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The first time it happens, they’re both half asleep, tucked into the back seat of the unnecessarily large van, Hanbin’s head on his shoulder, Hanbin’s hand large and warm on his thigh, long fingers absentmindedly tracing the inseam of Zhang Hao’s trousers. The drive back is longer than Zhang Hao would like, but it affords him precious alone time with Hanbin, a commodity he is not often gifted with, so he is more than happy to accept this fate.
-
It had been almost scary at first, how quickly their connection had sparked, like a match to timber at the height of summer.
Hanbin was bright and warm like the sun in August, helpful and kind to everyone, and completely impossible to ignore. He carried himself with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what they were doing, dished out mature advice to anyone who’d seek him out, and offered hugs as though comfort came to him as easy as breathing.
And he seemed to make himself even more impossible to ignore around Zhang Hao, watching him with keen eyes from across the packed practice room like he didn’t care if he was caught looking, like he wanted Hao to notice he was watching; sitting across the canteen tables from him and Kuanrui, cutely asking them to teach him how to count to ten in Chinese, eyes on Zhang Hao’s though he spoke to everyone at the table; sneaking into his dorm room at half two in the morning under the pretext of missing Matthew. On the nights he’d catch him awake, he’d call Hao over from atop the bunk bed with the sweetest lilt in his voice, like he hadn’t seen him in days, beckoning him closer and closer, laying a hand over Hao’s arm or shoulder, talking about this or that. Zhang Hao found it easy to forget about the constantly rolling camera on the corner of the wall when Hanbin got like this, found it easy to point out the moles on Hanbin’s skin, the vaccine scar on his arm that matched his own, anything and everything he could bring up just to keep hearing Hanbin’s giggles, to feel the happy little chill that made its way through his body whenever Hanbin turned that smile back on him and gushed about how many things he and Hao-hyung had in common.
It was all easy, with Hanbin.
-
They had talked for an hour, too, after stepping into the van. The shoot had gone well, they both thought, and then Hanbin had laid a hand over his lap and asked, as he often did in the early hours of the morning, for Hao to tell him about himself. And so, as always, Zhang Hao obliged, telling him about how the violin had almost entirely guided the trajectory of his life, how his love for music had been the driving force behind most of his academic decisions — despite everyone’s perplexity — how he had learnt Korean with the help of a few textbooks and a lot of k-dramas. He had talked about retaking his entrance exam and becoming a teacher, both as a dream and as a safety belt for the future, and Hanbin had told him that “me too, hyung! I was also planning on becoming a dance teacher if I didn’t make it!”, with all the glee of someone who had just found another entry for the ever-growing Things Hao-hyung and I have in common list that Zhang Hao is sure occupies the last few pages of Hanbin’s little practice notebook.
“You would have made a wonderful teacher, Hanbinie, any student would have been lucky to have you”, Hao had replied, revelling in the way Hanbin’s eyes seemed to shine a little brighter, his cheeks lifting bashfully at the compliment. He was so cute like this, when Zhang Hao managed to fluster him instead, for a change, over the simplest things.
About halfway through the conversation, Hanbin had started to let the day’s exhaustion show, slowly melting farther into Hao’s body, words slurring together. He always seems to do this, Hao reflects, angling his whole body towards his hyung’s, making himself smaller to fit against Zhang Hao as though he isn’t the broadest of the two. For all that Hanbin comforts others, he seems to seek comfort for himself only in Zhang Hao.
“You can nap if you want, Hanbinie. Hyung will wake you up when we get there, hm?” he murmurs into Hanbin’s hair, sliding a hand over Hanbin’s on his thigh, fingers drumming up a soothing melody over Hanbin’s knuckles.
Hanbin seems to have needed only the verbal permission to abandon all pretence of staying awake. He hums low in his throat, turning his head into him and pressing a fleeting little whisper of a kiss into the older boy’s neck, finally letting his eyes fall completely closed. This is the first time Hanbin has kissed him.
“Thank you Hao-hyung, you’re so good to me,” he says, in his sleepy voice, and Zhang Hao feels warm all over. This is lovely, he thinks. He could get used to it.
-
Zhang Hao comes back to his room after practice and collects his toiletries for a shower, methodically checking for his skincare products. On his way to the lavatories, he hears voices. And though he is not one to snoop (not often, at least), one of the voices mentions “Hanbin” and “looked sad” and… Well, Zhang Hao’s not about to let this one go, is he? So he follows the voices and finds Wumuti and Honghai, who point him towards the laundry room. Hanbin went in an hour ago, they say, and they haven’t seen him come out. Zhang Hao can’t help but ponder, mildly irritated though he can’t pinpoint why, why no one else thought to check on Hanbin, to offer him even a fraction of the comfort he easily offers everyone else; why they seemed to be waiting for him to be the one to do it, if their relieved eyes upon seeing him were anything to go by.
The laundry room is, apart from the bathrooms and the sneaky little corner of the stairwell, the only camera-less place in the entire block of flats. Thus, a famed crying spot. Zhang Hao is liking this situation less by the second. He beelines to the room, closing the door behind him as he enters.
He finds Hanbin sitting atop the washing machine tucked against the farthest wall, white track jacket zipped up to the chin, head hanging between his shoulders. He does look sad, just as Wumuti had reported, and Hao hates it. Feels it viscerally inside him.
“Hanbin-ah—” he calls quietly, as soon as he’s within earshot.
Hanbin’s reaction is almost immediate. As soon as he registers it’s Zhang Hao, his face crumbles and the dam lifts, rivulets of fat tears racing down his already wet cheeks. He makes a pitiful little sound at the back of his throat and Zhang Hao can hear the fragments of his own heart cracking apart. He has never seen Hanbin quite like this, Hanbin who is always smiles and sweet flirty remarks and unending determination, who is Zhang Hao’s happy pill without even trying. Hanbin, who is reaching for him, asking him to come to him.
Zhang Hao fits himself between Hanbin’s thighs and pulls him in, as close as he can, guides Hanbin’s head to his shoulder with a gentle hand. He pets Hanbin’s nape and slides his other arm around the small of his waist, lets Hanbin curl around him as tight as he wants, Hanbin’s tears soaking through his thin sleep shirt.
Hanbin is tall and broad in the shoulders, but like this, wrapped around Zhang Hao like he can’t bear to let go, his chest shaking with sobs, his hands curling into Hao’s shoulder blades, he is so small. Fragile, like he never lets himself be around anyone else. Vulnerable, like Zhang Hao knows he hates being in front of the cameras. So he lets Hanbin cry, lets him hiccup a tiny, miserable “Hao-hyung ” into his neck. He runs his hand through Hanbin’s hair, shushes him, rocks them softly side to side and hums a quiet little melody into his ear until Hanbin’s sobs subside and he starts rubbing his nose into the side of Zhang Hao’s neck, like a kitten trying to thank him.
“There you go, baobei,” Zhang Hao breathes, pressing a kiss to his temple, and Hanbin lets out the littlest noise of what Hao can only interpret as delighted surprise. He’s finally lifting his head now, releasing his grip on Hao’s t-shirt so he can wipe his cheeks with the back of his knuckles, though his thighs reflexively tighten around Zhang Hao’s waist, like they’re asking him not to go.
“I’m here Hanbin-ah, it’s okay. Do you want to tell hyung what’s going on?” he presses, just a little. Hanbin nods, but doesn’t speak yet, pulling Zhang Hao back into another hug. He likes being held, Zhang Hao knows. He has held him in bed, while they talked about dance practice and Hanbin’s past dance battles and Zhang Hao’s favourite Korean dish; he has held him after a particularly good run through, Hanbin’s satisfaction with their work manifesting itself through the physical affection he always showers Hao with. This is the first time he has held Hanbin like this, and he can’t help but feel grateful that Hanbin has chosen to trust him this much. So he lets Hanbin pull him closer again, lets Hanbin wrap himself back around him, lets himself enjoy his warmth.
“I think the pressure is getting to me, hyung,” Hanbin starts. “I feel like I can’t get the mood of the song right, nothing I do feels natural and it’s messing with my head. And the eliminations are soon, too… God, I’m a mess, Hao-hyung. I just can’t stop thinking. It’s never good enough.”
Zhang Hao can’t have heard that one right. He pulls back, cupping both hands around Hanbin’s ruddy cheeks, making sure Hanbin is staring straight into his eyes when he says, “You’re joking, right?”
Hanbin looks confused. Zhang Hao thinks he should reword that. Korean is hard.
“Hanbinie. Hanbin-ah, you’re the best out of all of us, don’t you see it? There isn’t a single thing you could be doing better, are you listening to hyung?” he shakes Hanbin a little, for emphasis. To make sure his silly boy is paying attention. “It’s normal to be nervous, hyung is too, all the time! But Hanbinie, you’re so much more than enough, you’re perfect.”
Hanbin does seem to be listening, but he also looks distinctly redder than before, which is a feat. He places his hands over Zhang Hao’s, clutching his wrists. He makes no move to remove them from his face, instead smiling bashfully, snuffling a little.
“Ah, hyung, what am I supposed to say when you get like this… It’s like you’re my cry-button, every time you comfort me like this, I just…”
“Say you get it, Hanbin-ah.” Zhang Hao has been told he can be bossy before. He likes to think of himself as encouraging. “Say you know that you’re doing well, that you’re proud of yourself and that you don’t need to worry about it. Because hyung is very proud of you, Hanbinie.”
Hanbin’s smile seems to be growing proportionately to how red he’s getting. He gets complimented all the time, he must, but it seems to affect him more coming from Zhang Hao.
He barely manages to stutter out a high pitched “ok ok hyung, I get it! ”. It’s very cute, Zhang Hao thinks. Shyness is a cute look on Hanbin, as are most things. He even cries prettily, much to Hao’s chagrin. His hands are also still holding onto Zhang Hao’s, his thumbs rubbing absentminded circles over Hao’s pulse point; he seems perfectly happy to stay just like this for a while longer, tilting his head into the older boy’s hand almost playfully, batting his lashes. He looks happier now, Zhang Hao observes, his eyes curving upwards in a hint of a smile, the shine in them returned. He really is so pretty.
“You’re pretty too, Hao-hyung~” Hanbin says, suddenly smiling at him with all his teeth. So he said it out loud. Not for the first time, either, so it warrants little more than a reflexive blush. Somehow, Zhang Hao finds that he is not afraid to be honest with Hanbin, even like this. Hanbin makes everything feel uncomplicated.
“Let’s go back to our room, yeah Hanbinie? We’ve been here a while,” he suggests, pinching Hanbin’s cheek teasingly before lowering his hand to Hanbin’s waist, pulling him towards him and down from his seat atop the machine. “You can give hyung a massage as a thank you, hm?”
He says it teasingly, in the tone he puts on when he’s trying to flirt with Hanbin without making it too serious, leaving him a way out if he doesn’t want to play the game. But Hanbin just hums in assent, hopping down from his perch. He throws his arms around Hao’s neck and presses a kiss to his cheek, before turning around to leave, winking over his shoulder and beckoning him to follow.
“Come on hyung, let’s go to bed.”
That’s the second time Hanbin has kissed him.
—
Hanbin should have been finished with practice roughly an hour ago, by Zhang Hao’s calculations. These calculations, of course, are based entirely on the fact that Hao had called it a day at half eleven, sent Kuanrui and the others back to the dormitory without bothering to come up with an excuse as to why he was staying back for the fourth night in a row, and then sneaked into Hanbin’s team’s room, sitting himself in the corner by the towels to watch without disturbing.
He had been noticed immediately, of course. Expected, even, if Seongeon’s loud cheer of “Hao-hyung, you made it!” was any indication.
“Yah, keep going! No distractions!” he had nagged back, offering the others a small wave.
“One more time from the top, guys,” Hanbin follows up. “And make sure it’s extra polished, we want to impress Hao-hyung.”
He turns to wink at Zhang Hao, throwing his thumb and pointer finger up in a heart shape. Zhang Hao reciprocates by blowing him a kiss and diligently pretending he can’t hear the poorly disguised retching noises Matthew makes behind Hanbin.
Practice goes perfectly, as it tends to do under Hanbin’s guidance. Gentle parenting, Jiwoong had once described his methods as. They run through the entire song once, stage-ready expressions and all, and Hao smiles every time he catches Hanbin’s eyes through the mirror, the younger boy seemingly performing each of his parts for Zhang Hao’s reflection, piling extra layers of sweetness onto his already sugary smile, his sharp footwork still impressive even after the tenth time.
Zhang Hao has grown used to this, too. To the way Hanbin will focus on him alone whenever he’s in the room, gaze magnetised towards his every movement or word; somehow, Hanbin manages to do this without making everyone else feel ignored, sneaking glances at Zhang Hao while patiently answering Yujin’s questions, nodding at the story Seongeon is telling while sliding a warm hand over Hao’s upper thigh at the dinner table. Zhang Hao knows he’s not so fortunate. Knows that when his eyes stick to Hanbin’s form dancing just ten steps away, he ceases to hear or perceive anyone else in the vicinity; feels the way his mouth curves up instinctively whenever Hanbin speaks, or sits next to him, or drapes himself over his shoulders and back, breath soft and warm over his nape and ear.
He’s doing it now, the staring. The focusing too intently on Hanbin. Hanbin has noticed too, judging by the slight smirk stretching across his lips. He dismisses the other boys for the night, and they file out of the room one after the other, eager for a few hours of rest.
Hanbin drops himself next to him, as he has done for the past four nights, and pulls an energy bar out of his trouser pocket, snapping a piece off. He cups a hand under it, to catch the crumbs, and nods wordlessly towards it, lifting it to Hao’s mouth, urging him to take a bite. Hanbin likes to take care of him like this, despite being younger. Zhang Hao won’t say he doesn’t enjoy it. He takes the piece into his mouth, lips lingering at the tips of Hanbin’s fingers, and hums around his mouthful as a thank you.
Hanbin swipes his thumb over Hao’s lower lip. “Cute,” he mumbles, shiny eyes staring straight into the older boy’s. Zhang Hao feels the crimson blood rush to his ears, painting them in the familiar hue.
“So cute, Hao-ge. Want more?” He offers another piece of the bar. Zhang Hao shakes his head no.
“You eat, Hanbinie. You just finished, you need it more than me.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying at this point. It matters little, Hanbin knows anyway. He munches on the rest of the bar, shoulder radiating heat where it’s pressed against Zhang Hao’s. He swaps the bar to his left hand, his right one seeking Hao’s, pulling his fingers between his own. His hand is so, so warm. A little clammy after five hours of dancing, but Zhang Hao doesn’t mind. His are perpetually freezing, anyway.
Hanbin finishes the bar in two more bites and chugs half his water bottle in one go. He unglues his back from the wall and makes to stand up, using their attached hands to pull Zhang Hao with. He goes willingly. Hanbin gets them both to their feet and lifts their hands to his lips, pressing a smile and a peck against the back of Zhang Hao’s no longer gelid hand. His eyes are curved into catlike crescents again, his expression mellowed out by the exhaustion but no less fond.
“Want to walk the long way back to the dorms, hyung?”
Zhang Hao goes.
—
Some nights, they’re lucky enough to have one of the dorms for themselves. Hoetaek stays longer at the practice room, or Jeonghyeon leaves to eat “dinner” from Gyubin’s snack stash. Those nights, Hanbin sneaks into Zhang Hao’s horribly narrow bed, wide shoulders taking up two thirds of the army-sized mattress, and tucks every part of himself into Hao’s body, like a moth seeking warmth. Sometimes they’ll talk, words flowing easily into the early hours of the dawn; others, like this one, they breathe in tandem, the silence always comfortable between them. Hanbin runs hot as a furnace, and the Korean winter is harsh on Zhang Hao’s thin skin, so he enjoys every single one of these nights more than he can say. Hanbin seems to, too, relishing in the physical contact and their closeness, closing his eyes and relaxing like he never seems to be able to, his face, turned to Hao, a mask of serenity.
Hao plays with the collar of Hanbin’s thin sleep shirt, runs the calloused tips of his fingers over his pretty chest tattoo — he’d always been fond of the universe, he had told Zhang Hao once, when they were lying just like this; it made him feel small, inconsequential, gave him the courage to try anything he wanted to without worrying about the bigger picture —, over the contours of the stars and the sun and the moon etched onto his soft skin. Hanbin lets him, always does, shivering almost imperceptibly under Zhang Hao’s touch, his mouth curving into a smile even as his eyes remain closed. His hands rest over Hao’s waist, big palms warm over the slight curve of it. It’s comfortable, Hao muses, comfortable in a way he doesn’t remember ever being with anyone else; he’s physically affectionate with his other friends, of course, Kuanrui is a chronic cuddler and Ollie is akin to a small puppy who love head pats, and he is happy to provide, if he knows it will make them happy. With Hanbin, he finds himself seeking it, and he sees the same desire mirrored in Hanbin’s actions — their hands meeting each other in the middle, Hanbin’s hand around his waist when they’re doing nothing more than standing around, their pinkies linking behind their backs when they stand in the hallways listening to Woonggi’s never-ending stories. Kuanrui doesn’t comment, but Zhang Hao knows he notices, has seen him looking, has seen how different Hao becomes around Hanbin. Many things feel different with Hanbin, he has come to realise. A different type of closeness, a connection he doesn’t quite know how to put into words. The best thing about it all is that he doesn’t have to, either. They talk for hours every day, but definitions don’t come into play. They are allowed to simply be.
Hanbin shifts closer, looking even sleepier. He’s so cute like this, mouth pouting naturally, hands pulling Hao into him, like he’s trying to meld them together in this miniscule excuse for a bed. One of his hands moves up then, caressing Zhang Hao’s ear, playing with the star shaped earring, the same shape inked on his skin.
“Are you nervous, hyung?” He asks, as he has a dozen or more times before, though his voice is quieter, a little shaky. Nervous about the upcoming mission, nervous about leading a team, nervous about the looming pressure of debut. Zhang Hao shivers.
“Not right now, Hanbinie, are you?”
These moments with Hanbin allow him to feel at peace. They are a respite from the insanity of the competition, of their shared situation. He doesn’t say it, but he knows Hanbin knows.
Hanbin opens his eyes, just a fraction, staring up at him. His eyelashes are so long, they cast shadows upon his cheekbones.
“Yes, gege. I’m a little nervous.” And he guides Zhang Hao’s face closer, slotting his lips between his, gentle and unhurried, though the way his mouth trembles faintly gives him away. It’s this he is nervous about, not the show. Not the large chair with the number one and his name almost permanently engraved onto it. Not of the expectations people have placed upon him, upon them. Zhang Hao thinks he’s the sweetest boy in the world. He cradles Hanbin’s cheek with one hand and presses back, pulling Hanbin’s lower lip between his, smoothing a thumb over his jaw. Hanbin makes the softest noise at the back of his throat, sliding his hand over the back of Zhang Hao’s neck, asking him to kiss a little longer, a little harder. Hao parts Hanbin’s clumsy lips with his tongue, kisses him a little deeper, pulls him a little closer, until they’re so close that Zhang Hao swears he can feel Hanbin’s heat warming him up from the inside.
When they part, Hanbin is smiling at him, like he can’t help it, and he looks so bright that Zhang Hao wants to do it again, wants to kiss him until they’re both breathless under this silly oversized duvet, until they’re giggling into each other’s mouths and clutching at each other’s shirts. He wonders if this was Hanbin’s first kiss, wonders if he was worthy of it in the first place.
But Hanbin looks so elated, holding him like this, his fingers caressing the prickly hairs at the base of Hao’s nape, his thumb rubbing circles under Hao’s ear, burning bright red. Hanbin presses another peck to his mouth and tucks his face into Hao’s neck, like he’s going to sleep, and Hao decides that his worth is not something for him to decide, when Hanbin has already made it loud and clear.
“Goodnight, Hao-ge,” he says, and Zhang Hao feels it against his neck, Hanbin’s lips shaping the words against the skin, “I love you.”
Zhang Hao doesn’t understand why the literature always talks about fireworks. There are no explosions inside him, no grand revelation, no bombastic feeling of accomplishment. It’s a slow, ever-present burn, it’s a comforting orange-toned light, it’s warmth radiating in the centre of his chest, whenever Hanbin is close, whenever he thinks of him. Fairy lights, he thinks, not fireworks.
It’s so easy to say it back. “I love you too, Hanbin-ah. Sleep well,” murmured into his hair, a kiss dropped onto his forehead. Hanbin exhales softly and his lips curve against Zhang Hao’s neck.