Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Matthew wakes up late the next day alone in Hanbin's bed. He stretches and his dream slips away from him slowly.

In his dream, he'd been with Hanbin in a green room somewhere, sometime in the future, music muffled through the walls. Hanbin had been on top of Matthew on a dingy couch with a ripped cover and Matthew can still feel the wetness Hanbin's mouth left on his neck, his jaw, his cheek–

Well. Maybe it's not from the dream. Matthew rolls to one side and there's blood on the pillow under him, and on his hand, and on his cheek, jaw, and neck, too. Great. His shirt is probably ruined. He liked this shirt.

Matthew pulls himself out of bed, and then immediately gets his feet tangled up in the mass of blankets Hanbin used as a makeshift floor mattress. He stumbles and catches himself on the edge of Hanbin’s dresser. It's convenient at least, because he'd gone to dinner in jeans so he’d slept in just his boxers; he catches a breath and opens one of the drawers to borrow a pair of sweatpants. Hanbin still lays out his dresser the way he always has, with his shirts in the top left corner, pants right under that, everything else in the bottom drawers.

He puts on the first pair he sees and makes a plan: clean up in the bathroom, get some food, be normal. Sure. It’s easy when he makes it simple like that.

He steps out into the hallway, covering the bloody half of his face with one hand as he starts to walk to the bathroom.

Park Hanbin calls out to him from the couch. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

Matthew uses his free hand to wave over at him. He doesn’t look up or stop until his Hanbin speaks up from the kitchen.

“Did you–“ he starts, and he looks over at Matthew from the sink. He had been washing plates, pink rubber gloves pulled on, steam billowing in the air around him, but he’s paused now.

“It’s fine, hyung.”

“What’s wrong?” Park Hanbin asks.

“Nothing, I’m okay.”

“Come here,” Hanbin says. “Let me help.” 

Matthew opens his mouth, fully intending to refuse, and then his voice dies in his throat.  He just pouts against his hand and resigns to it. He thinks that he might have been wired incorrectly when he was born, or all the time he’s spent with Hanbin in his life has physiologically changed him, because even when he’s dead set on being independent and tries to be self-sufficient, he is always, always weak when Hanbin is the one offering. He’s maybe forgotten since they were split up, but it’s hardly even worth it to try and say no to him. Hanbin’s care and concern are unstoppable forces.

Matthew leans his back against the kitchen counter. Hanbin pulls his gloves off and starts wetting a fresh towel.

“I bled on your pillow,” Matthew says, so Hanbin doesn’t get spooked when he sees it later. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” They're close enough that it's quiet, a little raspy. “I have to do laundry today anyways. Don’t worry about it.”

The towel is warm when Hanbin presses it to his face. It smells like lime dish detergent and Hanbin runs it over his cheek, over his top lip, and lightly presses it to the underside of his nose. It feels like a memory, because Hanbin has taken care of him like this before, and because he can still feel the phantom of his dream where it’d been Hanbin’s fingers pressed dry into his face instead of a dish rag. Matthew holds on to Hanbin’s bicep and closes his eyes.

“You had a nose bleed?”

Taerae is sitting at Hanbin’s small dining table, apparently. Matthew hadn't noticed yet. He looks over and past Hanbin’s shoulder at him.

"Yeah,” Matthew answers. Conversation number four, he thinks, it could have been better. Hanbin’s fingers push into his jaw when he moves his mouth to speak. “It’s just– it’s dry here in the winter. Never got used to it.”

“I lost that old humidifier last time I moved,” Hanbin says. “I’ll buy a new one.” Like he isn’t going to be moving out of this apartment, too, in a month and the chance that Matthew will ever be able to take advantage of it is unknowable. Like Hanbin doesn’t know it won’t help either way.

“You don’t have to,” Matthew says.

“I will. We can get one today.” Hanbin replies, and that’s that. He makes one final swipe with the towel under Matthew’s ear, and then he’s gone. Matthew’s hand slips from his arm, and there's a little blood on his skin that must have come from Matthew’s hand. It’s sheer over his tattoo.

“Oh, hyung,” Matthew says, and Hanbin freezes. “Your arm. Let me–” Matthew takes the towel from Hanbin’s hand to return the favor, takes a clean corner and wipes away the mess.

“Thank you,” Hanbin says.

“It’s the least I can do.”

“No,” Hanbin taps Matthew’s cheek twice with his fingers and then he’s gone. “I meant thank you for letting me help you.”

“Oh,” Matthew says. He blinks a couple of times and looks at Hanbin ringing out the towel over the sink. I love you, he thinks, I loved you before I even met you. Except there are two other people within earshot, and they’re both too nosey for their own good, and Matthew has to remind himself that he wants the people around him to think he’s normal, so he doesn’t say that. “Thank you.”

Hanbin smiles. “I’ll make you some tea if you want? Coffee?”

“Yeah,” Matthew affirms, keeping his voice cool and even as much as he can with his heart beating out of his chest. His head hurts, a little sharp like a hangover is trying to catch up with him. He probably just needs water, but– “Coffee sounds good. I’m– I’m gonna take a shower.”

He showers quickly and then slips back into the borrowed sweatpants, rolling the waistband over itself once so the fabric doesn't bunch up around his ankles as much. His shirt is definitely ruined, and none of them had planned to sleep over so he’ll have to borrow something else to wear.

Matthew pushes the door open enough to stick his head out. All three of the boys are sitting on Hanbin's couch now, with the television playing quietly. Hanbin turns over his shoulder and looks at Matthew. 

“There’s coffee in the pot. And I made eggs if you’re hungry,” Hanbin says, and then he must suddenly connect two dots in his head, because he stands up and says, “Hold on, let me get you a shirt.” And then he walks to his room.

Matthew wants to decline his help for a split second, because Hanbin’s already done so much but– he’s Hanbin’s guest, technically, as much as being in Hanbin’s space feels comfortable. He probably shouldn’t have even borrowed the sweatpants without asking. Those would be normal boundaries to have. He wraps a towel around his shoulders for something close to modesty, his tragically ruined shirt balled up in his hand, and he follows Hanbin.

Hanbin’s flipping through hangers in his closet when Matthew gets to him.

"You can take this." He hands Matthew a crewneck, smooth and unwrinkled from being hung up instead of folded. "Hold onto it. I can try and clean yours later.”

“You don’t have to,” Matthew says. He’s a broken record and constantly contradicting himself: always wanting Hanbin, wanting to have him there to support him and then wanting to shy away when it feels like it’s cutting too close to the bone.

“I have the things to treat it here already. I can wash it with the pillow.” He makes a good point. Matthew doesn’t have anything like that back at his dorm because he’d settled on buying black sheets and hoping for the best. Hanbin walks around Matthew to get to the bed, and he shakes the pillow out of its case. The damage there isn’t that bad, really; his shirt is much worse off.

“Taerae was telling me about a procedure they can do where they– It sounded gross, but they go into your nose and they can cauterize something up there and it stops you from getting nose bleeds.”

“Cauterize?” Matthew asks.

“They burn it.” Hanbin takes Matthew’s shirt from his hands. “He said it doesn’t hurt at all, though. They numb it and it only takes a couple minutes and it's over. It just itches for a few days.”

Matthew's read about that. He’d written it off as something that wouldn’t be of any help to him. “I don’t know if that’d help.” Too honest. He should think before he speaks more often. “It– sounds like it would kind of suck.” 

“It’s worth a shot, you know? You–” Hanbin takes Matthew’s towel, too. “Put on some clothes. You deserve to take care of yourself, so you should think about it.

“Okay,” Matthew says. “I’ll think about it, hyung.” He pulls Hanbin’s sweater over his head and tries, really honestly tries, to mean it.

Hanbin drives everyone back to where they're supposed to be, leaving Taerae and Park Hanbin at the rear entrance of the WakeOne dorms and then turning back in the opposite direction to bring Matthew to MNH.

They’re quiet at first, but it’s comfortable. Matthew steals glances at Hanbin’s hands on the steering wheel and at his neck when he turns to check his blind spots. Hanbin lets Matthew pick the music.

Matthew speaks up halfway to their destination.

“Do you have any plans for tonight?”

“Ah,” Hanbin says. ”Sort of.” Whatever that means.

“What does that mean?”

“I’m seeing some of my classmates tonight,” Hanbin says. “There’s this bar that just opened that they wanted to check out.”

It strikes Matthew right away that he would not have been able to pry that information out of Hanbin dead or alive six months ago. He should try to act like it’s not a massive deal so they don’t take one step forward and two steps back. “That sounds fun.”

Hanbin glances at him for a second, taking his eyes off the road. Matthew looks up at the rearview mirror.

After a pause, Hanbin asks, “What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Do you have any plans?”

“Oh, Matthew says, “I guess not. I might see Yoonsung-ah tomorrow. Maybe go shopping.”

“Well,” Hanbin says, “That sounds fun.” He says it in a put-on voice, like he’s trying to imitate Matthew, and then he presses his lips together like he’s trying not to smile at his own attempt at a joke.

“Oh, shut up,” Matthew says as soon as he realizes what’s happening. It comes out with a laugh. He swats at Hanbin’s arm. “I do not sound like that.”

“You sound exactly like that,” Hanbin says, smiling in earnest. He blindly swings back at Matthew even while he visibly tenses, focusing on trying not to swerve. Matthew fights back because it’s fun, and because it makes Hanbin laugh, cracks him open a little bit more. 

“Okay, okay– Stop, stop, you’re gonna make me crash,” Hanbin says, choked out when he tries to stop laughing. “Your fans would be so sad if you died like this. They’d hunt me for sport, Seokmae-ah, really.”

“Alright, alright.” Matthew settles back into his seat, still smiling. “Don’t kill us.”

Another song plays from beginning to end before either of them says anything again.

“Are you nervous about eliminations?” Hanbin asks, unprompted.

Matthew thinks anyone in their right mind would be nervous. Matthew’s rank was in the middle of the pack and then it jumped up, so he doesn’t really know what to expect. It’s never been enough to see success in his sleep, because they’ve had a rug pulled out from under them before. He’s always anxious, now, and he’s always been a little desperate.

“I guess,” he answers. It’s less alarming than saying he doesn’t know what his life could possibly look like if he doesn’t debut. It’s enough to keep Hanbin from worrying about him any more than he already does. 

“You’ll be okay,” Hanbin says. “You know you were fifth. And you have the benefit, too.”

Matthew knows too much, both generally speaking, and more specifically about these kinds of shows, for that information to do anything to help him.

And he should probably let it go, leave it at Hanbin’s reassurances, but he can’t make it sit right with him. He tests the thought of it out, rolls it around in his head, tells himself, yeah, it’ll be fine, and it makes him bristle, like his mind is rejecting it.

“We’ll see how it goes.” It’s a passive kind of rejection that makes him feel a bit better, at home with his skepticism.

”Have some faith in yourself,” Hanbin says, still smiling like this is an easy conversation to have. It probably is for him, all things considered.

“It’s got nothing to do with me.” Matthew feels a headache coming on. His face feels warm when he touches it with the back of his hand, so he leans against the car window and feels a bit of relief at how cool it is. He closes his eyes.

Sometimes it feels like nothing that happens to Matthew has anything to do with what he’s done at all, like it’s all just stuff that’s happening around him, and he’s just being swept up in it all like a jellyfish in currents. That’s another one of those things Matthew used to think about a lot: free will, and how it may or may not apply to him. He’s never wanted to risk anything to try and find out, never been that willing to self-sabotage.

Hanbin puts a hand on Matthew’s knee and shakes his leg gently. “Do you feel okay?”

“Yeah,” Matthew says. “I’m a little carsick.” It’s not the truth. Hanbin is about to say, you should keep your eyes open, and then, looking out the window helps. They’d been at Cube when Matthew dreamed this.

“You should keep your eyes open. Looking out the window helps.”

Matthew squints a glance over at Hanbin to make sure he’s looking at the road, and then he puts his hand on top of Hanbin’s, keeping it where he’d first placed it. “I just need a second.”

Hanbin hums and he doesn’t move his hand, and Matthew breathes a little easier. He feels better by the second, but as his head clears the reality of his situation starts to dawn on him. Getting nauseous last night, having a nose bleed this morning, and getting nauseous again, in the kitchen and here in the car, all in less than twenty four hours. He can’t remember a time when it’s been this bad so repeatedly. 

This is the part of being on the show he’s tried not to consider. They can be close to each other all Matthew wants but it’s like– a glue trap. Because this is always a risk. He walks right into it, and then he’s stuck like a turtle flipped on its back, sick and exposed and needing Hanbin to touch him to keep something worse from happening.

It’s twisted because it’s always been like this. It’s always been Matthew voluntarily running face-first into Hanbin and just holding all his issues in his hands and hoping he doesn’t drop them on impact, slipping up sometimes but rebounding well enough to get by.

Matthew can imagine it: seeing Hanbin from across the room, seeing him do something mundane but predestined nonetheless, getting caught off guard by it and then getting sick on the floor. In front of the cameras. In front of everyone.

“Hey,” Hanbin says. “We’re here.”

Matthew opens his eyes. He might have drifted off, or been close to it. He gets out of the car and walks around to the driver’s side of Hanbin’s car, standing on the curb. Hanbin rolls down his window so they can say their goodbyes.

“You’re sure you feel okay? Do you want me to bring you anything?” Hanbin asks.

It’s a lot, Matthew feels like, to be doted on like this by him. He doesn’t feel like he’s outgrown it, and he doesn’t really want it to stop but the looks of concern Hanbin sends Matthew’s way are always so much to deal with, to be the target of. With the show going the way it has been. With the way proximity to Hanbin has been making him feel.

“Yeah,” Matthew says. “I’m alright.”

And then Matthew’s mouth goes ahead of his brain. He leans forward, puts his hands on the edge of Hanbin’s car window.

“I’ve been taking care of myself for a while, you know, so– please don’t worry about me too much,” he says. “Just keep doing your best.”

“Oh.” Hanbin freezes for a second, mouth open, and then he frowns. Matthew keeps talking.

“If you can make it I’ll be okay. That’s what I need. Worry about making it.”

Matthew watches Hanbin take a breath through his nose. He’s resting his arm across the top of the steering wheel, so his hand is hanging in the air. He’s picking at the skin around the nail of his thumb with another finger and he never seems to realize he’s doing it.

'“Okay,” He nods, a little stiff. “If that’s what you need.”

Matthew nods and adjusts his bag on his shoulder, stands up straighter.

“I’m sorry you’re not okay,” Hanbin says. He looks upset, which isn’t what Matthew wanted. Brow furrowed, mouth pressed into pout. It makes Matthew ache.

“It’s fine,” Matthew says. “Really. If there was something else you could do about it I know you would have done it already.”

“That’s–“ Hanbin starts and stops. Flexes his hand. “Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?” he asks.

Matthew feels like crying, suddenly, like his body just can’t believe he’s done it enough. Not being understood is the worst part of all of this. Knowing that nobody in the world knows every part of him. I wish you did, he thinks, I wish I could tell you. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

“I can tell you later,” he says. The words leave his mouth before he can think to stop them. He sniffs and stares at Hanbin’s pinky finger.. "When everything is over I'll tell you."

He wants to regret it, feels stupid and impulsive in the moment when the words hang between them. But Hanbin smiles, so it feels okay. It makes a home somewhere in Matthew’s chest and it feels inevitable.

Hanbin leaves him there. Matthew’s dorm is eerily quiet in a way he hasn't gotten used to because hasn't been around enough to acclimate to it. The air is cold and stale and the kitchen is almost barren except for an unopened five-pack of ramyeon collecting dust on the counter and some bottles of water in the fridge. It's getting late. Matthew goes to bed early. He figures it'll be his last chance to get a good night's sleep before they're back into the cycle of practicing, so he'll take it. He doesn't dream.

Eliminations are long. It’s a lot of sitting around and waiting for names to be called, and going up and down from their seats to the risers.

Matthew had ranked fifth last week. His hopes aren’t really that high, but he isn’t called when his team gets called up. When the top eleven rankings are called, neither Hanbin nor Matthew is called up for ages, so maybe he’s been underestimating himself. Or he’s dead last, somehow, and he’ll go home after this. He’s managing his expectations.

And then– 

It’s just them. It’s Matthew and Hanbin standing at the base of the white rings of chairs, and there are two empty benches for them. It feels like nothing has ever mattered more. Matthew knows in that moment what he's always known. I need him. I need to do this with him. It won't be okay unless it's us. I won't be okay unless we're together. Regardless of what is or isn’t set in stone, this would have always been true, and he knows himself enough to know this isn’t a feeling he’s ever going to be able to shake. Maybe he’ll die with it burning him from the inside out. It’d be a good way to go, Matthew thinks.

He feels sick with it, and literally sick from the memory, but when Hanbin holds his hand he feels better. He still cries a lot, which he might get made fun of for when he talks to his sister after this, but that’s, like, the last thing on his mind. Hanbin is holding his hand. They both wore their rings. Hanbin digs his teeth into his bottom lip and looks up at the ceiling like he’s going to cry and it makes Matthew cry harder.

After everything else melts away, it's validating. It's a big deal to be first and second. Matthew feels shaken by it and steadied at the same time, feels scared of what might happen down the line, but– this part went right. He did everything he was supposed to do and he got this at the end of the day. It feels correct, more than anything.

They get into the swing of things quickly, sorting out into new teams and moving into the three-person dorms. It’s starting to feel familiar, like they’re settling into a cycle. Prepare, practice, perform.

And Matthew feels like his footing is a little uneven. He’s leading his team this time, and it’s not something he’s used to but he wants to do well. He tries his best but it’s just– off. He doesn’t always know what to do and it gets worse day by day. Every practice is a little more difficult than the last, and their first evaluation is a disaster.

Jiwoong catches him on it.

The thing is that Jiwoong is new to him. They hadn’t talked much, if at all, before ending up on the same team together, but he’s ranked high, right up there on a metaphorical three-person podium with him and Hanbin, and he held Matthew’s hand when they were all called up. Apparently, that was enough for him to figure out what Matthew needs to hear. 

It was obvious enough that they weren’t moving in the right direction. Something needed to happen. It's still a hit to Matthew's pride in the moment, to know he wasn't able to manage it on his own. To know he wasn’t able to do it without help. That’s something he has to work on, maybe: accepting help from new people. It’s a little miserable but Jiwoong is patient and understanding and it makes something click into place in Matthew’s head, so he starts to slow down, starts to let things happen again without trying to micromanage and it gets easier.

They’re good, but it’s weird. It feels off because Hanbin has always been Matthew’s person to rely on in this kind of way, but he isn’t here and he might not have even known what to say to help. He might know, honestly, if he’s heard it second-hand from Gyuvin, and that’s a thought that Matthew hates. Either way, he isn’t around.

Matthew has to keep reminding himself that he’s the one who told Hanbin not to worry about him. They've both been busy with their own teams, obviously, on different sides of the building. They've seen even less of each during this mission than they had during the last one, when their rooms had been on separate floors and it’s pretty obvious why.

Hanbin and Zhang Hao spend a lot of time together.

It’s– honestly, Matthew still feels mostly okay with it. Mostly. Maybe less okay than he was last week, but it isn’t eating him alive or keeping him up at night or anything. He would probably have guessed this would be the case, based on literally everything that happened during the last mission, because Hao and Hanbin spent a lot of time together then, too. The most significant difference is that Matthew and Hao were roommates then, so Matthew was there for a lot of it.

Hao was always nice to Matthew, always friendly, and Matthew has nothing against him as a person or in any other context. He just misses Hanbin, is all. He didn’t think that asking Hanbin to focus on himself would mean that they wouldn’t see each other at breakfast, ever.

Matthew works through it. He focuses as much as he’s able, and now that everything is a little lighter it’s not quite so hard or exhausting. They're getting fitted for their stage outfits, and then bused out to the venue for their last evaluation and dress rehearsals, and Matthew and Hanbin smile and wave at each other from the opposite sides of the room and it’s fine.

Hanbin does find him, in the spare minutes before they have to go out on stage as one and two together, ahead of the seven next closest people.

Hanbin is his normal self again very quickly once they’re standing next to each other, and Matthew is relieved enough to be standing next to him at all that he finds it in himself to relax. Hanbin doesn’t hesitate to get into Matthew’s space, and it’s like there was never any between them to begin with.

He fixes Matthew’s hair and straightens out the shoulders of his jacket. He looks very serious about the whole thing and it makes Matthew feel warm to his toes. The muscles in his face hurt from smiling and part of him hopes everyone else can see, all the other trainees who Hanbin’s gotten close with. He wants them to see how familiar they are with each other. He takes care of me. This is what we always have been to each other. He feels a little performative with it, a little possessive. It’s the distance, maybe, that’s turned him into this.

“This jacket is ridiculous,” Hanbin says. 

“I know,” Matthew says. “They wouldn’t give me a shirt. I'm gonna freeze to death.”

Hanbin takes one of Matthew’s hands in both of his. “That’d be a mess of a lawsuit,” Hanbin jokes. He rubs his thumbs into Matthew’s palm. Hanbin’s hands are warm and it does make Matthew feel better, even more settled in his skin and thawed out in that little way.

Hanbin doesn’t let go of his hand when they walk out on stage together. It’s just them, to Matthew. First and second, and everything else is blurry in the background.

They don’t get a break after their performances, this time. They go straight into preparation for their next stages, without even waiting for eliminations, which is maybe a bit cruel, but it’s how everything works out. Everything about all of these shows is cruel, intentionally or unintentionally.

Matthew and Hanbin are voted into the same team. It’s a bright concept, which they’ve both been hoping to get a chance at this whole time, so it’s a blessing. Being in the same practice room as Hanbin is something Matthew has been hoping for just as much since– maybe since Hanbin first mentioned auditioning, Sharing a stage with Hanbin is familiar to Matthew in the weird, supernatural way that Hanbin has always been familiar to him.

Maybe this is what they need. If they do well together, maybe everything will work out the way Matthew has seen in his dreams. If it doesn’t go well, it might be a sign that he’s got it all wrong. That he’s been wrong this whole time.

So Matthew tries as hard as he’s always tried. They get off on the wrong foot, despite his efforts. It might have been because of his efforts. Matthew thinks he’s being helpful and it doesn’t quite work right.

It’s a little tense between the two of them. Hanbin is giving Matthew space still, sticking closer to Hao and Gyuvin at meals despite being separate teams. He’s still taking the whole not-worrying, asking for space thing seriously. It hurts as much as it helps, which isn’t how Matthew thought he would feel. It feels like he’s had a limb amputated. He thought he needed to have done it. Helping and hurting yourself can be the same thing, sometimes.

The threat of eliminations hangs over everyone, and then it comes and it's over like nothing for Matthew.

His rank drops, and Hao is sitting where he used to sit. It’s almost like a joke someone could write, if there was a punchline. It’s a little humiliating. 

So, he’s in fifth place, like he had been right before he was in second. One step forward, one step right back.

He survived, at least, so he thinks he should be grateful. Everyone on their team ended up surviving, actually, which is nice but it means they have to reshuffle.

Matthew surprises himself when the Switch team comes over looking for volunteers, because he finds himself considering the song in a serious capacity. Looking at the choreo and hearing it twice over, it almost seems like something he would enjoy doing. He remembers that any song could be his last, though, and that if he leaves there’s no guarantee he’ll have the chance to be on stage with Hanbin again so– he stays. He watches Taerae leave of his own accord and then they vote people out until there’re only five of them left.

What happens after that is a nightmare of interpersonal conflict. It could not have gone worse. It’s a death spiral.

Matthew gets pushed from his part and he knows he doesn’t react well, is the thing. He leaves the practice room to cry about it with cameras trained on him and he feels dejected and hurt and embarrassed and– really, truly, he feels like he messed up and he should have switched teams when he had the chance. He would have been going up against Kim Taerae, of all people, for a vocal position so it would have been a fight, but the choreo would be more impressive and he wouldn’t be getting hurt by people he trusted, he’d just be getting hurt in the regular old way that this show is designed to do.

That initial pull he felt towards the other song must have been the universe trying to steer him away from this, this messy, horrible situation and now he’s stuck with the pain and the unease of it all.

He had looked away from the signs, he thinks. It’d blown up in his face.They change parts and it’s miserable and awful and everyone keeps looking at him like they’re trying to figure out how to defuse a bomb, and Hanbin talks to him like he’s talking to a child and it makes it worse. They move on with practice and with their evaluation even though Matthew barely knows his lines and feels the worst he’s felt during this entire show and they just– work. They work through the mess and hope it gets better. 

It doesn't get better.

Hanbin and Matthew don’t have a real conversation outside of practice for days. Matthew isn’t trying to avoid him, really, but it seems like Hanbin is, more than before, even. Matthew is trying not to stress about it because he brought it on himself with everything, the pushing and pulling and asking for too much.

Hanbin catches Matthew in the cafeteria, eventually, just as Matthew’s about to head back up to his room. He’s wearing shorts and a sweater, tennis shoes and white ankle socks.

“Come on a run with me?”

Matthew looks around, thinking there might be a camera crew somewhere. “Right now?”

“If it’s not a bad time?”

It’s not an ideal time, to say the least. Matthew’s stomach will probably start cramping up because he literally just ate and it’s too dark out for it to really be entirely safe, even with the obnoxious street lights dotting the property. But, Hanbin is at least talking to him.

“Give me, uh,” Matthew thinks through it, the elevator ride up and how long it’ll take him to change into different shoes. “Five? Five minutes?”

“Just meet me out front,” Hanbin says. “Take your time.”

Hanbin is waiting outside, like he had said he would be, six minutes later. Matthew sees him through the glass doors, and there’s a producer with him, talking.

Matthew thinks it figures. Of course it’s a thing for the cameras. Matthew and Jiwoong already hugged and made up about everything, and he and Hanbin haven’t yet. His fate’s as good as sealed, though, as always, so he swallows his distaste and meets them outside. His sneakers feel light on the concrete.

“Ah, there you are!” Hanbin is smiley and overenthusiastic. He reaches for Matthew’s hand as soon as they’re close enough and starts pulling him along, and then he looks over his shoulder to the producer.

“We won’t go far,” he tells her. Matthew watches her grumble and go back inside, and he reels over it for a second while he resets his expectations.

“What was that about?”

“They wanted to send a crew with us.” He lets go of Matthew’s hand and starts to jog. “Come on, before she can get someone out here.”

Matthew lets his body take over. Hanbin lets Matthew keep pace, which is nice because Matthew has to take almost a step and a half for every one step Hanbin takes. Spring has been coming out in full this last week, so it’s not as cold as it would have been a couple weeks ago, but the sun set hours ago so it’s chilly regardless. Hanbin doesn’t say anything as they take a couple laps around the lake, and then loop around the parking lot. 

They're on the far side of the auditorium, in the shadow between the building and the tree line when Hanbin stops him. It's not really enough to be considered much of an impactful workout but Matthew's got his heart rate up and Hanbin's skin is flushed pink. So they stop.

"Sorry I dragged you out here," Hanbin says. He's still breathing heavy, and he sits down on a cinder block that looks– almost intentionally placed. There are three of them set up in something like a wide triangle. Matthew looks down at Hanbin's feet and sees a handful of cigarette buds, some disintegrating and some still bright yellow. "Nobody comes here. There’s no security cameras or anything.”

“You come here a lot?” Matthew thinks about how Hanbin used to go out and never tell him anything about what he was doing, always saying a lot and nothing at all, all over Matthew’s head, leaving him to read between the lines.

“No,” Hanbin says and he shakes his head. A drop of sweat flies out from his hair. “I didn’t have any reason to, I thought, but–” He trails off, not fully there. Matthew tries to bring him back.

“But what?”

“They aired this– thing,” he starts, slow. “Last Thursday. Someone had their phone the other day, and they saw a clip of it.”

“What was it?”

“Me and Hao-hyung,” he answers. Matthew’s stomach drops. “It wasn’t anything, like, bad. I just thought they wouldn’t air it, and then they did.”

Matthew tries very hard not to think about what it could have been. He looks at the sleeve of Hanbin’s sweater where the cuffs are fraying from being picked at. “That sucks.”

“I know.” Hanbin digs the tip of his shoe into the grass and doesn’t look up. Matthew feels kind of useless in the face of this, of Hanbin worrying himself over something that Matthew doesn’t understand and has no idea how to fix. 

“It’s fine,” he continues. “I just wanted to talk, like,” he takes a deep breath and it leaves him in a sigh, “I don’t know, without all the pressure. The producers are like vultures, sometimes.”

He’s got a point. And they’re set up for it, now, here, without anyone around to impose any expectations on them or distort anything. Matthew still doesn’t know what to say that’ll make the situation between them any better. You have to be able to look the problem in the eye to figure it out and they are both experts at beating around the bush.

The issue in front of them is that they don’t know how to talk to each other at all right now, but the roots of it are deeper than that: Matthew has never been honest with Hanbin and Hanbin lets them stay at arms-length in those ways, because he doesn’t really talk about anything that matters either.

They’re on a team now, though, and maybe they’ll be on a team in the future, and they have to learn how to communicate in a way that doesn’t make Matthew want to quit everything and go home. They have to meet somewhere and just make it happen.

So where does that leave them? Matthew wanted a part that his team decided he wasn’t meant to have. Matthew still wants it. Hanbin put his foot down and said no, and until now they haven’t been talking.

Matthew starts. “Are you upset with me for wanting the part?”

“No,” Hanbin answers, shaking his head. “Is that what you thought?”

Matthew sits down on the block next to Hanbin and stretches his legs out in front of himself. “We haven’t talked," he says. "So I didn't know what to think."

"I'm not mad at you for that,” Hanbin reiterates.

Okay. Well, it’s a good start.

Hanbin picks it back up. “Are you mad at me for giving your part to Seungeonnie?”

It seems redundant to ask at this point.

“Yes,” Matthew answers. “I’m less mad now, but– I felt like you didn’t trust me. Like you thought I’d fail if I did it, and you didn’t care if I didn’t have enough lines.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Hanbin says. “You know I– I should have handled it better.”

“Yeah, well,” Matthew says. He lets himself be bitter, lets it show for once just to get it out of his system. It sits heavy in the air.

“God,” Hanbin says. “This is awful.” He pulls his knees to his chest and tucks his head, forehead to his knees, pushing his hair up into odd, imperfect shapes from where it’d still been sweat-stuck to his skin. He looks smaller and younger than he is.

Matthew feels so out of his depth, because even when Hanbin has felt clearly overwhelmed in the past, Matthew never caught himself in the path of it. Hanbin always had someone else he’d go to, because Hanbin’s always treated Matthew like his kid-brother so he’d hide away with other people and then come back and act fine. But now it’s Matthew’s fault that Hanbin is so bent out of shape and Matthew must have been chipping away at his armor because he’s being vulnerable and sad right in front of Matthew and there’s no net to catch him.

“I know,” Matthew says. “Everything about this has been hard. I know we knew it would be, but–” Understanding something to be true and living through it are two ends of a horseshoe. “I don’t know. It’s hard in different ways.”

“Right,” Hanbin says, sounding not any better than he did before. “I don’t think we could have known that it would be like this. We’ll– I think we’re going to be okay.”

“It just sucks right now,” Matthew supplies, working with what Hanbin is giving him despite the fact that he has his own doubts about how true it is. Whether everything will be okay, really.

“We’ll be okay,” Hanbin says again. More certain. Hanbin doesn’t say things he doesn’t believe, always sincere, and it helps Matthew feel better even though he may not be saying it for Matthew's sake.

“Yeah.” Not fully convinced but somewhere closer to it.

Hanbin leans back again, arms wrapped around his knees, looking more like himself. Gentle, familiar. “Is there anything you wanted to talk about? Other than this?”

Matthew thinks. I’d like to tell you my whole life story—all the little bits I’ve left out, now that we’re at it. I’d talk about anything you wanted if I didn’t think I’d ruin this anymore that it’s already been ruined. “Not really.”

It turns out alright. 

Matthew is good at this concept, in the end. They get a warm reception on stage. Hanbin ranks first on their team, which is, like, finally. Matthew feels a little sick in the waiting room when their ranks are revealed, but Hanbin holds his hand again, so he’s alright.

He still sits next to Hao after and holds his hand, too, but he held Matthew’s hand first.

Hao’s team wins the whole thing. 

Matthew goes back to MNH during their final break.

The first thing he sees when he turns on his phone is a text from his sister telling him to stay off social media. Anyone having to say that for any reason is inherently alarming, but she video calls him and gives him the rundown and he deletes all the social media apps he still has from his phone before she’s even done. He works out, calls his mom, sits around and boots up his computer to play whatever game will keep his brain busy while the clock ticks down.

When everything is said and done in a couple weeks, Matthew thinks he’ll only be stopping by this place to pack up his things. The question is if he’ll be going home or moving across town, really.

The stakes are kind of insane, waiting to find out who makes the cut for the finals and then finishing the damn thing. It's unfathomable on its own for anyone, probably, and every time Matthew tries to justify it against what it’ll mean for him, for his dreams and his future, it’s completely overwhelming. It makes Matthew feel more than ever like he’s in some weird game put on by a cruel higher power, like a psychological torment hole designed to make him unstable. So he doesn’t think about it when he can help it. He doesn’t look at Twitter and he minds his own business and just waits.

Matthew’s rank drops so much at the last elimination.

It’s not a shock, really. All things considered. 

Ninth place. Hanbin and Hao are one and two still, and Matthew’s hardly in it at all. 

All he can do is keep pushing. It hurts, of course, but there isn’t any time to feel upset and dejected about it, he’s learned. He’s growing in that little way, the type of growth that makes your bones hurt but it happens anyways, forced by circumstance.

So Matthew goes for the killing part on his team, and he does get it in the interim before the official verdict comes in, and then Matthew loses the killing part to Hao.

And– he did everything he could, he thinks. Matthew hugs Hao and congratulates him and tells himself this isn’t the worst thing that could possibly happen over and over again until he believes it. Hao hugs him again, after, so maybe he didn’t do the best job of hiding his disappointment. It’s like another test, maybe another sign he should have picked a different position or a different song. He pushes out his regret by welcoming in single minded focus on practice.

Their last week of practice is intense from beginning to end. Everyone is verging on delirious, from both the stress and the fact that none of them are sleeping all that much these days. They find fun in what they can as a mechanism of survival because it's better than stopping and thinking about what comes after this.

On Saturday, Hao asks Matthew this: “Are we friends?” 

Apropos absolutely nothing, sitting on the practice room floor. The sun went down hours ago and they’re both still here, learning their new parts.

“Yes?” Matthew says, and he tries to sound certain but it wavers, because he has no idea what’s happened that would make Hao ask this.

“You’re friendly with everyone,” Hao says. It’s not a question, it’s barely even a prompt for further conversation, but Matthew does what he normally does and talks more anyways.

“Is there something wrong with that?” He unzips his track jacket because it’s making him feel like he can’t breathe.

“No,” Hao says, “But people have a hard time figuring out what they are to you because you talk to everyone so much.”

“Oh,” is all Matthew can say. He takes a drink from his water bottle and finishes nearly half of it. Hao is still looking at him, expectant.

“We’re friends,” Matthew says. “Do you think we should be closer?”

It seems pretty late to be having this conversation. This is all going to be over within the week, and it makes this all kind of seem like a waste of breath, because Matthew is in ninth place and he has all of two lines in this song so he might go home, while Hao is all but guaranteed to make it.

Hao hums and nods. “I’d like that.”

Matthew says, “Okay.” It still feels too committal. Hao looks him up and down and Matthew feels awkward and exposed, like Hao is trying to see through him down to his muscle and bones.

“Do you feel threatened by me?”

“What?”

Hao blinks, and then asks again, “Do you feel threatened by me?”

What a question that is.

The thing is that Matthew knows Hanbin. He knows that Hanbin is determined and kind and stubborn in his own way when he feels like he needs to be. Matthew knows how Hanbin takes his coffee and what music he listens to in the shower and how he curls in on himself and digs his nails into Matthew's shoulders when he comes, maybe, hypothetically, in a world where Matthew gets what he wants.

He keeps half the things he knows about Hanbin sewn into his pockets and pushed up his sleeves, because he isn't supposed to know Hanbin in the ways he does, because it's all wrong, all off, all wildly inappropriate. Stolen. But Matthew has all this, and Hao doesn’t.

So it is what it is. Hao is whatever he is to Hanbin, if either of them even knows what that is, but Matthew is something to Hanbin, too. Matthew stews in his visions and takes what he can get when he can, holds on to everything Hanbin gives him, and maybe their whole mess of history and opaque, half-conversations will clarify into something different, but maybe Hao got there first. Matthew has spent so much time preparing himself for something like that– preparing himself to be wrong. He’s spent hours staring up at ceilings convincing himself not to fall for anything his brain may come up with in the dead of night because it’d hurt too much to believe it and never come close.

Matthew zips his track jacket back up.

“No, I don’t.” Probably not any more than anyone else in this room does, Matthew thinks, which is what Hao is getting at under his posturing.

Hao seems to consider this. Takes a sip of his water, too, and then screws the cap back on slowly while he swallows. Matthew looks at the side of his face. The mole under his eye. Hanbin had drawn one on just like it, when they’d taken pictures with the MelOn records. Matthew has a mole, too, further to the side.

“Okay,” Hao says. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“Okay,” Matthew says. “Cool. That’s fine.”

They sit next to each other at meals together after that. Hao plays his little games of flattery and then watches Matthew’s reactions before he laughs. Matthew thinks he can physically feel his boundaries being scoped out.

Sometimes Hao watches Matthew in the practice room mirrors while he’s going through a section of the dance in their downtime, and Hao will say, “good, that was good, you’re doing well.” Which isn’t a lot, but it isn’t nothing, and it feels good.

They’re far too busy to have any conversations that go deeper than surface level, which Matthew is cool with because would prefer to avoid that, the same way he’d like to avoid everything else about Hao that still makes him feel like he’s two seconds from breaking out into hives. If this is what being friends is like it isn’t much different than before, except Hao has managed to work slapping Matthew’s ass into his choreography. Which is something, too, he guesses.

They have a lock-in sleepover in one of the practice rooms that night, and it makes Matthew nervous. They’ll be filming, and Matthew falls asleep easily in any condition, which means Matthew is putting himself in a bit of danger. It’d be worse to get sick in front of seventeen of his peers than it would have been to get sick in their little dorms, with two or three witnesses. He hasn’t had any issues in the dorms at all, thankfully, so he has no real basis for being worried, but that’s never stopped him before. It’s hard not to expect the worst, for Matthew, even if he doesn’t have control over it in the end.

The worst does happen.

Matthew’s dream is short. It’s simple, too.

Matthew is on stage, wearing his gray and pink suit jacket, and his name is called. He cries through his entire acceptance speech, and then he walks up an impossibly tall set of stairs to take a seat on a silver bench with the number three printed in purple on the back of it.

Hanbin and Hao’s faces are shown side by side when the first place candidates are announced. Matthew can see them both clearly, which is–

It’s a first. It’s new and it’s important, he knows. 

It almost doesn’t matter that they have two massive cameras pointed at them, because Matthew watches Hanbin break down into tears within moments, and Hao comforts him. Hanbin’s forehead is pressed into Hao’s shoulder, Hao’s nose and mouth against Hanbin’s neck. Two cameras broadcasting the same picture on those huge screens. Hao’s name gets called first. 

Matthew wakes up, and he’s sweating against his candy-cane-striped neck pillow. He’s horrifically nauseous, on top of feeling light-headed and disgusting. The lights are off and it’s almost pitch black, and he rolls over and crawls across the floor to where he knows Hanbin is sleeping.

Hanbin is in Hao’s arms, with his head under Hao’s chin. It’s sweet. From this angle, it’s close to what Matthew just saw in his sleep. He almost feels bad for waking Hanbin up, because he doesn’t want to ruin it, but he does it anyway. The moment Matthew’s hand touches Hanbin’s arm, the bite of nausea starts to ease up, just a little. Magic. 

Hanbin stirs a bit, rolls onto his back, and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. He opens his eyes and looks up at Matthew, his face a little puffy and sweet. He makes a noise, wordless but questioning and confused, Matthew manages to find it all sweet regardless of how shitty he feels.

“Hyung,” Matthew lowers his voice to a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Hanbin pushes up on one elbow to look at Matthew properly. Matthew’s hand slides off his arm when he moves, which is less than ideal, and Hao is looking more awake by the second. Matthew should have seen that part coming. He can’t find it in himself to be particularly bothered by it like he might have felt if he had dreamt of literally anything else.

“Are you okay?” Hanbin’s voice is low and scratchy and Matthew wants to be honest with him. This is probably the last stretch of time he’ll have to really tell Hanbin anything that matters and have him potentially even believe it.

“No,” he says, “I feel sick.”

“Matthew-ah?” Hao is awake now, too.

“Sorry, hyung.” Matthew’s doing a lot of apologizing and it’s only half sincere.

“You’re–” Hanbin takes his attention back. “What do you mean, sick?”

“I needed to be in the bathroom, like, thirty seconds ago, I’m just– I feel nauseous.”

“Okay,” Hanbin nods. “Okay. Are you able to stand up? I’ll come with you.”

“Can I–” Hao starts, and he cuts himself off when both Matthew and Hanbin look back at him. “Is it okay if I come?”

Hanbin looks at Matthew like he’s waiting for an answer. Matthew looks at Hao and studies his face in the low light of the practice room. He starts to get that weird feeling again, like he’s in two places at once, because he’s the Hao of today, looking small and soft and very kind, and he’s Zhang Hao tomorrow where he has glitter on his hands and wrists and he’s shining and holding Hanbin the way Hanbin is supposed to be held. 

Matthew tries to nod, but he winces when it makes his head hurt sharply. He opens his mouth to say sure, you can come, but he feels–

His nose drips, hot and wet, and a red spot of blood hits the comforter Hanbin’s pushed down around his waist. Hao gapes at him.

“Oh, Seokmae-ah,” Hanbin says, sitting up on his knees. “What are we going to do with you?” 

Matthew has no answer to that. He pinches his nose before Hanbin has the chance to tell him to. It’s routine, even here.

Hanbin gets his hands on Matthew’s back and shoulders to help him keep balanced while he stands up, and Hao doesn’t follow them right away.

“Hao-hyung,” Matthew says. “Come on.”

Hao scrambles to his feet, and the three of them walk out of the practice room together.

They don’t run into anyone in the hallway. Hanbin doesn’t take his hand off Matthew’s back, which keeps the worst of his nausea at bay. The lights are bright and fluorescent and they definitely don’t make Matthew feel better. 

Hanbin steps away from him to open one of the stall doors. He steals a roll of toilet paper, wraps a bit of it around his hand before tearing it off and handing it to Matthew, and then handing the roll to Hao. 

“Do you need water or anything?” Hanbin kneels down by the sinks and starts looking into the cupboards under as if he’s likely to find anything. Matthew tries to answer but he feels bile rise up in his throat and he just groans, lurching towards the toilet bowl and–

Hao puts his hand on Matthew’s back. And his stomach settles. Instantly. “Woah.”

“Are you okay?” And Hao sounds as choked by shock as Hanbin used to sound, before this was something he’d accepted as a thing that happened to Matthew with some regularity.

“Yeah,” Matthew manages. “Yeah, just don’t– don’t move.”

“Oh– kay.” He’s still surprised by everything, but he listens. Hao stays very still with his knees bent awkwardly, hovering over Matthew with one hand on him and the other holding toilet paper, and it does help.

Hanbin pulls the stall door open from where it’d fallen shut. It creaks loudly.

“If you need water I need to go ask for some, I think,” he says.

“Are you–” Hao starts, incredulous. “You’re joking. He needs to see a doctor, Hanbinnie.”

“I’m fine,” Matthew says. He backs away from the bowl and leans on his haunches, and he does feel fine, or close enough to it. So he sits all the way on the floor against the stall door.

“Your nose is okay?” Hanbin asks, sinking to the floor next to him. He comes to Matthew with a damp piece of toilet paper and his nose didn’t really bleed that bad to begin with so he doesn’t have to do much.

Matthew puts a hand on his forearm. Old habit.

“Hanbin-hyung,” he says. “Do you remember what I told you? When you drove me back to my dorm?”

Hanbin stops and leans back, kneeling still, sitting on his heels. He looks like he wants to either laugh or cry. “If you’re going to ask me not to worry about you right now it's not going to work.”

“Not– No. I mean, after that.”

Hanbin’s mouth twists up. “That you would talk to me after we were done with the show?”

“Yeah,” Matthew nods. “Yeah, I think I need to tell you now.”

Hanbin raises his eyebrows. “Right now?”

“Yeah, right now. Come here.”

Hanbin stares at Matthew hard for a few seconds, and then he sits down on the tile properly, legs crossed. “Okay.”

Hao is still standing over them, exceptionally confused. “I can– I can go if you don’t need anything.”

Matthew grabs the leg of his pants and tugs. “No, stay.”

Matthew doesn’t really know much of anything for sure, but he knows this: Hao is in this too, for him, as much as Hanbin is. However it will look is– who even knows. It’s something fresh, sprouting green out of the dirt for the first time into spring, and maybe Hanbin felt the same way when he first met Hao. Maybe Matthew missed another sign somewhere, earlier.

“Stay, please.” Matthew tugs harder and Hao goes. He tries to hide a grimace as he crosses his legs and settles. Bathroom floors aren’t ideal but they’re an adaptable bunch, so they’ll cope with it.

“So,” Matthew says. He doesn’t know what to say after that.

“So,” Hanbin echoes, drawing it out. The corner of his mouth twitches up, teasing. It makes the weight in Matthew’s chest a little lighter.

“You have to believe me when I tell you this,” Matthew says, because he thinks he needs to start picking up steam so he can just spit it out. Because this is the last chance he has to tell them, maybe, because the universe just gave him something so obvious and timely. He'll have to carry the weight of everything he knows if he doesn’t tell them now and he might lose his chance. “It’s crazy. You probably won’t believe me.”

“It’s okay,” Hanbin responds. Sincerity all the way down. It makes Matthew feel like– it is okay, actually. That it will be okay, and he can say it.

“I know the name of the group. And I know where we’re going to place tomorrow.”

Hanbin and Hao stare at him. 

“I don’t understand,” Hao says.

“Okay, so–” Matthew tries to start, and then he buries his face in his hands and shakes his head. “This is so weird . I don’t know how to say this at all.” His confidence has started shrinking rapidly; he should have planned it out, written up a big speech. 

“How do you know the name of the group? Start there.” Hanbin says it gently.

“I–” Matthew takes a deep breath. He’s hated having to lie and talk around this for so long but being honest is so, so much harder. He lets his hands fall to his lap and Hanbin reaches for him, laces their fingers together. “I saw it in a dream.”

It sounds so insignificant when he says it. Like it’s some simple thing.

“Right before I came to Korea I started having these dreams.” He really should have planned this better. “I started having dreams where we were in a group together, or we were roommates in a different dorm or we would go on this show together.”

Nobody says anything. Matthew still feels, just– all over the place. Can’t quite get everything out in an order that makes sense. Start over. “Wait, I can– I can start from the beginning. It’s, uh– When we met at Cube. Like, the first time I saw you.”

“Oh,” Hanbin says, brow furrowed and focused like he’s grasping at this, too, like he’s really trying to follow along and Matthew feels bad for making it so hard. Making everything more complicated than it needs to be. Hanbin sits up a little straighter. “You got a nose bleed.”

Hao says nothing and still looks like he’s processing. Matthew wonders how much Hanbin has told him about their time at Cube. How honest Hanbin was with him.

“I recognized you from a dream I’d had. I dreamed about you and I didn’t really think much of it and then I saw you in that practice room and I just knew. That it had been you. But I thought maybe it was some weird coincidence, like– They say you can only have dreams about people you’ve seen before, so maybe I'd watched a video of you on Instagram or something and my brain ran with it, but it was definitely you.”

“Wait, wait,” Hanbin says, “You thought it was a coincidence? Past tense?”

“Yeah.”

Hanbin blinks. “So you don’t, anymore. You don’t think it was a coincidence.”

“I had more dreams after that and it was, like, obvious. What was going on.”

“I don’t–” Hanbin squeezes Matthew’s hand, a little crushing. “What was going on?” 

“I was dreaming things before they happened.”

There it is– stunned silence. Hanbin looks over at Hao, who just looks like he’s thinking. Listening.

“So what happened? That made you think– I don't know, you were seeing the future, I guess?”

"No, I mean– I–" Matthew stammers. "This is– I know you think I'm crazy, but it's not that I think I can see the future. I know I can.” And if he hasn’t gone off the rails yet he’s definitely gone now. “Normally it's just– little things, like I'll just dream about us hanging out and then a few days later you'll say the same things that you did in my dream. But everything is the same, it's– everything is always the same. And I’ll get like this,” he gestures to his face, the room around them, generally. “When something happens. Like some of my dreams will set it off, or when something happens that I’d already dreamed.”

Hanbin stares. “And you dreamed about the show, too. You dreamed about Boys Planet.” 

“I’ve dreamt about it a lot,” Matthew says, nodding “It’s– more important things, sometimes.”

“So you had a dream tonight, then? And that’s why you felt sick?”

“Yeah,” Matthew says. “It was, uh. The show, tomorrow.”

“And that’s how you know what happens?”

“Well.” Matthew recatalogs everything he’d seen earlier, pins up all the details in his mind to make sure it’s still fresh. “I know part of it.”

“Isn't that kind of convenient? Hao asks. It’s sharp. A little accusatory, and he’s definitely less likely to believe Matthew than Hanbin is, because at the very least Hanbin has a backlog of physical evidence that lines up with what Matthew is saying. Hao is seeing and hearing everything for the first time and he’s also a somewhat normal, level-headed person, so he’s fundamentally more of a skeptic than Matthew could ever imagine being himself.

This is all Matthew has, though. He has what basically amounts to a prophecy spelling out their future, and if he’s right they’ll have that evidence, too, by this time tomorrow, and that is as much as he can give them.

“I mean– Hao-hyung, it has to be like this.” He’s a little desperate. “And this about you, too. I wanted you to come with us for a reason.”

That throws Hao for a loop, maybe. “What do you mean?”

“You were in my dream,” Matthew says. “Tonight, I could see your face.”

“Why does that matter?”

“I hadn’t seen you before. Or– I’ve never seen anyone else before, other than Hanbin-hyung.”

“Oh,” Hao says. Hanbin’s mouth drops open for a second before he can get his expression under control again. 

“It was just me?” Hanbin asks. “What, this whole time?”

“Yeah,” Matthew says. “Yeah, this whole time. From before I met you until today, and now it's just you and Hao-hyung.”

Hanbin looks down, away from Matthew’s face and– he's looking at their hands. Linked together. Their rings bumped up against each other. “Okay.”

They fall into silence. Hanbin looks severely lost in his own head and it’s still something that makes Matthew nervous, something he doesn’t know how to handle.

“I can tell you our ranks,” Matthew says. “If you want to know, or I could write it down and you can look at it tomorrow.”

“You can tell us now,” Hao says. And it makes sense, because if Hao doesn't believe Matthew it doesn't hold any weight to him either way. Hao puts a hand on Hanbin’s leg, above his knee. “If Hanbin-ah wants to know, too.”

Hanbin nods. “You can tell us.”

“Alright.” Here goes nothing. “So, I’m third, and then,” he hesitates. “I’m third, and you guys are– you’re first and second.”

Hanbin and Hao ask, at the same time, “Which–”

“Sorry,” Hanbin says. “Which one of us is first?”

Matthew looks between the two of them once, twice, and says, “Hao-hyung.”

Hanbin looks at Hao and settles his own hand on top of Hao’s on his leg.

“I’d be okay with it,” he says. “If it happened like that.”

“Stop that,” Hao says. “You– We don't know what'll happen.”

“Okay, but, hypothetically,” Hanbin carries on, saying it anyway. “I would be okay with it.”

Hao slips his hand out from under Hanbin’s.

”We’ll see what happens.” He’s tense, more because of Hanbin than because of Matthew, and it shows in his shoulders and the line of his jaw. “You said you know the name of the group too?”

“Yeah,” Matthew says.”I mean– I guess, yeah.” Hao seems eager to move on and Matthew actually hates the energy that’s been created by this conversation so far, so– sure. He’ll take the way out.

“Uh,” Matthew recalls it, tries to make it make sense in his head. He'd only heard it, never saw it. “It’s, like– ZeroBaseOne, I think. That’s what it sounded like when we said it.” It’s a little clunky saying it for the first time.

Hao covers his mouth with his hand.

That could mean any number of things. Matthew presses. “What is it?”

“Sorry,” Hao says, and he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Sorry. I hope that’s not the name.”

“Why?”

“It’s nothing, I promise it’s– This is a bad time.” Hao is doing an awful job at covering up how amused he is by something about this. It’s lightyears better than him looking like he wants to run away, so– sure, this is fine. This is better.

Hao waves his hands in front of him and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. Please go on.”

“I mean, that’s it,” Matthew says. “There’s not really anything else to it.”

Matthew’s shown all the important cards that he has right now, and he’s still got a million little things he’s held back on but whether or not he’s going to share those depends on how tomorrow goes. So it’s not the full truth but he’s done what he feels like needs to be done, and everything else can come later, maybe.

Hanbin squeeze Matthew’s hand. “You know I never doubted that you would make it.”

Matthew leans back and lets his head hit the wall. “I hate that you can say stuff like that.”

“Why?”

“I just– can’t be as sure as you are about these kinds of things. It helps to hear but it makes me feel jealous. And frustrated.”

“I’m sorry,” Hanbin says.

“Please don’t be,” Matthew says. “It probably had to be like this, right? If everything works out tomorrow then it means we did it all right.”

“It just doesn’t really seem fair,” Hanbin says. “That you had to struggle so much.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it isn’t fair.” Maybe it's a toughest battles, strongest warriors kind of thing. It makes Matthew feel a little better to frame it that way, where he’s less of a victim.

“Do you have any questions?” Matthew asks.

“I mean, yes,” Hanbin answers. “But it can wait until tomorrow, right? Once we know.”

Matthew wishes Hanbin would just ask and get it over with, because they've opened the can of worms and it’s going to be all Matthew can think about, but– he's right.

Hao nods, too, and he starts to stand up. “We should probably get back before someone starts looking for us.”

And Hao is right, too. They've already stolen enough time and everything’s just ticking down, still. The sun will come up soon and Matthew will do what he does: act like he doesn’t know anything. 

Their bubble bursts. Hao offers his hand to pull Matthew up and he takes it.

Hanbin pauses outside the door of the practice room before they go in. He holds onto Matthew’s wrist.

“It'll be okay,” he whispers. “Whatever happens, you'll be okay.”

The finale is surreal from the start.

It feels different being in an unfamiliar building on a new stage, so much bigger than the one that they've grown used to. And there are so many seats that it's almost inconceivable that every ticket’s been sold, that every seat should be filled. That Matthew’s family will be standing that close to them. It doesn’t quite make sense.

It’s three songs. Maybe the last three performances Matthew will ever put on, so he does everything he can. Leaves it all on the stage like it’s the only thing he knows how to do. The most important thing he’s ever done.

Matthew thinks he probably didn’t make it if he hasn’t made it yet. He was ninth last week. There are only four spots left, and third just seems so high. There are so many people who are still down on the floor who shouldn’t be. There can’t be enough room for him.

The waiting keeps dragging on and on and on and he looks up at the rafters and thinks about how Hanbin and Hao will probably tell Matthew’s mom that he’s actually clinically insane and then he’s going to get admitted to a mental institution. Maybe they’ll lobotomize him if he asks nicely enough, so he won’t have to deal with the ruins of a life that are going to be left for him in Vancouver when he goes home. Maybe he can go live in the mountains, or go find some small town and work part-time or go to college and try to move on. Maybe–

His name gets called.

Matthew thinks maybe this is what it feels like to be at the core of a star, when the clouds of space dust get too heavy and collapse in on themselves, burning under their own weight in a vacuum.

He cries through his speech and hardly remembers what he’d said at all the moment it’s done. He remembers the look of pride Hanbin had given him from his spot on the risers more than anything, but really he just took the mic and talked and talked and then, suddenly, he was walking up the stairs and taking a seat on that ridiculous bench. Silver, with the number three. On top of the world.

Hanbin and Hao are announced as first and second place candidates. It was never a shock to anyone, except maybe Hao.

Hao holds Hanbin, and then Hao places first, and Hanbin is second. That’s much more of a shock

First, second, and third. It’s funny the way things work out in the end. Everything falls into place. The sun, moon, and stars, floating through space, spinning slowly, bending time around themselves.

There are a lot of things Matthew has seen that haven’t happened yet. This is just another step. He has a lot he still has to tell Hanbin, to figure out with him and work out with Hao and– where is he even meant to start with that? But they can start, now, and Matthew’s already gotten over the hardest part of it, so all that’s left is to get to wherever it is they’re going.

They’ll be living and working together for two and a half years. It was always meant to be them. Always. It feels like fate. 

Matthew goes straight to their new dorm after the finale. It’s far too late to reasonably get dinner with his family and there's nothing he needs at his old place so it just makes the most sense.

It’s surreal. It’s familiar. He knows these walls, knows this kitchen and the couch. He goes straight to the room he knows will be his and he knows the beds, too, and the way the light will stream through the curtains in the morning.

He’s by himself for all of five minutes. He spends the time poking around and observing, looking for anything that might be different than what he expects. He doesn’t find anything.

Hao shows up with Ricky in tow, convenience store bags tied to their luggage. Matthew’s frozen in place somewhere by their oversized dining room table.

“We, uh,” Ricky starts. “We got some food, so we can have something to eat before the managers bring us groceries tomorrow.” He says in English.

“Is it just gonna be us tonight?” Matthew asks.

“Taerae-ssi might be coming. It seemed like he might go back to his dorm, though, and come over in the morning. I’m not sure.”

“Oh.” That would make sense. It’s kind of upsetting to think about it for more than two seconds. “Okay.”

Hao pulls off the bags he’s got and hands them to Ricky. “Can you put these up?”

Ricky takes them and grabs his own before disappearing into the kitchen. Hao looks at Matthew.

“You got to look around already?”

“Yeah,” Matthew answers. “There’s not too much to see.”

“Give me a tour then?”

Matthew takes it as the invitation it is. The place is nice, definitely nicer than any accommodations Matthew’s had before, but all the bedrooms are identical except for the one furthest down the hall, which has a door that leads directly into its neighboring bathroom. There’s not much to show.

“This is your bed?” Hao asks. He steps into the last room and looks over to where Matthew had dumped his bag as soon as he’d arrived.

“I just put my stuff down.” Matthew unzips his duffel bag so he can do something with his hands. Hao sits down on the next closest bed, pushed into the corner.

“Did you already know this was going to be your bed?”

Matthew pauses. It’s weird. “I did,” he says. “Do you believe me?”

Hao scoots back and leans against the wall. “I believe that you believe it. I need more evidence first.” Very non-partisan. It’s better than a no, so Matthew will take it.

“So calling you as P01 wasn’t enough?” He’s teasing, smiling because he can’t help himself. He feels happy, from being here in this space that he was promised, and because even though Hao doesn’t believe him, he cares enough to sit and ask and listen anyways. 

“Ah, I should have more faith in myself than that, right? It wasn’t that much of a stretch.” He says it like a joke, too. Like he’s playing along.

“Sure,” Matthew says. “Hanbin will be in the room next door.” That’s something else he knows.

Hao squints at him, his right eye closing a bit more than his left, but he’s still smiling. So it’s a bit of a game. “Which bed?”

Matthew pretends to think about it. “The one closest to the closet.”

“I’ll keep an eye on it, then.”

“My record is pretty good,” Matthew says. “I think it’ll be okay.”

“Have you–” Hao pauses, pouts for a second while he thinks. “Have you ever been wrong? Has something ever gone differently than you’d dreamed it?”

Matthew looks away and pulls a handful of clothes out of his bag. “No. Not yet.”

“What made you so unsure of what would happen then?” He asks. “You were so worried.”

“I have this idea stuck in my head that I might do something wrong without knowing,” Matthew says. He folds up a t-shirt and sets it down on the comforter. “You don’t get, like, a handbook, when this kind of thing happens. I just do everything I can and hope for the best.”

Hao presses his mouth into a line. “That makes sense.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think that’s what I would do. I still did everything I could, after you told me I’d be first.”

“But you didn’t believe me,” Matthew points out. 

“You only sound like you believe yourself half the time,” Hao refutes.

Matthew opens his mouth to respond–  to explain himself, but then his phone rings, zipped up and muffled in the side pocket of his bag.

It’s Hanbin. Matthew answers it.

“Hey,” Matthew says. “Aren’t you driving right now?”

Hao tilts his head to the side and mouths Hanbin’s name, questioning. Matthew nods.

“Yeah. I feel like I’m about to fall asleep.”

“You know you didn’t have to drive yourself. You shouldn’t complain so much,” Matthew teases. “Hold on. I’m here with Hao-hyung, I’m putting you on speaker.”

Matthew sits down on the edge of his bed and sets his phone on his nightstand. Hao scoots closer.

“Can you hear me?”

Hao answers, “We can hear you fine. You’re almost home?”

“Yeah. I’ve got, ah, about– thirty minutes left.”

“Everything’s okay?” Matthew chimes in. “Stop looking at your phone,” he adds.

“Oh, yeah, I’m good. Just tired. Trying to stay awake.”

“We were just talking,” Hao says. “About everything, if now is a good time. Or we can wait until you're here.”

“It’d certainly keep me from falling asleep.”

Hao looks up at Matthew, and he reaches across the space between their beds to rest his hand on Matthew’s knee. “Only if you want to,” he says.

And Matthew finds that he does want to, more than anything. He wants to settle it, have everything out in the air. Wants to let Hanbin and Hao know him.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s talk about it.”