Archive of Our Own ^beta

Matthew is slumped as fuck.

God forbid this man ever have a single week where his boss didn’t decide to dump “urgent” reports on him at the last minute. He’d completed every damn company report on time, triple-checked the formatting, kept up the polite smiles in meetings where no one remembered his name, and what was his reward? Unnecessary overtime. More spreadsheets. More emails stamped with high priority at 11:59 p.m.

He’s lucky his work deskmate Park Jongseong just tells him to leave and he’ll cover the remaining work. Jongseong– or Jay, doesn’t look any better than him with the heavy ass eyebags, but Matthew doesn’t want to talk anymore, he silently thanks his god sent deskmate and immediately packed his bags.

The subway rattled beneath him, buzzing on its tracks like a tired insect that had also worked too many hours. Matthew’s body moved on autopilot, the way it always did at this hour, dragging him from office to home in one long blur of fluorescent lights and exhaustion. It was the last train service, mercifully quiet, none of the shoulder-to-shoulder rush hour hell. He even had a seat, eureka.

Now all he had to do was close his eyes, let the rattling lull him into that half-sleep where he’d wake up exactly at his stop, stumble out, and crawl into bed—

Never fucking mind.

The windows across the next cabin shattered. A jagged crack of sound tore through the silence, glass spraying like falling stars. Matthew jerked awake, heart clawing its way up his throat. Around him, the few other late-night commuters wore the same wide-eyed, bewildered expressions, corporate slaves clutching briefcases and tote bags like life rafts, all of them equally robbed of their naps and doomscrolling.

Just great, why do they have to fight here, of all places.

Frankly, Matthew couldn’t care less about the superhero thingy-majig. Ever since some scientist blew up half a lab a decade ago and corroded the city’s water supply, certain unlucky or “chosen” people ended up with powers. Then came the predictable: an organization called HHA (Hype Hero Association) , glossy PR campaigns, slogans about “protecting humanity against evil.” bla bla bla. Matthew had tuned all of that out back in college, when the first batch of powered recruits paraded through the streets. He still tuned it out now.

He wasn’t a believer. He wasn’t a hater either. He was just… Matthew. Average white-collar worker. Wake up, grind through eight hours of soul-sucking tasks (plus two hours of “urgent” unpaid overtime), get his paycheck, eat cheap convenience food, hang out with his friends once in a blue moon. Survive.

That was his world.

The world of shattered windows and villains-versus-heroes? None of his damn business.

But apparently the universe disagreed, because the cause of the glass explosion groaned on the subway floor not five meters away. A man in a white cape, torn, dirtied, his cheek bruised. He clutched his ribs, wincing, but somehow managed to shove himself upright with an almost professional kind of resolve.

Gasps rippled around the cabin. Commuters pressed back against their seats, bags clutched tight, their half-asleep faces suddenly wide awake.

Matthew squinted. Oh. That guy.

Well-renowned hero, face plastered across newsfeeds, plastered across propaganda posters in the city square. Myung Jaehyun? Myngmyng?? Something like that. Matthew didn’t keep up, but the name popped up often enough on the scrolling headlines that even he couldn’t miss it.

“Dalring, there are commuters here. Send them to safety!” Jaehyun, or MyngMyng, maybe thats his hero name, barked into the flickering hologram pulsing from the wristband strapped to his arm. His voice was steady, but his eyes flicked to Matthew and the others, a quick scan, quick judgment, before clenching his fists. His knuckles ignited in fire. Bright, unnatural, licking flames that cast dancing shadows against the subway’s peeling ads.

Matthew flinched. Not from awe, but from annoyance. Couldn’t they do this somewhere else? Like, literally anywhere else?

Then, without hesitation, Jaehyun launched himself out of the cabin, flame trailing, vanishing into the night with the screech of metal against concrete echoing after him.

Silence dropped in the wake of his exit. The train lurched forward again, unbothered by shattered glass and scorched flooring, like the system itself was used to cleaning up after the chaos of powered battles.

That left Matthew and a cabin full of overworked, underpaid commuters, tired people too stunned to scream, holding their breath like maybe, just maybe, staying quiet would keep them invisible. Matthew leaned back against his seat, dragging a hand down his face. His heart still thudded, adrenaline he didn’t ask for, didn’t need.

Fantastic. Just fantastic.

“Hi! Are you all alright?”

Matthew jerked his eyes open and jumped.

Right in front of him was… some boy. Otter-looking, all bright eyes and ridiculous friendliness, crouched like this was the most normal place in the world to pop up.

Matthew jumped so hard he clutched his chest. His heart hadn’t even recovered from MyngMyng’s fire stunt, and now this. The boy—Dalring? Darling? Whatever that wristband hologram called him, laughed, casual as if startling half-dead commuters was part of the job description.

Around them, gasps and whispers spread again. Someone a few seats away, a boy about Matthew’s age, whipped out his phone, camera already aimed.

“Is anyone injured?” Dalring asked, scanning the crowd with practiced ease.

Silence. Nobody spoke for five whole seconds.

“Okay, great!” Dalring clapped his hands together, grin unfaltering. “Everyone, don’t freak out!”

Freak out? Matthew thought bitterly. I just want to go home and sleep my ass off—

The ground slipped out from under him.

“What the—”

He twisted around, but there was no ground. His seat, the subway floor, even his fellow passengers were all gone. Or rather, floating. Everyone was suspended in a faint white glow, a strange force radiating from Dalring’s outstretched hands. His eyes glimmered the same color, steady and focused.

Matthew’s breath hitched.

Oh.

He was flying.

No— floating. Out through the cracked window Jaehyun had destroyed earlier, like cargo being gently unloaded from a broken machine. The cold night air rushed past his face, the smell of dust and ozone from scorched metal biting at his nose.

And damn it all, it was kind of surreal. A pain in the ass, sure, but also, when else in his sad, sleep-deprived office-worker life was he going to experience this?

Dalring lowered them to the cracked pavement outside, one cluster at a time, setting their feet down as carefully as if they were glass figurines. His glow flickered once before fading completely.

He flashed them a dazzling smile, cheeks flushed from effort. “Stay here for now! I’ll be fetching the others. The HHA cleanup crew and police should be here soon.”

The crowd murmured, some relief, some panic. Phones were already out, screens glowing as people filmed the chaos, uploaded shaky videos to whatever trending feed they thought would make them viral.

Matthew… just wanted to go home.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulders slumping. But the train behind them groaned, metal shrieking as though the battle inside was tearing through its bones. Police and cleanup crew, sure, but none of them were here yet. He was stuck with the rest of these tired, jittery commuters, corralled like sheep.

He sighed. His back ached. His eyelids felt heavy again. If someone would just—

Something whistles through the air.

Fast. Sharp.

Matthew didn’t even register it until it was there, a blur slicing straight toward his head.

And then, impact.

No, not impact. It didn’t hit him.

The air cracked like thunder as something else slammed into its path, deflecting it with impossible force. A shockwave rattled through the street, scattering loose paper and setting Matthew stumbling backward, arms flailing.

“What the fuck—” he gasped, staring into the dust and smoke curling at his feet.

When it cleared, there was someone standing in front of him.

Not Jaehyun. Not Dalring.

Someone else.

They're not clad in shades of white like the other two. Tall, shoulders loose like the whole world was a stage he’d walked onto by accident. His posture screamed arrogance, his smile sharp and dangerous, a little too pleased with himself for saving someone’s life like it was nothing. Matthew can’t see him, he has a mask covering the top half of his face, there is a slight nick at the bottom of his lip.

Why does it look so kissa—-

Matthew’s pulse raced, heart thudding so hard it hurt.

He didn’t know this man. Didn’t recognize him from the nightly propaganda reels. No hero emblem, no flashy suit. Just a stranger, cool and calm, in all black, blocking the smoking mark on the pavement where Matthew would’ve been hit.

“Careful,” the man said smoothly, voice carrying a lazy drawl, as if they weren’t surrounded by chaos. “You almost got hurt.”

Matthew opened his mouth, but no words came. His throat was too dry. What the fuck?

The man turned his head just enough for the streetlights to catch his grin. It was the kind of grin that promised destruction, like he’d tear the world apart just for fun.

Matthew, exhausted, trembling, had no idea.

All he saw was someone who looked… oddly familiar.but who?

“FUCK! Jaehyun, you let him loose!”

The voice came sharp and panicked from somewhere above, pulling the figure who’d blocked Matthew back into the fight. He shot upward like a shadow tethered to fire, colliding again with Jaehyun in a blaze of sparks.

And then, another one.

A boy stumbled toward Matthew, chest heaving, his eyes wide with guilt. Why was everyone coming at him tonight?

“Fuck, sorry— are you alright? Did he hurt you? Did he—”

He fumbled over his words, a derpy-looking face mask shoved up on top of his head like he’d forgotten to wear it properly. A bright red scarf flapped around his neck, is that his hero trademark or something? He looked barely out of high school, if that. Too young to be here. Too young to be fighting whatever monsters these people fought. He looks like Yujin’s age.

Matthew’s heart twisted. He should be in school, not on a battlefield.

“I’m alright, thanks,” Matthew lied automatically. His throat was dry, his white work shirt streaked with dust and ash. He didn’t feel alright, he felt like he was unraveling from sleep deprivation and stress, but saying otherwise would probably crush the boy.

Before Matthew could even catch his breath, another voice cut in. Calm, steady, with the kind of quiet authority that made the younger hero instantly step aside.

“Woon-ah, step aside.”

Matthew looked up.

And promptly forgot how to breathe.

The man was blonde, and holy hell— he was gorgeous. Not just in the poster-boy way, but in the serene, untouchable way, like someone carved sunlight into a person.

The next thing Matthew knew, a soft green glow enveloped him. It pooled in his veins, threaded warmth through his exhaustion, lifting the weight off his shoulders like a summer breeze clearing fog. He hadn’t realized just how heavy he’d felt until the burden slipped away. The blonde smiled at him, gentle, reassuring, before turning to the boy with the scarf. “Woonhak-ah, don’t blame yourself. He’s fine. Go help the others while I assist Jaehyun.”

The boy nodded, still looking shaken, but bolted off toward the stranded commuters.

Sirens began wailing closer, the harsh kind that cut through even the thundering above. The HHA cleanup crew and police vehicles spilled into the street, flashing red-and-blue lights scattering across cracked pavement and frightened faces. Already, flocks of people gathered, phones raised high, shouting speculation and hashtags into the night.

For Matthew, it blurred together.

The fight overhead continued, streaks of orange and purple clashing like fireworks gone wrong, fire and shadows colliding in the sky.

And Matthew… was just tired.

So, so tired.

By the time he stumbled through his apartment door, the clock read past 2 a.m.

His shirt still smelled faintly of smoke. Dust clung to his slacks. He kicked his shoes off half-heartedly, dropped his bag where it fell, and didn’t even bother turning on the lights.

A figure appears through the doors from one of the room.

“Back so soon?” It’s groggy, but sarcastic.

“Fuck off, Sunghoon.” Matthew grumbles to his flatmate.

“Take a shower and rest up.” Sunghoon mumbles, back already returning to his room, but there’s a hint of worriness in his voice, and Matthew is thankful for that.

But the adrenaline had long since burned out, leaving only bone-deep exhaustion. His head spun, like his brain couldn’t decide whether to replay the chaos of shattered glass and floating through the air, or just shut down entirely.

Matthew collapsed face-first onto his couch.

Superheroes, villains, whatever. That world could fight itself into oblivion.

He just wanted to sleep.

Thank fuck it was a Saturday.

Matthew woke to the sensation of someone nudging his ribs. Hard.

“Get up, shower, you smell like death.” Sunghoon’s voice cut straight through his sleep.

Matthew groaned into the pillow, fumbling blindly for his phone. Screen lit up, 10%. 1 P.M. He swore under his breath and forced himself upright. He tosses the phone to the side ignoring the message notifications he didn't bother checking.

The shower was slow, indulgent. He let the steam wash off the fatigue of last night’s chaos, the grime clinging to his skin. By the time he stepped out, hair still damp, pajamas clinging comfortably, he felt halfway human again.

The apartment, though, had already been colonized. Sunghoon had stolen the couch, sprawled with all the authority of someone who paid zero rent, engrossed in some loud apocalypse drama.

“You’re boyfriend’s here, by the way.”

Matthew froze mid-step, towel in hand. His face burned instantly, heat rushing up his neck.

Sunghoon smirked, not even glancing up from the TV. The bastard knew.

Matthew shot him a glare, sharp enough to cut, but it only made Sunghoon’s grin widen.

And then he turned.

And there he was.

Sung Hanbin, sitting at the kitchen island like he belonged there, back perfectly straight, one elbow resting on the counter. In the goddamn flesh.

“Seokmae-ah!” Hanbin’s voice came bright, relieved, carrying all the warmth of sunlight bottled into a person. “You didn’t reply to any of my texts last night, so I came thinking you were dead!”

Oblivious. Completely oblivious to whatever the hell Sunghoon had just said.

Matthew’s stomach flipped. His chest squeezed. His poor heart tumbled into a spiral it had no hope of climbing out of. Because Hanbin looking worried for him, Hanbin showing up uninvited, holding a neatly packed bag from Matthew’s favorite takeout spot as if it were nothing, felt too much like something else. Too much like hope.

Trust Matthew to nurse an undying crush for his best friend of five years across their seven-year friendship.

In his defense, though… who wouldn’t?

Hanbin looked like he’d been carved out of marble by some ancient sculptor who wanted to mock mortals. Broad-shouldered, sharp-eyed, a smile that could split someone’s soul in half. And now, that smile was directed solely at Matthew, as if the whole world narrowed to this stupid kitchen, to this stupid damp-haired pajama-clad version of him.

It was torture. Sweet, terrible torture.

And all Matthew could do was mutter, “I—I’m fine. Just… overslept.”

Sunghoon snickered from the couch like he was watching the real drama unfold right in front of him.

“Overslept, huh?” Hanbin teased lightly, setting the takeout bag on the counter with a soft thunk. “Is that your new excuse for ghosting me?” Matthew groans, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t exactly planning to ghost anyone. Just... survived the apocalypse on the subway last night. You know, casual.”

Hanbin’s sharp gaze softened just a bit as he stepped forward. “You really should tell me when you’re about to get yourself into trouble.”

Matthew gave a tired laugh. “Trouble sort of finds me whether I want it or not. Last night was just... another day.”

Sunghoon piped up from the couch, eyes glued to the TV but loud enough to interrupt the moment, “He came back looking like death!”

Matthew shot him a look sharp enough to cut through the tension. “Sunghoon, fuck you.”

“Fuck you too!” 

Hanbin chuckled and shrugged, then leaned against the counter closer to Matthew, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I was worried you were dead, you know. That subway fight looks like my kind of party. Not that you belong anywhere near it.”

Matthew blinked, genuinely surprised. “You worried about me? Since when?”

“Since always,” Hanbin said, voice steady but quiet, “even if you’re totally oblivious about the chaos I’m actually trying to keep away from you.”

Matthew stared at him, blinking. “Wait... what chaos? Hanbin, you do realize I have zero clue what you’re talking about, right?”

Hanbin smirked. “That’s what makes this whole thing fun. You’re living your tragically boring office life, and I’m out here burning down the world for you.”

Matthew shook his head, smiling despite himself. “You’re ridiculous. I just woke up and you’re speaking morse to me?”

Hanbin’s grin widened. “Ridiculous? Absolutely. But someone’s got to be your villain.”

Matthew ran a hand through his damp hair, weighing exhaustion and ridiculousness equally heavy on his shoulders. “Alright, Villain, since you showed up— what’s the plan?”

Hanbin’s eyes gleamed with all the theatrical menace Matthew had come to secretly love. “Step one: let me finish eating. Step two: I’ll decide if the world deserves to be burned today or maybe just mildly inconvenienced. Step three: convince you to take a break from being the world’s most oblivious office slave.”

Matthew chuckled, grabbing a pair of chopsticks. “Step three sounds like the hardest.”

Hanbin just smiled, leaning in closer. “That’s why you have me.”

The apartment is filled with a comfortable silence, only broken by the clatter of takeout containers and the soft flicker of a TV apocalypse playing out far less interesting than their own little world.

Matthew doesn’t notice the small scar on the bottom of Hanbin's bottom lip.

—

Matthew’s temporary happiness called the weekend (cough, Hanbin) ends faster than he expected it. Monday’s harsh light had no mercy. Time obeyed no kindness, no pause, and Matthew was back on the grim treadmill, diving blindly into the same commute that had almost killed him days before.

His steps felt heavier, the usual autopilot replaced by a subtle, jittery alertness. The adrenaline from the near-death experience had settled into raw nerves. Every glance over his shoulder, every sudden noise, set his senses on edge.

The station looked pristine, almost cruelly so. The polished floors gleamed under bright fluorescent lights, as if the violent chaos that had shattered glass and scorched floors never happened at all. No cracks, no soot, no trace left behind on the platform where he had been suspended in that ghostly glow.

But while the physical space had been wiped clean, the digital space was saturated with the story. The tiny screens inside the subway car buzzed relentlessly with rolling news coverage. Video footage from shaky bystanders played on repeat: shards of glass raining down, flames licking at the walls, heroes and villains clashing in bursts of light and shadow.

Conversations buzzed around him, commuters glued to their phones, scrolling through articles and social media threads. Headlines screamed:

"Hero MyngMyng vs. Mysterious Dark Figure: Subway Battle Leaves City Reeling"

"Casualties Miraculously Avoided in Late-Night Showdown"

"HHA Faces Scrutiny Amidst Rising Villain Activity"

Comments flooded in, worry and excitement laced in equal measure. Some praised the heroes' bravery; others whispered about how close the city was to collapse. Memes mocking the chaotic fight popped up alongside heartfelt prayers for the innocent commuters caught in the crossfire.

Matthew receives a tiktok notification sent by Taerae and Matthew doesn’t have to know the content of the video when Taerae follows up the message with “this u?” 

Matthew sends a poking hand emoji and switches app to play 8ball with Ricky.

A commuter squeezed too close to Matthew’s side muttered, “Did you see that? They nearly wiped us out. This city’s turning into a battleground.”

Matthew nodded, almost mute, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes peeled to screens, their collective heartbeat synchronized to a chaotic spectacle he wished he could ignore.

The train lurched forward again, and Matthew’s gaze drifted upwards, catching his reflection in the window for a split second. Behind his tired eyes, uncertainty flickered. This was no longer just a headline or background noise, it had mutated into the new reality creeping into his world, a reality that wouldn’t wait politely for his exhaustion to pass.

Matthew can’t keep being that civilian who doesn’t care about what’s going on when he himself experienced it.

“That’s… kinda cool,” Jay said, leaning back in his chair with a slow, mischievous grin. “Floating out of a broken subway? Man, I’d take that over another last-minute report any day.” He tapped his chin like he was seriously considering it. “So, you really got caught in the middle of a superhero fight?”

Matthew sat across from him in the cramped company café, his paper cup of lukewarm coffee cradled between his hands. The place was noisy as always, cheap chatter, the clatter of trays, the hiss of the espresso machine struggling for dear life but for once, he found himself retelling the weekend’s chaos with more animation than he expected.

Jay leaned in, eyes sparkling with that mix of amusement and disbelief only he could pull off.

If only you knew, Jay. If only you knew.

Before Matthew could respond, a blur of energy slid into the seat beside him. Yujin.

The café’s unofficial mascot-slash-student-slave, with an apron that looked two sizes too big, a mop of hair flopping into his face, and a grin that made him look like he had nothing better to do than crash conversations. Matthew had seen him enough times to know his routine, part-time worker, part-time chaos gremlin, and, more importantly, a mutual friend through Zhang Hao. If Matthew had a dollar for every time Yujin mentioned Hao being a “parental figure,” he’d finally afford a vacation.

Isn’t it rush hour, the heck is he doing here?

“I can’t believe you almost died, hyung!” Yujin blurted, practically vibrating in his seat.

Excuse you, Han Yujin?!

“I mean, I read all the articles,” Yujin continued, eyes wide, “but hearing it firsthand is something else.” He leaned closer, dropping his voice like he was about to uncover a government secret. “You got any more insider stories? Or is it just ‘sleep-deprived office worker meets fire and chaos’?”

Matthew snorted, the sound half laugh, half groan. God, he was a sucker for this kid. “That’s pretty much the summary. I’m no hero. I just want my coffee without explosions.”

Jay barked out a laugh, loud enough that a few tables turned. “That’s going on your tombstone, man.” Yujin, however, wasn’t done. His grin turned sly, his words too casual, too pointed. “I’m sure Hanbin was really worried, hyung…”

Matthew froze.

No. No, Yujin. Don’t do this to me. Don’t put those words in the air. Don’t give me false hope, not when I’m already hanging by a thread—

But outwardly, he just smiled. Tight. Polite. The kind of smile that said ha ha very funny while his insides screamed.

Let’s rewind it back, 

Matthew was eighteen when he landed in Korea, fresh off the plane and clutching a resume that said “Canadian” like it was a golden ticket. That little word had snagged him a job at a Tim Hortons on a nearby school campus, a small victory in a sea of confusion.

Adjusting to life in Korea hit him harder than expected. The rapid-fire Korean conversations buzzing around him at work, school, and social gatherings felt like a constant storm. Half the time he was trying to translate, the other half he was just lost in the noise. 

Scratch that, it was everything he hated about feeling out of place, multiplied.

There were nights he seriously contemplated booking a flight back to Canada. His older sister thought it was a good idea. His parents disagreed, insisting the move was only temporary, and they’d be relocating to Korea soon anyway.

But fate had other plans.

A reckless lab experiment, some scientist’s catastrophic mistake, and suddenly people with superpowers emerged. The entire country went into an indefinite lockdown, with an organization called the Hype Hero Association (‘HHA”, Matthew never got why anyone thought that was a good name) taking center stage to contain the chaos. Water sources everywhere had to be tested. Anyone acting “abnormal” was immediately scooped up by the HHA.

Life went on, but with an unsettling edge.

How the fuck was Matthew supposed to adjust to this new world alongside his already overwhelming life? He had no idea.

The mounting pressure finally broke him one day in the university lecture theatre. The room was empty except for Matthew, sitting slumped over his economics report, freshly stamped with a humiliating fail grade.

Game plan. Cry. Suck it up. Cry at home. Suck it up. Go to work.

“Are you okay?”

Matthew jumped, turning to see a boy standing beside his seat.

Matthew meets Sung Hanbin. A year older, first to arrive for his next class, and somehow just... there.

Hanbin didn’t just offer a question; he offered comfort, a safe space in a confusing, relentless world. Slowly, subtly, Hanbin slipped into Matthew’s life and began to expand it through language, laughter, and friendship.

Without Hanbin, Matthew wouldn’t have met Taerae, whose jokes always made his darkest days lighter.

Without Hanbin, he wouldn’t have found Zhanghao, the steadfast support system he never realized he needed.

Without Hanbin, there’d be no Ricky, the rare friend who spoke in a language Matthew was most comfortable with.

Without Hanbin, he wouldn’t have discovered Yujin, someone to dote on and cherish in return.

Put it simply: without Hanbin, Matthew wouldn’t be who he is today.

Matthew's feelings come into conclusion upon their second year as friends,  It was in their second year of friendship that Matthew realized something had shifted. At first it was small, the skip in his chest whenever Hanbin’s voice softened around him, the warmth that lingered after Hanbin said “best friend” with such certainty. But over time, those small moments grew unbearable. He found himself memorizing the curve of Hanbin’s smile, storing the weight of his laughter like it was treasure.

And then, one night, standing across the street, Matthew saw it, Hanbin laughing, holding hands with someone else. A stranger. A someone who wasn’t him.

The sight split Matthew open like glass under pressure. It was stupid, it was selfish, but it was also undeniable. He wanted to be the one holding Hanbin’s hand. He wanted to be the reason behind that easy, radiant laugh.

Oh god.  

Matthew liked Hanbin. Not in the way you’re supposed to like your best friend.

In a way that could ruin everything.

So he shoved it down. Sealed it off. Buried it deep with the kind of determination only fear can give. He’d take that secret to the grave if he had to.

But the universe never lets you bury something neatly.

Three years into their friendship, a year after Matthew had finally admitted his feelings to himself, he found himself standing outside a stranger’s apartment, elbows digging into heavy boxes stacked high against his chest. He knocked awkwardly with one arm and the door swung open.

He blinked at him, then at the pile of belongings threatening to topple. A smirk tugged at his mouth as he stepped aside.

“You must be my flatmate. Come in before you drop dead on my doorstep.”

His name is Park Sunghoon, and the first person to know Matthew likes Sung Hanbin.

Sunghoon became the first person to see through him. Not because Matthew confessed, but because Sunghoon noticed things. The way Matthew’s voice caught every time Hanbin’s name came up. The way his eyes lingered on his phone after Hanbin texted. The way he laughed differently, softer, when Hanbin was involved.

Sunghoon didn’t press at first. But eventually, with that infuriating mix of bluntness and empathy he carried so well, he cornered Matthew into admitting it.

Hanbin wasn’t just his best friend. Hanbin was the center of his universe. 

Even here, where he is today, 25 years old, he’s still hopelessly in love with his bestfriend.

“Matthew? Hey, Matt!” 

Matthew is slapped back to reality with a slap from Jay on his back and damn that stings. Matthew shakes his head and comes in eye-contact with the two guys staring at him worriedly. “Sorry, just zoned out.”

Jay softens, empathetic, “That shit took a toll on you, huh?” 

“No shit, Sherlock.” Matthew jokes to bring the mode up. And thank fuck it does.

—

“Do you need me to walk you back today?” Jay asked, packing up beside Matthew as the last of their coworkers filed out. Overtime had only been an extra hour today, and honestly, Matthew could handle that.

“Are you sure?” Matthew hesitated, his fingers tightening around his pen. The gnawing, eerie feeling in his chest hadn’t let him go all day, but he didn’t want to trouble Jay. Maybe it was just paranoia. Maybe it wasn’t.

He could ask Taerae, but Taerae’s probably at his nightly bar gig at that ridiculous place called Junhyeon Moe Moe Kyun! (a name Matthew swears he will never, ever say out loud).

He could ask Ricky or Hao, but they live way across town.

He could ask Hanbin— Nope. Never mind.

“I mean, I’m worried, you know?” Jay shrugs, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “And I’m heading to Jake’s anyway. He’s just a neighborhood down from yours.”

Jake, Jay’s friend from another department. The guy who somehow always gets off work on time. Unfair.

“Let’s go then,” Matthew says. Jay even offers for Matthew to tag along to Jake’s after, but Matthew just wants to collapse into bed.

They step out of the building, and there’s a figure waiting near the entrance. Ripped jeans, black flannel over a white shirt. Wait.

Matthew freezes.

“Hanbin hyung?”

Hanbin looks up from his phone. And it is. It is him. In the flesh. Here. Matthew’s heart does a traitorous somersault.

“I came by to collect some parcels,” Hanbin says simply. “Figured you’d be working late today, so… why not wait.”

How can you blame Matthew for liking him? Seriously.

“Hi, Hanbin. It’s been a while.” Jay’s voice cuts in from behind, casual but deliberate.

“Jay.” Hanbin acknowledges him, voice dropping to a lower register, strange, heavier.

“Let’s go, Matt.” Hanbin turns back, as if it’s decided.

“Let’s go, Jay,” Matthew replies automatically.

Hanbin freezes. 

“…What do you mean ‘let’s go, Jay?’”

“Jay offered to walk me back,” Matthew explains quickly, a nervous laugh bubbling up. “He’s going to Jake’s. I didn’t know you were coming, hyung!”

“Oh.” Hanbin’s nod is curt, unreadable. “Right.”

The air feels off as the three of them fall into step. Jay wears his usual casual mask, but Hanbin’s silence presses down like a weight. Matthew tries to shrug it off, but the quiet gnaws at him all the way to the subway.

By the time they board, Matthew is fighting sleep. His body screams for rest, but that prickling paranoia keeps him on edge. His head tilts to the right, almost, almost, landing on Jay, who’s busy texting furiously, expression sharp.

A hand from the left cups his head. Gently. Firmly. Guiding. The next thing he knows, Matthew’s face is burning against Hanbin’s shoulder.

What the actual fuck.

His brain refuses to compute. His entire body goes rigid, then molten.

“Sleep.” Hanbin pats his hair, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Matthew’s heart is a wildfire.

Jay doesn’t look up. His eyes stay glued to his phone, thumb jabbing hard at the screen, like he’s trying to crack it.

Jongseongie

Does Hanbin know 

I don’t like Matthew like that?

Jakey Jakey

Hanbin? 

Doesn’t Matthew like him or smtg.

Jongseongie

Yeah.

Matt’s doesn’t think so though

Everytime Hanbin eyes me down I feel like

I’m going to get frostbite.

Jakey Jakey

I would like to see you get frostbite

Jongseongie

Fuck you.

Jakey Jakey

Anyways, you sure you don’t want to meet my friend?

Hanbin lightly nudges Matthew as he stirs awake.

“We’re here, let’s go.” His voice is soft, soothing. It makes Matthew want to fall deeper in the voice, and into a deep slumber.

A hard rib nudge on his right. He would have thought this was Sunghoon. Matthew swipes away Jay’s hand, “fuck off, coming.” He’s grogging and he rubs his eyes.

Matthew missed the way Hanbin’s glare immediately locked onto Jay, fierce and warning. “Don’t you do that to Matthew.” The words were whispered but carried the force of a shout. Jay just rolled his eyes in mild amusement.

Oblivious, Matthew felt Hanbin’s gentle grip on his arm, guiding him out of the subway car.

They ascended to the ground level together, the night air crisp as they stepped out. Ten minutes of walking was all that separated Matthew from his sanctuary, home. the place where he could finally scream or cry or do whatever exhaustion demanded.

“It’s here, Hyung! I can sense the energy!”

Matthew blinked. Just a bunch of teens messing around. Yes. Definitely not like the voice from that Friday.

Before they could move past, another voice halted them abruptly, standing right in front of the trio.

Just his luck, it's him.

“The energy is right here! But there’s only... three people here?”

Now Matthew’s curiosity battled with frustration. What was happening?

Hanbin visibly tensed and instinctively shifted forward, positioning himself between Matthew and the boy. Jay moved protectively close to Matthew as well. Hanbin still held onto Matthew’s arm firmly.

“No— Woonhak!”

The blonde figure sprinted toward them, it was the man from before, the one Matthew remembered. The gorgeous one.

Hanbins grip immediately tightens on Matthew, did he say that out loud? Matthew swear he didn’t.

“Leehan Hyung, I swear!” 

Matthew’s eyes flicked to the boy running alongside Leehan. Barely older than Yujin at best. Out of his hero uniform, he just seemed like an ordinary high schooler. Except his signature trinket, that same bright red scarf, now tied at his waist. Leehan still had his fish keychain dangling from his belt loop, a subtle mark of who they were.

“Sorry, guys,” Leehan said, giving a quick bow. His voice carried both authority and warmth. “Our kid here can sense supernatural auras. There’s a strong presence nearby, and if we misread it, it can get dangerous. It’s not safe for you to wander around right now.”

Matthew wanted to scream. Again? It hadn’t even been a full week since the subway fight, and here he was, dragged right into the middle of things he wanted no part in. No shade to these heroes, sure, but Matthew wanted his bed. Not this.

Hanbin’s grip tightened. So tightly, Matthew’s arm started turning red, the pressure cutting off circulation. 

Matthew winced involuntarily, his breath catching as pain radiated up his nerve endings.

Hanbin jumped back, releasing his hold immediately. Matthew clutched at the angry red mark burning into his skin.

“Shit, Matt, I’m so sorry,” Hanbin blurted, his usual calm cracked with genuine concern. Matthew forced a tired laugh, rubbing his arm. “It’s okay... just... a little surprise.” Jay chuckled quietly nearby but kept a watchful eye on their surroundings, clearly uncomfortable with the tension thickening the air. 

Matthew, however, caught the tension still coiled tight in Hanbin’s frame. Without thinking, he slipped his hand into Hanbin’s, grounding him, reassuring.

Hanbin stilled. And then, visibly, he exhaled, tension draining from his shoulders.

Leehan frowned, glancing between Matthew and Hanbin. “You guys know each other?”

Hanbin nodded but stayed silent, eyes sharp as ever, flicking toward Woonhak, who was already scanning their surroundings like a born sentinel.

Two more figures dropped lightly to the pavement, as if gravity bent differently for them.

“We scanned the entire station,” the taller one reported, shaking his head. “The guard’s asleep.” The shorter one squinted at the trio, suspicion sharp in his gaze. “It’s just them?”

The four heroes turned as one, focus narrowing on Matthew, Jay, and Hanbin.

“Woonhak, check again,” Leehan ordered.

The boy’s eyes flared crimson, his face tightening in concentration.

And then, agony. His glow sputtered, his expression collapsing as he clutched his head with both hands. “Hyung— it’s gone. It was so strong, and now—” His knees buckled.

“Woonhak!” Leehan caught him instantly, pulling him upright.

The guilt in the kid’s voice was sharp, trembling. “It was there. I swear. I’m not wrong.” His eyes pleaded for them to believe. The three heroes crowded him at once, voices firm and comforting, assuring him they trusted him. They believed him.

That ache of envy. To be supported so unconditionally, to have people who stood firm even when you doubted yourself… It must be nice.

Leehan turned back, giving them a short bow. “Sorry for holding you up. Get home safe.”

The other two echoed the courtesy, but the shorter one lingered, eyes narrowed in doubt. Still, their attention returned to Woonhak, guiding him away.

Silence pressed in as the group dispersed.

Jay cleared his throat. “We should go.”

Matthew nodded. Hanbin said nothing.

Eventually, Jay peeled off toward Jake’s, leaving Matthew and Hanbin to continue alone. Somewhere along the way, Matthew had slipped their hands apart. He regretted it instantly.

They reached Matthew’s building, pausing before his door. Silence stretched, not awkward, just thick with everything unspoken.

“Hyung, get home safe,” Matthew murmured.

Hanbin smiled faintly, ruffling his hair. “Of course.”

Something tugged at Matthew then, instinctive. His hand lifted, thumb brushing under Hanbin’s lip. A faint line marred the skin there.

“Oh— it’s a scar,” Hanbin said softly, fingers brushing the same spot once Matthew pulled away, embarrassed and flushed.

“Sorry—”

Hanbin laughed, easy, warm. “Rest well, Seokmae.” He turned, heading down the hall.

Matthew turned back to his door, fumbling with the keys. Relief and exhaustion pressed heavy—

the mask that night, the way it had sat just high enough to reveal a similar mark.

His blood ran cold.

“Hanbin hyung—”

The corridor stretched out in eerie silence. Empty. 

—

Surely Matthew isn’t going crazy.

Maybe he is, people can get scars at the same spot. Why is Matthew thinking such insane things?

Matthew decides he should treat himself with a trip to Junhyeon Moe Moe Kyun! (Barf noises) on that Saturday. Same week. because he’s had enough. And he wants to see Taerae, it’s been a while.

Matthew takes a chug of whatever questionable concoction the bartender slid his way and slumps forward, cheek pressed against the cool surface of the bar.

“Rough day?”

The voice pulls his head up. The bartender is staring at him, arms crossed on the counter, an amused tilt to his lips. He’s tall, sharp lines softened by the dim bar light, the kind of face that probably makes tips double without him trying. Definitely attractive. But he’s not Hanbin.

He nods. Rough week. Actually. 

The bartender chuckles, low and knowing. “Fair enough. Happens to the best of us.” He extends a hand, casual but firm. “Jiwoong. Kim.” Matthew mumbles, then curses under his breath, he must’ve said that out loud

Matthew blinks at the gesture, then straightens up a little, slipping his hand into Jiwoong’s. “Matthew.”

“Matthew,” Jiwoong repeats, like he’s testing the weight of it. He leans an elbow against the bar, studying him, not in the way that makes Matthew shrink, but like he’s connecting dots no one else bothered to notice. “So… is your ‘rough week’ the kind you can sleep off, or the kind that’s got a name and a face?”

Matthew laughs awkwardly, rubbing his neck. “...Something like that.”

Jiwoong doesn’t push, just hums, like he already knows. “Right. Then let me make you something better than that disaster you just chugged. On the house. Consider it a survival kit.”

Matthew watches him move with easy confidence behind the bar. For the first time all week, the knot in his chest loosens just a little.

The Saturday crowd doesn’t stop Jiwoong from talking to Matthew. If anything, it gives Matthew an excuse to linger, chin propped on the bar as Jiwoong slides drinks left and right with a calm efficiency that feels almost… graceful. Between pouring cocktails and ringing up tabs, Jiwoong always circles back to him, offering little quips or thoughtful asides. Matthew doesn’t know if bartenders are supposed to be this good at conversation, but Jiwoong feels less like small talk and more like… wisdom.

“You’re young,” Jiwoong says at one point, leaning on the counter. “Don’t spend too much time chasing what you don’t even know if you’ll catch.”

Matthew blinks. “That’s… specific.”

Jiwoong smirks, taps the rim of Matthew’s empty glass. “Call it intuition.”

Matthew laughs, embarrassed at how easily Jiwoong seems to read him. He makes a mental note to grill Taerae later about this mysterious bartender.

Speaking of Taerae, his set ended almost forty minutes ago. Did he seriously ditch him?

“Matthew, sorry!”

Speak of the devil.

Taerae’s voice is hoarse, a far cry from the effortless belting he pulled off just earlier. When Matthew turns, his jaw nearly drops. Taerae’s hair is sticking up in directions that gravity shouldn’t allow, his shirt is unbuttoned too far, and unless Matthew’s drunker than he thinks, and those are definitely red marks blooming across his collarbone.

Trailing behind him is none other than Junhyeon. The Junhyeon. The genius who thought naming a bar “Moe Moe Kyun!” was a good idea.

Oh.

Kim Taerae, Matthew thinks, you absolute whore.

Taerae must catch the thought right off Matthew’s face because he speeds up, slapping Matthew’s shoulder with too much force. “Don’t. Say. Anything.”

Matthew raises his brows, lips twitching. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Jiwoong, wiping down the counter nearby, chuckles under his breath. “So that’s your friend.”

Taerae shoots Jiwoong a look, half-pleading, half-exasperated. “Please don’t judge me.”

“Too late,” Matthew mutters into his glass.

The three of them end up squeezed around a high table after Jiwoong’s shift wraps, Junhyeon occasionally chiming in with his questionable sense of humor while Taerae tries, and fails, to act like his disheveled state is normal. Somehow, it’s… fun. The kind of chaotic night that dissolves into laughter at things that won’t be funny in the morning.

By the time the bar staff kick them out and the streets are quiet again, it’s nearly 4AM. Matthew hugs his jacket tighter as the early chill sets in.

“You good to get home?” Jiwoong asks, steady and grounded even at this hour.

“Yeah. I’ll grab a cab.” Matthew stretches, still smiling faintly. “Thanks for… you know. Talking.”

Jiwoong nods once, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Get some rest, Matthew. And stop overthinking.” Taerae stumbles up beside him, Junhyeon trailing like a smug shadow. “Breakfast later?” he offers, voice scratchy.

Matthew groans. “Only if you promise to show up looking less like you just crawled out of—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Never mind. Go home, Taerae.” He really wants his bed.

They part ways under the flickering streetlight, Matthew walks. He never pauses to call a cab. He convinces himself it’s intentional

I’m saving money, I’m clearing my head, it’s a win-win! like gaslighting his own brain will somehow make the decision noble instead of stubborn.

Besides, what are the odds of bumping into another superpowered freak show at 4:30 in the morning? Practically none. The park is dark, hushed, with only the occasional elderly person power-walking as if their doctor prescribed insanity as cardio.

Peaceful. That’s what Matthew tells himself. Peaceful.

Until his shoe presses against something curved, springy, not quite trash, not quite dirt. He freezes. Looks down.

It’s a rodent.

A fucking rodent.

It’s staring at Matthew. Matthew is staring right back at it.

It’s fine, he thinks, clutching his bag like a talisman. It’s just one. It’ll run off. We coexist, like… nature documentaries, right? Then a second squeak. Then three more. The bushes rustle like something out of a horror movie, and tiny beady eyes glimmer back at him.

Matthew screams, high, unashamed, echoing across the empty park, fuck those elderlies who he passed by, he’ll never step into the park at 4am ever again, and shuffles backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet as half a dozen rodents pour out onto the path like they’ve been waiting just for him.

“Are you kidding me?!” His voice cracks as he flails his arms. “I can survive a subway explosion but I’m gonna die by RATS?!”

One bold rodent darts closer. Matthew stomps near it, misses, and yelps louder. His heart pounds. His pulse is sprinting faster than his legs can. A bolder one darted right for him. Matthew’s leg shot out, an attempted stomp that missed by miles, and the yelping grew even more frantic.

Then, silence. 

Not Matthew’s, but his footsteps: the world swallowed the sound of his thrashing feet, and suddenly he wasn’t on the ground anymore.

He was floating. Not of his own accord.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Another powered person? At this hour?

He tried to turn, but the air was moving, thick and supportive, carrying him upwards. Below, the park and its nightmarish rat battalion grew distant. His stomach dropped.

“Vin! Exterminate the enemy! I’ve got the guy!” the figure clutching him barked to the ground, where another costumed guy, much smaller from up here, hopped and stamped, shooing rats in a surprisingly graceful dance.

Matthew tried for dignity.

“Uh, really, you can let me down. I don’t need saving from—”

“Hyung! We’ve exterminated the source of his discomfort!” the flier declared over his shoulder, talking past Matthew and into the glowing wrist hologram on his arm.

There was a jarring crackle, then a voice, unmistakable: the tired, exasperated guy that saved Matthew from the subway. “Wook! You idiots! I said keep an eye out on him, not grab him and put him up in the air! Be discreet!”

‘Wook’ grimaced midair. “But, hyung— his heart rate was spiking, source signals at 190 BPM! Rodent distress protocol, sir! And didn’t you say protect him?”

Matthew scowled, embarrassment and leftover panic warring inside him. “Can we not broadcast my heart rate, please?” He decides to ignore the last sentence Wook saluted the glowing hologram for good measure. “Requesting additional rodent evacuation protocol—”

The hologram flickered again, tone sharp with exasperation: “Just— set him down and stop terrifying him. I’ll handle it later.”

A sharp swoop followed, and Wook deposited him gently, if awkwardly, back onto solid ground beside Vin, who was busy brushing imaginary rat fur off his sleeves like he hadn’t just Riverdanced vermin into retreat.

The light blinked out, leaving silence.

Wook dropped into frantic bows. “Sorry, Matth—sir—civilian! We’ll recalibrate our threat matrix!”

Matthew froze. Did he just say my name?

“I think you already did,” he muttered, voice dry. His skin still prickled from the memory of the voice voice— less concealed than ever. He looked from Wook to Vin, and the realization hit him: their outfits weren’t random. The sleek black fabric, the insignia stitched at the shoulder, the same style of mask dangling loose at their head, identical to the so-called “villain” who’d dragged him out of the subway.

Oh no.

Matthew’s throat went dry. “Right. Okay. Can I go home now?”

Wook and Vin nodded in perfect unison, too earnest, too sharp, like soldiers saluting without weapons. Matthew let out a long sigh, part exhaustion, part resignation. If nothing else, at least there were no rats left in his path.

He made a mental note as he trudged forward, the two strange shadows trailing behind at what they probably thought was an inconspicuous distance:

Next time, take the damn cab.

—

“So why did you gather me here today, my dear flatmate?”

Sunghoon was sprawled across the couch, one leg dangling dramatically over the armrest, glaring at Matthew who was hunched over the TV like a man defusing a bomb.

A sharp click, a victorious beep, and suddenly their living room TV blazed to life. Matthew’s laptop screen mirrored onto it.

A PowerPoint title slide appeared, littered with rainbows and bold Ariel-font text:

Am I crazy or am I not. Analysis by Seok Matthew

Sunghoon does a low whistle. “Oh, we’re doing this tonight.”

“Yes. We are,” Matthew said, stabbing at his clicker like a TED Talk reject. “Because frankly, I am one subway stop away from checking myself into a padded room.”

Slide one: blurry CCTV stills he’d pulled off forums. Black figures, half-shadowed masks, faintly familiar silhouettes.

“Exhibit A: Subway Incident. Random fight. One dude with suspiciously strong grip power saves me in the middle of the fight with HHA. This means he has to be some “bad guy”. Doesn’t ask my name, but—” 

He clicks. Next slide: a scrawled doodle of a random person's face be took off stock images with exaggerated question marks. “—feels like he knows me. Weird, right?”

Sunghoon squints at the doodle. “Sounds like something Hanbin would do.” he murmurs under his breathe.

Matthew waves his hands wildly. “No, no! Don’t jump to conclusions! Could be anyone with a strong jawline. Korea’s full of them!”

“Right,” Sunghoon deadpanned. “Because every jawline comes with your name pre-installed.”

Matthew clicks again. Slide two: a crude diagram of stick figures. One labeled Me (innocent civilian), two others labeled Black-Clad Idiots, arrows pointing at them: KNOW MY HEART RATE.

“Exhibit B: Rat Incident. I step on vermin, suddenly two dudes in matching Halloween costumes swoop in, one actually announces my BPM like I’m some Fitbit project.” Matthew rakes a hand down his face. “And then— AND THEN. they say my name. Out loud. In public.”

Sunghoon props himself up on one elbow, interest piqued. “So, they knew your name. And they dress the same as subway-guy. And they’re following you.”

“Don’t say it,” Matthew warns, finger raised like a priest warding off sin.

Sunghoon smirks. “Hanbin.”

Matthew groans so hard he nearly folds in half. “No. Nope. Absolutely not. Hanbin is… Hanbin. He is my friend, my— my hyung, no. He’s not flying around the city in tactical cosplay babysitting me through rodent trauma. And I would have known.”

Sunghoon leans back, arms folded, grin spreading. “But it makes sense, doesn’t it? The way he shows up at the right times. The grip strength. The scar. Don’t think I didn’t notice you staring at his lip the other night like you were solving a murder case.”

Matthew slams the clicker onto the coffee table. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. I need rational analysis, not— not whatever conspiracy-fueled romcom theory this is!”

Sunghoon shrugs, maddeningly calm. “Sometimes the simplest answer is the right one. And the simplest answer is: your precious Hanbin hyung is moonlighting in a black suit with his two little minions.”

Matthew flops onto the couch face-first, muffled groan vibrating into the cushions. “I hate this. I hate you. I hate myself. And I hate rats.”

Sunghoon pats his back cheerfully. “Good presentation though. Strong visuals. Next time, add transition effects.”

The door knocks. The two exchange looks.

Sunghoon lets out a low whistle, already smirking. “I wonder who it is.”

Matthew growls at him before yanking the HDMI cord from his laptop like it’s contraband. The TV flickers black. He scrambles to stash the laptop behind a pillow, finger shooting out to point squarely at Sunghoon.

“Not. A word. From you.”

Sunghoon arches a brow, lazy amusement dripping off him. “You don’t want Hanbin to know?”

“Why would I—”

But Matthew’s already opening the door.

“Hanbin hyung!”

“How’s my Matthew doing!” Hanbin beams, stepping inside without hesitation. His hand goes up, pinching Matthew’s cheek with all the affectionate ease of years of friendship. Matthew’s heart does a kamikaze dive straight into his stomach.

Then Hanbin’s sharp eyes flick past him, landing on Sunghoon, who’s frozen mid-lean between the couch and the TV, looking exactly like someone caught hiding state secrets.

“What’s his deal?” Hanbin asks Matthew, chin jutting slightly toward Sunghoon. His voice drops, just a notch cooler, assessing.

Sunghoon blinks once, then plasters on a grin so fake it belongs in a sitcom. “Just… stretching. Love a good back stretch.” He presses a hand to his spine, bends sideways dramatically like he’s auditioning for yoga class.

Matthew wants to evaporate.

Hanbin squints at the display, then back at Matthew. “...Right.”

Sunghoon’s eyes glitter with suppressed laughter. He tilts his head, all but daring Matthew to explain.

“Hyung, ignore him,” Matthew blurts, dragging Hanbin further inside and shutting the door quickly like that’ll erase the entire PowerPoint debacle lingering in the air. “He’s just… being Sunghoon.”

Hanbin hums, not entirely convinced, his gaze lingering a second longer on Sunghoon before softening back on Matthew. “Well, if he’s bothering you, let me know. I’ll deal with him.”

That sends Sunghoon into a quiet choking cough of laughter behind them.

Matthew prays the earth opens up and swallows him whole. And it's too late whenHanbin’s out of the door and Matthew fails to check on the mark under his lips.

He’ll blame it on Sunghoon.

– 

Matthew experiences a particularly hard day at the office.

He’s not a weakling! He's handled long nights, back-to-back deadlines, and the occasional public humiliation in stride. He doesn’t complain out loud. He just swallows it and moves on. But today is different.

Today, the universe seems determined to break him. It hits him extra hard when his department head calls him in privately for an issue that he didn’t even cause.

Matthew is used to his shit ass boss’ scoldings because he’s a cranky ass bitch who always has a can of beer on his desk reeking of cigarettes in his private office even though there was a clear strict policy to not smoke or drink.

His head is pounding from lack of sleep, two hours, maybe less. And he feels that dangerous tightness in his chest again. The one that makes his vision blur just a bit around the edges.

He shouts at Matthew on a company report he had no part of, when Matthew tunes it out and tries to fight back, but he decides to throw the half-empty beer can. Matthew doesn’t even process it until the liquid splatters across his shirt, cold and sour.

He tells Matthew to scram, and scram Matthew does.

He leaves before he can say something he’ll regret, before the tremor in his throat becomes something worse. By the time he reaches his cubicle, his knuckles are white around the strap of his bag. The office is mostly empty now, everyone’s gone home, they won’t see his tears.

Everyone but Jay.

Jay’s still at his desk, sleeves rolled up, tapping at his laptop with that same furrow of concentration that usually makes Matthew smile on better days. When he hears footsteps, he glances up, and his expression changes instantly. Concern floods his features.

“Whoa. Matt? What happened?”

“Nothing.” Matthew mutters it too quickly, dumping his bag onto his chair. He keeps his head low, hoping Jay won’t notice the faint splatter on his shirt or the redness around his eyes.

Jay stands up anyway. “That doesn’t look like ‘nothing.’”

“It’s fine.”

“Your shirt’s soaked.”

“Beer. Not mine.”

Jay’s entire posture stiffens. “He threw it at you?”

Matthew freezes. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “...Forget it.”

Jay exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face like he’s trying to contain his anger. Then, softer: “You don’t deserve that. You know that, right?”

Matthew shrugs, half laughing, half breaking. “It’s corporate life. Character development arc.”

“Character development my ass.” Jay grabs his jacket from the chair and tosses it over Matthew’s shoulders before he can protest. “We’re leaving.”

“I have reports to—”

“I said we’re leaving. I’ll tell them you got food poisoning or divine retribution or whatever works.”

Matthew blinks, surprised at the mix of firmness and care in Jay’s tone. “You’re kind of bossy when you’re mad.”

“Good. Someone has to be.”

He doesn’t have the strength to argue. So when Jay guides him out of the office, one steadying hand on his shoulder, Matthew lets him. The fluorescent lights give way to the quiet hum of the night city outside, and suddenly, the air feels breathable again.

They walk a few minutes in silence. Jay doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t have to. Just his presence, solid and patient beside Matthew, is enough to start stitching him back together.

“Thanks,” Matthew finally says. “For… dragging me out.”

Jay glances over, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Anytime. And next time he pulls something like that…”

“What, you’ll punch him?”

Jay grins. “Tempting. But no. I’ll file an anonymous HR complaint that’ll make his head spin.”

Matthew actually laughs, a quiet, tired laugh, but genuine. For the first time that day, it doesn’t feel like everything’s caving in.

They turn a corner right before they reach the station, a figure is walking towards them.

Hanbin’s right in front of them. For a second, Matthew thinks he’s imagining him. The world already feels fuzzy at the edges, his chest still tight from everything at work. But Hanbin’s gait, the sure steadiness of it, the way the lamplight slides over his sharp profile, that’s real.

Jay’s arm is still looped around Matthew’s shoulder when they stop.

“Hanbin-ssi,” Jay says, cautious, formal.

Hanbin doesn’t respond. His gaze flicks once to where Jay’s hand rests on Matthew, unreadable, then to Matthew himself. The change is instant. The sharpness in his face softens, melts into something else entirely. Concern.

“Are you alright?”

He shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be seeing Matthew like this. His voice is laced with so much concern it’s incomparable with Jay’s.

He closes the distance fast, all quiet footsteps and barely restrained urgency. His eyes dart over Matthew’s face, his shirt, the faint tremble still in his posture.

“Are you alright?”

The words hit Matthew harder than expected. There’s something in Hanbin’s tone, too gentle, too sincere, that makes his throat ache all over again. He tries to straighten, to say something that will make him look less like a disaster.

“I’m fine.” His voice cracks.

Jay cuts in before he can finish. “He’s not.”

Hanbin’s head snaps toward him, and for a heartbeat, the air shifts. Jay’s calm tone falters under the weight of Hanbin’s gaze.

“Our department head threw beer at him,” Jay continues, quieter now. “Over a report he didn’t even write.”

Silence. The kind that presses down heavy, waiting to break.

Hanbin’s eyes narrow, and the gentle concern in them hardens into something dark, controlled only by force of will. He steps closer, the scent of clean soap and faint cologne replacing the bitterness of Matthew’s earlier ordeal. His hand lifts, brushing Matthew’s jaw, tilting his face upward.

The touch is careful, almost reverent, but his eyes are burning. He scans for bruises, for any mark that might’ve been left behind.

Matthew shakes his head slightly, trying to pull away. “It’s fine,” he mouths, but no sound comes out. Hanbin doesn’t seem to notice. His hand lingers, fingers curling briefly at the side of Matthew’s neck before he turns back to Jay, voice low and dangerous.

“What else did he do.”

It isn’t a question.

Jay hesitates. For once, he doesn’t sound like the easygoing deskmate guy, more like someone aware that whatever he says next could tip something over the edge. “That’s it.”

Hanbin’s jaw tightens. He exhales through his nose, slow but heavy, like he’s swallowing words he’d rather not say aloud. His hand falls away from Matthew’s face, but not before his thumb brushes faintly under his eye, a wordless gesture, checking if he’s really okay.

Matthew can’t meet his gaze. It’s too much. The quiet intensity, the guilt, the warmth. He focuses on the ground instead, on the blur of city light pooling around their shoes.

“Jay.” Hanbin addresses Jay with such intensity it throws both of them off guard.

“Send Matthew to his door step, I don’t have your contact but I’ll make sure Matthew’s roommate tells me that you’re there with him right up to the doorstep.”  Hanbin’s voice cuts clean through the night, low, commanding, the kind that leaves no room for argument. It sends a faint chill through Matthew despite the warmth of Jay’s arm still around his shoulders.

Jay doesn’t complain, “I was going to do that anyways.”

Matthew stills, since when did he have Sunghoon’s contact?

Hanbin’s expression softens when he turns back to Matthew, a stark contrast to the razor edge in his voice moments ago. His hand finds Matthew’s head, the gesture gentle, familiar. “Get home safe. Wash up,” he says. “I have… things to do.”

Matthew wants to ask what “things” mean, but exhaustion has already won. He just nods mutely and lets Jay guide him away.

When he finally turns back to look, Hanbin’s gone, no trace left, only the faint echo of his voice and the strange, hollow weight that lingers behind.

The trip home blurs into nothing. The rattling of the train, the faint buzz of Jay’s phone as messages keep coming in, the drowsy lull of movement. Matthew barely registers any of it. By the time they reach his block, his mind is a fog.

He knocks once on the door.

It flies open before he can brace himself.

“Thank god you’re back. Come in before Hanbin kills m—”

Sunghoon’s words falter the instant he catches sight of the unfamiliar presence beside him. 

Something shifts in the air. The easy, tired quiet that followed Matthew home suddenly feels tight. Sunghoon’s expression morphs into something unreadable, part disbelief, part alarm, like someone’s just told him the ending to a story he never finished. It’s a weird expression. This is new. It doesn't take a tired Matthew to know something is up.

Jay stiffens instinctively. His shoulders draw up; his eyes narrow slightly, not in aggression, but confusion. He looks like a startled cat, every sense on alert, but he snaps back and tilts his head in confusion at the intensity of Matthew’s flatmate stare. “Is there… something on me..?”

Matthew, blinks between the two. Weird.

Sunghoon’s still staring, lips parted. The silence stretches thin before Matthew, impatient, gives his flatmate a light shove to the shoulder. The touch jolts him back to life.

Sunghoon laughs, a sound that’s too forced, too quick. His face has gone a shade redder than usual. “N-no! Sorry,” he blurts, voice slightly higher than normal. “Come in.”

Sunghoon stuttering? Matthew thinks this is very interesting.

“It’s alright, I’m just making sure Matt gets home safe. I’m Jay.” Sunghoon blushes again as he nods, while he steps aside to let Matthew in.

Matthew would typically insist Jay to come in for a bit, but he’s tired, and he’s sure Jay is too. He settles for a “get home safe”

“You should rest, Matt. You’ve had a rough day.” 

Sunghoon nods in eager agreement, almost too eager.

Matthew sighs, gives a faint smile, and disappears into his room. He’ll talk to Sunghoon about this.

The next day goes in this exact order. 

His alarm blares mercilessly beside his head, the same shrill tone that’s haunted him every weekday since the beginning of time. His arm shoots out from under the blanket, smacking at the nightstand until he finally silences it.

For a long moment, he just lies there, half-buried in sheets, staring at the ceiling, the aftertaste of exhaustion heavy on his tongue. His head still throbs faintly from last night’s mess at work, the shouting, the beer, Hanbin’s unreadable face. The memory prickles behind his eyes.

When he finally rolls over and unlocks his phone, the screen light burns into his pupils. Notifications explode across it: dozens of unread emails, five missed calls, seventy-two messages from Jay.

He blinks, doesn’t bother to scroll through the texts, but calls back before he can second-guess. 

The line barely rings once before it connects.

“HE GOT FIRED.” 

The sound of his phone hitting the floor is a dull, heavy thunk, followed by Matthew’s groan as he scrambles to grab it. His pulse spikes faster than his brain can catch up.

“Jay?” he croaks, pressing the phone back to his ear, voice still thick with sleep. “Who—”

“The department head!” Jay practically shouts through the speaker, his words tumbling over each other in a rush. “The asshole who threw beer at you yesterday— he finally got fired! Effective immediately! Fuck yeah!”

Matthew sits up too fast and nearly gives himself whiplash. The morning light streaming through his curtains feels too bright, too unreal. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was!” Jay says, somewhere between disbelief and satisfaction. He rambles off about him getting some documents exposed, bad crimes. Matthew tunes it all out.

He’s gone.

“That’s great, Seokmae-ya!” Hanbin’s voice bursts through the receiver, bright and chirpy, the same tone he uses when pretending everything’s fine. Matthew can almost picture his grin, the one that tugs at the corners of his mouth before his eyes catch up.

The elevator doors slide open with a mechanical sigh, and Matthew steps in, the chill of the morning still clinging to his sleeves. The air inside smells faintly of perfume and floor polish, a sterile kind of calm that doesn’t reach him.

He tucks his phone between his shoulder and ear, adjusting the strap of his bag. “Yeah,” he murmurs, half-hearted. “Great.”

The doors close. Silence swallows him, save for the faint hum of the elevator rising. Hanbin keeps talking, something about how these things always sort themselves out, how maybe this is a sign for Matthew to finally breathe a little.

Matthew watches his reflection in the elevator mirror. His tie’s crooked, his eyes shadowed, his lips pressed tight. He wonders if Hanbin hears the lie in his voice.

“Mm. Maybe,” he replies, thumb brushing the faint mark beneath his bottom lip. It’s nearly faded now, just a ghost of last night.

He swallows hard. “I should go. Elevator’s almost up.”

Hanbin hums something cheerful again before hanging up, his tone light enough to pass for normal.

When the call ends, Matthew slips the phone into his pocket and exhales. The elevator dings, doors sliding open to a corridor too bright for the weight in his chest.

He straightens his tie, schools his face into something passable, and steps out, but the echo of Hanbin’s voice lingers, soft and guilty beneath the cheer.

Matthew knows that familiar tone of Hanbin. 

Something familiar, warm and close, yet edged with a distance that never quite disappears.

Matthew recognizes it, knows it by heart.

And sometimes he wishes Hanbin would let it sound unfamiliar, just long enough for Matthew to forget why it ever mattered so much.

When Matthew steps into the department, the first thing he notices is the yellow tape stretched across the frosted glass of his former boss’s office. The door is sealed, blinds drawn, a paper notice slapped across the handle like an accusation. The sight is surreal, too quiet, too deliberate. It looks less like a workplace and more like a crime scene.

Jay appears beside him, hands shoved deep into his pockets, voice low but tinged with satisfaction. “Apparently, he was running scams under the company name,” he mutters. “Tank the stocks, ruin the trust, the whole shebang. Guess that’s what it took for the company to finally kick him out.”

Matthew blinks, still processing, his gaze flickering to the faint outlines of documents and broken glass on the desk beyond the door.

Jay leans closer, lowering his voice. “But it’s almost impossible to catch these kinds of things out of nowhere, you know.” Then, with a faint smirk that curves like mischief, he adds under his breath, “Snitching.”

Matthew doesn’t respond immediately. He only hums, soft and vague, as if his mind is elsewhere. The faint scent of stale coffee and printer ink fills the air, grounding him.

Jay’s eyes linger on him for a second too long before turning away, his grin easing into something unreadable.

Matthew exhales through his nose, feeling the unspoken weight behind Jay’s teasing tone. He glances once more at the sealed office.

He’s going to piece this side of Hanbin. Bit by bit.

But before he does that, he’s going to get that long overdue hangout with Hanbin after work without any extra nags, work or overtime.

He half-expected Hanbin to take him somewhere predictable: maybe the mall, or a quick dinner before the usual “let’s go home early” routine, or a d— 

“Are you telling me to touch grass?” Matthew teases as they veer off the main path.

Hanbin laughs, that warm, unrestrained sound that Matthew always finds disarming. “I thought we could use some fresh air,” he says, as if that explains everything.

They end up in a small clearing on a gentle hill, a patch of grass that feels removed from the rest of the world. No buildings, no cars, just the faint hum of crickets and the smell of earth after sundown. Hanbin sits first and unpacks the convenience store bag: kimbap, bottled tea, and a small pack of chips.

They eat without much conversation, content with the quiet, exchanging soft remarks when the silence stretches too long. The air between them feels lighter than it has in days.

At some point, Matthew shifts closer, then lets his head rest on Hanbin’s lap. There’s a brief pause, Hanbin’s breath catches, but then his hand comes down gently, threading through Matthew’s hair. The motion is slow, deliberate, grounding.

The night above them glows faintly with scattered stars. Matthew blinks up at the expanse, his eyes tracing the constellations he used to know as a kid. He can’t remember the last time he saw the sky this clear.

He lifts a hand toward it, fingers outstretched like he could pluck one from the dark. “I want those,” he murmurs.

Hanbin chuckles softly. “The stars?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll give them to you,” he says, tone suddenly quiet, serious in a way that makes Matthew’s heart skip.

Matthew turns his head slightly, catching the faint outline of Hanbin’s smile. “You’re really funny, Hyung.”

Matthew felt a warmth spread through him as Hanbin’s fingers remained tangled in his hair, steady and sure. The night air wrapped around them, carrying the faint scent of grass and distant city lights. For once, the chaos of everyday life seemed miles away.

“It’s nice here,” Matthew said softly, voice barely above a whisper, eyes tracing the curve of Hanbin’s hand.

Hanbin’s smile deepened, eyes glimmering in the moonlight. “I wanted you to see something different. Not the city noise. Not the fights or the news.”

Matthew turned his head a little, meeting Hanbin’s gaze. “Why? Why now?”

Hanbin’s fingers paused, then gently brushed over Matthew’s temple. “Because you deserve a break. Because I keep thinking if I don’t step in, the world’s going to swallow you whole one day.”

The words stung, raw and honest beneath the calm night.

Matthew swallowed, heart pounding unevenly. “You’re the one who’s always stepping in.” He doesn’t know if Hanbin meant it literally or figuratively.

Hanbin laughed softly, a little breathless. “Maybe I’m a villain afterall, but villains have their soft spots.”

A silence fell between them, filled only by crickets and the distant hum of the city.

Matthew’s hand slowly reached up to cover Hanbin’s, holding it against his cheek. “I don’t know if I deserve stars, or if anyone really can give them to me.”

“You do,” Hanbin said firmly, eyes piercing. “And maybe I’m not just talking about the stars.”

Matthew’s heart thudded loudly in the stillness. The space between them narrowed; the gentle touch was an unspoken promise.

Above, a shooting star streaked across the sky, brief, bright, and impossible to miss.

“See? The universe agrees.”

Matthew closes his eyes, and lets himself hope.

–

PUBLIC ALERT ISSUED FROM HYPE HERO ASSOSIATION

Villain Profile: Codename "Darkstar"
Real Name: NIL
Affiliation: Unknown / Rogue Operative
Age: Approximately mid-20s
Height: Approximately 179CM

Distinguishing Features:

• Sharp jawline, dark eyes

• Typically wears dark, tactical attire with a signature black mask covering upper face

Known Powers and Abilities:

• Dark Energy Manipulation: Ability to generate, control, and project concentrated dark energy in various offensive forms including destructive blasts and barriers.

• Superhuman Agility and Reflexes: Exceptional speed and coordination, allowing rapid evasion and precise strikes.

Behavioral Profile:

Publicly regarded as a major threat due to unpredictable attacks on infrastructure and confrontations with members of the HHA. Cunning and restrained, operating by a personal code that often blurs the line between vigilantism and terrorism. 

Criminal Record and Incidents:

• Suspected in multiple urban assaults targeting corporate facilities accused of exploitation.

• Recent subway strike left significant property damage, though minimal civilian casualties. an anomaly in itself.

• Despite nationwide manhunts, continues to evade capture through expert use of terrain and urban escape routes.

PUBLIC ADVISORY 

Darkstar is classified as a Class-A Threat. Civilians must avoid any interaction and report suspicious activity. The Hype Hero Association continues efforts to monitor and contain his actions. Report sightings immediately to HHA command.

“Talk about emerging underground idol.” Jay mutters, eyes flicking over the black-and-white printout of Darkstar’s public profile, the headline bold at the top. He lowers his voice, glancing around at the office. Everyone has the same photocopied alert on their desks, all variations of anxious or unimpressed. Matthew’s own paper feels hot in his hands, the urge to crumple it fighting with the equally strong urge to just disappear.

“He’s more like a hero than a villain, if you ask me. The only people he’s hurt are the ones already up to no good,” Jake pipes in from behind, having sauntered over to check out the fuss. He peers over Jay’s shoulder, too casual for someone discussing a citywide threat.

Matthew’s eyes skate over the bulleted list of “suspected crimes”. property damage, alleged attacks on corporate holdings, illegal data leaks. The usual parade of corporate casualties, all conveniently written up as criminal acts. He remembers the firing incident of their own boss, the office rumor mill working overtime after it was all-but-confirmed that the mysterious “Darkstar” was behind the company email leak. The exec deserved it, most agreed, but no one said it too loud with the HHA sniffing around.

Jay snorts, flicking the paper. “They just hate that he’s not their kind of hero. They probably didn’t give a heart pose when the reporters were stalking their ass.”

Jake grins, nudging Jay with his elbow. “Bet he’s got more fans than any of them would admit. I heard even the night shift aunties were talking about how he helped that soup kitchen after the gas leak.”

Jay laughs back before continuing, but Matthew doesn’t listen anymore,  Yujin is absolutely blowing up his messages, spamming him with pictures of the Darkstar print-out taped up beside the espresso machine, plastered crookedly beside the “Employee of the Month” photo wall at the café. CAPS LOCK captions scattered between images: “??? what the fuck happened and isn’t this your department??? That fuckass boss of yours??” 

Matthew stares at the flood of photos, the announcements, the hastily scrawled staff memos in the background, including one in Zhanghao’s looping handwriting: “IF ANYONE SEES THIS GUY, DO NOT OFFER FREE DESSERTS.”

Oh, Matthew realises, the company decided to make this print-out a problem for everyone in the company.

And he definitely had forgotten to tell his friends.

—

“My Seokmae!” 

Hanbin is right in front of Matthew again. Hanbin is right at the bottom of the steps, his hair looks soft as it gets blown by the wind, his hand raised as if greeting an old lover returning from war. The way his face lights up when he spots Matthew makes it worse, makes it dangerous. Because if he keeps showing up like this, waiting outside his office building like clockwork, people are going to start assuming things. He is going to start assuming things. Romantic, absolutely deranged things—

Matthew should disappear to the depths of hell.

It's unfair, Matthew’s brain scrambles for logic. He’s fresh out of the office, shirt slightly crumpled, tie loose, exhaustion written across every inch of him and Hanbin looks as if he’s been pulled straight from a daydream. There’s that stupid easy smile again, one that could soften mountains if it trie

“How long have you been waiting?” he finally manages, voice somewhere between disbelief and surrender. “How are you always here?”

Hanbin laughs light, effortless, with the corners of his eyes crinkling just so. “Not that long—”

“He’s lying. He’s been here for hours, I’m telling you. Holy shit.”

Matthew freezes at the unfamiliar voice. It comes from right beside Hanbin.

There’s another man standing next to him. Two of them.

Both young, both out of place among the office crowd. One is tall and broad-shouldered, the picture of quiet confidence even with his hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets. The other stands half a step behind him, lankier, sharp-eyed, and sporting the kind of grin that promises trouble.

Hanbin, completely unfazed, claps both of them on the shoulder. “Oh, right! This is Gunwook and Gyuvin.” He slaps the both of them again and whispers darkly, yet teasingly. “Behave.”

Gyuvin’s the one talking now, voice light with teasing. “We told him he looked suspicious just standing here smiling at the doors. Like, what if security called him in?”

Hanbin gives him a light shove without breaking his smile. “I wasn’t just standing here. I was waiting for someone important.”

Matthew blinks at the exchange, still trying to process how all three of them ended up outside his company building. He glances down at his wrinkled shirt, the faint smell of ink and coffee clinging to him, and feels wildly out of place next to Hanbin’s unbothered brightness and the two newcomers’ calm alertness.

“How long have you—never mind,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “And how do you even find out when I end work? Nevermind, don’t answer that, you’ve been waiting.”

Hanbin’s answer is as infuriatingly light as always. “I have my ways.”

Gyuvin smirks. “He means he stalks your activity.”

“I do not!” Hanbin protests, laughing, but Gunwook’s grin says otherwise.

The group starts walking toward the street together, and for a moment, it almost feels normal, like a casual hangout between friends after a long workday. The air smells of fried food and asphalt; city noise swells around them. Hanbin walks closest, his shoulder brushing Matthew’s every few steps, while Gyuvin drifts to the edge of the sidewalk, scanning traffic. He jumps in on the conversation once in a while, though he barely makes sense.

Gunwook keeps a subtle watch behind them.

It’s only when they pass a newsstand broadcasting the same looping HHA alert—“Villain Darkstar still at large. Civilians advised to avoid the central district tonight.” that Matthew catches the brief flicker in Hanbin’s eyes.

The laugh dies, the grin falters just slightly.

Gunwook notices too. Gyuvin looks away first.

Matthew sees something heavy sitting behind that smile— something he’s not supposed to know yet.

Hanbin looks at him and says, “You’ve been working too hard. Let’s get dinner, yeah?”

And Matthew, exhausted and a little lost, lets himself be led away by the man who shouldn’t feel this familiar flanked by two strangers who move like guards in civilian clothes.

It doesn’t take Matthew’s brain to know, the two figures are way too familiar. 

And they absolutely cannot act for shit. 

It’s painfully obvious, Matthew thinks, shoulders shaking as he stares across the battered table at Gunwook and Gyuvin. Hanbin’s picked the most random hole-in-the-wall ramen place along their walk, tiny yellow lanterns, walls scrawled with marker graffiti, the kind of spot that absolutely serves broth strong enough to knock your socks off at three in the morning.

Gyuvin twirled his chopsticks with the focus of someone defusing a bomb, nearly dropping them each time the ramen chef barked an order. He tried, leaning back, nodding absently, but the sudden flinch every few seconds gave him away. Gunwook, on the other hand, looked like he’d been caught cheating on an exam. Hood up. Back ramrod straight. Chewing his noodles like the bowl might explode if he slurped too loud.

Hanbin, somehow, doesn’t bother. He orders for everyone, laughs at the menu’s spelling mistakes as he talks to Matthew. But Matthew doesn’t miss the way Hanbin’s leg nudge the two opposite and gives a short glare.

Matthew nearly snorts broth. “Gunwook’s been looking at every exit for five minutes and Gyuvin’s sweating more than the soup.” He is exasperated. 

Hanbin’s chopsticks paused mid-air. For just a second.

Then, without missing a beat, he chuckled softly and reached across the table to pluck a bit of pork from Matthew’s bowl. “You notice too much,” he said lightly, voice like it carried no weight at all.

Matthew slouched back, the broth warm and heavy in his chest. He should stop asking questions, he tells himself. Should just enjoy the food, the company, the normalcy of Hanbin’s laughter beside him.

Except normal never quite fits around Hanbin. Not anymore.

Matthew has lived the past few weeks on high alert, his own best friend slash crush has been nothing but suspicious even though he’d also been more.. Protective lately.

Hanbin is laughing about something Gyuvin said (or maybe didn’t say, because the kid looks seconds away from combusting), and Gunwook just nods stiffly, pretending he’s never heard of human emotions before.

But Matthew isn’t listening anymore.

Because the pieces click, loudly, violently in his head.

Case one: the subway. He’d almost died. And that guy had saved him. Black mask, calm voice, the mark under his lip. The same damn spot.

Case two: Those HHA heroes, showing up the day Hanbin grabbed him by the arm like his life depended on it. Too coincidental. Maybe.

Case three: the rat situation. Two guys in matching tactical gear, shouting orders to each other like they were taking commands from someone higher. Someone who already knew Matthew’s name.

Case four: his boss. Fired overnight for crimes that no one should’ve been able to dig up that fast. Unless someone with power and motive— had decided to make it happen. All roads pointed back to someone who cared just a little too much.

His blood runs cold.

Maybe Sunghoon had something going on in his theories, and the two guys right in front of him might just be the exact cause Matthew has come to the conclusion.

Oh, my fucking god.

He stares at Hanbin, really stares this time. The way the older boy’s smile reaches his eyes, how easily he fills every silence, how his hand lingers just a little too long when he wipes a smear of broth from Matthew’s chin.

It’s warm. Familiar. Human. But was it safe?

Hanbin catches his gaze and grins, oblivious—or maybe not. “What’s with that face? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Matthew forces a laugh, but it sounds wrong, tight. If Hanbin is who he thinks he is— if he really is that masked figure from the news, from the subway, from everything, then Matthew’s sitting across from the most dangerous man in the city.

And he’s still stupidly, hopelessly in love with him.

Then maybe he should get the fuck away, because he is not dealing with this shit anymore, he’s now Matthew Error 404.

Matthew bolts from his seat, snatching up his bag, ignoring the shouts of confusion behind him— out of the small ramen shop, lungs burning, error 404 flashing in his brain. Hanbin calls after him, voice cracking with panic now, but Matthew is already halfway down the street, heart hammering, mind drowning in the truth he can’t afford to face. 

What can Matthew possibly think, now that his hopeless crush on his best friend is actually a vigilante on the run?

His mind is a tangled mess, sprinting down cracked city sidewalks as Hanbin’s voice echoes behind him. Part of him wants to scream—at Hanbin, at himself, at the whole fucked-up city. The realization burns its way through him with every frantic footstep.

How could he have missed it? All those moments, Hanbin showed up just when he needed saving, disappearing when the news flared, always too careful about what he shared. All the pieces had been right in front of him, but Matthew was too blinded by affection, too desperate for normalcy, to see the truth.

He’s angry at Hanbin. Furious. How could his best friend keep something this huge, this dangerous, from him? How could Hanbin spend years laughing, eating, hanging out like nothing in the world was wrong, while the city broadcast warnings with his face on every street corner?

But the anger rebounds. He’s angry at himself for not noticing sooner, for trusting too easily, for letting his own feelings cloud every rational thought. For believing Hanbin was just a little overprotective, not suspecting that every hug, every gentle touch, every lingering look was a form of shielding— not just affection, but tactical, necessary, secret.

He’s angry that Hanbin didn’t trust him enough to tell the truth.

He’s angry that he still wants Hanbin’s laugh beside him, even now.

That stupid part of him, the part that wanted stars plucked from the sky, aches to turn around. But it’s drowned by betrayal, by humiliation, by sharp, bitter disappointment.

“Matthew—Wait—!” Hanbin’s voice is closer now, desperate, stumbling. Matthew grits his teeth, fury surging up again, arms locked at his sides so nobody can see his shaking hands.

He wants to shout. To demand answers. To ask Hanbin if any of it was real, if the nights eating convenience store kimbap and sharing inside jokes ever meant anything, or if Matthew was just another civilian to be protected, manipulated, and lied to.

But the city is loud, and his heartbeat is louder. Right now, all Matthew knows is that loving Hanbin hurts. 

“What’s wrong—? You just ran off and—are you crying?”

Yes, Sung Hanbin, he’s crying. And he’ll never really blame you— only himself. Not in the way he blames himself for trusting so blindly, for wanting so much, for loving someone who was always half-shadow.

“What do you mean? I’m your best friend. Are you alright in the head? Are you sick—”

Hanbin reaches out, desperate, and Matthew swats the hand away. That gesture is everything, proof, regret, accusation all tangled together.

“Leave me alone, Hanbin.”

He spits the words out, voice shaking, entire body burning with the effort to stand his ground.

And then Matthew turns away, every step heavy, eyes blurred with angry, humiliating tears. He doesn’t look back.

Inside, every desperate part of him is wishing, praying Hanbin will chase after him, grab his wrist, pull him close, say something real for once. But the footsteps behind him never resume, not even when the street goes silent and his home is just a few blocks away.

When Matthew finally reaches his door, shoulders hunched, he knows the answer he didn’t want: Hanbin isn’t going to chase him tonight. And some secrets break things that love alone can’t fix.

–

Today counts the fourth day since Matthew realises, and Park Sunghoon stages an intervention.

Time flies. Matthew cycles through all the classics: moping, whining, endlessly dissecting every word, self-gaslighting on loop (“it wasn’t even that serious, maybe he was protecting me, maybe he never cared at all…”), clinging to denial like it might turn back time. He’s skipped work for four days straight, letting the missed calls and unread messages stack up buzzing in the dark corner of his discarded phone.

But Park Sunghoon, as ever, is a force of nature.

He bursts into Matthew’s room without knocking, arms loaded with snacks, energy drinks, and one of those face masks that look like cartoon bears (“for morale,” he claims, the polar bear one looks just like Sunghoon). He stands at the foot of the bed, surveying the disaster zone— Matthew cocooned in blankets, eyes swollen from sleeplessness, a fortress of tissues on the nightstand.

The door slams open without so much as a knock. “Good afternoon, zombie.” Sunghoon greets without preamble. He yanks open the curtains, flooding the room with sharp afternoon sun. “You look like you’re one sad playlist away from joining a boyband for broken souls.”

Matthew groans and burries deeper into the sheets, but Sunghoon is relentless, tossing snacks onto the bed. “You’re going to get up. You’re going to shower. And you are going to tell me everything, or I’m dragging Hanbin here myself and locking you two in a room, capisce?”

Somewhere under the burrito of self-pity, a reluctant, tiny laugh escapes Matthew. Maybe it sounds like defeat. Maybe it sounds like hope at the mention of said name.

Either way, Sunghoon isn’t leaving until he cracks open at least one window, and maybe, just maybe, the door Matthew’s slammed on the rest of the world.

“Damn.” Sunghoon mutters as he picks up Matthew’s phone and looks at the unread notifications. 

“Stop looking at my phone, dipshit.” Matthew grumbles, but he doesn’t do much action, instead grugging to finally wash up, and damn is he the actual dipshit because he looks just like one.

It takes him a whole hour to look at least presentable, and when he steps out and see Park Jongseong and Park Sunghoon staring at him on his undone bed, Matthew contemplates walking straight back into the shower and drowning.

Since when did sunghoon call jay over, and is this sly effort to talking to jay? What a win win situation, you sly fuck.

“Since when did you call him over?” Matthew hisses.

Sunghoon shrugs, shameless. “Since I realized I’m only half-qualified for emotional CPR. Jay’s the expert in crisis management. And he was the one with the most unread messages excluding Hanbin’s.”

Jay offers a small, knowing smile, voice low. “And by crisis, he means you.”

Matthew glares. “You two are sick.”

“Intervention committee, thank you very much,” Sunghoon corrects. “Mission: drag your sorry ass back to the land of the living.”

Jay leans forward slightly, eyes soft with concern. “You’ve been gone four days, Matt. You don’t answer texts, don’t show up to work— what’s going on?”

And just like that, the air thickens. The humor drifts to the edges. Matthew’s throat tightens again, like all the exhaustion and confusion and heartbreak are sitting right there, waiting for permission to spill.

He drops onto the floor, head buried in his hands.  “It’s Hanbin.”

Two words. Heavy enough to fill the room.

Sunghoon stops fidgeting. Jay’s expression changes slow understanding, the kind that comes with a quiet ache.

“Yeah,” Matthew mutters into his palms. “It’s always Hanbin.”

“I figured.” Sunghoon’s tone is maddeningly flat, like he’s diagnosing a cold. “Over five hundred unread messages is insane, so I clicked my brain and realized he’s the problem.”

Does this man want an award or something?

Jay blinks, hesitant. “Shouldn’t you have called Taerae or Hao then? I’m pretty sure Hanbin hates my ass…” His voice trails off, uncertain whether he’s asking Sunghoon or himself.

“Eh, not close to them,” Sunghoon says simply, cracking open a can of Monster like it’s holy water.

Matthew groans, sinking onto his bed and half-burying his face in a pillow. “They don’t know anything.”

Jay frowns. “Don’t know what?”

The question hangs. Too honest, too sharp. Matthew freezes for a second, realizing the pit he’s dug. They don’t know either.

He should’ve kept his mouth shut.

Sunghoon, of course, leans forward, elbows on knees, eyes narrowing with that half-curious, half-concerned stare that says he’s about to turn this into a therapy session. “So— enlighten us. What exactly do we not know?”

What was the point? But they were here already, and Sunghoon has theories while Jay technically there for half of everything Matthew went through,

He grips the pillow tighter, eyes darting toward the faint glow of his phone screen. There’s still a name on top of his notifications and he hates how part of him still wants to open it.

“He’s…” Matthew stops. The words knot in his throat. “He’s not who I thought he was.”

Sunghoon tilts his head, skeptical. “That could mean you found out he’s a dog person.”

Matthew glares weakly. “Not now, Hoon.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Sunghoon mutters, hands raised, though his voice is gentle too. “You’re serious.”

Jay’s gaze doesn’t move from Matthew. “What do you mean, not who you thought?”

Matthew exhales through his nose, shaky, almost laughing, the kind of laugh that hides a crack in the center of your chest. “You wouldn’t believe me even if I said it.”

“Try us,” Sunghoon says, quieter this time.

And Matthew does. 

—

He doesn’t remember the rest clearly.
 

Jay pacing. Sunghoon swears under his breath. The sharp hiss of a soda can bursts open and spills onto the floor.
 

Then nothing. Just the static ringing in his ears.

When Matthew wakes up again, the apartment smells faintly of instant noodles and rain. Someone, probably Jay, must’ve draped a blanket over him. His throat’s dry, his eyes ache, and the faint glow of the kitchen light spills across the wall like an afterthought.

The clock blinks at 3:17 a.m.

He sits up, slow, the world still slightly spinning. The apartment’s quiet now, too quiet. Jay’s probably gone, and Sunghoon’s snoring somewhere down the hall. On the coffee table, a half-empty can of soda rests beside a note in Jay’s hurried scrawl:

Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t go out there. He’s not the same anymore.

Matthew stares at the note until the words slip out of focus, turning to static in his mind. His chest seizes, a constriction he can’t swallow down.

What do you know about Hanbin, Jay? Were you watching him longer than me? Did you see the fault lines before I did?

Right, he needs air.

The rooftop door of his building creaks open with a reluctant groan. The city greets him with its usual hum, distant sirens, a motorcycle tearing down an empty street, the faint buzz of neon signs still clinging to life. The night breeze hits sharp and cold, tugging at his hair and the edge of his hoodie.

He steps near the edge, though keeping a distance, the world sprawling beneath him in dim orange light. It’s quiet here—eerily so. No one calling his name, no one hovering to protect or to lie. Just him, his heartbeat, and the memory of a voice saying, “I’ll give you the stars.”

He almost wishes Hanbin would appear again, mask, guilt, and all—just so he could ask if any of it was ever real.

But the city answers with wind, not words. 

“Matthew.”

He whirls, fist half-raised before he even thinks. The voice is low, urgent—real.

Hanbin stands under the security light, hair tousled by the wind, hoodie pulled tight, breathing slightly fast. Not the legend. Just Hanbin, raw and exposed and, somehow, haunted. 

The night clings to him like a shadow. His hoodie’s pulled up, the strings drawn tight, and his hair usually neat, usually perfect, is a disheveled mess caught in the wind. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. The dark crescents under his eyes aren’t subtle; they’re carved deep, smudged proof of exhaustion and guilt.

And his face. God, his face.

He looks wrecked.

“I—” Hanbin’s voice falters. He takes a hesitant step forward, hands open at his sides, like he’s afraid Matthew might vanish if he moves too fast. His throat catches on the word, hoarse from use, or from crying.

It shouldn’t hurt, seeing him like this. It shouldn’t make Matthew’s chest twist the way it does.

But it does.

The air between them feels stretched thin, fragile enough to shatter with a single breath.

Matthew’s guard doesn’t drop. He keeps his distance, shoulders squared, arms stiff at his sides. The city hums faintly below, but up here, it’s just the two of them, the betrayed and the liar, framed by rooftop silence.

“Why are you here?” His voice cracks more than he wants it to. The words come out like an accusation, sharper than intended.

Why now, why here, why him?

Hanbin drops his gaze. His voice, when it comes, is low, scratchy, barely holding steady.

“Because I couldn’t sleep,” he admits. “And I thought… you might be here.”

His eyes flicker up briefly, searching Matthew’s. “You always come up when you’re upset.”

A breath catches in Matthew’s chest. The worst part is Hanbin's right.

This rooftop has always been his escape, his place to breathe when the world got too loud. Hanbin knew that. Hanbin knows everything.

And that’s what makes it so unbearable. Because he knew nothing about Hanbin.

Hanbin shifts his weight, like he’s fighting the urge to step closer. The city lights cast a faint shimmer on his face, half angel, half criminal. His voice drops, quieter now, almost pleading.

“I just… wanted to see if you’re okay.”

Matthew wants to laugh. Wants to scream.

He’s not okay. And the fact that Hanbin still asks, still stands there pretending to care like everything hasn’t already fallen apart, makes his blood boil and his heart ache all at once.

He looks away, eyes fixed on the horizon where the night sky bleeds. The wind catches his hair, stings his eyes, and for a second he wonders if the stars above even know what kind of mess they’re looking down on.

He exhales, steady but trembling.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmurs, voice thin. “Someone might see you.”

Hanbin’s quiet for a long moment. When he speaks again, it’s soft, too soft.

 “I don’t care.”

And Matthew hates how part of him still believes that’s true.

Matthew’s chest is a furnace, rage, heartbreak, exhaustion all pressed tight beneath his ribs. Something inside him finally snaps, sharp and clean in the cold rooftop air.

“No. Stop— just— don’t, Hanbin,” he spits, taking a staggered step back as Hanbin instinctively moves forward. 

“Don’t pretend you’re here for me now. Not after everything. Not when you couldn’t trust me with the truth, not when you kept lying, showing up as whoever-the-hell you wanted me to see.”

The wind catches the moisture in his eyes; he blinks it away stubbornly, refusing to let Hanbin see him break again.

Matthew’s arms cross reflexively, protective. “You say you care, but you care when it’s convenient, when you want to swoop in and decide what I need, what I get to know.” His voice cracks, volume rising.

“Did you ever think— did it ever cross your mind that I would have stayed, even if you told me what you really were? Did it occur to you that I’d rather hurt with the truth than keep living in your shadow and not even know it?”

Hanbin flinches, jaw working, eyes rimmed red. “I wasn’t trying to—”

Matthew cuts him off, raw and forceful. “You weren’t trying to hurt me? You were just protecting me? Bullshit. You were protecting yourself. You were scared I’d run, so you made that choice for me. You wanted to be the hero, or villain, or whatever that nonsense is, and still keep me waiting on the sidelines.” His voice shakes with anger and something deeper. “That’s not care, Hanbin, that’s control.”

He’s breathing hard, the world tilted, the stars up above blurry— he doesn’t know if it’s from rage or grief anymore.

Hanbin’s hands drop to his sides. His voice is quieter, desperate. “Matthew, I—”

Matthew steps further back, out of reach. “Don’t. I don’t want to hear another half-truth. You stand there, telling me you didn’t want to lose me, but you never let me in. You never gave me the choice!”

His fists clench. “You don’t get to show up here, act like you’re the only one aching. You don’t get to be close, not after everything. Stay there.” His voice is final— cracked, scorched, but determined.

He wipes a hand across his eyes, swallowing the blazing, shattered edge of his anger. “Just. Stay. There.”

The city noise creeps in again, a living heartbeat beneath their rooftop silence. 

But Hanbin continues trying, he takes a step he thinks Matthew doesn’t notice, but Matthew moves back as well, matching 

“Matthew, listen.” Hanbin’s voice strains through the wind, raw and cracking like the tension between them.

“I am listening,” Matthew bites out, words trembling against his teeth. “All I’ve been doing is listening— to lies, to half-answers, to your silence—”

The cold air stings at his throat, every word cutting him open from the inside. His breath fogs out sharp in front of him, each exhale unsteady. Hanbin takes another step, slow but sure, like he’s approaching something fragile, something on the verge of collapse.

“Please,” Hanbin says quietly, the word nearly breaking apart. “Just let me explain—”

“Explain what?” Matthew’s voice rises, the rooftop swallowing it whole before spitting it back into the night. “That you’ve been one of them this whole time? That you saved me only to keep me under your watch like some experiment?” He shakes his head, a humourless laugh slipping through. “You think I don’t know what that mark means now? I’ve seen it before, Hanbin.”

Hanbin’s expression twists, remorse, fear, something more human than any legend could hold. His hands twitch like he wants to reach out, to hold, to anchor, but he doesn’t dare.

The wind rushes harder. Matthew steps back again, the gravel beneath his shoes scraping. The low hum of the city fills the silence between them, sirens far below, neon lights flickering against the wet concrete.

“I didn’t want you to find out like that,” Hanbin says. His voice is thin, trembling. “You weren’t supposed to—”

“Supposed to?” Matthew cuts in, eyes blazing. “You don’t get to decide that either.”

He moves back instinctively again, chest tight, every nerve lit. His heel scuffs against something hard, an uneven edge, just a little higher than the rest. He doesn’t notice. Not yet.

But Matthew can’t stop. The words tumble out, messy and uneven, cut through by the force of everything he’s bottled up for years. “You had every chance, Hanbin! Every chance to be honest! And I still—” His breath wrenches loose, half sob and half accusation. “I still wanted to believe you. I did.”

Hanbin’s reply is sharp and overwhelmed. “Matthew, please—stop—”

“Because I liked you—”

The confession rips out of him, raw and final, just as his next step finds nothing beneath it. The rooftop edge disappears; his stomach drops, heart leaping into his throat. For a split-second he’s weightless, gravel scattering into the open night as the city falls away beneath him. The world hangs suspended, time stretching out in disbelief and terror.

The next thing he sees is the way Hanbin’s face twists in horror, the kind Matthew’s never seen, not in all the years of easy smiles and teasing warmth. He lunges forward, hands reaching, voice tearing loose through the darkness.

“MATTHEW!”

Matthew falls.

Air rushes past, cold and sharp; memories flicker behind his eyes,late-night laughter, ramen dinners, that promise of stars. He’s flying, or maybe he’s falling, but for one aching instant, it’s almost peaceful.

This is it, he thinks, a wild backdrop of regret and longing. I just screamed my feelings to a powered vigilante who can tear steel, and now I’m going to die thinking he never cared. He’s going to think I was only ever angry— that I couldn’t forgive, couldn’t stay.

But the wind howls, and suddenly it’s not open air below him. He feels— the pressure, something fierce and unnatural coiling around him. Hanbin’s powers reach out, invisible hands grabbing, pulling, catching him before the ground ever comes close.

Matthew’s body slams into Hanbin’s chest when he sees the sole light of the rooftop, arms wrapped around him so tight it hurts, almost like a promise.

Hanbin’s breathing is ragged, breaking with tears and fear and something older, deeper. “Don’t ever say you didn’t matter. Don’t ever think I wouldn’t catch you.”

The city is gone; the world has shrunk to the two of them. One shaking, half-broken and newly, unbearably honest.

Matthew clings to Hanbin’s shirt, heart wild and shuddering. For a moment, all the anger, heartbreak, and longing finally find their voice—not in a scream, not in a sob, but in a trembling, repeated truth.

“I liked you. I wanted you, Hanbin. I—"

I fucking like you but I almost died

But the words stumble out over lungs that struggle to breathe, over the relief and terror clashing in his chest.

Hanbin holds him like he’ll never let go, power swirling around them—equal parts shield and comfort. “Matthew, I never wanted to lose you. Not once. I’m sorry—I’m so fucking sorry—”

Matthew’s chest heaves against Hanbin’s as if his lungs can’t decide whether to breathe or scream. Every part of him trembles- from adrenaline, from fear, from the whiplash of still being alive. The air between them crackles, faint blue threads of Hanbin’s power still lashing and retreating like sparks trying to find a home.

Hanbin doesn’t loosen his grip. His arms are steel, trembling with effort, pulling Matthew closer until the world can’t wedge itself between them. His voice cracks again, raw from shouting.

“Do you have any idea what you just—what could’ve—” He can’t finish. He chokes on the words, his forehead pressing against Matthew’s shoulder.

Matthew stares past him, unfocused. His vision blurs with tears that sting worse than the wind did. “I didn’t mean to,” he whispers, voice paper-thin. “I just… I wanted you to stop lying.”

Hanbin’s breath shudders against his skin. “I know.”

The lights from the city stretch below them like veins of molten gold, the world indifferent to how close he came to vanishing. Matthew’s fingers clutch weakly at Hanbin’s hoodie, the fabric damp with cold and sweat. “You shouldn’t have caught me,” he murmurs, more to himself than anyone. “You should’ve let me fall.”

Hanbin jerks back just enough to meet his eyes, and Matthew sees it there— the kind of grief that lives bone-deep, something ancient and quiet and unbearable. “Don’t ever say that again.” His voice is low, steady, a command pulled from the pit of his chest. “If I hadn’t caught you, I would’ve jumped after you.”

Matthew flinches, his pulse tripping. The words hit like impact—no hesitation, no metaphor, just truth. The kind that burns.

The rooftop light flickers overhead, wind pushing through the silence they’ve made. Hanbin’s thumb brushes the edge of Matthew’s jaw, tentative, reverent, as if asking permission that will never be given out loud. “I should’ve told you. From the start. About what I am, about why I couldn’t stay away. But I thought—if you saw what I really was, you’d look at me like everyone else does.”

Matthew’s laugh breaks, half-sob, half-sound of disbelief. “And now look at me,” he says, voice unsteady. “Screaming at you on rooftops and nearly dying just to make you honest.”

Hanbin almost smiles, almost, but it folds before it reaches his eyes. “You make me want to be,” he says softly. “Even when it hurts.”

The night hums around them, alive with their exhaustion, their heartbeat, the wind curling close as if to listen.

Matthew’s head tips forward until his forehead rests against Hanbin’s collarbone, his voice a breath. “I still hate you for lying.”

“I know,” Hanbin murmurs. His arms tighten around him anyway, like an anchor. “But I’ll take that over losing you.”

Matthew finally doesn’t pull away. He just breathes, uneven, shaken but real.

The city doesn’t stop for them, it never will,  but from where they are, the rooftop feels like the only place left in the world that’s still holding its breath. 

They still have so much to talk about.

–

“I’ve liked you since the day we met.”

Matthew all but chokes, spluttering into his ramen as Hanbin’s voice lands clear and unguarded across the cluttered table. The gentle clatter of spoons, the distant rumble of city construction beginning, and the soft hiss of the instant noodle kettle are the only witnesses in the room. Sun-chased night leaks through the window, a faded constellation or two lingering deep in an inky sky just on the edge of being blue.

It’s close to dawn. And there’s nothing better than late-night honesty and slurping soup in mismatched bowls. There’s nothing like existential terror to sharpen the appreciation for cheap carbs.

Matthew wipes his mouth, heart pounding, still half-stunned by both falling off a building and falling into the gravity of Hanbin’s words. The silence stretches, awkward, thick with all the things that could never quite be said until now.

“Are you—are you seriously dropping this on me over noodles?” Matthew manages, voice creaking between a laugh and a wheeze.

Hanbin looks up, and it’s almost unfair how sincere he looks—hoodie half-zipped, hair sticking out in uneven tufts, eyes rimmed red from exhaustion and too much emotion. “It’s the best time, isn’t it?” he says softly. “You’re alive, and I can’t keep pretending. Not after tonight.”

Matthew opens his mouth, ready to argue or tease or say something, but Hanbin beats him to it with a quiet, almost embarrassed murmur, “You also did it before falling.”

Matthew freezes. His face ignites. “I—”

Hanbin smiles then, small and wrecked and so full of feeling it nearly knocks the air out of Matthew. “Still want the stars?” he asks, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Matthew shakes his head, laughter bubbling up, freer. “Not really,” he says, voice gentle. “I think I already got what I wanted.”

Hanbin blinks, confused, and before Matthew can say another word, Matthew feels a finger tilt his chin up. The touch is featherlight, trembling, careful. Hanbin’s eyes flick down to his lips for half a second, then he leans in.

It’s barely a kiss. Just a brush of warmth, fleeting as a spark. But it’s enough to shatter the fragile space between them.

Hanbin jerks back almost immediately, face blooming crimson. “S-sorry,” he blurts. “I just— wanted to do that—”

Matthew laughs. It bursts out of him, messy and breathless. “Why wait longer?”

And before Hanbin can process, Matthew tugs him forward by the hoodie strings and crashes their mouths together. This kiss is nothing like the first, it’s dizzy and clumsy and full of everything they’ve been holding back. Relief. Anger. Want. The taste of cheap broth and sleepless dawn.

The world narrows to the sound of slanted breathing and heartbeat and the faint hum of the city waking outside. Hanbin cups Matthew’s face, thumb trembling against his cheek, like he still can’t believe any of this is real.

Clatter.

Their heads snap toward the sound. A phone lies face-down on the floor by the hallway. And in the doorway stands Park Sunghoon, hair sticking up like he fought a war with his pillow, hoodie halfway zipped.

He blinks once. Twice.

“I don’t want to know what I just saw,” he mutters flatly. “If you two just made up— good for you. I’m going back to sleep before I start hallucinating again.”

He turns, closes his door, and they hear the distinct click of his lock.

Silence.

Then Matthew bursts into helpless laughter, collapsing forward onto the counter. Hanbin groans, covering his face with both hands, but the corner of his mouth gives him away.

“Great,” Hanbin mumbles, muffled. “Now he’s never letting me live this down.”

Matthew grins, cheeks still pink, eyes warm. “Good,” he says softly. “Means I won’t have to either.”

Outside, the sky is pinking into day, city sounds stirring to life. Their noodles have gone cold, but neither of them moves to reheat them. They just sit there— two idiots in the half-light, hearts still racing, hands finding each other across the cluttered table.