl. “Yeah,” he comments, dull and contemplative. “I think there’s been so much going on that I think we had gone on like one of us had.”
“Does that bother you?” Zhang Hao questions. “Does it bother him?”
“I’ve never given it much thought,” Gunwook replies truthfully. “I’m not sure.”
Zhang Hao smirks faintly, leaning against the counter as he watches Gunwook whisk with a precision that speaks to his focus. “You’re weirdly calm about it,” he notes, his tone teasing but edged with curiosity.
Gunwook shrugs, his movements technical as he folds in a handful of chocolate chips. “What’s there to be stressed about?” he says lightly, though the faintest hint of a smile betrays his thoughts.
Zhang Hao raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “I don’t know. Maybe because it’s... kind of a big deal?”
Gunwook pauses, the whisk hanging midair for a moment before he sets it down. His brow furrows slightly as he considers Zhang Hao’s words. “I guess,” he murmurs, voice almost too quiet. Then, with a faint grin, he adds, “But if I overthink it, it’ll end up like your eggshell batter over there.”
Zhang Hao pouts, clutching his chest in mock offense. “Excuse you, my batter had character.”
“Your batter had calcium,” Gunwook shoots back with a laugh, returning to his work.
Zhang Hao watches him for a moment, a knowing look softening his usual playful expression. “You know,” he starts again, his voice casual, “I think it’ll go better than you think.”
Gunwook glances at him, his hands still busy as he spoons batter into a tray. "Yeah?"
“Yeah,” Zhang Hao nods confidently. “I mean, if it were me, I’d be impressed.”
Gunwook lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Good to know, hyung. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Just saying,” Zhang Hao adds with a grin, grabbing the next tray to hand to Gunwook. “It’s not every day you bake for someone. It’s... kind of sweet, you know?”
Gunwook doesn’t reply right away, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles as he slides the tray into the oven. “Maybe,” he says at last, his tone unreadable.
Zhang Hao smirks knowingly, pushing off the counter to start cleaning up the scattered flour. “You’re going to owe me for this, by the way. Big time.”
“For cracking the eggs? Put it on my tab,” Gunwook replies, brushing off his hands and leaning back, his gaze drifting toward the oven as the timer ticks away.
By the time Matthew and Hanbin show up at their door, the kitchen looks spotless, with no sign of the chaos that had unfolded just minutes ago. Gunwook and Zhang Hao had worked quickly, scrubbing down every counter and shoving batter-streaked utensils into the sink. The bowls and measuring cups were tucked out of sight, and the towels they’d used to clean up stray flour had been tossed unceremoniously into the laundry.
Only the untouched ingredients and carefully placed tools on the counter remained, as if they were just about to begin. The speed at which they worked could’ve easily impressed Jiwoong during drills.
“Hanbinie!” Zhang Hao nearly yells, throwing himself at his boyfriend with dramatic flair. Hanbin barely has time to steady himself, stumbling back a step before regaining his balance. Matthew sidesteps instinctively, his eyes flicking to Gunwook with a knowing smile.
“Hi, hyung,” Hanbin greets, his grin wide and boyish as he wraps his arms securely around Zhang Hao’s waist. “How have you two been?” His tone is warm and teasing, his gaze flickering over the two with curiosity.
Gunwook stands off to the side, his lips curling into an easy smile as Matthew crosses the threshold and heads straight for him. “Good,” Gunwook replies, his voice soft as Matthew’s familiar warmth envelopes him in a quick embrace. The subtle scent of cologne mixed with crisp winter air fills his senses. “How about you, hyungs?”
Matthew leans back just enough to press a chaste kiss to Gunwook’s lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Cold,” he mutters, voice low and tinged with a slight shiver. “It’s a bit chilly outside.”
“I thought you ran hot,” Zhang Hao quips from the doorway, his cheek resting comfortably on Hanbin’s shoulder.
Matthew rolls his eyes, but there’s a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. “And yet, here we are,” he retorts lightly before turning his attention back to Gunwook. Matthew’s hand lingers on Gunwook’s arm as he turns, his expression softening in the warm light of the apartment. “So,” he says, tilting his head slightly, “what’s the plan for tonight?”
Before Gunwook can respond, Zhang Hao pushes off Hanbin with a dramatic sigh, stepping into the conversation. “The plan,” Zhang Hao announces, his voice dripping with exaggerated importance, “is for Hanbin and me to get snacks for game night later.”
Gunwook narrows his eyes at Zhang Hao, silently pleading for him not to overdo it, but Zhang Hao just gives him a wink before turning back toward the door.
“We’ll be back later,” he chirps, pulling Hanbin along. “Don’t burn the place down while we’re gone!”
“We’ll try our best,” Matthew calls after them, shaking his head as the door closes behind the two.
Gunwook exhales, his hands brushing down the front of his jeans as he gathers himself. “So…” Gunwook clears his throat, earning an amused smile from Matthew.
“Why are you suddenly so nervous?” Matthew pokes his sides teasingly.
“I’m not,” Gunwook retorts, though the way he immediately pulls Matthew into a hug to stop the tickling says otherwise. He buries his face in Matthew’s shoulder for a second before stepping back, trying to refocus. “But I do have something we could do.”
Matthew tilts his head, his curiosity piqued. “What?”
Gunwook hesitates for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck before meeting Matthew’s gaze. “What do you think… about baking?” His voice lifts slightly at the end, his sudden insecurity making him sound unsure.
“Baking?” Matthew hums, leaning back and crossing his arms as he considers it. “I haven’t baked since high school. They had a class, you know?”
“Really?” Gunwook chuckles, his nerves easing at the playful tone. “For a grade?”
“Yup,” Matthew laughs, his eyes sparkling with the memory. “So don’t you worry, I’ve got it all handled. What’s it for though? Got a new recipe you want to try?”
Gunwook smiles, his expression softening. “Yeah. You know how my brother’s birthday is coming up? I wanted to bake something to give him when he visits tomorrow.”
“A birthday cake?” Matthew’s grin spreads wide, his excitement contagious. “Wait, that’s so fun! We could decorate it and everything. Should we go to the grocery store now?”
Gunwook shakes his head with a small smile. “I bought everything already.”
Matthew’s eyes widen in delight. “Oh, look at you, Mr. Prepared. Alright then, let’s get to it!”
The next half hour is a mix of focus and chaos as they try their best to prepare the cake batter without distractions. But it’s easier said than done. Every time flour or batter accidentally smears across Matthew’s cheek, Gunwook can’t stop himself. His hand instinctively reaches out to wipe it away, and more often than not, he follows it up by capturing Matthew’s lips in a kiss.
Matthew giggles through the interruptions, his cheeks flushed as Gunwook leans in again and again. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, though his voice is filled with affection.
Gunwook grins unapologetically, flour dusting his own nose. “Can’t help it. You’re irresistible.”
When the cake finally fluffs up in the oven and they pull it out to cool, Gunwook finds himself leaning in for another kiss. He can’t stop himself; Matthew’s laugh, his flushed cheeks, and the way he looks at Gunwook with such unguarded affection — it’s all too much.
“Stop,” Matthew giggles, weakly pushing Gunwook away with flour-covered hands. “We are never gonna finish at this rate.”
“So what I’m hearing is you don’t want my kisses?” Gunwook replies, crossing his arms like he’s genuinely hurt.
“Mean,” Gunwook mutters, leaning over the counter to inspect Matthew’s progress with the frosting. “Hey, you’re not doing half bad,” he says, tilting his head to admire the smoothness of the icing.
Matthew rolls his eyes, though the huff he lets out is entirely fond. “That’s a lie and you know it. But if you keep going, your hyung is not gonna have a birthday cake, and I don’t want to be blamed.”
Matthew narrows his eyes, pointing a frosting-covered spatula at him like a weapon. “Are you sure you’re not just saying that so I don’t throw this at you? You’re not even helping anymore.”
Gunwook rolls his eyes, stepping aside and pretending to tidy up the counter. “Actually,” he starts, trying to keep his voice steady, though his heart feels like it’s pounding in his throat, “I may have… cheated a little.”
Matthew glances up, confused, his brows furrowing. “Cheated?”
Gunwook doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he walks to the cabinet, pulling out a carefully wrapped cake box. He sets it down gently on the counter between them, the small gesture filled with weight. “I baked one earlier,” he says softly, his voice almost shy.
Matthew raises an eyebrow, setting the spatula down as his curiosity sparks. “Why? Were you worried mine would turn out better?”
“Maybe,” Gunwook chuckles nervously, scratching the back of his neck. He carefully opens the box, revealing a perfectly frosted cake inside. The words “BE MY BOYFRIEND?” are piped in delicate letters across the top, surrounded by small, colorful decorations—small hearts and stars that make the whole thing look playful yet meaningful.
Matthew’s breath catches, his teasing demeanor dropping instantly. His eyes widen as he takes in the words, blinking a few times like he’s making sure he isn’t imagining it. “Gunwookie,” he says, his voice soft and a little breathless.
Gunwook looks at him, his cheeks burning but a nervous smile tugging at his lips. “I know it’s cheesy,” he says, his voice quieter now, barely above a whisper. “But I thought… I thought you deserved something that felt as special as you are to me.”
Matthew stares at the cake, then at Gunwook, his lips curving into a smile so wide and bright that it makes Gunwook’s chest ache.
“I… I realized that none of us had ever really asked,” Gunwook continues, his cheeks suddenly blazing with heat. He feels like his chest is about to explode, his heart pounding erratically as the courage he had carefully conjured up over the past few days starts to falter. His eyes scan Matthew’s face almost desperately, searching for any clue to what he’s thinking.
Matthew, usually so expressive, is unreadable in this moment. His hands grip the edge of the counter as he exhales sharply, his lips parting as if to speak. “I… I…” he starts, but the words don’t come.
Panic begins to rise in Gunwook’s chest. Before he can backtrack, maybe laugh it off or joke about the whole thing, Matthew suddenly moves. He wraps Gunwook in his arms with such force that Gunwook stumbles back a step, his hands instinctively reaching to steady himself against Matthew’s back.
By now, Gunwook’s heart pounds dangerously in his chest. Because… boyfriend. It’s a title Gunwook has always had a complicated relationship with. Once, it had been something he despised, memories of the past tainting the word and everything it represented. But now, with Matthew— Matthew —it’s something Gunwook finds himself desperately wanting. He wants to grab that title and hold it close, to tie himself to Matthew in a way they’ve carefully, stubbornly avoided for so long.
“Hyung?” Gunwook stutters, his voice shaky and unsure. The tightening of Matthew’s arms around him only adds to his confusion.
“Yes,” Matthew rushes out before Gunwook can say more. His voice is firm, clear, and filled with so much emotion that Gunwook feels his knees weaken. “Yes. A million times yes. I’ll be your boyfriend. Your hyung. Your everything.”
Gunwook’s breath catches in his throat, the words circling and blaring in his head so loudly that it leaves him momentarily speechless. “R-Really?” he asks dumbly, his arms finally returning Matthew’s hug with a sense of urgency and relief.
“Really,” Matthew says, his voice softer now, a little shaky but filled with certainty.
Gunwook buries his face in Matthew’s shoulder, his words tumbling out before he can stop them. “Hyung. I love you.”
Matthew freezes for a moment, but then his grip tightens, his face burying into Gunwook’s hair. “I love you too, Wookie,” he whispers, his voice breaking slightly.
Gunwook smiles against Matthew’s shoulder, his nerves melting away, replaced by warmth and a strange sense of peace. The word boyfriend no longer feels foreign or painful. It feels right—natural.
And for the first time, Gunwook lets himself hold onto it, onto Matthew, without hesitation.
“Wait… is it actually your brother’s birthday tomorrow?”
“Woah, look at that. You think it’d be expensive?”
“Looks it,” Gunwook huffs, already imagining the hefty price. “Looks too nice to be cheap.”
He reaches out, giving his brother’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before pulling Gunwook by the hand into the store. “Well, it doesn't hurt to check. I think it’d suit that one button-down I have.”
Gunwook glances down at his wallet, which suddenly feels a lot heavier than usual. He tightens his grip on Gunhan’s hand, his voice firm. “Just don’t forget who is paying.”
Gunhan sticks his tongue out playfully, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “It’s my birthday, you can’t refuse me.”
The brothers walk into the store, one excited, the other a little hesitant. Despite his reservations, Gunwook had promised his hyung he’d buy him anything for his birthday, especially after that one time Gunhan had covered for him when their parents bombarded Gunwook with spam calls while he was knocked out drunk — a moment Gunwook wasn’t proud of.
“How does this look?” Gunhan holds a shirt in front of him, posing with it as he waits for Gunwook’s approval.
Gunwook chuckles, “You ask as if you’d listen to me.”
Gunhan’s smile widens, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “Hey, your fashion has been improving lately.” He carefully places the shirt back on the rack, his fingers lingering on the fabric before moving on to browse other options with pursed lips, deep in thought.
They spend the next half hour meandering through the store, Gunwook offering occasional commentary on styles and prices, though he knows his brother’s attention is elsewhere. Eventually, they near the footwear aisle, where rows of shoes line the shelves like a curated gallery.
Gunhan stops and picks up a sleek pair of sneakers, holding them out to Gunwook. “These are your size, try them on.”
Gunwook raises an eyebrow, glancing down at the shoes before taking them reluctantly. “It’s your birthday, not mine.” He sighs, slipping his feet into the shoes despite the playful jab. “You’re the one that’s supposed to be making the choices.”
“And I’m choosing to have you try them on. Now do it,” Gunhan argues quite efficiently. And like the good little brother he is, Gunwook obeys with a roll of his eyes.
“Mmm,” Gunwook hums thoughtfully, shifting his weight. “They fit okay? Are you gonna want them? Your size is bigger than mine.”
Gunhan shrugs absentmindedly, his gaze drifting back to the assortment of shoes. “No, I’m buying them for you.”
Gunwook removes the shoes, confusion knitting his brows together. “What are you talking about? My birthday isn’t until next month.”
Gunhan steps closer, his expression softening. “Can’t a hyung buy his little brother something just because he wants to?”
Well, yeah. But Gunwook finds the tone of his brother’s voice a bit suspicious. “You’re acting weird,” Gunwook mutters.
“How so?” Gunhan challenges, his eyes still trained on the variety of shoes before them.
Gunwook tilts his head, studying Gunhan’s face. “First of all, you’re usually not this nice,” he muses. “Secondly, you’re buying me something without wanting anything in return…”
Gunhan’s expression falters slightly, but he maintains his composure. “I’m a good brother, what do you mean?” His voice carries a hint of defensiveness, the accusation lingering in the air.
Gunwook narrows his eyes, scrutinizing Gunhan’s demeanor. “Right.” He pauses, observing his brother’s subtle shifts. “You’re not feeling bad for me, are you? You’re not very good at being discreet.”
Gunhan finally turns to face him fully, his eyes searching Gunwook’s for answers. “What makes you think that?”
With a sigh, Gunwook returns the gaze. “I'm not twelve. I’m doing perfectly fine.”
Gunhan's jaw tightens slightly, a flicker of hurt crossing his features before he masks it with a quick retort. “You’re a kid to me,” he replies hastily, his voice betraying a hint of desperation. “As a hyung, you will always be in my eyes. And considering what has happened, I don’t like knowing there isn’t much I can do to protect you from what you’ve been through.”
“It’s not your responsibility to,” he says quietly, his gaze dropping to his hands, which he clasps tightly together, knuckles white.
Gunhan takes a deep breath, his eyes momentarily drifting back to the array of shoes before him. “You’re wrong,” he insists, his voice steadier now. He turns back to face Gunwook, determination hardening his features. “I’ve always promised myself to keep you from harm, and I couldn’t do much to help you the first time around.”
Gunwook lifts his head slightly, meeting his brother's unwavering stare. “It’s out of your control,” he replies, his tone edged with resignation. “Out of everyone’s control.”
“But helping you in other ways isn’t.”
Gunwook bites his lip. He knows how much his brother cares, how much of Gunwook’s hurt he has seen this past year. He knows his brother, deep down, sees Gunwook as someone he is responsible for. Gunwook looks away, the corners of his mouth twitching as he fights to hold back his own emotions. The bustling sounds of the store seem to fade into the background, leaving just the two of them in a bubble of tension and unspoken truths.
He takes a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s over now,” Gunwook responds instead of the gratitude he feels spilling out of him. “I—We don’t have to worry anymore.”
Hearing this, Gunhan's sharp eyes scrutinize him, searching for any hint of deceit or lingering pain. He steps closer, the motion smooth and deliberate, and gently taps Gunwook’s temple with a slender finger. “Not here it isn’t,” he says, his touch both reassuring and probing. “And that’s okay.”
Gunwook's confusion is evident as he furrows his brow. “How is that okay?”
Gunhan's smile is tinged with sadness, his eyes reflecting a mixture of hope and concern. “Because now the real recovery is starting,” he begins, his voice steady yet soft. “Sure, you got that asshole coach kicked off the team, even though he had a dozen other incidents already not painting a good look for him. Sure, you’re in a better place now, without that dumbass terrorizing your every move. But I, I can see how affected you still are.”
“That’s embarrassing for you to say,” Gunwook grumbles, his defenses rising despite his vulnerability.
Gunhan's expression hardens slightly, determination replacing the earlier softness. “Well it shouldn’t be, because I’m your hyung which means…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “Let me buy you some damn shoes. Because that’s the least I can do.”
Gunwook feels the last of his resistance crumble, the fight draining out of him. He exhales deeply, the tension in his shoulders easing as he nods in reluctant acceptance. “Okay.”
“I hate you, Hanbin hyung,” Matthew grumbles, slouching dramatically in his seat. “I feel like I’m going to suffocate.”
“Don’t blame him, hyung!” Gyuvin whines, throwing an arm around Matthew and trapping him in an even tighter hug. “You like it and you know it.”
From Gyuvin’s other side, Gunwook chuckles, clearly pleased to be out of the line of fire. “Better you than me,” he teases, leaning a little closer to the window for extra space.
“Why can Hao hyung sit next to you, but I can’t sit next to Gunwook?” Matthew gripes, glaring dramatically at the front seat where Zhang Hao sits smugly, scrolling on his phone.
“If me and Ricky had to be separated, it’s only fair,” Gyuvin retorts, crossing his arms with a pout. “Do you even know how bad I want to be in the other car right now?”
Gunwook grimaces at the insinuation. “Keep it PG, please.”
“I didn’t even say anything!” Gyuvin protests, voice high-pitched with faux innocence.
“We’re almost there anyway,” Zhang Hao cuts in, holding up his phone and pointing smugly at the GPS. “Ten minutes tops.”
Gunwook looks out the window, his expression softening as the amusement park comes into view. The towering roller coasters stretch up toward the sky like giant steel skeletons, bright flags waving in the wind. “I haven’t come here since I was in junior high,” he comments, a mix of nostalgia and anticipation in his voice.
Gyuvin makes a thoughtful noise, chin propped on Matthew’s shoulder like an affectionate pet. “I come every year with my family,” he says casually. “I’ve mastered every ride at this point.”
Matthew perks up, already smirking as he pats Hanbin’s shoulder from the backseat. “I came that one time with Hanbin hyung. Remember that one ride? The one you almost cried on?”
Eyes still focused on the road, Hanbin sputters, nearly missing the turn signal. “I did not cry,” he insists, voice an octave higher than usual.
“You totally cried,” Matthew deadpans, grinning wickedly.
“I did not!” Hanbin repeats, face flushing as the car erupts into laughter.
“You screamed the entire time,” Matthew presses, leaning forward to really rub it in. “I think you even said you’d never ride again.”
“I was encouraging you!” Hanbin defends himself, gripping the steering wheel with unnecessary force. Gunwook stifles a laugh, pressing his fist to his mouth while Gyuvin lets out an obnoxiously loud cackle. Hanbin groans dramatically, shaking his head. “I don’t get paid enough to deal with this.”
“You’re not paid at all,” Zhang Hao adds casually
Hanbin glares at the three in the back through the rearview mirror. “Exactly. No compensation for this trauma.”
As the car pulls into the parking lot, the laughter melts into pure excitement. Gunwook watches as the roller coasters loom closer, the sounds of distant screams and laughter already audible even through the closed windows.
“Alright, everyone,” Hanbin says, pulling into a spot with practiced precision. “We’re here. Play nice, or I’m leaving someone behind.”
“Just not me,” Matthew says quickly, already climbing out of the car.
“Definitely you,” Hanbin mutters under his breath, loud enough for everyone to hear, even though everyone knows it’s a faux threat.
Gunwook snorts as he pushes open the door and stumbles out, stretching his arms over his head with a satisfied groan. The pops and cracks in his back echo like a series of firecrackers. “Finally.” Sharing leg space with a certain tall boy next to him was definitely bound to cause him some soreness.
Behind him, Gyuvin practically collapses out of the car, hands dramatically clutching his knees like they just finished a marathon. “I thought we were never going to arrive,” he groans, straightening up and brushing imaginary dust off his pants.
Hanbin shuts the car door behind him with a loud thunk , already scanning the parking lot like a team captain assessing his troops. He fixes the sleeves of his shirt with precise movements and looks pointedly at Gyuvin. “Where are the rest?”
Gyuvin waves a hand lazily, his phone already out and screen unlocked. “On it, on it,” he grumbles, fingers flying across the screen as he calls Ricky. “Better question is why we came separately in the first place.”
Gunwook huffs under his breath, watching Gyuvin as he paces in little circles while the call rings. “Because you and Ricky can’t be trusted to stay civil in one car,” he says, his tone teasing.
Gyuvin whirls around dramatically, one hand pressed to his chest as if Gunwook had struck him. “ Civil? I’m the picture of self-control.”
“Sure,” Gunwook deadpans, earning a snicker from Matthew, who comes striding around the car from the other side with Zhang Hao lazily in tow.
By the time they reunite with the other half of their group, Gunwook has Matthew hanging off his arm, trying his hardest to get Gunwook roped in on his plan of going a certain ride first.
“Come on, Gunwook, please, ” Matthew says, tugging at his sleeve. His voice teeters between whining and scheming. “We have to go there first. It’s the perfect plan.”
Gunwook glances at him, unimpressed. “Perfect plan for who? ”
Matthew grins devilishly. “Everyone. But mostly Zhang Hao.”
Gunwook raises an eyebrow, slowing his pace as they approach the ticket gates. “Hyung,” he whispers under his breath as they move through the line, tickets in hand, “that one will have him in tears.”
Matthew huffs out an exaggerated sigh, his grip tightening on Gunwook’s arm as if he’s sealing an unspoken alliance. “That’s the point,” he mutters, casting a quick glance at Zhang Hao, who’s trailing behind with a calm, disinterested expression. “He keeps saying he’s been wanting to come here and then trying to spin it like I’m the one who’s scared.”
“Wouldn’t it be suspicious that you won’t be riding it with him?” Gunwook points out, already seeing how this is going to play out.
“I am riding it with him,” Matthew argues proudly, puffing out his chest. “I just want you to come too so it doesn’t look like I’m targeting him.”
Gunwook gives him a flat look, but the corners of his mouth twitch. “You are targeting him.”
Matthew grins like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course I am.”
Up ahead, Zhang Hao glances back over his shoulder, his expression suspicious as he watches them whisper and conspire. “What are you two plotting?” he calls out, voice laced with mild suspicion.
“Nothing!” Matthew chimes back immediately.
Like clockwork, there's a protest from where Gyuvin, who is already deep in his usual antics, is currently annoying Yujin by draping himself across the younger boy’s shoulders.
“Hyung, you’re too heavy!” Yujin groans, wriggling under Gyuvin’s weight as he tries (and fails) to shake him off.
“Too heavy?” Gyuvin gasps, clutching his chest as though Yujin had personally offended him. “How dare you! I’m light as a feather.”
“More like a boulder,” Yujin shoots back, grimacing as he tries to pry Gyuvin’s arms off.
“Ricky!” Matthew suddenly calls out, leaning over the struggling pair. “Let’s go on the pirate ship first!”
Ricky, who’s been walking quietly a few steps behind, looks up at the mention of his name, his hands stuffed lazily into his pockets. “The pirate ship?” he echoes, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, the pirate ship,” Matthew insists, his eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and something devious. “It sets the tone for the whole day!”
Yujin groans under Gyuvin’s weight. “It’s literally just swinging back and forth.”
Matthew argues, turning back to Ricky with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Trust me, it’s the perfect ride to start with. Right, Gunwook?”
Gunwook, who’s been observing the chaos with quiet amusement, raises an eyebrow. “Don’t drag me into this.”
“Count me in,” Taerae chimes as he approaches, a broad smile on his face. Behind him, Jiwoong follows at a leisurely pace, hands tucked casually into his jacket pockets.
The sight of Jiwoong still catches Gunwook a little off guard. It had been an adjustment for everyone when Taerae had suggested inviting Jiwoong — not just as their coach, but as Taerae’s new man. The reactions had ranged from surprise to mild teasing, but ultimately, no one had objected outright. Still, it was weird seeing him here, out of his usual whistle-and-sports-gear mode, blending into the group like just another friend.
Gunwook thinks, though, that it’s something he’ll get used to quicker than he once thought. After all, Jiwoong has always been a comforting presence for him — especially over the past year. He’s been more than just a coach; he’s been steady, calm, and quietly supportive in a way that Gunwook hadn’t realized he needed.
“Pirate ship first?” Jiwoong asks with a slight smile, catching onto the conversation as he steps up beside Taerae.
Matthew nods enthusiastically, clearly thrilled to have backup. “Exactly! See, Coach gets it!”
“You’re not my coach today,” Gyuvin points out, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Today, you’re just Taerae hyung’s plus-one.”
Jiwoong chuckles softly, his calm demeanor unshaken. “Fair enough.” Taerae lightly bumps Jiwoong’s shoulder, and Gunwook can’t help but feel a pang of secondhand embarrassment for them.
“Alright, let’s go,” Gunwook intones as the group makes their way further into the park.
The first ride of the day turns out to be a roller coaster Gunwook had been eyeing since they walked through the gates. It had taken a very short debate to convince everyone to go along with it — though “debate” was a generous term, considering Gunwook had simply stared Matthew down until he relented, grumbling all the way to the line.
Matthew sulks on the way up the platform, muttering something about “wanting to go on the stupid pirate ship” under his breath. As the coaster climbs the first hill, Zhang Hao sits stoically in his seat, his expression unreadable. Gunwook, seated a few rows behind him, watches with mild curiosity. The ride plunges, twists, and flips, and Zhang Hao’s screams cut through the air loud and clear — long, high-pitched, and utterly unrestrained. Gunwook grins through the twists and turns, feeling the thrill of the wind whipping past his face.
When the ride finally pulls into the station, everyone stumbles off, breathless and exhilarated. Zhang Hao, however, steps down with surprising composure. He smooths his shirt, adjusts his hair, and looks entirely unbothered, as if the deafening screams hadn’t come from him.
“Good ride,” Zhang Hao says casually, shoving his hands into his pockets. However, soon after, he makes the excuse to go with Hanbin to the food stands.
Gunwook calls it a coincidence. Matthew calls it shame. They will never know.
“Hyung!” Gyuvin calls out, bounding up to Matthew and Gunwook with Ricky practically draped over his arm like a second coat. His face is lit up with excitement as he motions with his head toward the brightly illuminated souvenir shop behind them. “Let’s go souvenir shopping!”
Gunwook follows his gaze, taking in the vibrant display of headbands, plush toys, and colorful trinkets visible through the wide glass windows. He hums, his eyes lingering for a moment before he’s about to shake his head and decline.
But Matthew, ever unpredictable, suddenly tugs on his arm with surprising enthusiasm. “Yes,” he agrees easily, his voice leaving no room for argument.
The four of them make their way into the store, the warm glow of the lights casting a welcoming vibe as they step inside. The shelves are packed with novelty items — brightly colored hats, oversized plushies, and headbands with blinking lights that seem designed to make anyone wearing them look ridiculous.
Gyuvin immediately grabs a pair of headbands shaped like cat ears and plops one onto Ricky’s head. “Perfect,” he declares with a grin.
Ricky rolls his eyes but doesn’t take it off. “If I have to wear this, Gunwook’s definitely getting one too.”
Matthew, who’s already rifling through a bin of hats, picks up a green headband with small, cute monster horns and waves it in Gunwook’s direction. “This one has your name all over it.”
“No,” Gunwook says flatly, but his tone lacks the conviction needed to deter Matthew.
“Oh, come on,” Matthew pleads, voice bordering on a whine as he wiggles the headband for emphasis. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Let me live my dream.”
Gunwook exhales a long, suffering sigh, his resistance waning. He knows there’s no escaping this. He doesn’t even bother to stop Matthew when the latter gleefully plops the headband onto his head.
“There,” Matthew says with an exaggerated tone, stepping back to admire his work. “Look at you. Adorable.”
Gunwook totally does not blush.
Meanwhile, Ricky, who has been observing quietly, suddenly smirks. He reaches up and removes the cat ear headband Gyuvin had forced on him earlier, holding it thoughtfully for a moment before swapping it out for a dog ear headband from the shelf.
“Here,” Ricky says, placing the dog ears on Gyuvin’s head with a smug grin. “This suits you better.”
Gyuvin’s eyes widen as he feels the floppy ears brushing against his head. “Rikkkk, seriously?” he says, staring at his reflection in one of the nearby mirrors.
“You’re welcome,” Ricky replies, his tone dripping with mock sincerity.
Gyuvin stares at himself for a moment longer, his mouth set in a pout, but he doesn’t protest further. Instead, he reaches out and grabs Ricky’s hand with a surprising amount of enthusiasm. “Fine, but you’re coming with me. Let’s check out the plushies.”
Ricky blinks at the sudden shift but allows himself to be dragged toward a shelf filled with oversized stuffed animals and novelty pillows.
Meanwhile, Matthew, standing beside Gunwook, pulls out his phone with a mischievous grin. “Pose,” he demands, holding the camera up and leaning slightly into Gunwook’s space.
Gunwook raises an eyebrow but complies, wrapping an arm around Matthew’s shoulders in an impromptu hug as the first picture is taken.
Matthew quickly scrolls to the next shot, puckering his lips dramatically in an air kiss toward Gunwook. “One more,” he says, ignoring Gunwook’s raised eyebrow and the faint flush creeping up his neck.
Gunwook hesitates for a second but doesn’t move away. He gives a slightly exasperated sigh as the camera clicks again.
“Perfect,” Matthew declares, examining the pictures with glee. He waves the phone toward Gunwook, who’s now rubbing the back of his neck. “Look at these. We’re adorable.”
Gunwook leans in reluctantly to glance at the screen. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Well, you love me,” Matthew whispers into his face, turning away quickly enough to miss how beet red Gunwook’s cheeks turn.
Just then, the rest of their group walks into the store. Yujin leads the way, flanked by Zhang Hao and Hanbin, both holding snacks that Yujin has clearly roped them into buying for him.
As they wander deeper into the store, Yujin’s eyes light up when he spots the headband display. Without hesitation, he grabs Zhang Hao’s wrist with surprising force for someone younger. “Hyung, come here,” he says with a determined gleam, dragging Zhang Hao toward the display.
Zhang Hao doesn’t resist, but his expression is a mix of curiosity and mild resignation. As they reach the display, his gaze sweeps over the colorful assortment of headbands — cat ears, bows, devil horns, and other quirky designs.
“These are cute,” Zhang Hao says thoughtfully, picking up one with glittering stars before setting it back down. Then, turning to Yujin with a small smile, he asks, “Pick one for me?”
Yujin blinks, as if momentarily caught off guard by the request. His surprise quickly turns into excitement as he grins. “Okay.”
Zhang Hao chuckles softly. “I trust your judgment.”
Yujin’s eyes narrow in concentration as he dives into the headbands, rifling through the options with intense focus. After a moment, he pulls out a sleek black bow headband, holding it up dramatically. “This one,” he declares, stepping closer to carefully place it on Zhang Hao’s head. “There,” Yujin says, grinning as he steps back to admire his choice. “It’s perfect for you.”
Zhang Hao adjusts the bow slightly, glancing at himself in the nearby mirror. He tilts his head, appraising his reflection, before nodding. “It’s cute,” he says, his tone light.
Before anyone can respond, Gyuvin and Ricky walk past, Gyuvin with a playful bounce in his step. “Rik and I are going to the carousel,” Gyuvin announces, gesturing toward the shop’s exit. “We can meet you at the pirate ship in a bit?”
Matthew nods, barely looking up from the plushie he’s inspecting. “Don’t get lost.”
But Gyuvin is already halfway out the door, dragging Ricky with him. Ricky, ever calm, glances back briefly with a faint smirk and a small wave before disappearing outside.
“They’re definitely not making it to the pirate ship on time,” Gunwook comments, distracted by the plushie Matthew shows him. God knows they’ll be lost in their own little world somewhere.
Zhang Hao hums thoughtfully, still admiring the bow in the mirror.
“Before we go,” Matthew pipes up, suddenly shifting his attention to Gunwook, “let’s go play some of the games?”
Gunwook raises an eyebrow, his skepticism immediate. “Weren’t you dying to go to the pirate ship since we got in the car?” Matthew’s grin widens, that telltale mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. Gunwook knows that look all too well.
Sure enough, Matthew scrunches his nose — a surefire sign that he’s about to go all in with his manipulation tactics. Gunwook resists the urge to roll his eyes, already preparing himself for the inevitable barrage of whining, pouting, and dramatic pleading.
He knows how this goes: Matthew will overplay his innocence at first, insisting it’s “just for fun.” Then, if that doesn’t work, he’ll escalate to guilt-tripping (“You never do anything for me!”) before finally hitting the nuclear button — his trademark puppy eyes.
It’s definitely better to give in right away — not that Gunwook would dream of doing anything else, of course. For all his teasing, he can’t really say no to Matthew when he’s like this.
“Okay,” Gunwook says, smiling boyishly as if he isn’t already resigned to being dragged into Matthew’s schemes. “But let’s hurry.”
“Yay!” Matthew exclaims, grinning ear to ear. Without hesitation, he grabs Gunwook’s hand, tugging him toward the game booths before sending a quick over-the-shoulder message to Zhang Hao and Yujin. “We’ll text you guys!”
Zhang Hao watches them go with a knowing smile. “Sure they will,” he mutters, turning back to Yujin, who just snickers in agreement.
Gunwook lets himself be dragged along, his longer strides easily keeping up with Matthew’s bounce. When they finally stop, Gunwook’s breath hitches slightly. They’ve arrived at one of the booths — that booth.
The game is simple: throwing rings onto pegs to win prizes. It’s the same one they’d played months ago at the school fair. Gunwook can still remember how it had played out — Matthew, competitive as ever, trying until he won and triumphantly handing him the bear that Gunwook still kept tucked away on his desk at home.
The memory makes Gunwook feel strangely nervous. Matthew had made it look effortless that day, but Gunwook isn’t so sure he’ll have the same luck.
“Oh, this one!” Matthew exclaims, his grin widening as he nudges Gunwook toward the booth. “Remember? You loved this game.”
Gunwook raises an eyebrow. “You mean you loved this game.”
Matthew just laughs, handing over tickets to the booth operator. “You’re up first,” he says, stepping back with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
Gunwook sighs, stepping up to the line as the worker hands him a small bundle of rings. His palms feel a little clammy as he grips the first one. Matthew is watching him expectantly, his arms crossed and a playful smile tugging at his lips. “You got this,” Matthew says, his tone encouraging but also slightly teasing.
Gunwook exhales, focusing on the pegs ahead. He throws the first ring — it bounces off. The second — too wide. He hears Matthew snicker softly behind him, and it only fuels his determination.
By the third ring, Gunwook’s nerves start to ease. He narrows his focus, finding his rhythm, and then — clink! The ring lands perfectly onto the peg.
“Yes!” Matthew cheers, clapping his hands as Gunwook smirks. The next few throws are smoother, and by the end, Gunwook has racked up enough wins for a prize.
The booth worker gestures toward the prizes, and without hesitation, Gunwook points to a bear — a soft, plush version that’s just a little bigger than the one Matthew had won for him months ago.
Gunwook turns, holding the bear out to Matthew, who stares at it in surprise before breaking into a wide smile. “Gunwookie,” Matthew exhales, taking the bear shyly.
Gunwook shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, though his heart is racing for reasons he can’t quite name. “You won me one last time, Matthew hyung. Figured I owed you.”
But even as he says the words, he knows they don’t fully capture what he’s feeling. Winning the bear hadn’t just been about paying Matthew back; it had been about seeing that light in his hyung’s eyes, that wide, unabashed smile that never fails to make Gunwook feel like the luckiest person alive.
As Matthew hugs the bear close to his chest, Gunwook can’t help but think about all the little ways his hyung makes his days brighter — the way he teases him endlessly but always knows when to be serious, the way he pulls him into hugs that last just a little too long, and the way he always looks at Gunwook like he’s someone worth winning for.
Gunwook’s chest feels tight, and his palms are clammy, but there’s a warmth spreading through him that makes it impossible to care. Matthew is his hyung, his partner, his everything. And seeing him this happy — because of something Gunwook did — makes it all worth it.
Matthew looks up at him, his expression softening into something almost tender. “You didn’t have to, you know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I wanted to,” Gunwook replies simply, his words carrying more weight than he intends.
Matthew’s cheeks flush slightly, and he leans into Gunwook’s side, resting his head on his shoulder briefly as they start walking. “You’re the best, Wookie.”
Gunwook swallows hard, his free hand brushing against Matthew’s as they walk. He glances down at Matthew, watching the way he holds the bear so tightly, like it’s the most precious thing in the world.
And maybe, just maybe, Gunwook thinks he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to win Matthew more bears — more moments like this — just to keep that smile on his face.