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It’s a free day from practice, as the producers of the show had told them a week before. Zhang Hao didn’t yell in glee as much as the other trainees did, but he didn’t mind a day off either. The Chinese trainee decides to take the day to stroll around the unfamiliar streets of Korea’s metropolitan city.
The air is clear, and the streets shine from the afternoon sun. The sidewalks aren’t bustling since it’s midday, but Zhang Hao still wears a mask and hoodie to hide his face.
He turns into a smaller street with shops. There’s shops of all kinds, from tourist attractions to traditional stationary shops. Zhang Hao briskly passes by them, eyes trailing each store window with large signs.
Korea is awfully different from what he grew up with at home. The air is different. The manner of speaking is different, the way people dress is different, the culture is all different to him. Zhang Hao knew this, and had spent countless hours learning the language to even have a shot within the show. But even then, he feels new and lost. He wasn’t hopeless, but he was in the midst of adapting to the new environment.
He passes by a small fruit stand. It’s placed by a store outside, and an old lady sits on a bucket in the interior of the stand. There’s a young girl sitting beside her in a comfortable fishing chair, reading a large book.
His heart pierces, remembering the old grandmas in his village back in China. He remembers the way his mother always bought fruit to support them, even if they had too many at home. Because maybe one day your mother will be sitting here too, waiting for people.
“Dear, would you like one?” The elderly voice cuts off his nostalgia. Zhang Hao blinks a few times and eyes the baskets of assorted fruits by his knees.
There are bright fruits. Pink dragonfruit, vibrant oranges and tangerines, persimmons of every size. It reminds Zhang Hao of February nights inside his home and the fireworks of Lunar New Year.
“I’d like some persimmons, thank you.” Zhang Hao points to them.
“Of course, dear.” The elderly lady nods, smiling. She grabs a bag from a stack and fills it with the fruit.
“Your voice is lovely.” She says, squinting up at him. “But you don’t sound like you’re from here. Where are you from, young boy?”
Zhang Hao flushes at the compliment, bowing slightly. “I’m from China, ma’am.” He braces himself for any eyebrow raises or glares.
Instead, he’s met with a smile. “I see. My boy went to America to live his dream.”
He hands her the amount and she hands him the plastic bag in turn. The persimmons seem to glow under the sun’s rays.
“He did?” Zhang Hao tilts his head. “It must have been difficult.”
“It was. But I couldn’t be any more happier for him.” The old lady smiles, her frail cheeks rising. “He’s somewhere far and big, but he still remembers me.”
Zhang Hao’s inside swirl with homesickness. He thinks of the family he waved goodbye to before entering the plane, and the friends he cried to before his departure. He remembers the flash of pain stricken on his mother’s face when he told her that Mnet had accepted him, and the tears of happiness that followed after.
“I’m reaching a dream, too.” He says, his hands growing clammy around the plastic bag. He can feel tears pricking his eyes.
“I hope you achieve it, young boy.” The old lady nods. “Your family will always be cheering for you.”
Your family will always be cheering for you.
“Thank you, ma’am.” Zhang Hao barely manages, bowing. The old lady waves as he walks away.
He reaches a hand under his mask to wipe a few tears away. His heart is heavy, and each step feels like a stride in the wrong direction. The streets blur into old streets of his hometown, the sleek asphalt turning into dirt roads. The bright sky turns into gray clouds, threatening to rain on him and his frail heart.
Eventually he makes it back to the pale brick building. There are other boys playing around or relaxing outside, enjoying their day off in leisure. Everyone looks happy under the shining sun, but really they are all ridden with murky fog—pursuing a dream too nebulous to reach through.
Zhang Hao barely makes it to the shared dorm room. He gently puts the persimmons on the table and slumps onto the mattress of his bed. He rolls around and can only make out Hanbin as the other boy in the dorm as well.
It must be nice to be near home, Zhang Hao thinks. Being a Korean trainee.
He lays on his back, blinking the tears away as they wet his eyes again.
This time, it’s futile. The quiet atmosphere and dark lights of the dorm make his thoughts louder than it was on the streets outside. Zhang Hao sits up against his pillow and draws his legs close.
Truly, he was confident in his abilities as a musician. He was proficient in an instrument, he could sing, he could dance, but pursuing all these skills in a foreign country with no one he knew—was it a waste of his abilities? Couldn’t he just shine his skills back in China, and pursue a career where home was just a drive away?
Zhang Hao sniffs as quietly as he can, afraid to wake up Hanbin. He would go outside, but he’s afraid of other trainees asking him what’s wrong—and he’s indefinitely afraid of admitting his homesickness.
“Hyung,” a soft voice calls, “are you okay?”
Zhang Hao doesn’t want to look up because he knows who that lovely voice belongs to.
“I’m okay, Hanbin.” He shakes his head, not lifting from his arms. “I’m fine.”
“Hao hyung, what’s wrong?” The voice is a lot closer, and the mattress by Zhang Hao’s feet dips. He feels a comforting hand on his elbow.
“It’s not much.” Zhang Hao curls his toes. Hanbin shouldn’t know that his older hyung was homesick. Zhang Hao had to be an example and a support system.
“Okay, Hao-hyung.” The hand on his elbow gently squeezes, and travels throughout his forearm. “I won’t ask then. But do you want a hug?”
Zhang Hao looks up as if he was burned.
Hanbin looks sleep-soft and tired, but there’s a warm smile on his face. His cheeks are painted a soft yellow hue from the lamp on the table and his hair is a mess from sleep. He looks comfortable and warm and inviting.
Zhang Hao gives in and half-jumps on Hanbin, clutching the back of Hanbin’s sweater. He feels warm arms encircling him back, and Hanbin rubbing circles against his shoulder. “You’re okay, hyung. You’re here. I’m here.”
The words echo around him like a song, and he can’t help but cry again at the warmth of it.
It’s short lived, as his cry sessions always are. Zhang Hao gently pulls away from Hanbin’s hold. When he looks up, Hanbin has a face of pure concern and sorrow, as if he were the one crying.
Zhang Hao manages a chuckle and gently rubs Hanbin’s cheeks with his thumbs. “Don’t cry too, Hanbin-ah.”
“I’ve never seen you cry like that. I can’t help it.” Hanbin chuckles too, but it’s sad. “I wish I knew what hurt you so badly.”
Zhang Hao stares at Hanbin. Perhaps it would be difficult for the Korean trainee to understand his homesickness, but perhaps it would be nice to talk to someone about it. So he takes a deep breath.
“I miss my home.” Zhang Hao drops his hands. He limply leans against Hanbin’s chest, avoiding eye contact.
“I’m worried that I will fail here, when I could’ve just been a musician in China.” He feels Hanbin wrap a comforting arm by his shoulder. “I miss my parents. I’m sad that they might miss me too.”
“You went after your dream, hyung.” Hanbin’s voice sounds like honey, and Zhang Hao closes his eyes to listen to it.
“But I could have always just found something else in China.”
“You learned Korean, Hao-hyung.” Zhang Hao feels Hanbin clutch his shoulder, bringing him closer in his hold. “Doesn’t that mean you wanted to become an idol here?”
“What if I lost?” He can feel his lips tremble again. “What if all of this was a waste and I could’ve been with my family all this time?”
“It isn’t a waste.” Hanbin says, his tone confident. “None of this is a waste.”
Zhang Hao says nothing. It’s an outlandish thing to say, and his heavy heart can’t seem to wrap around Hanbin’s words.
“Even if you fail, many people love you.” Hanbin continues, his voice back to its gentle tone. “Many fans everywhere voted for you, and the judges here love you.”
“Your family already went through the heartbreak of seeing you go, Hao hyung.” Zhang Hao can feel his heart being ripped raw. As if Hanbin could see that, he reaches his free arm down to clutch Zhang Hao’s fingers. It’s the only thing keeping Zhang Hao from falling apart.
“Wouldn’t it break their heart even more if you returned home after they’ve already said their goodbyes?” Hanbin gently rubs a thumb against Zhang Hao’s fingers. “Wouldn’t the real waste be giving up?”
Hanbin’s words are irrefutable and the truth that he didn’t see. Zhang Hao swallows them down like medicine.
It’s true his family had been in denial when he told them he wanted to be an idol. It was easy for them to tell him to just be a professional music teacher as he had originally to become, and it had been easy for them to stop him from his dream afar. But instead, his family had taken the hard route and accepted his dream—albeit the pain it took to part so far away.
He bites his lip, letting the reality sink.
“I can’t let you go, either.” Hanbin adds quietly. “You’ve helped me so much, hyung, so much I could ever ask for.”
Zhang Hao opens his eyes and turns to look at Hanbin.
“You’re so important in my journey to this dream.” Hanbin’s cheeks are dusted red, and not the yellow hue that was there before. “Sometimes I think that this dream is pointless too, but you remind me to keep going.”
He can feel Hanbin’s fingers squeeze against his.
“Your family is so lucky to have someone like you, can’t I have more time with someone like you too?” Hanbin confesses, his voice small and like a child’s.
Zhang Hao’s heart skips a beat. “I’ll always be a text away, Hanbin-ah.”
“But I want to see you.”
“We could always video call.”
“I want to be on stage with you, laugh with you, hug you when you’re sad.” Hanbin says. Zhang Hao can feel his heart quickening at the words. They are too sweet—they’re the complete opposite of homesickness, they were words of home.
Hanbin believed in him, and his family back home did.
Zhang Hao buries his head against Hanbin’s chest again, his cheeks firing red hot. “Okay. I’ll keep going for me, my dream, and my family.” Hanbin hums, his fingers trailing Zhang Hao’s wrist.
“And for you too, Sung Hanbin.”
At that, Hanbin intertwines their lingering fingers and lets the warmth coarse through from one to another. Zhang Hao can’t help but smile fondly at their hands, as if it were a promise locked between them.