Work Text:
Zhang Hao has always been surrounded by people who are physically beautiful.
He’s been fortunate, in that respect. He attended a prestigious school populated by affluent families—including his own—and affluent families tend to be able to afford enhancements of beauty beyond the means of most people. From an early age, his parents pushed him into the arts, where he found people present themselves with more care and polish at cultural events like symphonies than in everyday life.
Growing up brought him to Korea, to be a trainee, and while it’s not nearly as glamorous as he imagined, there’s no doubt that everywhere he looks, there’s beauty. It echoes through the halls of the company, from the chiselled jawlines and radiant eyes of the male idols to the willowy figures and shampoo-commercial hair of the female idols. Their visuals are weapons, carefully crafted to seize attention and capture hearts.
Zhang Hao couldn’t help but become highly attuned to beauty and physicality. It’s just as much a part of his world as the stage lights and cheering crowds will hopefully be.
That’s not to say he’s oblivious to beauty or anything. He knows what makes a person attractive, even if it’s not in the same way he’s used to. He’s just not phased anymore when he meets a particularly striking person, because frankly, he’s learned that physical beauty is a dime a dozen more than every other quality in this industry.
So when he sees Sung Hanbin for the first time—he doesn’t think much of him beyond oh, he’s pretty.
Sung Hanbin is very pretty. Zhang Hao has eyes, and no reasonto deny Hanbin’s allure. But there are dozens of other breathtakingly beautiful people in the room they’re sitting in. Though Hanbin’s appearance alone draws attention, it says nothing about his skills or who he is as a person.
Looking back, Zhang Hao feels a bit silly for it. Now that he’s got to know Hanbin, it’s easy to tell all the little things that make up his beauty, the things that come from him and not just his face. Like the tenseness of his jaw when he laughs, because he often holds back in fear of drawing too much attention away from others; or the way his eyes sparkle whenever his and Zhang Hao’s gazes meet from across the room, like they’re sharing their own little secret.
They weren’t, at first. For a while, Zhang Hao didn’t know anything about Hanbin beyond his handsome face and his waacking. Yet Hanbin always looked at him like that, like Zhang Hao had his full attention despite their obvious emotional distance back when they were strangers.
Zhang Hao finds it beautiful. He’s not trying to downplay Hanbin’s inherent physical attractiveness here—he would never. But the kind of warmth Hanbin radiates will always be more attractive to Zhang Hao than just being handsome on its own.
He’s making this much more dramatic than it needs to be. Everybody probably has thoughts like this when they realise they have feelings for somebody, don’t they? Zhang Hao has never liked somebody as much as he likes Hanbin to know if that’s true or not.
It’s a good thing Hanbin can only figuratively read his mind and not literally. He would never let Zhang Hao live it down if he discovered how much inner turmoil Zhang Hao has been through because of him, lamenting about his inner beauty and every other cliché in the book.
All of this comes back to him while he reaches for a shaking Hanbin in front of thousands of people—and millions more online—and their eyes meet briefly before Hanbin is tucking his face against Zhang Hao’s shoulder, choking on his tears of relief. Zhang Hao holds him as tightly as he can, praying all the safety and comfort Hanbin gives him is returned.
Zhang Hao is so thoroughly winded by how beautiful Hanbin is, even while his face crumpled and his chest shaking—especially with those things—that he forgets they’re on stage and does something very stupid.
It’s one of those life-flashing-before-his-eyes moments, if you replace life with the past four and a half months.
Right after filming ended and they were allowed to take a break—no sleep for them tonight, though, not until tomorrow when they’re allowed to see their families—Zhang Hao found the nearest possible empty room in the building to hole himself away in.
Around fifteen minutes later, the door swings open without warning and Zhang Hao hears a familiar voice laugh, “You broke Twitter, by the way.”
Hanbin doesn’t bother to turn on the light in the little meeting room. He walks in, shuts the door, and makes his way straight over to Zhang Hao without hesitation, managing to dodge all the chairs and the table in the pitch-black darkness on the way.
It’s a shame since it means Zhang Hao can’t see Hanbin very well, but maybe that’s for the best. Hanbin can’t see him either then, and Zhang Hao doesn’t particularly want to be perceived at the moment.
Hanbin grabs an empty chair and drags it to Zhang Hao’s side, as close as possible. There’s nothing of note in this room, and Zhang Hao has been staring at the wall for the past half hour in a state that can only be described as dissociative. Hanbin probably thinks he’s a freak.
Well, Hanbin knows him well enough to not be surprised by his behaviour, hopefully. But it still makes Zhang Hao flush a little to be caught out and called out at the same time, especially by Hanbin.
Somehow, it’s worse to know that Hanbin isn’t judging him. It would be easier if Hanbin called him dumb and told him he made a big mistake, because he did and he deserves to be scolded. That’s not the Hanbin way, though, and Zhang Hao can’t even be mad at him for it because Hanbin’s patience is one of the many reasons why Zhang Hao loves him.
Loves. Ugh. Feelings really are the cause of all his internal messes.
“Don’t joke about that,” he groans, slumping in his chair. Hanbin inches as close as he can when they’re on two separate chairs, everything from their thighs down all the way to their feet touching.
“I’m not, though.” Hanbin pulls out his phone, and the bright light of it makes Zhang Hao wince and turn his head away. “We’re practically the most famous people in the country right now.”
“That really doesn’t make me feel better.” In fact, it makes him feel a thousand times worse. He doesn’t want to begin imagining how many people are reposting clips of him being stupid and impulsive all over the internet.
He can hear Hanbin’s smile in his voice as he responds, “It should. People think we’re cute.”
But at what cost, Zhang Hao thinks miserably inside his head. “We haven’t even had our first group meeting and they already hate us.”
More specifically, they hate him. Saying that out loud makes it sound very selfish though, like he’s just whining about how people rightfully dislike him, so he’s going to pretend it’s Hanbin’s fault too. Even though all Hanbin did was stand there and look pretty while crying, and Zhang Hao was the one who slipped up.
Hanbin snorts. He perches his chin on Zhang Hao’s shoulder, forcing his way into Zhang Hao’s personal space. Not that Zhang Hao would ever push him away, regardless of how miserable he’s feeling.
“Who is ‘they’?” Hanbin asks.
“Our new company,” Zhang Hao says. He wishes Hanbin wouldn’t ask him about it when it’s obvious what he means. “You saw how the staff were all glaring at us. Some of the fans probably, too.”
“I think you’re being a bit cynical.” As Hanbin speaks, his warm breath tickles Zhang Hao’s shoulder, making him shiver. “Maybe some of the staff are mad, sure. But I don’t think anybody’s going to hate you because you kissed my neck for like, half a second.”
“You don’t know that,” Zhang Hao groans. He already got the congratulations, but we need to talk from his manager at Yuehua earlier, and he has a strong feeling he knows what he’s in trouble for.
Honestly, though, more than any of their staff or fans hating them—he’s just angry at himself for letting his feelings get the better of him. It feels like he lost against himself, and people scolding him for it when he’s disappointed in himself more than any of them could be makes him want to crawl into a ditch and never come out.
“I kind of do,” Hanbin says. He lifts his head enough to look at Zhang Hao and pinch his cheek. “Nobody can hate you.”
“Now we both know that’s not tr—”
“Okay, let me rephrase. Nobody who knows you can hate you,” Hanbin corrects.
“I’m not saying they hate me, but I… I’m causing more problems for them. And you,” Zhang Hao says, sighing and gently pushing Hanbin’s hand off his face. No matter what Hanbin thinks, he can’t deny that between the two options of Zhang Hao kissing or not kissing his neck on stage, the objectively better one for their careers is not kissing. “I feel bad about it.”
Hanbin hums, sitting up so he can speak properly. “I understand,” he says softly. “I’m not saying we should do it again or anything. But I don’t think it’s as bad as you’re making it out to be.”
“I guess,” Zhang Hao says.
“You guess,” Hanbin repeats, in a mocking tone of voice that sounds absolutely nothing like Zhang Hao. He surges forward, grabbing both of Zhang Hao’s hands in his. “There’s like dozens of people looking for you right now, you know? Not to yell at you, but to congratulate you.”
“And they’re all going to be thinking about how I almost kissed you at the same time as they congratulate me,” Zhang Hao says, nose wrinkling. “How am I supposed to look them in the eyes knowing that?”
“No, they’re going to be thinking about you debuting.” Hanbin gestures wildly, with Zhang Hao’s hands still in his, and Zhang Hao swallows back a smile. He refuses to smile right now on principle, even if Hanbin is being cute. “Nobody is thinking about us together.”
“When you walked in, you said everybody online is talking about me kissing you,” Zhang Hao points out. “You literally said that.”
“Okay, well, maybe some people are thinking about that, but most people are thinking about the important stuff happening. I was just browsing those Tweets because I thought they were cute,” Hanbin admits. “Either way, I would have done the same thing. I could feel it building up all night. It would’ve been me messing up if it wasn’t you. You just beat me to it.”
“That’s such a lie,” Zhang Hao scoffs. Like Hanbin of all people would ever lose that much control.
“It’s true, I swear,” Hanbin says, smiling. He sounds like he’s bragging. “I thought about it like a thousand times over the course of the night. No—ten thousand.”
“You thought about kissing my neck ten thousand times,” Zhang Hao deadpans.
“Well, not your neck specifically.” Hanbin taps Zhang Hao’s mouth with his index finger, and Zhang Hao covers his face, scowling harder. “But you, yeah.”
“I don’t believe you,” Zhang Hao says, feeling petulant. He’s not just whining for the sake of it, though. He gets that Hanbin is trying to cheer him up, but like he would ever believe something as far-fetched as Hanbin being seriously on the brink of kissing him on TV.
Hanbin raises his hand, smiling brightly, and Zhang Hao is confused whether Hanbin is about to slap him or ask for a high five until he starts, a little too smugly, “When we were doing the soundcheck and you almost tripped walking up the stairs, and you turned to me and laughed—when we were walking to the snack machine together and you elbowed me in the side—when we were sitting with that staff member and you told that story about catching bugs in the rain—when we were—”
“Why on earth would that make you want to kiss me?” Zhang Hao finally comes to his senses, his heart racing a mile a minute.
Hanbin shrugs. He’s lowered three fingers so far, one for each point. “You were cute talking about it. The weirdness was what made it endearing. Also, I’m going in chronological order, and we’re not close to when filming started yet, so—”
“Oh my god, stop,” Zhang Hao begs. “Please. I get it.” He’s already dizzy enough from the adrenaline rush from today. At this rate, he’ll pass out.
“Do you, though?” Hanbin asks, and Zhang Hao just purses his lips into a pout. “One of us would have slipped up eventually, on instinct.”
“Whatever,” Zhang Hao says flippantly. He’s not Hanbin, so he can’t say definitively whether that’s true or not. But it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. No staff or fans are going to care about what Hanbin could have done when it’s Zhang Hao who acted out in the end. “I’ll get over it. I know it’ll blow over in a few days. I just needed to be alone.”
“Well, I’m not leaving you here alone,” Hanbin says, and pauses. “Unless you really want me to. But I hope you’re actually listening to me. I’m just saying that dwelling on it won’t help. It already happened, and it’s not like it’s the end of the world. That’s all.”
Zhang Hao sticks his tongue out at him. “You’re talking to me like I’m a kid.”
“No, I’m talking like somebody who cares about you,” Hanbin says firmly. “You would do the same thing for me.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Zhang Hao says stubbornly. He absolutely would, no question. “I’d be scolding you.”
Hanbin laughs at him, which shows how easy he sees through all of Zhang Hao’s pouting. “You don’t need me to scold you. You’re already punishing yourself by being anxious. And if the company decides to punish you or whatever, I’ll make them punish me too.”
“That’s not fair to you and you know it.” Zhang Hao inches back on his chair, knees to his chest. Hanbin opens his mouth to argue, and Zhang Hao quickly continues before he can interrupt, “Maybe you felt like you would’ve done something inappropriate eventually as well, but the fact is, you didn’t and I did. And if it affects your reputation…”
“I mean, I liked it.” Hanbin can’t keep quiet anymore. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sure, it wasn’t in the right time or place, but you know I always love having you close, hyung. That’s why I reached for you. So ignoring all these hypotheticals, you shouldn’t feel bad for me. I’m not a victim here.”
“People will use it to attack you,” Zhang Hao says, frowning. “So yes, even ignoring those hypotheticals, you can’t make me stop feeling guilty about that.”
“I know I can’t stop you. Trust me. It feels like I’m talking to a wall right now,” Hanbin says, and this time, Zhang Hao can’t hold back his laugh.
They’re never going to see eye to eye on this. Hanbin is too soft for him, and Zhang Hao cares too much about what other people think.
Hanbin shifts to face him completely, crossing his legs so he can fit on the chair. They probably both look comical with how tall they are compared to how small these chairs are, but Hanbin manages to make the awkwardness endearing.
“Stop looking at the floor. I miss seeing your face.” Hanbin nudges Zhang Hao’s shoulder.
Zhang Hao lifts his head properly for the first time since Hanbin entered the room, and he hates how quickly his heart stalls in his chest for what must be the billionth time that day.
Somehow, in the four and a half months they’ve been… whatever it is they’ve been, Hanbin has never looked as beautiful as this, affection seeping from every pore, his cheeks bright red in the darkness without any foundation to cover them.
Zhang Hao thought those exact words before they went on stage, and while they were on stage, obviously, and now as well, but the fact is, Zhang Hao doesn’t think anybody has ever looked as beautiful as Hanbin does all the time. He needs to get his shit together and learn how to hide his feelings better, because he can’t imagine he’ll ever stop thinking that Hanbin is the most beautiful he’s ever been, every moment, every day.
No wonder Zhang Hao turns into a bumbling fool whenever Hanbin is around. How could anyone with eyes and a beating heart not be affected by him?
If someone told him last year that he’d be happier about having met Hanbin than winning the entire show, he would have laughed until he cried. If someone told him that when his name was announced for their debut, his first instinct was to kiss Hanbin and not burst into tears, he would have called them crazy.
It’s almost scary how, after chasing the same dream for months and attaining it, he’s sitting here more focused on kissing Hanbin than celebrating with him.
Maybe what he needs is to get all this energy out of him. This might be the only time they get truly alone in a while, and he needs to say it out loud else he’ll end up giving in again. He knows himself, and he’s not as strong as Hanbin thinks, or everybody else needs him to be. His track record for keeping things bottled up is pretty poor.
“Hyung?” Hanbin prods.
Zhang Hao takes a deep breath and says, all at once, “You look really beautiful today. That’s why I couldn’t hold back. But even so—even if you don’t want me to apologise, I’m apologising anyway, because I let my emotions control me.”
That wasn’t as eloquent as he wanted it to be, but it came from the heart, and Zhang Hao’s speaking has always been clumsier than his inner monologue. Perks of speaking in a second language.
It takes a second for Hanbin to react. His eyes widen belatedly, his lips parting, and Zhang Hao can only stand there uselessly with his face turning redder and redder as he waits for him to say something in return. Anything.
It’s not as if it’s news what Zhang Hao thinks about Hanbin, and at any other time, it would make him feel ridiculous to be acting so dramatic over what’s actually a very mundane sentence. But saying you’re beautiful after a performance has vastly different implications than saying you’re beautiful after he kissed Hanbin’s neck on stage in front of millions of people.
“Oh my god, hyung,” Hanbin breathes out, and he’s throwing his arms around Zhang Hao’s shoulders before Zhang Hao can think to react. “You’re so cute.”
Zhang Hao sputters, trying and failing to squirm out of Hanbin’s grasp. “Accept my apology before you change the subject. Can you take me seriously, please?”
“I’m not changing the subject,” Hanbin laughs. He shakes his head, one hand sliding down to grasp Zhang Hao’s waist, the other rubbing his upper arm. “And I promise I am. I take everything you say seriously. But—hyung, you’re killing me here.”
“I’m not even doing anything,” Zhang Hao argues weakly, but his heart comes to a screeching halt when he feels Hanbin’s fingers dig into his skin.
He’s really no different from a lovesick teenager. A single touch from the person he likes can ground him in an instant.
Hanbin just shakes his head. He cups Zhang Hao’s face in his hands, calloused yet so gentle as they trace the soft angles of Zhang Hao’s cheeks.
“I’m going to kiss you,” Hanbin states, sounding very polite and determined at the same time. “Just once. So we can make it even.”
Zhang Hao doesn’t trust his own voice, so he just nods, grasping onto Hanbin so tightly his knuckles go white. Hanbin’s smile is radiant, blinding, and Zhang Hao’s heart unfurls at the sight.
The press of his lips against Zhang Hao’s are hesitant at first, his movements slow and careful, like he’s relearning how to kiss him even though it’s only been a few days. Zhang Hao savours each sensation—the warmth of Hanbin’s mouth, his fingers tangling into Hanbin’s hair, their bodies flush against each other. Who knows how long it’ll be before they get a moment like this again.
One of Hanbin’s hands slides down to wrap around Zhang Hao’s waist, pulling them flush together.
“Hyung,” Hanbin whispers, and Zhang Hao moans softly, fingers tangling into Hanbin’s hair. Hanbin’s tongue traces his lips and teeth, tapping at the seam of Zhang Hao’s mouth until he parts his lips with a gasp.
The world could end around them and Zhang Hao wouldn’t notice. His heartbeat calms for the first time in hours, the tension in his shoulders dissipating as Hanbin smooths his hand over Zhang Hao’s upper back.
It ends too quickly, and Zhang Hao groans childishly when Hanbin pulls away. Hanbin giggles at him, so unabashedly happy, all his teeth on display.
“There. Now we both did something stupid today,” Hanbin says.
“As if kissing in a dark room is anywhere near as bad as kissing on stage,” Zhang Hao says.
But despite his sarcasm, he lets himself be giddy inside, hearing how happy Hanbin is over something he wants equally as much. Ultimately, somehow, maybe Hanbin does like Zhang Hao as much as Zhang Hao likes him.
“Mm,” Hanbin hums. “Feel better?”
Zhang Hao buries his face against Hanbin’s shoulder. Of course he feels better, but he wants more. “Why can’t we just stay in this room forever? That would solve all our problems.”
Zhang Hao rarely ever asks for more of anything. He’s not a greedy person by nature, with how disciplined and desensitised he grew up. Hanbin is one thing he can’t get enough of, no matter how much time they spend stuck to each other’s sides.
Hanbin sighs, and he slips a hand underneath Zhang Hao’s dress shirt, fingers crawling over the knobs of his spine. It feels good, and Zhang Hao lets out an airy breath against Hanbin’s neck.
“We worked too hard to stay in here,” Hanbin says.
“Yeah,” Zhang Hao agrees. He wishes he didn’t like people so much. Then he wouldn’t feel bad for ignoring them.
They stand there for a long moment, basking in each other’s warmth and the lingering tingles from their kiss. Eventually, Hanbin pulls back and cups Zhang Hao’s face in his hands, brushing his thumbs over Zhang Hao’s cheeks.
“Do you need more time?” Hanbin asks. “I can probably stave them off for a few more minutes, if you need me to—”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll… I’ll be okay. I’ve been here for too long already,” Zhang Hao cuts him off. It says a lot about how people see him that nobody dared to chase after him when he left, aside from Hanbin. Zhang Hao might be the first winner of one of these shows in history to be more anxious after the finale ended.
He inhales Hanbin’s familiar, comforting scent, the perfume he’s come to associate with safety, and forces himself to focus on Hanbin. Hanbin won’t leave his side. Hanbin won’t let him do anything stupid again. Hanbin needs him to be strong for both their sakes, and that includes being a big boy and facing the rest of the world.
“Alright,” Hanbin says, chuckling. “But promise me you won’t beat yourself up all night, please. We did it, hyung. We made it together. We deserve to celebrate. I want you to enjoy yourself.”
“Fine,” Zhang Hao says, only because his love for Hanbin is slowly edging out his own nervousness now that his urge to kiss has been satiated. For now, at least. “I’ll try.”
Hanbin takes Zhang Hao’s hand, interlacing their fingers, and gives him one last quick kiss.
The crowd swallows them up once they return to the filming site, people greeting them with smiles and claps on the back. Nobody mentions how Zhang Hao put his and Hanbin’s relationship on display for everybody to see, and Zhang Hao is very grateful for their pretend ignorance.
Zhang Hao puts on his best smile, and lets their friends ramble to him excitedly over his own achievements. He hates to admit it because it makes him feel silly for being so dramatic in the first place, but he feels marginally better after dumping all his thoughts and feelings on Hanbin. It’s like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders—not all of it, but some—knowing that Hanbin knows why Zhang Hao did what he did.
Even if I think you’re so beautiful I forgot about the fact we’re public figures and kissed you on stage is an objectively stupid reason to everyone else. And to himself as well, honestly. But it’s difficult to continue being angry when every time he looks over at Hanbin, he’s smiling like the happiest person in the world.