Work Text:
“Remind me exactly why we’re waiting for a Hot Summer performance, knowing that they’re our competition?” Gyuvin asks this through a mouthful of popcorn, little kernels flying every which way. He’s not… wrong, necessarily, Zhang Hao can recognize and admit that much.
In fact, Hao is sure that he’ll end up regretting something by the end of the band’s set. He isn’t sure what got into him at the very moment his fate was decided. He felt comfortable (how could you not, standing in front of a boy so pretty?), which meant he felt bold, and now there’s a sinking feeling in his gut. Instead of replying, he opts to pinch Gyuvin on the cheek and ignores the way the brunet chokes on a piece of popcorn.
Is it so wrong to desire? As the leader and a guitarist of the up-and-coming band YUEHUAZ, he deserves compensation for dealing with the shit that the group’s been through. The easier “shit” includes Yujin’s constant whining for snacks and Seungeon being way too cautious with the volume of his keyboard. They’ve gone through their rough, messy patches already: some of which being an entire war between Gyuvin and Ricky, and Ollie nearly leaving the band.
That was in the past, though. Band YUEHUAZ, for all its eight members on a rotation system and weekly practices held in Gyuvin’s garage, is doing swimmingly. Hao was extremely popular in his university before— now that girls are aware he plays the guitar, it’s gotten infinitely worse. (Seriously, ladies? Taking pictures with compact mirrors?) But he loves his members, and he loves music, and the rush he feels when his fingers brush the strings; all of it is enough to keep him sane, enough to keep him smiling for every picture taken.
The concert ticket was taken — accepted, really — in stride, and Hao bothered his members Gyuvin, Ricky, and Yujin to come along with him to a Hot Summer concert. Really, it’s a summer festival held at the beach, but the band is popular enough to be the headliner. The main event.
“It’s better than sitting at home and doing my algebra,” Yujin grumbles. He nuzzles his cheek into Hao’s arm. “I want an explanation, though. Ollie said he ditched the festival for the arcade and that should’ve been me, Hao-hyung.” He digs his hand into Gyuvin’s bag of popcorn, the older boy jumping at the crime and starting to complain.
“A friend invited me,” Hao responds evenly.
“A friend from Hot Summer? Don’t you hate them, or some shit?” Ricky pipes up from Gyuvin’s other side.
He pauses, then recovers with an unconvincing, “You’re making things up.” Hao proceeds to ignore everything that comes out of Ricky’s mouth afterwards.
There are people starting to arrive at the beach and stand around the stage, idle chatter surrounding the four boys in a matter of minutes. The sun is still over their heads but is making its gradual descent; the breeze running through Hao’s hair and salty smell of ocean create an atmosphere he can’t help but embrace. It’s such a suitable mood for a Hot Summer concert, so much to make him start anticipating whatever they’ll come up with.
But he is stubborn, and Ricky’s right— he’s not too fond of them. Hao shoves down the anticipation, rolling his shoulders back.
A few crew members come on stage to lug amps and instruments onto the stage, and the audience lets out whoops of excitement. Their group is far enough near the back of the crowd to see how many people have attended for Hot Summer . A secure position to surely conceal his presence from… certain people.
Gyuvin’s hand reaches around Yujin’s back and tugs at Hao’s sleeve. “What’s the reason?”
“For?”
“C’mon, Hao-hyung. You seriously don’t remember every single time you’ve subtly bashed on Hot Summer for being all looks?” Gyuvin levels him with a doubtful look. “There’s gotta be a reason why you’re so insistent on attending their set!”
“I wasn’t insistent, brat,” Hao mutters.
“You asked our band group chat if anyone would go with you and then when no one replied, you started spamming us individually,” Yujin chirps. When Hao looks down to glare at him, Yujin is suddenly busy with chewing popcorn.
Before Hao can grab him in a headlock, someone clears their throat behind them. “Zhang Hao-ssi?”
Hao is given only a few milliseconds as a warning. The first thing he sees when he turns around is Hot Summer’s leader, Sung Hanbin: sunglasses sitting pretty atop his head, hair pulled back from his forehead, and a smile gleaming in the sun.
The second thing he sees is the short-sleeved rash guard Hanbin is wearing. Unfortunately, it hugs all the right places a little bit more than perfectly.
“Hi.” Hanbin greets him alongside a small wave to the rest of the attending YUEHUAZ members. (Yujin and Gyuvin wave back, those traitors.) “I’m glad you could make it.”
“I was in the area,” Hao lies. (He gets the feeling that those snickers behind his back belong to one Kim Gyuvin. He’ll have to interrogate him about band loyalty once they leave.) “Happy to be here. Where’s the rest of your group?”
“Mm.” Hanbin’s eyes flit to the sky and he purses his lips in consideration; his hands link behind his back, stretching out his arms, and the rash guard stretches around his chest area, highlighting toned limbs and a built chest. Of course he has to be athletic alongside being in a band and being, well, perfect. Of course he does. “Well, I think Matthew and Jiwoong-hyung are getting something for Matthew’s bass.” Ricky visibly perks up at the mention of the bass guitar, and Hanbin briefly smiles something fond at him. A piece of Hao’s heart chips off. “Gunwookie’s talking with our manager, and Taerae is warming up his vocals.”
If that’s true, then…? Hao’s brows knit together in confusion, head tilting to the side when he says, “If he’s warming up his vocals, wouldn’t you be warming up yours, too?”
Hanbin’s lips break out into a smirk. “You know that I do vocals? Zhang Hao-ssi, I thought you hated us and wouldn’t ever listen to our songs.”
Oh.
Maybe mentioning the vocals was a mistake. His face burns crimson in embarrassment, and he has to fight the urge to slap the other band members behind him (who have also made their laughter much more apparent). “You knew that I…?”
“Hate my band? Of course I know, Zhang Hao-ssi. There’s no other explanation as to why you’d go out of your way to ignore every attempt I’ve made to become friends with you.”
(“There’ve been multiple attempts? This guy must be whipped,” a voice that sounds strangely like Gyuvin whispers.)
Hanbin takes a few steps forward until Hao can count every mole on his face and take in the smell of his cologne. “I said this before, didn’t I? I want you to acknowledge me. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why you don’t like me— hell, my entire group, even our music, for some twisted reason. Yet…” Voice trailing off, Hanbin looks him up and down, eyes stopping for a split second longer on his lips, before connecting their gazes once more. “Somehow, I still want you to look at me. Isn’t that crazy?”
Hao’s breath hitches, rendered speechless by Hanbin’s genuinity. His mouth opens, closes again, and as he regains the awareness to respond, a voice calls out: “Yo, hyung!”
Every bit of seriousness leaves Hanbin’s expression when a head of dirty blond wrestles its way underneath his arm, the culprit wearing a bright smile and fox-like eyes. Another man, taller with much more chiseled features, follows him with an affectionate grin. The connection— the obvious love between them is enough to tell Hao, oh, these are his bandmates.
“Jiwoon-hyung and I got my bass strings, but we also dropped off some drinks for you, Taerae and Gunwookie,” the blond boy tells Hanbin. Then, the realization hits that Hao is present, and his smile only gets bigger. “Oh, is he the guy you—”
“Zhang Hao-ssi,” Hanbin cuts in, loudly, and the other two newcomers laugh, the result of an inside joke, Hao thinks. “These are two of my band members: Seok Matthew, our bassist, and Kim Jiwoong-hyung, on drums.”
There are so many things going on around Hao — Hanbin’s presence in its entirety, the younger YUEHUAZ members observing the scene with interested eyes, the newcomers who’d gotten comfortable almost immediately — but the only thing he can think is that Sung Hanbin has a big heart. A natural affinity for loving others, and a natural affinity for drawing others to him solely through how approachable he is.
“Well,” Hanbin’s voice brings him back to the present. Jiwoong has an arm wrapped around Hanbin, and Matthew is still wearing that amused smile of his, studying the faces of his supposed rivals . “I have to get going, so I’ll see you later, Hao-ssi.” He pauses, then: “Please remember what I said, okay?”
Hao can only watch dumbly when the group leaves in smiles, fans gathering around them as Hanbin’s back disappears past the crowd and into a tent. Slowly, he turns back to the three other members who’d graciously gone to the festival with him. They’re wearing different expressions but they all express the same thought: ‘are you sure you hate that guy?’
“Ah,” Ricky ponders out loud (deliberately) while Gyuvin breaks down into giggles next to him, “So he’s the reason why you came.”
(When Hao leaves his last class of the day, he throws his backpack over his shoulder and is met face-to-face with Sung Hanbin . Based on the determined look practically written all over the younger man’s cheeks, he’d been waiting for Hao to step out the door.
“That’s a little creepy, don’t you think?” Hao takes in the look of his denim jacket, the flash of skin on his shoulders uncovered by the denim nor his white tank top. No wonder he’s so popular, even separated from his band. He would be a good boyfriend. He could be a good boyfriend.
Hanbin ignores him, taking a quick breath to extend his arm out and say, “I want you to come to our performance. During the beach festival, of course— I want you to watch me play. Will you start acknowledging my existence then?”
Hao looks down at the paper ticket in Hanbin’s fingers, then his eyes trail back up to Hanbin’s eyes. “You want me to?”
“Anyone would. You know that,” replies Hanbin without missing a beat. “I don’t know what someone like you has against me, but I still want you to be there.”
With a scoff, Hao rolls his eyes. “Someone like me,” he echoes, almost mockingly. “What could that mean?”
Hanbin’s smile is blinding. He’s clearly prepared for any witty comeback or question that Hao might throw his way. “Someone so attractive. Talented, skilled, intelligent. You’re a genius, both when it comes to university and when it comes to music. I could keep going.”
“I don’t want the time of day from you,” Hao shoots back, yet he still stays in place expectantly.
“Hm. Well, then.” Hanbin tilts his head to the side, practiced, and oh so innocently. He bites down on his bottom lip, leans his head back enough to highlight the tightness of his neck, the tattoos of celestial bodies inked across his collarbone. Hao indulges his eyes for only a brief moment— when he meets Hanbin’s eyes again, they’re filled with satisfied victory. “If you’re going to ogle my body instead of admitting I exist, Zhang Hao-ssi, at least do it when I’ve got a guitar in my hands.”
Well played, Sung Hanbin. The paper ticket feels weightless in Hao’s pocket when he takes the bus back to his apartment . )
The entirety of Hot Summer’s set resembles some unusual dream. Hao’s group lingers near the back — so you wouldn’t make eye contact, you coward, Hao’s mind supplies — but still the pure, unbridled passion that the group exhibits feels the same all throughout the crowd. He looked over at the younger members a few times, and they seem equally invested in the music. Hao is sure Gyuvin doesn’t realize his head is nodding to the beat, or how Yujin’s eyes widen every time the guitarists play a riff, or even that Ricky pays careful attention to the names of the songs to save them for later.
Sung Hanbin plays the guitar like he talks: easily, comfortably, like he’s known how for decades, and he expresses every note as if it’s a word of its own, like his thoughts have been stored for years and he wants to share them with whoever will listen. Hao can’t count the amount of times Hanbin turns away from the crowd just to face his band and smile, but he could make out some of what Hanbin had said to them: you’re playing so well, I love doing this with you, I’m proud.
It’s incredible. The music, the players, the experience. It’s nothing close to what Hao expected from them, what made him believe that they were all just pretty faces and a waste of attention.
Before he knows it, Hot Summer are taking turns speaking into their mics, waving to the crowd who throw them garbled cries, countless compliments, desperate pleas for an encore.
Hanbin’s hand curls around the microphone while he uses his other hand to hold a finger up to his lips, silencing the audience in only a matter of seconds. “I’m happy that we were able to be here with you all,” he announces, gaze sweeping over every individual person. Hao swears on anything that Hanbin’s eyes stop on him for a moment longer than anyone else. “Thank you for your time. Thank you for loving Hot Summer.”
Hao feels like his heart’s been taken out of his body and dropped into the ocean, even after the crowds have started clearing in preparation for the next set and Hot Summer is off the stage and his friends are staring at him with shared looks of concern.
Yujin tugs on his sleeve. “Hao-hyung?”
“Yujin,” Hao mumbles, staring into the distance, then looking down at him. “What’s wrong?”
“No, just—” Rolling his eyes, Yujin shakes his head dismissively. “Anyway, Ricky-hyung and Gyuvin-hyung are going to take me to get bingsu, there’s a stand around here somewhere.”
Ricky nods affirmatively while Gyuvin wraps a long arm around his shoulders and pulls him into a half-assed side hug. “We’ll meet you back at the car in, like…” The blond looks down at his watch. “Thirty minutes?”
“Thirty minutes?” Hao echoes, consciousness returning to him. “Does it really take that long to get bingsu?”
Gyuvin shrugs. “Ricky takes a shit ton of time to pick what he wants!”
“Oh, so suddenly it’s my fault?”
Fortunately, Yujin breaks up their argument before it starts to catch fire: “We were talking about it before, and we all agree that you should try and settle things with your boyfriend.” Then, he has the audacity to grab Gyuvin’s arm and drag him away before Hao can coherently respond. “Thanks Hao-hyung. See you.”
It takes about two seconds for Yujin’s words to register. “My what?”
“Your boyfriend!” Gyuvin calls out to him, even as Yujin and Ricky pull him towards the food stands. “Just don’t fuck this up for yourself, hyung!”
Stubbornly, he wraps his arms around himself— by now, the sun was setting, and the breeze brought goosebumps to his skin. “My what,” he mumbles to himself again, eyes flicking down to the ground where he’s begun to subconsciously kick his shoe into the sand.
“I believe he said your boyfriend…?” An achingly familiar voice makes him yelp and Hao whips around to find Sung Hanbin, dressed comfortably in basketball shorts and a large hoodie. There’s an acoustic guitar slung around his body by the strap. “Hey, it’s just me! Sorry if I scared you, Zhang Hao-ssi.”
Don’t be embarrassing, Zhang Hao. “No, it’s okay. Uh…”
Hanbin grins at him, amused by the reaction, and thankfully eases them into conversation: “Would you want to walk along the beach with me? If you have a few minutes to spare.”
Truthfully, Hao makes it a lot harder than he should. He keeps his eyes in front of him while they walk, focusing on the feeling of the damp sand underneath his feet rather than the fact that Hanbin is next to him. Hanbin, a person who should despise Hao for how he treated him, but doesn’t.
“The others— the other members of Hot Summer, I should say,” Hanbin begins out of the blue. He has his own gaze locked onto whatever is coming up in front of them, just like Hao. “You know our band was established a little after YUEHUAZ, right? Well, they wondered why I wanted to be your friend so much. I didn’t know what to say at the time, but now I do.”
Hao waits, expecting more to come out of the younger’s mouth, and sure enough, Hanbin keeps going. “I didn’t realize you were within reach, Hao-ssi, until I saw you practicing in one of the empty rooms at the university. So from then to now, I just…” Softly, with nothing short of disappointment, a sigh leaves Hanbin’s lips; Hao can feel every last bit of his resolve crumble, falling onto the sand. “I always wondered what I’d done for you not to like me.”
“You didn’t do anything.” Hao interjects suddenly— based on Hanbin’s widening eyes, he’d surprised him, too. “It was never your fault.”
“Then— why?”
Somewhere along the beach, they stop walking. Hao’s fists curl, digging his nails into his palms, and he crouches down to let his hand meet the foaming waves. Beside him, Hanbin shoves his hands into his pockets and observes quietly. “I was… jealous, I suppose. Your band became so popular so quickly while it took YUEHUAZ more than enough time, and strife, to even be recognized as artists. When watching wasn’t enough, I needed to direct that resentment somewhere.”
“So you didn’t like me, and by extension Hot Summer, because of this jealousy?”
“Smart boy,” Hao murmurs. (Hanbin blushes deeply, which goes unnoticed.) “I convinced myself that all of your popularity was because of your looks, and I didn’t tell the public that I disliked you, but I felt it and that’s enough.” He flicks salt water off of his fingers and stands back upright, allowing his eyes to meet Hanbin’s for the first time during their stroll. “It’s no excuse. You did so much to try and reach out to me, only for me to treat you and your band as if you were nothing. I’m sorry, Sung Hanbin.”
Hanbin glances out towards the ocean and takes a deep breath. “It hurt a lot more than I could put into words. All I wanted was to be your friend, ever since I’ve heard you sing.”
Both of their voices are shaking. Hao exhales. “Can I make it up to you?”
“No, Hao-ssi, please don’t. You know you were wrong, and that’s enough. But what you can do is hear me out.” Hanbin turns to him abruptly, and Hao inhales sharply, the intense look in Hanbin’s eyes rendering him motionless.
Hanbin chews the inside of his cheek. “There’s something about you. When they asked me why I wanted us to be friends, I couldn’t answer at the time. Isn’t it ironic how I’m able to answer so easily now, with the topic of discussion in front of me? I want us to be friends because I know that if I were to play next to you, it’d be unreal. I worked so hard to get Hot Summer the attention we deserved, practiced as much as I could, so that eventually— I could realistically see myself performing next to you, on the same stage.
“I guess you could say that I admire you,” Hanbin whispers. Earnest and true, nothing above a secret told to the sea breeze. “People call it a crush, don’t they? I never was able to stop myself from wanting your attention, after all. I wished that, if only for a moment, you’d admire me the same way I’ve done so for so long, and that pushed me to invite you to our performance.”
Right then and there, Hao melts. “Hanbin,” he starts to say, but Hanbin shakes his head with the same determination he’d presented before the performance.
“I want to be your friend first, Zhang Hao-ssi. I want you to know how I feel before we become friends at all. You can forget that I like you in that way. Then, maybe later on, if the time is right…” Hanbin’s voice grows quiet as he bashfully looks off to the side. Hao can draw his own assumptions from the unfinished confession. “… You can remember, if you want. Or we’ll keep pretending if you don’t. Is that okay?”
“That’s fine. More than fine. But…” Hao scratches the back of his neck. “I can’t help but think that you should be calling me hyung, if we’re friends? Hanbin-ah?”
His name sounds and feels so lovely coming out of Hao’s mouth.
Hanbin’s face breaks into a smile, as he leans back and laughs into the sky. Hao sits back on his heels and watches; the thought of seeing Hanbin smile — of making Hanbin smile, the boy with love overflowing from every inch of his being — doesn’t seem daunting at all.
“Well said, Hao-hyung.” Hanbin beams, brighter than any star over their heads. “Well said.”
(Hanbin swore that the sheet music was in his backpack.
“First day of university again, and I’m already all over the place,” he mumbles, frantically texting the group chat for ideas on where their music could be. With plans to create a new band in the air, Hanbin took it upon himself to compose the music for each instrument, while his potential members create the lyrics, and then their band would be all set to perform.
The only problem is that Hanbin can’t find the music.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Hanbin thinks about what he’d done today. He made Matthew pancakes for breakfast in the morning, he went to his classes and nearly missed a lecture, he practiced his guitar in the music wing, he visited the library to pick up a college-level book for Gunwook—
Ah! Before his mind can catch up with his body, Hanbin is running into the music wing to find the music for the band.
He immediately regains composure and walks at a much more socially-accepted pace when the doors shut behind him. Admittedly, he always loved walking through the wing, just in case some people left their practice room doors open for others to listen in on music. Hanbin himself always left his door open, either for criticism or because he felt like it.
Speaking of practice rooms. Which room did I use, again? Hanbin tries to recall it from memory. It’s either room thirteen, or it’s room twenty-five. He’s too far down the hallway to turn back to room thirteen, so he goes for room twenty-five first.
The first thing he hears is an electric guitar. The second thing he hears is a beautiful voice, singing along to the riffs of the instrument; Hanbin’s eyes widen, and he slowly makes his way towards the sounds. Coincidentally enough, the door to practice room twenty-five is cracked open just the slightest bit— he gets the impression that whoever’s inside probably intended to close it all the way and fully utilize the room’s soundproofing, yet he can’t help but draw closer.
He peeks through the crack in the door: a beautiful boy wearing glasses has his eyes shut, playing the electric guitar like it was the reason for his being while singing so wonderfully it has Hanbin nearly gasping in awe. Hanbin had no idea who this boy was, but he could tell solely from the way he played that he devoted himself to music, playing as easily as another could breathe. He couldn’t bear to look away. It was unbelievable.
Hanbin wasn’t sure what song the boy was singing and leans in further to try and deduce what it is, but the boy stops playing the guitar and Hanbin practically throws himself away from the door, just in case he were to be caught.
Scrambling off the floor, Hanbin quickly retrieves his music from room thirteen and bolts out of the music wing. He wanted to proof the music and practice it as soon as possible, with only one thing on his mind: no matter what, I need to perform with him.)