Chapter Text
Hanbin is seventeen when he first realises he loves Hao. Interestingly (or expectedly), this is also the moment he comes to the staggering understanding that he likes men.
He is sitting on his bedroom floor, still clad in his school uniform having just returned home from school, phone clutched at his ear, in the midst of consoling said object of his affection through his latest breakup.
To be fair, Hao appears more irritated than distraught. When Hanbin received an incoming phone call from his best friend about thirty minutes ago, he had been understandably confused - after all, they rarely spoke on the phone given that Hao preferred to text (his reasoning something along the lines of “not draining his already limited social battery”). Upon hearing Hao’s declaration that he had gotten cheated on, Hanbin had expected his best friend to be inconsolable, perhaps for some sort of breakdown to ensue, definitely at least a few tears. Instead, Hao swiftly broke into a heated rant about the sheer stupidity of men before Hanbin could even formulate a reply.
Frankly speaking Hao seemed more agitated at the fact that he had become, in his exact words, “the newest victim of the three-month curse” rather than having had to see his boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend, making out with another student in their school toilet of all places.
Midway in his tirade, a venting so passionate that if Hanbin closes his eyes he can picture the way Hao must be pacing around his bedroom and dramatically waving his hands around, his friend seems to, momentarily, run out of fuel.
“So…what do you think?” Hao’s voice is distinctly softer than before, almost timid.
Hanbin tries to organise his thoughts. When particularly emotional, Hao has the tendency to speak extremely quickly in a messy combination of Korean, Chinese and occasionally English (usually in the form of obscenities) that, despite having been on its receiving end countless times, Hanbin still has not managed to fully grasp. Ever since Hao off-handedly commented, months ago, that Hanbin always knew to say exactly what Hao needed to hear, when he needed to hear it, Hanbin has faced an immeasurable pressure, especially in times like the present when his best friend was visibly spiralling, to say the right things. Hanbin has always been, and would likely always be, the “therapist friend” in his social circles. His overwhelming empathy, amicable nature and seemingly boundless patience makes him the person everyone goes to when they are struggling with any new development in their lives. That is not to say Hanbin finds the act of advising, or comforting for that matter, easy. Threading the fine line of being simultaneously the voice of reason but also ensuring the other party knows he is irrevocably on their side requires an extreme amount of tact, sensitivity and tolerance.
Hanbin considers all that Hao (or at least the bits and pieces he had managed to successfully internalise) has said in the past half hour. After all, Hanbin knows Hao - inside and out - and what becomes startlingly obvious is that it isn’t Hao’s heart that had gotten broken, it was his pride. Hao does not feel anguished, he feels betrayed and used, and perhaps most significantly, Hao feels stupid - for having failed to see things for what they were until it was much too late - and Hao was anything but stupid.
“I think…I think you’ve always been too good for him anyway. And I’m not just saying that because you’re my best friend or because I have never really ever liked him but because I know with absolute certainty that if you had been in his position? You would have never done what he did. Doesn’t matter whether you grew bored, got stressed, had something bad happen to you, or hell, fell for someone else. You’re simply above doing something so dehumanising and cruel. So I guess…I am proud, and also relieved. Proud to be best friends with a good person. Relieved that you recognised that you deserve better and didn’t give this excuse of a man a second chance.”
He is met with silence, and for a moment Hanbin worries that he may have laid it on too thick. But everything he had said was sincere, whole-heartedly so. Really, he only wishes Hao can see himself the way Hanbin does him.
“Thank you. I…I really needed to hear that.” Hao’s voice sounds slightly choked up when he finally responds but before long he is resuming his spirited venting. And Hanbin, well, Hanbin cannot help but smile because while his heart certainly breaks for his friend, he is so comforted to see that at least the douchebag had not crushed Hao’s vibrant, precious, spirit.
Another half hour later, of which Hanbin barely manages to get a few words in (mostly making subtle reminders to Hao that he should perhaps keep his voice level down lest he gets a noise complaint), Hao was placated, still frustrated but now more composed. Sensing Hao’s energy waning, Hanbin feigned wanting to take a nap and told Hao to go have a good rest himself.
As Hanbin finally strips off his uniform, preparing himself for a long overdue shower, his mind starts to wander.
To be loved is to be known. Hanbin knows Hao, knows him better than the latter knows himself. He knows that anyone’s ambition would pale in comparison to Hao’s, that once the man sets his eyes on something, he will not stop until it has been achieved. He also knows that while Hao’s drive - his fervent, damning, persistence to become the best - is a product of his fiery passion, it also stems from crippling fear. Because Hao is scared, terribly scared. Scared of rejection. Scared of failure. Scared of not being enough.
Hanbin knows that for all of Hao’s less than ideal encounters with people - from random strangers to beloved relatives - he continues to be boldly authentic, zealously sincere and upstanding in a way Hanbin, chronic people-pleaser with a debilitating need to always be accepted and admired, could never. Hanbin knows that Hao, though terribly introverted, never fails to be there for those he loves, and would always have the patience to listen and courage to correct. He knows that despite Hao’s seemingly aloof disposition, his ge is desperate for the affection he expresses to be reciprocated.
Hanbin knows Hao. And he loves what he knows, so the very much unprompted realisation - made under the warm, cascading water of his afternoon shower - that he was, and has been for awhile, head over heels in love with his best friend of two years, was not a panicked one. More so like a puzzle piece finally fitting into its place. It was oddly melancholic, yet comforting. Terrifying, yet right. So, so right.
-
Hanbin is seventeen when he comes out to Hao.
The conversation takes place over a shared bowl of frozen yoghurt (large-sized, one spoon). Hanbin is nervous and incredibly jittery which well, logically, he really should not be. Not only is Hao entirely non-judgemental, he has also been openly gay for as long as Hanbin has known him and has had his fair share of relationships with (in Hanbin’s opinion, rather unimpressive) men. Perhaps, Hanbin realises, making such a declaration will never not be terrifying, regardless of your audience.
“Ge, I’m bisexual.”
Silence.
(A freeing, calming, silence. Hanbin feels like he can breathe again.)
“I am so proud of you, Hanbin.” and as Hao’s warm, knowing eyes stare back at him, Hanbin feels loved. Hanbin feels seen.
“So, how did you know?” Hao asks, fitting a spoon-full of yoghurt into his mouth, an expression of genuine curiosity lining his pretty face. Years later, Hanbin will look back at this moment, alongside the many other encounters he will soon have, and find it so interesting that when one finds someone else like them, they will likely at some point ask, “how did you know?”, “what were the signs?”, “what made you realise?”.
Hanbin will then speculate that perhaps when one does so, they wish to confirm that the other party’s experiences align with theirs, in one way or another. They are hoping to be validated, to rewrite the moments when they were convinced something was wrong with them - the moments when they believed, whole-heartedly, that they were the only ones who felt and thought in this peculiar way. They are seeking out a kinship.
Because coming to terms with your queerness almost always begins as a terribly isolating experience. Discovering this inexorable part of yourself and having to reconcile with how much it will inevitably affect your life is so, so scary. The fact that people may never be able to look past your sexuality - that their perceptions of you may be irrevocably altered - is a heavy burden to bear, and the overwhelming vulnerability that comes with this revelation leaves you feeling devastatingly alienated.
Of course, eventually, your queerness becomes a part of you that you cherish, value and embrace, though for some this journey takes months or even years. (For some this journey is never completed.) Yet, even when one, seemingly, “fully” comes to terms with this delicate part of their character, their experience may continue to be hauntingly lonely. Until they realise they are, and always have been, part of a bigger, a beautiful, community.
“Well, a couple of things I guess.” Hanbin only intends to make one confession today. He recognises that he is being extremely vague but Hao surprisingly lets it go.
“Well,” Hao continues, a flirty smile painting his face as he places his chin in his palm, staring up sweetly at Hanbin, “Welcome to the club.”
Hanbin rolls his eyes, taking a mouthful of yoghurt to avoid having to reply. They eat in silence for a few minutes. Sensing a lull in their conversation and not wanting to lose Hao to his thoughts, Hanbin leans forward, trying to find some humour in his situation, “I’ve always been curious though, am I attractive to, what do people call it, the male gaze?”
Hanbin is aware that his question sounds very much like something a repressed, chronically online, twelve-year-old would ask. He expects Hao to scoff, or perhaps to brush off his question with some sarcastic comment, especially when he sees his friend’s face settle into faux contemplation.
But then Hao’s expression morphs into one of uncharacteristic sobriety. “Well, I've never told you this but when we first met, I was convinced you were the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Honestly, I don’t think my opinion has changed. But that’s just me.”
Hanbin’s eyes widen and, embarrassingly, he feels his cheeks start to heat. He finds himself having nothing (at least, nothing appropriate) to say in response to that. He almost expects Hao to take back whatever the fuck he just said, but Hao stares back, almost defiantly, as if trying to say, make of that what you will.
Hanbin decides that they definitely need a change in topic.
-
Hanbin meets Hao for the first time when he is fifteen, the enigmatic new student from China who was a year older than him immediately drawing him in. Despite being naturally extroverted, someone who prided himself on being able to hold a conversation with just about anybody - from the strictest of his teachers to the random elderly couples he meets on the walk home from school - it takes Hanbin a whole week to build up the courage to approach Hao.
Hanbin remembers it vividly. It had been a Wednesday afternoon and the school library was particularly crowded, leaving Hanbin to retreat to one of the designated outdoor study areas. The vending machine in their school is known for being extremely faulty and that day it had spit out two, instead of one, cans of zero cola. Clutching the two cans in one hand and holding his books in the other, Hanbin had entered the study area only to find his usual table already occupied by none other than the black-haired boy he had been so enraptured by ever since the teacher had him to the class a week ago. So Hanbin plucked up the courage to strike up a conversation, even offering up his extra drink.
Let’s just say they did not get much studying done that afternoon, more occupied with exchanging stories with a fervency that likened them to two long-lost souls who had finally found each other and were dying to share about all the, albeit limited, life experiences the other had missed out on.
Now, Hanbin is seventeen and does not frequent the library as often anymore (or at all, really). Now he purchases two cans of zero cola intentionally. Now, Hao’s hair is no longer black and instead has been dyed a dark red. They still exchange stories with an intensity that rival long-lost lovers reuniting after spending decades apart.
Now, they are best friends. But now, maybe, Hanbin wants more.
-
When Hanbin is seventeen, his dance team loses. Almost nine months of Hanbin running on barely four hours of sleep every day - having to juggle between his studies, duties as the student council vice-president, volunteering at the neighbourhood childcare centre and on top of that leading the dance team as their captain - and they had lost.
Well, his teammates don’t seem to see it that way. After all, they did come in third place - third out of almost fifty dance teams from all over the country. Considering they were one of the smallest teams competing, the bronze medal hanging around Hanbin’s neck is most definitely an achievement, a great one at that. He should be feeling immense joy or at least some degree of satisfaction. Instead, he feels empty, terribly so.
Their competitiveness is just one of many things Hao and Hanbin have in common. Both of them are far from arrogant or conceited, they simply have a similar philosophy in life - all or nothing. Essentially, they work insanely hard and hope to do insanely well.
Yet, they are competitive for different reasons.
Hao likes to win. He knows what he wants and he knows what he is good at (many, many things) and so he works tirelessly to reach the heights that he knows he has the potential to achieve.
He wins because he can.
Hanbin, on the other hand, views his achievements almost as a report card of his character. He is under the impression that if he cannot prove his worth, again and again and again, that people will one day realise that they were wrong about him, and that they will leave. And so he throws himself not only into the things he is passionate about, but into anything and everything. When people make a suggestion, he takes it as an order. When someone makes a comment in passing, he takes note, almost obsessively. In fact, Hanbin reads in between the line, so aware of any possible connotation or double meanings, just so that he can accommodate to the whims of everyone he interacts with. He is just as competitive in the way he prepares for his examinations as he is when doing a favour for his friends because he needs people to understand, to know with certainty, that he will be able to be there for them in exactly the way they require, regardless of the huge toil that takes on him.
Hanbin wins because he feels like he must.
Hanbin forces a smile, not wanting to dampen the moods of his teammates who are looking at him expectantly. It is tradition that each year the team captain makes a speech after their last performance as a way to conclude their season of competitions. Typically these speeches are tear-stricken and heart-wrenchingly emotional but Hanbin is not sure if he can bring himself to express such raw emotion in the present moment. He can sense the atmosphere of excitement and letting his disappointment show is the last thing he wishes to do. Yet, he can’t bring himself to match their exhilaration, much less shed tears of joy.
But Hanbin is anything but insincere so he decides to talk about something he has been wanting to express for awhile now.
“When I was first appointed as captain, I’ll be honest, I was really scared. Our previous captain, as you guys must know, had this natural ability to command attention and respect. I really did admire her so much. She was innately charismatic and just had this presence about her. And on top of that, she was talented, so talented, and well, I guess it just felt like very big shoes to fill. It took me awhile to find my footing. At the beginning, I tried so hard to be like her. I tried to be more assertive, I trained as hard as I could. I tried my best to fulfil the expectations I was convinced you guys had set for me. Yet, it felt like I was falling short in just about every possible way.”
“But eventually, I realised that what the team needed wasn’t a carbon-copy of our previous captain. She was an authoritarian, and that worked well for her. I had to accept that that was not going to work for me. When I made peace with that and redirected my focus to what I could bring to the table instead of trying to replicate the things she did well, I realised that all the team really needed was a leader who was sincere, hardworking, self-assured and a good role model.”
“I guess what I am trying to say is, don’t spend your whole life trying to mirror other people’s strengths, so much so that you neglect your own. Don’t be so caught up on what you think the world desires and just give your all, unapologetically. Afterward, let them decide for themselves whether it is their cup of tea. If it is not, it’s really their loss. My best friend, he is the best person I know really, and he said this one thing that has stuck with me for a long time. He said that "people with dreams are amazing". And I guess I just want to add to that and say that you will never be able to achieve your aspirations if you waste all your time wondering if your dreams fit the mold of people's expectations."
As he looks around at his teammates, he sees many trying to discreetly wipe away tears from their eyes. It is only when his vice-captain, Matthew, walks over and passes him a paper towel does Hanbin realise that their tears are merely reflecting his own.
Hanbin hears commotion from outside their dressing room and knows that, waiting outside, are the friends and family members the team had invited to come support them, and that they are likely growing impatient.
He tries to wrap up quickly. “You all have been such a huge part of my high school experience and it has been a joy and an honour to be your captain. I am so proud of each and everyone of you and everything you have achieved. Please make sure to rest well tonight, you’ve worked hard. Thank you.”
His team erupts into hoots and applause before they are scrambling to find their loved ones. Hanbin searches for the only person he wishes to see right now.
The moment their gazes meet, Hanbin feels his eyes well up once more. Hao walks over and immediately wraps Hanbin into his arms, one hand cradling Hanbin’s head into the crevice of his neck, the other secured tightly around Hanbin’s broad shoulders. The sinking disappointment in Hanbin is finally replaced with an otherworldly sense of peace, the compulsive musings of ‘what if’s and ‘if only’s finally silenced as Hao murmurs, softly and lovingly, in his ear, “You did so well.”
and a few seconds later, “You did all you could.”
It’s a funny thing. We always assume that all it takes is the right words to make someone feel better. Films often depict their protagonists receiving words of wisdom from their sworn enemies or even from random children they meet on the street, and after which characters will suddenly find themselves having these epiphanic realisations, the trajectory of their lives immediately and irrevocably altered.
Of course, words do hold tremendous weight. Someone offering a new perspective or providing an uplifting message can certainly bring about a positive change. But in reality, it is much less about the words spoken and a lot more about who is speaking them. Often, with the right person, even the silences - the words left unsaid - become exactly what you need in the moment to regain your footing.
To be loved is to be known. Hanbin knows Hao. But Hao also knows Hanbin. Hao knows that Hanbin takes on so many responsibilities and commitments not only because he enjoys meeting and working with people, but because keeping himself occupied is one of the only ways to block out the voices in his head - voices that berate and crucify Hanbin, that when not dismissed out of sheer fatigue will overwhelm him so entirely that he falls into a dark pit of self-loathing and anxiety.
Hao knows that behind that steady front, Hanbin yearns every single day to prove his worth. While the world sees a natural leader, a friend abounding in empathy and compassion, Hao sees a man who’s every move is calculated, performative because even though Hanbin’s kindness is undoubtly genuine and his intentions exceedingly sincere, Hao knows Hanbin carries anger, frustration and restlessness of the same ferocity (as does all extremely emotionally-sensitive people do), all of which Hanbin forcibly subdues because he fears people will leave should they catch wind of it.
Hao knows that Hanbin thinks of himself as replaceable, disposable and easy. Hao knows that what Hanbin thinks cannot be farther from the truth.
Hao knows Hanbin, is able to see him in a way nobody else can, and Hanbin knows Hao loves all that he sees. As for whether this love is platonic or romantic or something in between, Hanbin cannot find it in himself to care - at least for now - because regardless of its nature, it is the rawest, most selfless love he has ever known.