Chapter Text
Zhang Hao has tried to put his encounter with Hanbin out of his head time and time again. He steadfastly doesn’t think about the way he’d looked in his suit, or the way that his eyes had lit up at every scrap of attention Zhang Hao gave him. He doesn’t think about the feeling of Hanbin’s arms around him as they danced, or the gentle curve of his smile when Zhang Hao admitted he wasn’t seeing anyone.
All this means, of course, that he’s been thinking about him quite a lot.
It’s starting to bleed into the rest of his life, too. He has a standing lunch date every week with Ricky, and although normally it’s the highlight of his week, today he finds himself distracted and withdrawn. He can’t stop tapping his fingers against the table, picking up his phone and unlocking it just to lock it again a moment later.
Finally, Ricky sighs and sets down his chopsticks, leveling him with an unimpressed look. “Hyung, what’s going on?”
Hao snaps back to himself. “What?”
“You’re distracted,” Ricky says, his lower lip jutting out in a pout. “You’re not paying attention to me at all.”
“That’s not true!”
Ricky rolls his eyes. “Then tell me what I was just talking about.”
He presses his lips together, unwilling to admit that he hasn’t heard a word Ricky has said for at least the past five minutes.
Ricky leans back in his chair. “That’s what I thought.”
“It’s not my fault!” Hao protests. “I’ve had a lot on my mind. I ran into Sung Hanbin at that wedding over the weekend.”
Ricky’s eyes widen. “What? Hao-hyung, why didn’t you lead with that? You should have told me!”
He shrugs. He was trying to forget about Hanbin, yes, but there was a small, selfish part of him that wanted to keep his encounter with Hanbin to himself. “I wasn’t sure if I was ready to talk about it.”
“Ah.” Ricky seems to consider staying silent, and then his curiosity gets the better of him. “How was it?”
Hao takes a sip of his water. “Fine. Nice, even. I think I was kind of rude, but he was happy to see me. He said he missed me.”
Ricky is quiet for a moment. He sips his coffee and swirls it around in the plastic cup, then sighs. “What happened, anyways? You never really said.”
He hadn’t wanted to tell anyone. When they broke up, Zhang Hao had locked himself in his room and sobbed until his head pounded and his throat burned. He’d cried until he thought he would throw up, and then kept crying past that.
Zhang Hao shrugs. “We were at different places in our lives.”
Ricky levels him with an unimpressed look. “Hyung.”
He drops his gaze to his lap. Just thinking about it makes his throat burn. He’d thought that they were going to move in together, that his whole life was going to be golden mornings and warm afternoons spent in each other’s arms.
It was a stupid idea; he’s always been too idealistic.
“He had an opportunity for work he couldn’t say no to,” Zhang Hao replies. “He got to travel and perform, just like he’s always wanted.”
“And he broke up with you for it?” Ricky says, incredulous. “I liked Hanbin but this--”
“No, no,” Zhang Hao replies, shaking his head and waving a hand. This is the part that he’s ashamed about. Not that Hanbin wanted to leave, even though it still hurts to think about, but that Hanbin left and their love wasn’t strong enough to carry them through the distance. That he wasn’t strong enough. “I…I couldn’t do it. It was too hard.” He chews on the inside of his cheek and looks down at his lap, wishing he could will away the pathetic expression on his face.
Ricky’s expression softens. He’s sweeter than most people think he is, prone to buying Hao gifts just because he saw things and thought he would like them. “It’s not a bad thing to miss someone.”
Logically, he knows that’s true. And yet, the entire time they were together and Hanbin was traveling, Hao had felt a nauseating guilt over the fact that he was holding Hanbin back, that he wanted him to abandon his career and come home to him. It had been almost a relief when they broke up. Not because he had wanted to, but because he knew he wouldn’t have to try to pretend that long distance was possible, that it wasn’t killing him not to be able to touch Hanbin.
“I was selfish,” he settles on at last. “I wanted him to stay. He wanted me to come with him. We wanted different things out of life.”
Ricky sets his drink down and stares at him consideringly. “You were both selfish, weren’t you? It was selfish of him to ask you to come with him even though he knew you wouldn’t.”
Hao shrugs. He’d personally thought it was kind and loving and sweet of Hanbin, but he can sort of understand Ricky’s point. Surely Hanbin knew he would want to stay. There was no world where he would give up his spot in the orchestra or quit teaching. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
“Listen hyung,” Ricky says. “I just want you to be happy. He broke your heart. Don’t let him back in unless you think he won’t break it again.”
Hao twists his fingers in the hem of his shirt and nods. “Right. Thanks for the advice.”
Ricky sighs. “Just follow your heart, hyung. I trust you to make the right call.”
--
Zhang Hao would like to say that he’s done better at forgetting about Hanbin since he and Ricky talked, but in truth he’s thought of him every day. He haunts his every thought, so much so that as he’s double-checking that his violin is tuned in the final moments before his orchestra’s concert starts, he thinks he sees Hanbin in the crowd.
He starts, staring out at audience with wide eyes, still enough that his stand partner nudges him to check that he’s okay. He turns back to her with a smile, pushing thoughts of Hanbin out of his mind as best as he can.
The concert is a blur; his solo goes well, and their practice has paid off, and that’s really all he could ask for. His heart swells as they stand and bow, and he manages to keep the goofy grin off his face until he gets backstage. He lingers longer than he should, chatting with the other members of the orchestra and taking the time to wipe his violin down gently before putting it back in his case. It’s been a good night, and if he’s still thinking about the person he saw in the crowd that looked like Hanbin, well, that’s no one’s business but his own.
By the time he finally finishes up, there’s no one else there. It’s quiet in the theater, the yawning emptiness of it more comforting than he’d expected.
Hao opens the door, his heart jumping into his throat at the sight of Hanbin waiting outside the practice room. It’s a mirror of their meeting the prior week, except this time Hanbin’s holding a bouquet of roses, looking for all the world like the boyfriend he once had. It shouldn’t sting, especially since he’s sure that this is Hanbin’s way of apologizing, but Hao finds himself longing for a time when they never broke up in the first place.
It’s foolish. He needs to let go of the past.
He bites the inside of his cheek and very pointedly does not reach out to take the flowers. “Hanbin-ah. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“You said you had a concert,” Hanbin says, as though Zhang Hao mentioning it as an off-hand fact when they hadn’t seen each other in nearly a year is reason enough for him to buy a last minute ticket and show up with flowers.
Hao doesn’t respond.
Hanbin lowers the flowers slightly, as though realizing that Hao hasn’t taken them. “I just want to talk.”
Hao sighs and shuts the door behind him, leaning against the wall instead of hovering awkwardly in the doorway. He’s the last person left, but there’s a chance that someone could come back to grab something, and he’d rather not be in the way.
“That’s what you said last week,” Hao says at last.
Hanbin shrugs. “And I meant it then, too. I miss talking to you.”
He says it so frankly, like it’s an easy confession, like he hasn’t even been affected by the breakup. “We can’t just go back to how things were before,” Zhang Hao says tersely. “You know that, don’t you?”
Hanbin’s grip on the flowers tightens, the plastic crinkling beneath his fingers. “I know. I…I don’t want it to be like it was.”
“I can’t do this again.” His voice comes out pinched and anxious. Hanbin’s brow furrows. “You broke my heart,” Hao explains. “I-- I can’t do it again.”
Hanbin rocks back on his heels, then nods, slowly. “I broke my heart too,” he admits. “I… when you said you wouldn’t come with me, I didn’t know what to do. I knew you wouldn’t want to, but I thought…” he trails off.
Unbidden, Hao’s mind flits back to what Ricky had said. You were both selfish, weren’t you? “You thought I’d change my mind and quit my job to follow you around the world.”
Hanbin flinches. “Yeah. I guess so.”
The silence is thick, pervasive. This is it, isn’t it? Hanbin’s going to walk out of his life for good this time and never return, and Hao is going to have to go through the rest of his existence trying to act like he could ever love anyone else ever again.
“I’m sorry,” Hanbin says.
“What are you apologizing for?”
“For not staying,” Hanbin says. “For letting myself pull away from you when the distance got hard. For not coming to visit, or calling you every night, or flying you down to see me. I… it had never been hard, to love you before. I didn’t know what to do when it started being hard. I didn’t know how to fix it.”
A rush of emotion wells in Hao’s chest. “It was never hard to love you,” he says softly. “It was only ever hard when I missed you.”
Hanbin reaches out tentatively, pressing his hand to Hao’s cheek. He should shy away. He doesn’t. Hanbin’s touch is so familiar that it’s all Zhang Hao can do not to turn his face into it. “It wasn’t because I didn’t love you,” he says softly. “You know that, don’t you?”
Zhang Hao swallows. “Yes.”
“I thought about you every day,” Hanbin says, his voice thick with emotion. “I worked and I missed you and I hated myself for being stupid even if I knew it was the only thing that I could have done.”
Sometimes Zhang Hao wishes they’d had a worse breakup. He wishes they’d had a horrible fight, or said something awful that neither of them could take back. Instead, they’ve left a hole in each other’s lives that Zhang Hao still hasn’t been able to fill.
It would be easier if they hated each other. It’s so much harder still being in love with him.
“I thought about you too,” Hao admits, his shoulders caving in. His heart beats staccato, something in him desperately terrified of getting hurt again but also far too eager to crumple into Hanbin’s arms like he’s been longing to all these months.
Their confessions hang in their air between them. It’s too late to take them back, and after a few moments, Zhang Hao finally takes the proffered bouquet, clutching it as though the flowers may disappear at any moment. “We both made mistakes,” he admits. “I… it’s not all or nothing. You shouldn’t have to give up your dreams, and neither should I.”
Hanbin’s face is so soft and open that it hurts just to look at him. “I love you. I’ll do it all right this time. If I travel again I’ll call you every day, and I’ll fly home on off days, and I’ll buy you tickets to come visit.”
Hao’s heart beats jackrabbit quick in his chest, his pulse so fast that he thinks he might die of heart failure before they get through this confession.
“I love you too. I’ll visit, and I’ll tell when I’m having a hard time.” He’s told Hanbin he loves him countless times, and yet this time it feels weightier, like it’s the very first time again. Hanbin’s hand is still on his cheek, his thumb running featherlight over his cheekbone.
Hanbin beams and leans forward to kiss him. When Zhang Hao meets him halfway, it feels not like a beginning, but like a sequel.