Archive of Our Own

The last year was a lonely one.  

Zhanghao spent his last year on Udo, a small island just off the east coast of Jeju island, wasting away his last few months as the conductor for the local school’s small string orchestra.

He lived in a small house right next to the school, waking up as grandmother’s brought their children to school before rushing off for the wave of tourists that typically arrived just before noon. His house was small, the roofs barely able to accommodate his height, but the comfort of living in the middle of the island where the children all knew him by his first name kept him rooted in the worn down house.

The sea was blue waves on hot sand just five minutes away from his house where his troubles washed away with every incoming tide. The sand soaked up his boredom as he traced his fingers through the soft beach, drawing pictures that would wash away with the midnight waves.  

The sea was where Hanbin was—gentle dancing beneath the sun and the soft sound of camera shutters. Lazy mornings and even lazier afternoons as they were pressed skin to skin on warm sand or between the old hospital bed sheets. Hanbin’s touch brought back a life beneath his skin he never realised was missing, filling him with a warmth that was washed away long ago by the island's lonely tides. 

But it was a touch as brief as butterfly wings against flower petals, disappearing faster than his hands could react as Hanbin slipped gently through his fingers. But at least, even if for a moment, he felt alive again, felt the sea wash through their hands as their fingers lay intertwined on the sand between them.

The last year was truly a lonely one but to Zhanghao, it was also a peaceful one.

1.  first day of the last year

The sea grabs at his ankles as he walks along the water, breathing in the sea spray like oxygen on one of his rare days off. The tourism season is beginning to come down from its high, dwindling to a close as families return to where home is a word that sits comfortably between couch cushions and memories hung on a wall—and the beach feels empty again.

A few linger though, not quite ready to leave the small island that stands on the opposite side of the window facing reality—the glass slightly blurred by the time spent away from the places where troubles are as common as the people on the streets. 

He watches as couples hold hands under the soft glare of the sun and as kids run around barefoot while the worries of adulthood are still as foreign as the island’s native dialect to the untrained ear. There’s a loneliness that aches just below his heart, roused by the lack of footprints next to his own, but he pushes it aside as he continues his walk.

His feet sink into the sand with every step, cradled by the warmth of the shoreline as the summer wind blows a gentle breeze through his hair. He walks until the sun begins disappearing below the horizon, sinking into the waves as a comforting moonlight blankets him with a gentle rain.

The raindrops are cool against his warm skin as it dampens his shirt, making it stick against the defined lines of his muscles. The rain points his feet in the direction of his home as he begins making his way back, walking through the maze of houses near the heart of the island.

His walk is filled with the smell of fresh rain on gravel as the last remnants of summer air drift away into night time. He takes the long route, taking advantage of the moments of quiet after the old couples close down their shops as tourists leave to return to the main island. 

The quiet is comforting as the neighbourhood stands still while it waits for night to turn into day, the only disturbance coming from the buses driving between neighbourhoods during the late rush home from work. There’s a light chatter, soft as it drifts between homes, carried by the night air and Zhanghao can just barely hear the cadence of each neighbour's voice as they bid a final goodnight before the lights in their house shift to a calming darkness.   

When he nears his house, his feet slow to a still as he lingers just beyond the property line. The quiet is a rarity for him, too often disrupted by the sound of children enjoying the acme of life as they run around carelessly with their instruments strewn dangerously across the floor. The noiselessness is soothing to the ache that’s been lingering in his body for months and he lets himself drown in it for a moment more before pushing past the old picket fence.

The flowers are wilting, shrivelled up as they hunch over the uneven cement that leads to his front door. The grass is no better, riddled with weeds that suffocate the green strands as they grow wildly out of control. The yard wasn’t always like this, but there’s no point in trying to keep it presentable anymore—he doesn’t plan on staying any longer than he needs to.

He pushes the door in as it creaks, complaining about its rusted hinges as he pushes against the friction that keeps the door stubbornly closed. The floorboards groan to the same awful melody as the door and Zhanghao winces as his feet draw out long, tired sighs from the old wood floor

He lights the candle he keeps right by the door, letting it fill his house with a little warmth. He had been meaning to get the electricity fixed but with the little time left, all of it would be meaningless.

The simplicity of the interior is both comforting and slightly disturbing. His bed, unmade as usual, sits small in the corner, pushed aside for his desk where scores and manuscripts cover every available surface. He leaves them like that, untouched as they gather dust.

They’re nothing but a painful memory of the life he could have had—admission to one of the top music schools in the world where he could have traded single story houses for apartment buildings overlooking the bustling cities. 

But the sickness in his lungs put a stamp on it, chasing away his future and replacing it with the bleak promise that his pain would only last one more year before he’d finally be free of it. So he confined himself to the island where the air was easier on his lungs, where his life could be prolonged, and where his dreams were separated by an ocean and thousands of miles. 

That had been months ago, the bitterness slowly fading into a regret that lingered in his fingers every time he picked up his instrument. So what if the city air would’ve killed him? At the very least, he could’ve died happy.

He catches himself just as he reaches out for the score on the top of the pile, dropping his hand before turning away from his desk. He sits down on his bed, feeling as the old mattress sinks beneath his weight. 

There’s a table next to his bed, set up in a makeshift altar with an incense box and a picture. His parents look at him from the picture frame, frozen in time with their smiles unwavering. If they could only see him now. Maybe they’d smile at him with a little less warmth and maybe he’d feel a little less guilty. 

He turns away from it, pulling the blanket over his head before blowing out the candle.

Just one more year, he reminds himself. And then it’s all over.

2. feel my heart beat for the first time

A bow clatters against the ground.

“Careful,” Zhanghao mumbles, bending over to grab it before handing it to the student. “Hold your bow properly—”

He’s cut off by a sudden wave of dizziness, stumbling backwards as his vision wanes. He leans against the desk, one hand gripping the wood until his knuckles whiten while the other comes up to his forehead. He puts pressure on his temples, fingers pressing into his skin before turning in a circular motion.

He has some sense left to regret taking those extra pills in the morning, wishing he could turn back time to prevent his past self from letting those two extra white tablets slip past his lips. It had been relieving temporarily—the pain in his chest dulling—but now, he’s ready to crash into the ground. 

Someone tugs at his pant leg, worried voice asking him if he’s okay but it all blurs and seeps into the cloudiness in his head. He manages to nod, excusing himself quickly before rushing out the classroom door. 

The hallways spin, the walls distort, and the sound of his own breathing is too loud in his ears. He pants, feet dragging heavily against the floor as he uses the wall to stay steady. He doesn’t make it to the end of the hallway before his legs give out, knees turning to liquid as he crumples onto the cold laminate floor.

His head snaps back, hitting the floor with a loud thud as the pain blossoms out of control. He grits his teeth, willing himself to stay quiet out of worry of scaring the students, but a few pained sounds still escape him. The sounds of his breathless groans travel down the hallways and in through the cracks of open doors. 

He rolls onto his side, pulling his legs up until the flat of his thighs are pressed firmly against his chest. He presses one hand against the floor, fingertips straining against the ground as he wills himself to get up. It’s no use though, the ground too consuming as it keeps him pressed down firmly and unable to escape. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath, the pain pulling teardrops out from his tired eyes. “Get it together Zhanghao.”

It isn’t until he starts choking on his own breath that the panic settles in. He grabs at his collar, shaky hands attempting to undo the top button as his muffled groans turn to sharp gasps of pain. The button stays stuck, getting tighter with every inhale as he forces air down his throat. Desperate inhales turn to coughing and he struggles onto his hands and knees as his coughing intensifies.

He drags himself down the hallway, feeling the dull ache of the hard floor against the weak joints in his knees but the pain barely compares to the one in his head. His knees scrape against the floor, the fabric of his dress pants crinkling from the friction as he crawls towards the door. 

He pushes the door open, letting the cold morning air filter into the hallway. He can’t open it all the way, the weakness of his arms only allowing him enough strength to keep it open by a crack. His arms shake where they hold him up and he curses under his breath, pinching his eyes shut. He coughs again, stomach contracting to force the air out from his throat as his whole body threatens to crash forward.

His arms give out and he falls back against the floor, body stuck uncomfortably in the doorway. He can’t move, his entire body betraying him as he struggles silently on the floor. But at least like this, with the fresh air soaking into his body, he can breathe a little easier.  

“Hey! Stay in the classroom,” he hears someone yell. There’s a clamour of curious kids as they’re ushered back inside the classroom before the sound of a door slamming shut and footsteps rushing towards him. “Hao-ge! Are you alright?” 

Zhanghao sighs in relief at the sound of Ricky’s voice. Out of anyone who could’ve found him in his current predicament, he’s grateful it’s Ricky. “Yeah,” he breathes. “I’m fine, just got dizzy for a moment.”

“Um…is it getting worse? Should I take you to the hospital?”

Ricky’s the only person who knows about his condition, having been there with him when the doctor gave him the soft, sad stare that said I’m sorry, we tried everything before handing him a stack of paperwork and a flyer for hospice care. It had taken everything in him to not rip up the flyer and throw it in the doctor’s face—he had handed him a death sentence, stolen his dreams right from between his fingertips, with nothing more than a sad smile and an advert for hospital care that would suck his wallet dry.

Ricky was the one who suggested that they move to the island, waving the job listing from a newspaper cut-out at him the second the doctor had left the room. He knew Zhanghao better than anyone else, knew that it would kill him faster to sit around waiting for death, so Zhanghao had agreed and in a week they were huddled together on the ferry that cut through the water towards Udo with nothing but a small suitcase shared between the both of them. 

He had depended on Ricky ever since then, relying on the younger one like his rock, but he’s done with troubling him. He may have had his dreams taken from him, but Ricky still has his, and Zhanghao doesn’t want to be the one to take them from him. So he just shakes his head, placing a gentle hand on top of Ricky’s as he forces his breathing to even out. “It’s alright, I just got dizzy, that’s all.”

Ricky bites his lip, teeth sinking into the soft flesh and it looks like he wants to say something but all he does is sigh before pulling Zhanghao’s arm around his shoulder. “I’ll help you stand.”

Zhanghao nods, smiling gratefully before exhaling loudly through his mouth. The muscles in his legs tense, screaming silently as he struggles to stand even with Ricky’s help. It takes a bit of struggling, and a lot of breathless cursing from Ricky, but eventually he stands straight, leaning against the door for support.

Ricky runs a hand through his hair, exhaling loudly. “Next time you feel faint, come to me. I’m strong.”

He flexes weakly, lifting his arms in a poor attempt at showing off muscle that isn’t there and Zhanghao laughs at the breathlessness in Ricky’s voice. “For your sake, I hope it’s a one time incident.”

“I’m serious though,” Ricky says, still slightly out of breath. “The whole reason we moved here was so that I could help you out. Plus, you have no idea how happy it made me to see you with some extra weight. You were getting so skinny recently I thought maybe things were getting worse—”

“Things are fine,” Zhanghao interrupts, cringing slightly at the snap in his voice and the way Ricky flinches slightly. “Ah…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap, it's just, I’m tired of this thing taking over my entire life. You have no idea how much I appreciate you, Quanrui, and everything you’ve done for me, I just wish you didn’t have to.”

“But I want to,” Ricky replies immediately, voice firm. “I chose to, so you don’t get to feel bad for my own choice.”

“Still, I’m sorry,” Zhanghao mumbles, leaning his head against the door. “You gave up so much because of me, there must be a small part of you that regrets it.”

Ricky shakes his head. “Well, you’re wrong. So get better, and once you’re healthy again we’ll go after our dreams together.”

“I have to head back to class—can’t leave the kids on their own for too long,” Ricky continues. “But don’t think about things like that Hao-ge, you mean too much to me.”

Zhanghao isn’t really sure what to say, slightly stunned by the conviction in the younger one’s voice so he settles for a soft smile and a quiet ‘thank you.’ 

Ricky returns the smile, offering to help Zhanghao back to his class but he shakes his head. “I just need a bit more air,” he says. “I’ll go back in a minute.”

The younger nods and Zhanghao doesn’t miss the way his eyebrows furrow slightly as he turns back towards the hallway. Ricky’s feet echo against the floor, polished shoes slapping the ground before disappearing back inside his classroom and Zhanghao lets out a breath that had been stuck in his throat from the moment the younger one had appeared.

His knees buckle a bit but he manages to stay standing, fingers holding onto the door with a grip that would've bruised skin. The pain dims but still lingers in the back of his head as the fresh air cleans the dizziness from his vision. He inhales deeply, holding the breath in his stomach before letting it out as his shoulders slump. He slaps himself gently, willing himself to clear his mind as he slips back into the building. 

The door barely closes behind him before it's slammed open again with a body barrelling through. Zhanghao barely has the chance to react before the person collides against him, knocking both of them down to the ground. 

This time, he lands on his back, the air forced out of his lungs as he hits the ground harshly. The person lands next to him, groaning softly as he cradles his head. Zhanghao blinks, chest rising and falling rapidly as his vision swims slightly. It’s the third time he’s fallen today—three times more than usual—and his body is already complaining.

“Maybe I should call an exorcist,” he mumbles underneath his breath. “It’s the third fucking time I’ve fallen, someone has to be cursing me.” 

The other person startles a bit at the sound of Zhanghao’s voice as if just realising his presence, pushing himself up onto his feet and bowing apologetically. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I was running late and the bus routes here are so complicated! I didn’t want to be late on my first day, which I guess I am now, but still, I didn’t want to—!”

“It’s fine,” Zhanghao groans, cutting the man off as he pushes himself up in a sitting position. He uses the wall to stand, hands pressed firmly against the peeling paint, before turning to the stranger. 

The newcomer is a mess, hair bullied by the wind into a frenzy of black strands plastered against his forehead while sweat gathers at his collar. His tie is close to coming undone, barely hanging around his collar, and his school-issued nametag sits crookedly pinned on the fabric of his dress shirt. Zhanghao points to the nametag. “You’re the new teacher aren’t you? Hanbin? I heard from the office ladies that you’re a dancer.”

The stranger perks up, extending his hand for a handshake. “Ah, yes! That’s me! Nice to meet you, er…”

“Zhanghao,” he supplies, returning the handshake. “I’m the orchestra conductor. Since the school’s relatively small we’ll be working closely together.”

“I’m looking forward to it!” Hanbin smiles, eyes lighting up. He pulls his hand back, eyes flickering to the watch on his wrist as his hand falls to his side. “I wish I could talk more but I really can’t be any later than I already am.”

Zhanghao nods, copying his smile. “I should return to my class too. I’ll see you around.”

Hanbin nods, hands wrapping around the straps of his bag. He leans forward, a little bow in Zhanghao’s direction, before making his way down the hallway. He barely makes it two steps before turning back around, wrapping his hand around the back of his neck as he looks up at Zhanghao—almost embarrassed. “God, this is so humiliating but…um, could you show me where the office is, Mr. Zhang?”

“Hyung,” Zhanghao nods, smoothening his shirt. “Just call me hyung, we’ll be getting closer anyways.”

Hanbin tilts his head. “How do you know that you’re older than me?”

“Have you seen yourself?” Zhanghao snorts. “If this wasn’t a middle school I would’ve thought you were one of the students.”

Hanbin blushes, pink flashing across his cheeks. “No need for the flattery…hyung.”

Zhanghao laughs, softly under his breath. He beckons Hanbin with his hand, feet turning in the direction of the office. “Come on.”

3. footsteps to my heart

His feet sink into the sand as his lungs fill with the salty sea air. 

He walks along the shoreline, leaving footprints that wash away every time the incoming tide glides over his feet before receding. This is what he’s used to, lonely footprints and the quiet, but today—

“Hyung! Come on!” Hanbin yells, waving at him. 

He’s all gummy smiles, lips spread so far upwards they force his eyes closed in the shape of crescent moons. His cheeks are full and soft, squishing up underneath his eyes everytime he smiles, and Zhanghao has to resist the urge to squeeze them. 

“I’m coming,” he replies, feet speeding up to a light jog. His violin case bumps awkwardly against his back with every step but he ignores it, holding onto the straps tighter to keep it in place. 

Hanbin doesn’t slow down when he gets closer; instead, he speeds up, skipping down the beach as his feet kick the sand upwards. Some of it gets in Zhanghao’s mouth and he coughs, spitting out a mixture of salty sand and saliva before wiping his tongue with his sleeve. “Gross.”

“Sorry!” Hanbin laughs, his tone is apologetic but his eyes shimmer with mischief. 

There’s a playfulness in his tone that paints colour between the lines of Zhanghao’s carefully regimented life. It’s been awhile since anyone has treated him as something other than a patient. The locals may not know of his condition but they’re familiar with his frequent headaches and fluctuating weight. So they treat him like he’s delicate—breakable if pressed too hard—and the space between the lines of medication and treatments remains blank and colourless.

But then Hanbin came, barrelling his way into Zhanghao’s life unexpectedly and no matter how much Zhanghao tried to push him away, Hanbin pushed back twice as hard. The first, awkward meeting in the hallway spiralled quickly into a relationship dangling precariously on the line between friendship and something more—a line neither are brave enough to define.

He thinks he wants more, heart beating with something more than mere curiosity for the younger one, but he doesn’t bother entertaining the possibility. Time’s unfair—Zhanghao has known that since forever—but he isn’t. So he holds back, reminding himself that he doesn’t have enough time left in this world to give Hanbin the relationship and commitment he deserves.

Maybe in the next life.

It’s too early to think about next lives—too early even for tomorrows and next weeks—but he doesn’t think he’d mind seeing Hanbin’s smile in every life after this one. 

He doesn’t realise that he’s stopped until Hanbin waves a hand in front of his face, head tilted. “Hyung?”

“Hanbin, let’s film it here,” he says, shaking his head out of his thoughts as he turns to the younger man. “When the sun sets this entire area gets bathed in colour. Trust me, it’ll look amazing on video.”

Hanbin agrees immediately, nodding excitedly as he goes to set up the camcorder. Zhanghao watches as Hanbin flips open the LCD screen before pointing the lens in Zhanghao’s direction. He squints, closing one eye before pressing the other eye to the viewfinder as he adjusts the shot. He presses down on the record button just as he looks up, smiling at Zhanghao. “Say something, hyung!”

“Focus,” Zhanghao says gently, rolling his eyes playfully as he uses his right hand to cover the lens. “When the sun sets completely we won’t be able to record anything. Let’s get this done first. What are we recording today?”

“Choreo,” Hanbin replies, pouting slightly before setting the camcorder down on a log before gesturing for Zhanghao to move backwards. The younger one sighs loudly, squatting before tilting his head to look at the screen. “I got a letter from the school asking for an original piece. I barely had any time to work on it between the auditions and teaching.”

He feels a flicker of jealousy—his own dreams are in shackles, confined in a shoebox of everything else he had to let go, while Hanbin’s run as free as the wind. He’s a chicken watching a lark: pampered and fed, cooped up until his death, and wondering why he never got the chance to fly too. 

“The Lark Ascending,” Hanbin sighs almost wistfully. “I wish I could hear it for the first time again. But still, hyung, you play it the best. This is the first time I’m auditioning with live music, I almost can’t believe it.”

“I don’t even have an orchestra to accompany me,” Zhanghao laughs, slightly forced. “There’s no way it sounds better than what you heard.”

Hanbin shakes his head. “I listened to a soloist with the SPO. When I first heard it, I thought it was beyond anything I’d ever heard but then I heard you play it—orchestra or no orchestra, I felt like I was listening to it properly for the first time. Made me wonder why you’d settle here when you could be out there, making a name for yourself. You’ve got what it takes, hyung.”

“You think?” Zhanghao says quietly. 

“I know,” Hanbin corrects. “I don’t want to overstep, but why waste all your talent on teaching?”

“Then what about you?” Zhanghao asks instead of answering Hanbin’s question. “You’re here too when you could be out there. Last time I went down to the post office, all the postmen could talk about were the letters from schools begging you to dance with them.”

“It’s Juilliard or nothing,” Hanbin answers simply. “I only auditioned for those schools to build up my confidence. And I’m teaching to save up for tuition costs. But hyung, you—”

“Speaking of Julliard,” Zhanghao interrupts quickly, sensing the start of a conversation he’s not quite sure he wants to have. He sets his case down, careful of the sand as he unpacks and sets up his violin. “We should record.”

Hanbin looks as if he wants to press further but he doesn’t, sighing quietly before taking a few steps back. He sits down on the sand, kicking his right leg straight and bending the other before reaching for his toes with his right hand. 

“Are you sure you want to record on the beach,” Zhanghao asks, watching as a warm wind lifts Hanbin’s baggy shirt slightly to expose a slim waistline disappearing into the waistband of his shorts. The wind cards through his hair, lifting the black strands from where they usually sit on his forehead in a way that makes him look younger and more carefree. Zhanghao swallows. “It’s not the most even surface for dancing.”

“It’ll be okay,” Hanbin reassures, closing his eyes and he falls deeper into the stretch. “The admissions lady told me to be creative with it. It’s a bit risky but the change in scenery might help me stand out. Plus, the lighting in my studio is horrible.”

Zhanghao nods silently, letting the conversation simmer to a close as they both get ready. He lifts the violin, tucking the chin rest underneath his chin as the familiar feeling of wood fills his body with warmth. 

He grabs the tuning fork from his pocket, hand curling around cool metal as he strikes it firmly against his leg before lifting it to his ear. He uses it to tune his instrument, hand wrapping around the scroll of his instrument before turning the pegs gently. He’s conscious of Hanbin’s eyes on him, curiosity lingering in the edges of his gaze.

“I’d let you try,” he says, turning to Hanbin as he brings his violin down. “But I can’t risk snapping a string. There aren’t any music stores on the island so I usually ask the locals who travel between the island and the mainland to bring me some on their way back. I’m still waiting on more so if they break now I might not be able to play for weeks.” 

“That’s fine,” Hanbin smiles, standing up before dusting the sand from his shorts. “I just wanted to watch you, hyung. I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but you only ever smile that much when you’re playing.”

Hanbin doesn’t give him a chance to reply, pressing the record button on the camcorder before turning towards Zhanghao with a smile. He moves to his starting position, feet crossed, head bowed slightly, and his arms hovering by his side like a bird waiting to take flight. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Zhanghao nods slowly, swallowing almost audibly as he brings his violin back up to his chin. He breathes in, eyes closing as he imagines the sound of the orchestra introduction with his bow hovering gently above the strings. He takes one last deep breath before letting his bow finally connect.

He pulls the first sound from the instrument like silk, fingers moving like water as he begins. The first few notes are almost hesitant, the trill of the notes broad, and Hanbin stays in place. It isn’t until his third bowstroke that Hanbin finally starts moving, lifting his arms slowly like a bird unfurling its wings.

The first two and a half minutes are filled with solo violin, light trills mimicking the flight of a lark as it ascends into the sky. Hanbin captures it perfectly—the hesitation, the spreading of the wings, and finally the flight—as the lines of his body glow gently beneath the setting sun. Zhanghao almost falters, eyes too focused on following the fluidity of Hanbin’s movements. 

The music builds slightly, moving towards the highest part of the phrase, and Hanbin speeds up. He jumps and spins, kicking up the sand in a way that Zhanghao could only describe as graceful. There’s the gracefulness of a bird as he dances, each move carefully articulated yet executed with something much more than just technical proficiency. 

There’s an emotional depth to his dancing that can only come with natural talent, something impossible to imitate. He doesn’t just dance with his body, but with his eyes and Zhanghao can see something almost intimate lingering in his brown irises. He can see Hanbin’s passion rolling off of him like waves, drowning out everything else until Zhanghao can’t look anywhere but between his own instrument and the dancer.

The music slows, but continues to climb as Zhanghao’s fingers move slowly up the fingerboard. Hanbin slows with him, eyes locking with Zhanghao’s right before he reaches the highest note. He tugs at the tempo a bit, stretching the note right before as he inhales deeply. Hanbin follows, letting his movements still until Zhanghao finally plays the highest note.

Zhanghao can feel the sun on every bit of his exposed skin, the warmth penetrating into his body as it turns the hair in front of his face into the colour of gold. He lingers on the note, almost high off of the way everything seems to melt perfectly together, before coming down. 

He ends the piece where the orchestra would’ve come in, the note lingering in uncertainty as Hanbin’s movements slow to a stop. They’re both silent, basking in the echo of the violin as the wind whistles by. Zhanghao watches as Hanbin’s chest rises and falls, the small puffs of air coming from his mouth slightly more defined as the warm morning seeps into a cooler night time.

He lowers his violin, muscles relaxing as he finally breaks the silence. “How was that?”

Hanbin finally relaxes, shoulders slumping forward as he turns to Zhanghao with a tired smile. “Thank you,” he says, slightly breathless. “It was perfect.”

As tired as he sounds he still runs towards the camcorder, pressing the button to stop recording before running back. Zhanghao smiles, packing up his instrument as Hanbin rewinds the footage to watch through it. His eyebrows furrow with concentration and Zhanghao can’t help but find it endearing as he reaches out to ruffle Hanbin’s hair before he can stop himself.

Hanbin looks up, eyes filled with surprise at the sudden movement. “Hyung…?”

“You did well,” Zhanghao laughs, bringing his hand back down to his side as he slides his arms through the straps of his case. “Save the self-critiquing for another day.”

Hanbin nods as he smiles, a bit hesitant as he bites his bottom lip. “Um, hyung, can I…?”

Zhanghao hums, tilting his head as he urges the dancer to continue.

“Um, well, you’ve done so much for me and I was wondering…” Hanbin begins, eyes flickering down towards the sand as he plays with his fingers nervously. “Can I give you a hug?”

Zhanghao almost wants to laugh at the shyness in the younger one’s tone but instead he forces his lips shut as he pulls the other closer. Hanbin gasps quietly at the sudden movement as Zhanghao pulls him flush against his chest. His arms wrap around Hanbin's waist, one hand coming up to ruffle Hanbin’s hair again. “You don’t have to ask for something like that. We’re close enough to do things like that now.”

Hanbin whines, and it almost sounds embarrassed as he buries his head into Zhanghao’s shoulder. Zhanghao can feel his breath through the thin layer of fabric that separates his skin from Hanbin’s and he shivers slightly. 

They stay like that for a moment longer before pulling apart but Zhanghao’s hands still stay fitted snugly against Hanbin’s waist. His breath catches in his throat at the distance—or lack thereof—between them. They’re so close that he can almost count each individual eyelash on Hanbin’s eyes as he looks at Zhanghao through them. He holds his breath, and Hanbin seems to do the same, as the beach around them stills.

He isn’t sure who leans in first but there's a slight, hiccuped breath before soft lips are on his. There’s a hesitation where their lips are connected, pillowy flesh barely pressed against his lips as they both seem to wait for the other to push away. They stay like that for a moment, unmoving as a fog seems to wash over Zhanghao’s mind. It clouds every last shred of rationality in his mind, burying it beneath a desperate urge to get closer to the dancer.

He’s the first one to deepen it, hand reaching up to wrap lightly around the base of Hanbin’s neck. Hanbin’s mouth opens slightly, stealing the air from between his lips as the softness of his tongue invades Zhanghao’s mouth. The kiss is desperate, their teeth clashing occasionally as Zhanghao gets high off of the sweetness of Hanbin’s mouth on his.

His heart pounds so loudly he can hear it in his head and every piece of bare skin pressed against Hanbin seems to burn with a gentle warmth. He pushes closer, hungry for the soft sounds he pulls from Hanbin’s mouth. And Hanbin gives them to him, breathy whines escaping into the space between their lips everytime one of them pauses for air. He bites down gently, feeling the flesh of Hanbin’s lips between his teeth for a split second before letting go of it. Hanbin tilts his head back slightly, pupils dilated and cheeks flushed pink, before reconnecting their lips. 

The softness of Hanbin’s lips is almost dizzying, addicting to the point where Zhanghao doesn’t even know how he’s survived this long without the feeling of Hanbin’s mouth against his. He’s starving, sanity stripped bare and laid out on the sand between their feet.

But then Hanbin seems to push for more, pressing his body more firmly against Zhanghao, and a thread of reason snaps back into place. He breaks the kiss, pushing Hanbin away by the shoulders as the sudden movement startles the dancer. The weight of what they had just done finally sinks in, falling like a stone to the bottom of his gut and he stumbles backwards.

“Hyung?” Hanbin says softly, reaching out towards Zhanghao who flinches slightly. Confusion and hurt flash in Hanbin’s eyes but Zhanghao forces himself to ignore it. “I’m sorry…did I ruin it?”

“Ah, no, Hanbin. It’s not your fault,” Zhanghao laughs awkwardly, eyes refusing to meet the dancer’s as he scratches the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, so…so let’s just forget this happened.”

Hanbin frowns, walking towards Zhanghao as the other backs up. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry,” Zhanghao repeats. His eyes flicker around him awkwardly, looking everywhere but at Hanbin, before landing on the camcorder held tightly between Hanbin’s whitened knuckles. “You’re leaving soon, it wouldn’t make sense for us to do something like this.”

He doesn’t wait for the younger one to reply, turning his back to him before walking away from the beach.

And this time, his footsteps are alone. 

4. untitled symphonies and hospital scars

The pain in his chest blossoms, dull ache spreading to his fingertips. He tips his head back as he swallows another pill, ignoring the way his head complains from the side effects of the medication. His limbs are weak, head swimming in a dizzy haze as he struggles to stand. There’s a banging on his door, loud hands rattling the unsteady door as his name is called out between breathless gasps. 

“Hao-ge, are you okay?! Open the door!” He’s conscious enough to recognise that it’s Ricky, the younger’s voice drowned out with worry. 

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stumbles, almost drunkenly, towards the door. His head swims, vision waning as sweat pools at the base of his neck—somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s wary of the fact that he’s taken enough pills to exceed any threshold of safety. 

He unlocks the door with shaky hands, collapsing the second Ricky pushes it open. “Hao-ge, what—shit, why are you on the ground?!” 

Zhanghao’s half aware of the younger man’s presence as he crouches in front of him, hand waving in front of his eyes as black seeps into the corners of his vision. Ricky’s hand is on his forehead, feeling for his temperature and he tries to move away from it, the hand too warm—too overwhelming. And he’s gone, dropping so far into his own incoherence that he can’t even remember his own name. He feels nothing and everything at the same time, head swimming but body drowning in pain as his fingers curl around nothing. 

Vaguely, he hears the sound of cursing before someone’s arm wraps around his torso, lifting him up. His feet stumble in an attempt to keep up with the person as they drag him across the floor. They stop, both of them collapsing to the ground and all he registers is the feeling of the hard floor as he’s pushed up against the cold ceramic toilet bowl.

Long fingers reach down his throat, poking at the soft tissue in the back of his throat and he spasms as he tries to pull away. The person doesn’t let go, holding onto him tighter as fingers reach deeper into his throat. They’re rougher, almost painful against the soft palate and he gags, body convulsing as he leans bonelessly against the porcelain. There’s one more jab at the back of his throat, fingers retracting just as his abdomen contracts and bile spills from between his lips. 

The acidity burns his tongue, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth as he empties his already empty stomach. The pills scratch painfully against his throat as he pushes them up involuntarily and he hits his chest, coughing loudly. There’s a soft hand in his hair, quiet reassurances whispered in his ear as another hand pats gently at his back.

“Fuck, how many did you take?” Ricky whispers, quiet enough that Zhanghao barely hears it. 

He coughs one more time, spitting out a mixture of saliva and bile before falling backwards. Ricky’s hand is on his back before he can fall over completely, keeping him lifted in a seated position as his body threatens to fall forward. His consciousness fades in and out with every new wave of dizziness that pulls him from side to side as his body sways dangerously. 

“Hospital,” Ricky mumbles underneath his breath. “We need to get you to the hospital.”

He tries to argue, shaking his head weakly but it’s not enough for the other to see so he lets himself be lifted. Ricky’s hands dig painfully into his bones but he can’t bring himself to care as his consciousness slips away from him.

~

He wakes to the feeling of soft fingers tangling with his own.

“Hanbin?” He says quietly, throat scratchy and dry. 

The younger one startles, seemingly pulled from his thoughts as he stands. He places a hand on Zhanghao’s forehead, feeling for his temperature. He doesn’t say anything but Zhanghao can see worry in the flesh beneath Hanbin’s eyes as it sags slightly. His eyebrows are furrowed, bottom lip held tightly between his teeth as he uses his other hand to feel his own forehead.

Zhanghao watches as Hanbin chews on his lip, teeth grinding into the soft flesh as blood threatens to break through the thin layer of skin. It reminds him of the night at the beach—how everything had felt so right with Hanbin in his arms until reality had stepped in, rippling the waters of the moment as the world came crashing back to him.

He reaches for Hanbin’s lip before he can stop himself, tugging it away from his teeth. The dancer startles and Zhanghao flinches before pulling his hand back. “Sorry—”

“Do you know where you are?” Hanbin interrupts quietly, eyes refusing to meet Zhanghao’s.

He looks around—eyes flickering between the peeling paint that covers the walls, the ceiling that has begun to brown with time, and the small tube stuck in his forearm that keeps the pain in his body at bay—and nods. 

Hanbin copies his nod, shoulders slumping with relief. “Thank god,” he breathes. “The nurse told me you might be a bit disoriented. Said I should ask you if you knew where you were when you woke up.”

“I’m sorry—” Zhanghao tries again, but this time he’s cut off by the door as it slams open with a head of blonde barrelling through it.

“Ricky,” Hanbin says, acknowledging him with a dip of his head. “You’re back.”

“Yeah,” Ricky replies, slightly breathless as he walks over to Zhanghao’s bed. He takes his jacket off, hanging it on the back of the chair Hanbin had been sitting on. “Thanks for the help, Hanbin-hyung. You should go get something to eat, the cafeteria’s serving beef stew today. Oh, and, could you get the doctor on your way there.”

“How long have we been here?” Zhanghao asks quietly, eyes following Hanbin as he nods before leaving the room. He goes to sit up, struggling slightly against the weakness in his muscles. Ricky helps him, arms hooking underneath his armpits as he helps Zhanghao shuffle into a seated position. His muscles complain, aching as sweat beads at his hairline.

“What do you remember?” Ricky asks instead of answering, rolling up his sleeves as he goes to grab the water from the bedside table. He helps Zhanghao drink it, tipping it back slowly with his free hand cupping the space beneath Zhanghao’s chin to prevent the water from dripping onto his clothes. 

He doesn’t realise how thirsty he was until Ricky brings the glass away from his mouth and the water settles in the cracks of his dried lips. “Not much.”

Ricky sighs, setting the glass back on the table before sitting down. “You were barely conscious when I found you. It didn’t take much for me to figure out that you were on the brink of an overdose. You passed out completely after throwing up so I got a couple of men from the docks to help me get you on a ferry to the main island. That was two days ago.”

“Do they know?”

“Of your lung disease or the fact that you basically tried to kill yourself?” Ricky asks, the rough edge in his voice making Zhanghao flinch slightly. “Be honest with me, do you want to die?”

Zhanghao’s eyes widen at the frustration in the other’s tone. “No! Of course not! I just—!”

“You just what? Tried to take triple the prescribed dosage?” Ricky’s hands curl around the side rails of the hospital bed, knuckles whitening as his grip tightens. His jaw clenches, muscles protruding visibly and Zhanghao almost wants to shrink back into himself. “You were so out of it when I found you that I thought you were practically dead already! Those fifteen minutes on the ferry were the worst fucking minutes of my life and I couldn’t do anything about it but sit back and pray that you kept breathing.”

“I’m sorry, Quanrui,” Zhanghao whispers, not knowing what else to say. “I really am, it’s just that—”

He’s cut off by the sound of the door as it opens again. 

Someone walks in, a doctor by the looks of his pale blue scrubs and the stethoscope slung over his neck. He’s on the older side, chin covered with the colours of salt and pepper as wide-framed glasses sit perched on his nose.  

He takes a seat on the other side of the bed, blissfully unaware of the charged silence in the room as he smiles at Zhanghao. “Mr. Zhang, how are you feeling?”

“Um…better,” he answers simply, eyes flitting in Ricky’s direction. He’s wary of the tension in the room and the way Ricky refuses to look him in the eyes. “When can I get out of here?”

The doctor sighs, clicking his tongue as his eyes scan over the documents in his hand. “Actually, I’d like to keep you here for a few days and run a few tests. You don’t have any records in our hospital and when your friends brought you here, you showed some concerning symptoms that I’d like to investigate further. You’re conditions are stable for the most part right now but I’d—”

“There’s no need,” Zhanghao interrupts. He picks restlessly at the skin around his index finger, resisting the urge to bring it up to his mouth and chew on it until it bleeds. “I, uh, already know what it is. I got diagnosed a year ago in a hospital in Beijing, I’m sure they still have all my records. I have a treatment plan and all, I just messed up the dosages. It’s uh…a lung disease.”

“I had a feeling,” the doctor says, nodding slowly. “But even with your diagnosis, recovery is not impossible. We can do an evaluation and work with your previous treatment plan to formulate a better one—”

“It’s terminal,” Zhanghao interrupts again. “The prognosis they gave me was a year and I’m basically halfway there already.”

“Once again, recovery is not impossible,” the doctor pushes. “There are patients out there who survive much longer than anyone can expect. Terminal illnesses are often much less about physical health than they are about having a strong mental will.”

Zhanghao shakes his head. “I made up my mind months ago—I’m not dying in a hospital bed. I don’t care how much time I have left but I’m not spending it poked and prodded with needles.”

The doctor sighs. “I can’t convince you if you’ve made up your mind.”

Ricky looks up, speaking for the first time since the doctor had walked in. “Um, can you prescribe any pain relievers, the ones he’s been using have done more harm than good.”

“Getting his records internationally might be a bit difficult and since you haven’t bought any of his medication with you, I have no way of knowing what other medication he’s currently using,” the doctor says. “Some medications can cause serious damages if consumed together so—”

“I know what he’s using,” Ricky says, cutting the doctor off. “I have his entire regimen memorised. I can tell you everything he’s been using right now.”

The doctor blinks, a bit surprised but he nods nonetheless. “That would be very helpful. Go ahead.”

He flips to an empty page, uncapping his pen with his mouth before motioning for Ricky to continue. 

Zhanghao listens, slightly stunned as Ricky lists off medication and dosages he never really bothered to remember. He hates it—hates how much the younger one insists on caring for someone so helpless. What good does it bring him? What could Ricky possibly gain from keeping him healthy when he can’t even convince himself to want to live?

A brief silence as Ricky finishes pulls him from his thoughts. He looks at the doctor, watching as he switches his notepad for a prescription pad before scribbling something almost illegible on it. He rips it off before handing it to Ricky —not to Zhanghao and he’s never felt more pathetic. 

“The pain relievers I’ve prescribed should help mitigate the chest pains. The ones he was using before have a much higher potency and risk of addiction than these ones.”

“If that’s all,” the doctor continues, standing. “I’d still like you to stay overnight, just for us to be sure that your condition is stable before you leave. Our main concern when you showed up wasn’t actually the drug content in your blood but the fact that you were severely malnourished. Loss of appetite might be a symptom but it is important that you maintain a healthy diet. Do either of you have any questions before I leave?”

“Actually, yes,” Ricky says quickly just as Zhanghao begins to shake his head. “Are the pain relievers supposed to mess with his head? He’s been getting really bad headaches recently.”

“Yes and no,” the doctor answers. “Headaches and dizziness can be a side effect of the medication but if they get really bad then you’re either taking too much or you need to switch to a different medication. If the ones I’ve prescribed start having a similar effect then come back and we’ll try something else.”

Ricky nods slowly. He looks like he wants to say something else but hesitation flashes across his face as his eyes move nervously between Zhanghao and the doctor. “Um…and,” he says finally, turning away from Zhanghao. “I’ve been thinking…should we move? There aren’t any hospitals in Udo and I’m worried about something happening to him.”

“No, absolutely not,” Zhanghao says before the doctor can reply. There’s no hesitation lingering in his tone, resolve settled so deeply in his bones. The island is his last thread of connection to his dreams, a cheap imitation of what his life could've been, and he’d be an idiot to let it go. “It’s not that I want to die but I’m ready to, and when I go I want it to be as far away from the hospital as possible.”

“That is something you two will have to discuss,” the doctor says, giving Ricky a sad smile. “We can’t force him to do anything. If he doesn’t want to stay then the next best course of action is to make these last few months as comfortable as possible.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Ricky nods, back hunched and Zhanghao finally notices the dark circles around his eyes. His voice is quiet, heavy with something that screams defeat, and it tugs on the guilt wrapped around Zhanghao’s heart. 

He knows how much Ricky cares for him—knows how he traded his paint brushes and canvases for the sad beige walls of his small classroom for Zhanghao’s sake. But he can still see traces of regret lingering in Ricky’s eyes everytime he unlocks the door of his art classroom and the smell of drying paint comes barreling through. 

“Quanrui,” Zhanghao says as soon as the door closes behind the doctor. His voice is quiet, a bit hesitant, but Ricky is by his side in seconds and his heart aches. 

“What’s wrong, Hao-ge,” Ricky asks, hands already reaching out to check his temperature and Zhanghao wants to crumble at the way Ricky cares. Worry draws lines in the younger one’s forehead as his eyebrows furrow the longer Zhanghao stays silent. “Are you feeling okay? Do you need water? Or should I call the doctor back—?”

“Don’t wait for me anymore.”

Ricky blinks, tilting his head before laughing nervously. He takes a step back from the bed, head angled away as he drops his hand to his side. “What are you talking about, ge? Didn’t you hear the doctor, you can get discharged tomorrow, it’s not like I’m waiting forever. Plus, the ferry ride isn’t fun alone so—”

“That’s not what I meant, Quanrui,” Zhanghao interrupts. “You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.”

Zhanghao sighs. “Pass me my pants.”

“You can’t leave yet, the—”

“Just pass me the pants, Quanrui.”

Ricky passes him the pants. 

He digs his hand into the back pocket, fingers curling around the letter he’s been carrying for days. He takes it out, eyes trained on the younger one as he waits for Ricky to recognise it. It takes him a moment to recognise it, eyes glancing over the crumpled edges before widening with realisation. “How do you have that? I—”

“Threw it out. Yeah, I know. I found it when I was taking out the trash after school,” Zhanghao explains, unfolding the admissions letter before using his hand to smoothen it out. “This is what I meant by not waiting for me anymore. You can’t just throw away your life for me, Quanrui. This school is your dream, stop wasting your time on me.”

“I can just defer it to next year,” Ricky says quickly, the words after you die left as a silent understanding between them. He looks down into his lap, hands held together and Zhanghao can’t help but think how much prettier Ricky’s hands would look covered in paint—covered in the things he loves. “Art school is always going to be there, but you…you aren’t. So please don’t push me away anymore.”

“Quanrui—!” Zhanghao tries again but Ricky stands up abruptly, cutting him off.

“I think I left something in the cafeteria,” he mumbles to himself. “I’ll tell Hanbin-hyung to come back. Get some rest, ge. I’ll come back tomorrow to get you discharged.”

Ricky doesn’t give him the chance to speak again, hurrying out the door before letting it close loudly behind him. He leaves his jacket on the chair, forgotten in his rush to leave the room, and Zhanghao reaches for it, bringing it under his chin as a blanket. His fingers close around the letter again, folding it in three before tucking it into the pocket of Ricky’s jacket. 

He falls back against the bed with a sigh, head tilting upwards as his eyes close. Without the noise to drown everything out, the pain in his chest creeps back in, spreading out slowly from his heart. He doesn’t fight it like usual, just shifting uncomfortably before relaxing back into the bed. There’s a scary feeling of acceptance lingering in the pain. Maybe dying now would be for the best—Ricky would go to school, Hanbin would forget about him, and the heaviness in his chest would disappear for good. 

But he’s pulled out of his thoughts as the door opens, gently as though to not startle him. Hanbin steps inside, eyes trained on the mug in his hand as smoke curls out of it. “Hyung, I brought you some tea. It’s chamomile. The cafeteria lady said it’d help you sleep.”

Zhanghao watches as Hanbin walks over, setting the cup carefully on the bedside table before turning to face him. “Are you tired? I can turn off the lights if you want to sleep.” 

“Why’d you come with us Hanbin?” Zhanghao says instead, asking the question that’s been on his mind since he woke up to Hanbin’s soft hands on his own. “I don’t get it. I haven’t exactly been the kindest with you and you don’t know me like Ricky does, so why are you still here?”

Hanbin doesn’t look him in the eyes, chewing on his lip as his gaze focuses on the floor. “We’ve known each other for a few months, it seemed right to help out.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Zhanghao says, shaking his head. “No one willingly drops everything for someone they barely know. Is it because you feel like you owe me for helping out with the audition? I told you I wanted—”

“Maybe I just wanted to know you better!” Hanbin interrupts, turning to face Zhanghao and there’s frustration in the brown of his irises. “I don’t know why you keep pushing everyone away but I want to be more than a coworker to you. I want to get to know you better but every time I feel like I’ve taken one step closer, you take five steps away from me—!”

“I’m dying.” 

And this time it’s Zhanghao that can’t look into Hanbin's eyes, gaze dropping to his hands. 

The silence comes down like rain, sudden and unrestrained as it blankets them.

He tears at the skin around his index finger. 

The silence stretches on uncomfortably. 

He tears harder.

There’s a small sharp pain as the skin comes off, making way for a small bead of blood that blossoms to the surface of his finger. He watches as it falls, landing on the blanket. 

“Don’t do that,” Hanbin says, breaking the silence as he grabs Zhanghao’s hand.

He looks up at the younger. “I’m sorry.”

A pause. “Is that why you turned down Julliard?”

Zhanghao’s eyes widen. No one knew he got into the school, not even Ricky. “How did you know that I got in?”

Hanbin hesitates for a second, hand slipping into his jacket pocket before pulling out a folded letter. “I found it in your room,” Hanbin explains, putting the letter on Zhanghao’s lap. “I was passing by when you fainted and Ricky was asking me for help. I packed a bag for you, just in case you were going to stay for longer, and I found this at the bottom. Most people don’t tend to hang onto rejections like that so I figured you got in.”

Zhanghao shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore, it’s not like I can go.”

“Why not, hyung?” Hanbin asks and his tone is gentle in a way that amplifies the pain in Zhanghao’s chest. “There are millions of people in the world who could only dream of playing half as good as you, yet you’re wasting all of that on a teaching job that barely pays us enough to live.”

“When I saw this,” Hanbin continues, grabbing the letter from Zhanghao’s lap. “I thought you must be an idiot to not go—there are people who would kill for an opportunity like this, people who quite literally throw their entire lives away in hopes of achieving something like this.”

Hanbin’s words are harsh but they carry a truth that Zhanghao’s been avoiding. He pushed his feelings aside, burying them under the pretence that he was fine with his job and the lonely life he had created for himself, but he can’t avoid them anymore. “I’m scared.”

“I’m scared,” he repeats, voice quiet. “I’ve spent so long telling myself that I’m ready to die, and I’m scared that if I go…I’ll want to live again.”

“What’s so wrong with wanting to live?”

“Because I can’t, Hanbin!” His voice wavers a bit, composure cracking at the edges. “Trust me, I want to go, it’s everything I’ve ever wanted since I was a little kid. But I’m dying. I barely have a few months left and if I go it’s only going to make those last few months harder to let go of. So I’m scared, I’m scared of Julliard, and…”

He trails off, eyes closing as he tilts his head back. He hesitates for a second before sighing. “Fuck..I’m scared of you too.”

Hanbin’s head whips up. “What do you mean?”

“The thing is,” Zhanghao begins, angling his head away from Hanbin. “That time on the beach…a small part of me wanted to live. And that scared me, so I ran. All I’ve known for the past few months was that I was ready to die and I wanted to get the hell out of this world, but then you kissed me and all of that seemed to change in a second. I can’t think like that if I’m dying, it’s not fair for you—”

There’s lips on his own before he can finish speaking, soft flesh crashing together without any sense of gentleness as warmth rushes through him. He deepens it without a thought, shifting on the hospital bed to reach for the back of Hanbin’s neck. He tucks his thumb behind Hanbin’s ear, pushing his head to the side as he wraps his other arm around Hanbin’s waist. 

“I don’t care,” Hanbin mumbles into the kiss. “I don’t care if it’s unfair.”

“You should,” he whispers.

“Maybe,” Hanbin shrugs. “But I don’t.”

Zhanghao goes to pull him back, already missing the feeling of Hanbin’s lips on his own, but Hanbin steps back. He shoots Hanbin a confused stare, hands subconsciously reaching out for the younger, but Hanbin just smiles before taking off his shoes. He takes his jacket off slowly, arms slipping out of the sleeves in a way that makes Zhanghao’s heartbeat a little bit faster.

He’s careful as he climbs onto the hospital bed, barely touching Zhanghao as he makes his way onto the bed. He hovers over him, hands on the side rails as he looks down at Zhanghao. 

“Is this…is this okay?” Hanbin whispers and Zhanghao wants to wipe all the nervousness away from the younger one but his mouth is dry of any words and his mind is empty of any coherent thoughts, so he just nods slowly. He watches as pink spreads over Hanbin’s cheek—travelling down the length of his neck before disappearing into the collar of his shirt—as he sits down gently in Zhanghao’s lap.

He doesn’t put his whole weight down, skin stretched over his knuckles as he leans some of his weight on the bed rails. Zhanghao smiles before wrapping his hands around Hanbin’s, rubbing his fingers slowly as he coaxes him to let go.

“I won’t break,” he mumbles. He moves his hands until they sit gently on top of Hanbin’s hips before massaging little circles into his skin. 

“I know,” Hanbin whispers. His shirt lifts a bit, exposing a sliver of skin turned pink. “But I might.” 

Zhanghao pulls him closer, arm snaking around waist until Hanbin’s entire weight is in his lap. His arm keeps moving, reaching upwards until his fingers touch the silky black strands of hair at the base of Hanbin’s head. He tangles his hand in Hanbin’s hair, pulling him down silently until their lips are only separated by a breath they both share.

He inhales shakily, eyes flickering over Hanbin’s face. “I won’t let you.”

“How romantic,” Hanbin laughs softly, cupping Zhanghao’s face with his hands. They’re cold to the touch but so, so warm as Hanbin brushes the hair out of his face. “Are you going to be my knight in shining armour?”

“I don’t think I’m strong enough for that, Hanbin,” he says, flexing his arm weakly. Hanbin giggles, eyes forming crescents, and Zhanghao thinks he wants that sound tattooed on his heart. “I’m more of a sickly prince.”

“Well then, Your Highness, how can I make you feel better?” Hanbin asks, playing along. 

Zhanghao leans into his touch, brushing his cheek against the smooth skin of Hanbin’s palm. “How ‘bout a kiss?”

Hanbin shakes his head, lips curving upwards. “Those are only for princesses.”

“Then when we get out of here, I’ll buy a crown and a dress,” Zhanghao says, pulling Hanbin close enough so that every word he says has their lips brushing against each other. “But if you don’t kiss me now, I think I really might just die.”

Hanbin laughs and Zhanghao doesn’t give him the chance to say anything else before pressing their lips back together. 

It's sweeter the second time, Hanbin’s taste sweet on his tongue as he opens his mouth for the younger. He leans back into the bed, conscious of the machinery around him as he Hanbin with him. He’s vaguely aware of Hanbin’s hands in his hair, his own fingers equally as lost in Hanbin’s black strands. 

Hanbin pulls back for a second, slightly out of breath. His hair is unkempt, sweaty at the roots, and his lips shine red with a layer of spit—and Zhanghao has never seen someone so beautiful. He smiles, index finger tugging at the collar of Zhanghao’s hospital gown.

He pulls until he exposes the adhesive stuck to Zhanghao’s chest, wire connecting the electrode to the heart monitor beside the bed. Zhanghao follows his hand, groaning as he tilts his head backwards. “No fair.”

“What’s unfair?” Hanbin whispers, leaning his forehead against Zhanghao’s.

He points to the heart monitor, watching as the tracings peak with every beat of his heart. “My heart’s beating so fast—any faster and it might just fly out of my chest. You get to see just how much you affect me, but I’m being left in the dark.” 

Hanbin blushes, the pink skin on his cheeks turning red as he looks away from Zhanghao. He sits up slowly. “You don’t have to be,” he mumbles.

“I don’t have to be what?”

“Left in the dark,” Hanbin says, breathlessness loud in his voice as he reaches down to grab Zhanghao’s hand. 

He watches as Hanbin uses his free hand to lift the bottom of his shirt upwards, the thin material making way for his skin. He lifts it slowly, exposing his skin inch by inch as the material of his shirt travels over the soft dips of his abs, the slight bump of his bottom ribs, and the tattoos beneath his collar bones. 

“You have tattoos,” Zhanghao says quietly, mouth dry. 

Hanbin nods slowly, smiling shyly to himself as his eyes travel down the length of his torso. He opens his mouth, tucking the bottom of his shirt between his teeth before biting down to keep it in place. Zhanghao lets Hanbin pull his hand upwards until the flushed skin over Hanbin’s chest rests smoothly beneath his fingertips. 

“There,” Hanbin mumbles, words distorted by the fabric in his mouth. “Now you can feel it too.”

Zhanghao’s eyes widen fractionally as he feels the gentle beat of Hanbin’s heart. 

Thump, thump, thump. 

He pushes down, fingers digging into Hanbin’s skin and the dancer gasps, dropping the shirt in his mouth as he leans forward into the touch. He replaces the shirt with his bottom lip, pulling the flesh into the space between his teeth before biting down to muffle his soft pants.

Zhanghao smiles, reaching up to tug at Hanbin’s lip. He pulls it out from between his teeth before running his thumb over the soft, red flesh. “Don’t do that.”

Hanbin doesn't reply, squirming slightly as Zhanghao’s hand moves down his torso until his fingers wrap around the hem of Hanbin’s shirt. He brings his other hand down, tugging silently before looking back up at Hanbin for approval. Hanbin nods, and Zhanghao doesn’t waste any time in taking the shirt off, watching as the cold air brings goosebumps to the surface of Hanbin’s skin.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, leaning in slightly to kiss the star tattoo at the base of Hanbin’s collarbones. Hanbin shivers and Zhanghao smiles into the dancer’s chest before trailing his lips to the sun and then the moon, leaving a line of goosebumps in his wake. “You’re so fucking beautiful I’m almost jealous that one day you’re going to be dancing for the entire world to see. Someday, I won’t be the only one who gets to see you like this.”

“I’ll save you front row tickets,” Hanbin says, giggling as Zhanghao blows a puff of air at his neck. 

Zhanghao snorts. “I’ll be long gone by then.”

He doesn’t realise what he’s said until he feels Hanbin stiffen in his hold, faltering as his movements slow to a stop. The dancer swallows, throat bobbing visibly and Zhanghao's heart drops to his stomach. “Oh…I didn’t mean to—” 

“It’s okay, hyung,” Hanbin says quickly, cutting him off as he pulls him close. The heat of their kiss is forgotten in seconds, interrupted once again by the reality of their situation and Zhanghao can’t help but think about how unfair it all is. 

He snakes his arms around Hanbin’s waist, breathing in the scent of the hospital soap on Hanbin’s clothes. “I’m sorry.”

Hanbin shakes his head. “We’ll be okay.” And it almost sounds like he’s trying to convince himself too. 

Zhanghao nods slowly, unsure of what to say. He doesn’t have the heart to disagree with the younger so he just holds Hanbin a little tighter with the hopes that maybe it’ll be enough to keep their broken pieces together for as long as possible.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats finally, ear pressed against the soft rhythm of Hanbin’s heartbeat as his own heart beats wildly out of control.

5. once more for the world to see

The wind blows at the dock, lifting the hair from out of Zhanghao’s face. 

There’s the distant sound of yelling as the men move furniture and suitcases from the dock to the small ferry set for the main island. 

Zhanghao turns to Ricky. “We came here with a small suitcase and it's been less than a year, how do you have so much stuff?”

“That’s not even all of it,” Ricky smiles, buttoning up his jacket. “I left some stuff in my house. It’s up for grabs if you want—first come first serve.”

Zhanghao rolls his eyes. “No way. Now hurry and get on the boat before I start missing you.”

Ricky laughs, hesitating as he steps towards the gangway. He stops just before it, turning around before pulling Zhanghao into a hug. “Too bad, I want you to miss me. I’ll miss you too.”

Zhanghao hugs him back, arms wrapping around Ricky’s waist as he pulls him close. “You’re not allowed to miss me so go before I regret telling you to leave.”

“You’ll be alright, right?” Ricky mumbles, voice muffled as he presses his cheek into Zhanghao’s shoulder. He pulls Ricky in tighter, hand moving in little circles over the younger’s back. “I can stay, I can always just defer it until next year, I don’t need art school—”

“Quanrui,” Zhanghao interrupts, laughing slightly under his breath. He feels as Ricky relaxes, almost deflating in his hold as his shoulders slump forward. “I’ll be okay.”

“You’ll write to me, right?” Ricky asks, pulling away before grabbing Zhanghao by the shoulders. “You have to. One letter every month and the second you skip one I’m coming right back home. And make sure you tell me everything—if you need me to come back, I’ll come back.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll write to you.” Zhanghao turns to the sound of Hanbin’s voice, smiling as he walks down to the docks. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Zhanghao laughs, wrapping an arm around Hanbin’s waist before leaning over and placing a soft kiss on his temple. Ricky fake gags, whipping his head dramatically. “Twenty-two years, ge. We’ve practically known each other since I was born and it only took you a few months to replace me.”

“What can I say, I’m just too irresistible,” Hanbin jokes, smirking at Ricky before grabbing Zhanghao’s face in his hands and placing a kiss on his lips. “Your hyung is all mine now.”

Zhanghao laughs, head tilted up towards the sky as the sound of Ricky’s whining fills his ears and the warmth of Hanbin’s touch floods his senses. He almost wants time to stop, captured in this moment where everything feels so right—where Hanbin laughs loudly in his arm, where Ricky’s eyes glow with childlike novelty, and where his heart seems to finally feel full.

He didn’t realise, until that night at the hospital, how hungry his heart was—how it starved for something more. But Hanbin filled it, stretching out every tiny space within the tissues of his heart until it felt heavy and satisfied in his chest. And now he’s not sure he can live without it, his heart spoiled rotten with the weeks spent with Hanbin by his side. 

“You should go now, Quanrui,” Zhanghao says quietly, smiling as he nudges his chin in the direction of the small boat. “Say hi to London for me.”

“I’ll tell London all about you,” Ricky smiles, waving one more time before turning around and boarding the boat. 

He doesn’t look back, and Zhanghao doesn’t either as he takes Hanbin’s hand and walks away from the docks.

~

They watch the ferry from the beach, speeding away until it fades into the horizon. 

The salty smell of the sea is inviting, almost sweet as Hanbin’s fingers tangle with his own. They walk along the shore, pants rolled up until they sit snugly at the base of their knees with their shoes held loosely in unoccupied hands. 

“I think I’ll miss him,” Hanbin says, feet slowing to a stop. 

“You barely know him.”

“I’d miss you if you were to leave too and I barely know you either,” Hanbin argues, sitting down before pulling Zhanghao with him. Zhanghao cringes as the water laps at his pants, crawling up the shoreline as it washes over his knees. But Hanbin doesn’t seem to mind the water, smiling as the incoming tides rush over his feet before travelling to his knee and seeping into his pants. 

So Zhanghao copies his smile, pressing a kiss to Hanbin’s temple before whispering into his ear. “Let’s change that.”

“Like this?” Hanbin asks quietly, smiling as he grabs Zhanghao’s face in his hands before placing a gentle kiss on his lips. It’s more of a peck, Hanbin pulling away before Zhanghao can even taste Hanbin’s lips on his own, but it’s sweet nonetheless.

“So sweet,” he mumbles, letting his cheek rest comfortably against Hanbin’s shoulder. “But in all seriousness, I want to know more about you.”

“I want to know more about you too,” Hanbin whispers back, smiling brightly in a way that makes even the sun a bit duller.

“Then let’s do it,” Zhanghao says, shuffling until he’s sitting upright. Their hands are still intertwined, laying on the sand as the ocean water washes between their interlocked fingers. 

Hanbin nods. “Favourite colour.”

“Boring,” Zhanghao shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “Ask me something more interesting.”

“Fine,” Hanbin pouts. “Favourite composer.”

“Hmm…I didn't used to have one,” Zhanghao begins, playing with Hanbin’s fingers. Their fingers move in a way that gets sand stuck in his fingernails but he ignores it. “But now, probably Beethoven. Favourite memory?”

“My first solo,” Hanbin says smiling, and Zhanghao thinks if he looked close enough, he’d see the entire world in Hanbin’s eyes. “I was in middle school. It was horrible, I was all clumsy and I might’ve even fallen a few times, but it was the first time I ever had such a big stage all to myself. I feel like if I had tried hard enough I probably could’ve started flying.”

“I wish I could’ve seen it.”

“No, you don’t, trust me,” Hanbin laughs, before turning to Zhanghao and nudging him with his foot. “What about you?”

“What do you mean? First solo or favourite memory?”

Hanbin shrugs, yawning loudly before resting his head on Zhanghao’s shoulder. “I don’t care, as long as it’s about you.”

Zhanghao hesitates, flipping through a mental archive of memories. He doesn’t have any particularly good ones—most of them rippled by the feeling of needles prodding at his flesh or the smell of incense burned at his parents funeral. 

Yet somewhere in all that, he thinks he sees a dancer and a messy head of blonde covered in paint. He smiles. “Ricky’s birthday. I forgot which one it was but we both got drunk and he decided to dye his hair on a whim. We woke up the next day and there was dye all over the floor. It was everywhere—in the carpets, in our clothes, yet somehow, there was barely any in his hair.”

 “I wish I had known you when we were younger.”

“No way,” Zhanghao laughs. “You would’ve hated me.”

“I was an asshole,” he continues, explaining before Hanbin asks him to. “I knew I was the best and I let that get to my head. I got all arrogant thinking I’d be able to climb to the top all by myself—and in a way, I did. I got into my dream school, I had orchestras asking me to play with them, and so I shut everyone else away—my friends, classmates, everyone. And then just as I got to the top, I got sick and all of it was meaningless.” 

“I had it coming though,” Zhanghao finishes, eyes blinking quickly as he stares at the horizon. “I guess all my bad karma just caught up to me.”

Hanbin shakes his head. “Don’t be so harsh on yourself. We were all young and stupid at some point.”

“Not you though, I’m sure,” Zhanghao hums, words a little slurred as the sun melts away the energy in his limbs. 

“Well, not everyone can be as perfect as I was,” Hanbin jokes sleepily, mumbling against Zhanghao’s shirt as the fabric mutes his words slightly. 

“You’re right, you’re perfect,” Zhanghao whispers, turning slightly so that his words are muffled by Hanbin’s hair. Hanbin laughs at that, giggling in a way that quickens Zhanghao’s heartbeat, and they fall into a comfortable silence. 

They’re quiet as the sun sets, covering the entire beach in warmth as the blue skies get painted over with reds and yellows. The clouds move across the sky like melted marshmallows, sticky to the sky as the horizon pulls them away to make space for the setting sun. Zhanghao watches, eyes slightly bleary from the glare of the sun, as the sky reflects on Hanbin’s skin in a way that makes it shine golden.

He can feel Hanbin’s breath on his neck, tickling the hairs at the base of his head. His nerves are set aflame everywhere their bodies are connected, Hanbin’s touch kindling a flame beneath his skin that he wouldn’t be able to control even if he wanted to. The sea is a cool contrast, keeping the flames at bay as it washes over their legs and the hands that they keep intertwined on the sand between them.

“Let’s go together,” Hanbin whispers finally and it’s so quiet Zhanghao almost misses it.

“Go where?” He whispers back, even quieter.

“To the top.” Hanbin’s voice is so soft, almost ticklish as his lips graze over Zhanghao’s skin with every word. “No more doing things alone. I’m here now, so let’s climb to the top together.”

Zhanghao sucks in a breath. “You mean—”

“Let’s go to Julliard,” Hanbin finishes, smiling. He grabs something from his pocket before placing it in Zhanghao’s lap. It’s crumpled and the letters are slightly smudged but the word ‘congratulations’ is written clearly at the top of the page. “Together.”

“You got in,” Zhanghao breathes.

Hanbin nods. “Let’s go together.”

And Zhanghao knows it’s impossible with the way every breath that fills his lungs is as unpredictable as the tides that rush over their legs, but, just for a moment, he wants to believe that it would be possible. So he smiles, leaning into Hanbin’s touch as he closes his eyes. “Okay.” 

It’s a lie, and he’s sure they both know it, but he’d like to pretend that he’d be alive long enough to reach his dreams and to reach them with Hanbin by his side. 

+1. a year worth a lifetime

“All the documents are in your bag, right?” Hanbin fusses, pacing around Zhanghao’s small room. He opens the closet door for the hundredth time as if something had magically unzipped Zhanghao’s suitcase and found its way back in there. “Your medication is in the suitcase. I put it in the bag with the toiletries—”

“Hanbin, my love,” Zhanghao laughs, standing up before wrapping his arms around Hanbin’s waist. He’s pressed against the dancer’s back, cheek squished into his shoulder. “I have everything I need, don’t worry.”

“What about clothes?” 

“You’ve emptied my entire closet,” Zhanghao replies, pulling back to turn Hanbin around. He gives the younger one a quick peck on the lips, smiling as he tastes the sweet flavour of Hanbin’s chapstick. “I’m just going to the hospital, I’ll probably be in those ridiculous gowns most of the time. You should worry about yourself first, you’re the one going off to the city so make sure you’ve packed all your warm clothes and don’t forget your dance shoes.”

Hanbin huffs, pouting slightly. “I’m more organised than you! You weren’t even packed when I got here this morning. Plus you're coming straight to New York after the trial so you need to be prepared.”

“If the trials works, Hanbin,” Zhanghao reminds him, pressing a quick kiss on Hanbin’s nose. “It’s a new drug from the States so it’s not guaranteed to be a success.” 

“It will work,” Hanbin says and it’s in a way that sounds so sure and confident that Zhanghao doesn’t have the heart to disagree with him. “It has to.”

Zhanghao smiles, ruffling Hanbin’s hair before kissing him on the forehead. “Well if that’s what my boyfriend wants then I guess I’ll have to listen to him.”

Hanbin blushes at the word ‘boyfriend,’ cheeks turning pink as he turns his face away from Zhanghao. “W-whatever, let’s go, we’re gonna be late for the ferry.”

He pulls out from Zhanghao’s hold before he can reply, turning around to pick up his bag and Zhanghao can see the blush as it wraps around Hanbin’s neck and disappears down the collar of his shirt. Zhanghao reaches for the heavier suitcase, leaving the lighter one to Hanbin before pushing the door open.

Hanbin mumbles a quick ‘thanks,’ flashing a smile in his direction before stumbling out through the door. The house is completely different from how it had been before Hanbin—the grass is kept cut, the door hinges no longer squeak, and for once, Zhanghao can leave the house without blowing out the candle and instead flick the ‘off’ switch for the lights.

He tightens the straps of his violin case, swinging it over his shoulder before grabbing his suitcase and closing the door behind him. Hanbin waits just beyond the property line, leaning on the picket fence with one hand outstretched and Zhanghao takes it. He smiles at the younger one, pressing a quick kiss on his lips before pulling him away from the house. 

He doesn’t look back as they walk towards the dock, focusing his attention on Hanbin as he talks animatedly about their future. 

“The musicals, hyung, I’m so excited. We’ll watch every single one of them. And the Met, oh my gosh, Ricky would love it there. We’ll send him postcards of everything.”

“As much as I appreciate all the forethought,” Zhanghao begins, pulling Hanbin close. “I think it’s best we save all the excitement for when we’re actually there.”

“You’re right,” Hanbin agrees, sighing as he smiles up at Zhanghao. “I’m just so excited. I mean think about it, hyung, it’s everything we’ve ever wanted. And most of all, I get to do it with you.”

“I think I’m the luckier one here.” Zhanghao lets go of Hanbin’s hand before wrapping his arm around the younger one’s waist as they near the docks. He gives Hanbin’s waist a gentle pinch, laughing as he jumps a little, before letting go.

He grabs Hanbin’s bag, putting it on the suitcase before wheeling it down the ramp towards the boat. He waits for the tourists to unload, watching as excited families skip across the docks, before pulling the suitcase up the gangway. 

One of the workers, an old man he recognises, smiles at him as he helps Zhanghao pull his luggage onto the boat. “Finally getting out of here?”

Zhanghao smiles, turning around as Hanbin walks onto the boat. “I finally have a reason to.”

“He looks like a good kid,” the worker says, voice rough with age as he pats Zhanghao on the back. “Congratulations.”

Zhanghao shakes his head. “We’re not—”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” the man interrupts, waving him off. “I’m too old to have prejudices about love. Love who you want as long as they treat you well and if the people in the city ever give you a hard time about it, let me know and I’ll throw them to the fish.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir. Thank you,” Zhanghao laughs at the threat, smiling as the man does a tossing motion with his hands. 

They chat for a bit longer, talking about the city and his future, as the boat horn sounds before the ferry peels away from the docks. It cuts through the ocean, spraying ocean water against the sides of the boat as they travel towards the main island. He feels as a pair of hands wrap around his torso and the man winks at him before leaving with a smile. “Don’t come back until you make it. I’ll be expecting free tickets.”

“Of course,” Zhanghao replies, nodding appreciatively before turning around to face Hanbin. 

“You didn’t tell him about the drug trials?” Hanbin mumbles, arms creeping upwards to wrap around Zhanghao’s neck. Hanbin’s smell envelops him, chasing away all the anxiety about leaving home in seconds as he rests his head on Zhanghao’s shoulder. 

Zhanghao shakes his head. “No. They all have high hopes for me. I think they’d be disappointed if they knew where I was going.”

“That’s not true,” Hanbin disagrees, looking up. “You’re going to Julliard right after, you’ll make them proud.”

“I think I’d like to make you proud first,” Zhanghao says quietly, pulling Hanbin until he’s leaning against the railing with Hanbin held tightly in his arms. 

Hanbin smiles and it’s almost blinding. “I already am.”

He looks around, making sure no one’s looking, before pressing a quick kiss to Hanbin’s lips. He removes one arm from Hanbin’s waist, slipping his hand into his back pocket as his fingers wrap around a small box. 

“I’m not proposing, so don’t panic,” he whispers into the kiss before pulling away. He brings the box to the space between them, unwrapping his other arm from where it sits on Hanbin’s waist before opening the lid. There’s two rings inside with two different stones embedded in identical gold bands. “But I’m promising you that I’ll always be by your side.”

He takes the ruby one out, reaching for Hanbin’s hand as he slips the ring onto his ring finger. “It’s ruby, my birthstone.”

Hanbin’s eyes widen as he looks at it, bringing his hand so close to his face that Zhanghao can almost see the reflection of the stone in his eyes. There’s tears welling in Hanbin’s eyes, barely held inside by his bottom eyelashes as Zhanghao’s own eyes become blurry with tears. “Don’t cry,” he whispers nonetheless, wiping away the tears from Hanbin’s eyes before they can even fall.

“I’m not crying,” Hanbin mumbles but a few tears fall from his eyes, cutting tracks down his skin. He bites his bottom lip before looking up at Zhanghao. “You’re crying too.”

Zhanghao laughs and it’s all wet with tears as he lets them fall from his eyes. His hand shakes where it wraps around the box, the other one slightly more steady as he cups Hanbin’s cheek. “I can’t help it.”

“Hypocrite,” Hanbin says, hiccuping slightly as he loses control over his tears. He reaches out for Zhanghao’s hand, interlacing his fingers with Zhanghao’s as he takes out the second ring. Zhanghao watches as he rolls the ring around with the tip of his fingers, gold band catching the light as Hanbin tilts it towards the sky. “It's a pearl.”

“Your birthstone,”  Zhanghao whispers, eyes tracing the lines of Hanbin’s face. “Will you put it on for me?”

Hanbin nods quickly, holding Zhanghao’s hand gently as he slips the gold band on his ring finger. It fits perfectly, the ring just tight enough to keep it from falling but not enough to cut off his circulation. The gold shines in the light, keeping their moment at sea safe on the little band around his finger.

“It’s shiny,” Hanbin whispers, cheeks wet with tears as he holds out his hand to the sky. “It’s so pretty.”

“Just like you,” Zhanghao mumbles, eyes never leaving Hanbin as he pulls him close. He covers his hands with the sleeves of his sweater before using it to wipe away the tears on Hanbin’s cheeks. Hanbin closes his eyes and Zhanghao takes the opportunity to press gentle kisses all over Hanbin’s eyelids. “Except it’s not nearly as pretty as you.”

“Corny,” Hanbin says, burying his face in Zhanghao’s chest. “God, you’re so corny.”

“You love it,” Zhanghao laughs gently. He wraps his fingers around Hanbin’s hand, bringing it to his lips slowly before pressing a kiss over the ring. Hanbin gasps, looking up as Zhanghao bites the skin lightly before running his tongue over it. 

“I do,” Hanbin agrees, smiling as he buries his face back in Zhanghao’s thick jacket. “Doesn’t make it any less corny though.”

Zhanghao smiles—face wet with a mixture of his own tears and Hanbin’s—and pulls Hanbin in tighter. 

The sea spray mingles with the air, surrounding them with the smell of salt and the sound of water as the boat cuts towards Jeju island. Wind blows through his hair, lifting it from his face as the warmth of the sun shines a light blanket of warmth over his skin. 

They stay silent until the boat pulls into the docks, pulling apart as the people on the beach turn from dots in the distance to families and children running along the shore. There’s the loud sound of feet against the deck as people begin to unload, and Zhanghao grabs the handle of his suitcase with one hand before wrapping the other around Hanbin’s wrist. 

“Let’s go,” he beams, pulling Hanbin towards the ramp. 

~

“I must say, Mr. Zhang, I’m surprised you’re back,” the doctor says. It’s the same person from his last visit, still all gentle smiles as he taps his pen against his clipboard. “But I am also incredibly relieved.”

“I just needed a reason to try,” Zhanghao shrugs, lips curving upwards as he feels Hanbin’s hand squeeze his from beneath the table. 

The doctor smiles again as he sifts through the documents on his desk before pulling a folder with Zhanghao’s name on it. “Thankfully the nurse had the foresight to keep your records. Now, let’s get you changed into a gown. We’ll have to run some tests before just to make sure the drug won’t have any negative side effects and then we’ll be all set—”

“Oh, actually, Hanbin has to leave since his flight’s in a few hours. Could I see him out and then sort out the other stuff after?” Zhanghao asks, fingers fiddling with the gold band on Hanbin’s hand. The cut of the ruby is smooth beneath his fingertips as he moves absentmindedly along the edges of the stone. 

“Of course, take as much time as you need. I’ll be in this room once you’re done.”

Zhanghao nods, slightly curt as he notices the hesitation in the doctor’s eyes, before grabbing Hanbin’s bags and ushering the younger one out of the room. 

He fusses over him—zipping up his jacket and combing through his hair with his fingers—and Hanbin just laughs. “Do you have everything you need?” Zhanghao asks, unzipping Hanbin’s bag to double check before wrapping the strap of the bag around the suitcase handle. “Your passport and everything should be in here.”

“I’ll be fine,” Hanbin says, rolling his eyes playfully as he cups Zhanghao’s face with his hands. Zhanghao watches as he looks around, neck craning to check the ends of the hallway before leaning in to place a light kiss on Zhanghao’s lips. Hanbin’s lips are soft, smooth skin layered in a gloss that tastes sweet on his tongue as he swipes it quickly over Hanbin’s bottom lip.

“I know you will be,” Zhanghao whispers, pulling back from the kiss but leaving their lips just barely ghosting over each other every time he speaks. “I might just go crazy, though.”

“I’ll write to you.”

Zhanghao nods. “I’ll write back.”

“You better,” Hanbin mumbles, looking at him through his eyelashes in a way that makes Zhanghao’s heart flutter at a concerning speed. “Remember to write to Ricky sometime soon.”

“Of course,” Zhanghao nods again, pressing a quick kiss to Hanbin’s forehead. “Should I hail a taxi? The—”

“I love you.”

…

I love you.

He thinks the world stops, stilling for a fraction of a second as those three words echo in his head. 

His own mind escapes him as his own mouth hangs open stupidly while Hanbin stares up at him expectantly with his bottom lip stuck between his teeth. Thoughts race through his head at thousands of miles per hour but all he can do is swallow before asking dumbly. “What?”

His voice is dry, cracked around the edges and Hanbin’s eyebrows furrow.

“Oh.” Zhanghao thinks his heart might rip itself in half with the way Hanbin’s voice is so breathy and soft as his teeth dig little indents in his lips. “Was it too soon? God, I’m an idiot. I’m sorry, I—”

“No!” Zhanghao interrupts quickly, hands reaching out to cup Hanbin's face. His hands press gently against Hanbin’s cheek, fingers resting right behind his ears. He tilts Hanbin’s head up, thumb hooking lightly onto the soft flesh under his chin as he nudges upwards. Hanbin’s eyes are blown wide, brown irises reminding him of the cola candies he used to eat as a kid.

“Not too soon, never too soon,” he kisses Hanbin on the forehead, feeling the warmth of Hanbin’s skin on his lips as he speaks. “I’m just an idiot. And awkward.”

“I love you,” Zhanghao says quietly, smiling at the quiet gasp that leaves Hanbin’s mouth. “I love you so, so much, it hurts. I’m sorry for scaring you.”

He feels as Hanbin wraps his arms around his waist, burying his face in the crook of Zhanghao’s neck as his shoulders deflate into Zhanghao’s waiting arms. “Thank god,” he breathes, breath tickling the skin stretched over Zhanghao’s neck. “I was worried that maybe...”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Zhanghao shakes his head, pulling Hanbin in closer as he buries his nose in Hanbin’s air. He breathes in, smelling the apple blossom shampoo in the younger one’s hair. “If you’re going to say something dumb like ‘I thought you didn’t love me,’ then stop talking because how could I ever not?”

“I love you so much,” Zhanghao repeats. He doesn’t think he could ever get tired of saying it. “I could rip my heart out right now and it would probably stay beating just for you. Your name is written all over it—I mean, maybe I should save a little piece for Quanrui too—and part of me doesn’t know if I’ll be able to survive these next few months without you.”

“I wish I could stay,” Hanbin tightens his arms around Zhanghao’s waist, voice muffled as he whispers into the fabric of Zhanghao’s jacket. 

“Me too.”

“Should I?” Hanbin asks, and it sounds a bit half-hearted—like he doesn’t know if staying with Zhanghao would be worth the regret of abandoning his dream.  

So Zhanghao shakes his head. “No. Wait for me in New York, I won’t take long.”

“You better not,” Hanbin mumbles, squeezing one more time before letting go and stepping back. There are a few tears in his eyes, shining as they reflect the stale hospital light, but he wipes them away before they can fall for Zhanghao to catch. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Zhanghao says back, this time louder and more confident because he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get the chance to say it again. “I wish I could get better for you.”

“You will,” Hanbin smiles, hand wrapping around the handle of his suitcase before reaching the other one out for Zhanghao. “You have too.”

“Yeah,” Zhanghao agrees, eyes forced towards the ground by the guilt of his lie. “I will.”

He takes Hanbin’s hand, letting the younger one pull him through the hallway and towards the entrance. The air outside is slightly humid, a sticky feeling covering his skin as the heat of the island comes in waves through the hospital entrance. 

He checks his watch. 

One hour. 

He’s got some time to spare.

Hanbin pulls him into one last hug, hands clasped together tightly as his arms circle around Zhanghao's neck. His lips are on Zhanghao’s before he can say anything, smooth skin fitting perfectly against the cracks of Zhanghao’s lips. There’s a weird feeling in Zhanghao’s chest, heart tightened awkwardly as his breath stutters awkwardly around the kiss. 

He pulls away before Hanbin can deepen the kiss, placing a light hand over the younger one’s lips as he leans in for more. 

“Save the rest of it for later, when we see each other again,” he whispers, laughing quietly when Hanbin pouts. It’s a lie, but he knows that if he lets Hanbin kiss him properly he might just let his resolve crumble away into the wind.

He wiggles out of Hanbin’s hold, grabbing him by the wrist before pulling him towards the curb. He lifts his hand out, waving down a taxi as Hanbin wraps his other arm around Zhanghao’s arm and rests his head on his shoulder. “I’m going to miss you,” Hanbin whispers, lips pressing gentle kisses over the fabric of Zhanghao’s jacket. 

“I’ll miss you too.” Zhanghao ruffles Hanbin’s hair as the taxi driver pulls over along the curb. The driver gets out, doing a quick double take at the arms wrapped around Zhanghao’s, before shaking his head and grabbing the suitcase.

“You want it in the back?” He asks, voice curt.

“Sure.”

He turns back around to Hanbin, cupping his face as his eyes flicker all over it—from his cola-coloured eyes, to the straight line of his eyebrows, and down to the slight upwards curve of his lips. He ignores the slam of the door as the taxi driver climbs back into the seat, instead focusing his attention on Hanbin as he tries to memorise every last detail of his face. “God, you’re so fucking pretty. I can’t believe I’ll have to wait to see this face again.”

“It won’t be that long,” Hanbin smiles, whispering as his hands come upwards to rest on top of Zhanghao’s. “And it’s not like I won’t miss you too.”

Zhanghao gives him one last peck on the lips, before stepping backwards. “Go now, or else I might end up locking you up next to me and never letting you go again.”

Hanbin laughs, standing up on his tiptoes to give Zhanghao one more kiss on the cheek. “See you in New York. I’ll be waiting.”

Zhanghao smiles tightly, pushing the guilt away that creeps up his throat. “Go do great things. And try not to look back,” he says quietly, opening the taxi door for Hanbin.

Hanbin gives him a puzzled look, smiling as his head tilts to the side. He steps into the taxi, head ducking as he sits down. “I won’t have to, you'll be right by my side.”

“Yeah,” Zhanghao agrees shakily, eyes not quite meeting Hanbin’s. A flash of light catches his eye and he looks down, eyes landing on the ruby on Hanbin’s hand as it catches the light—and he smiles. “Yeah, I’ll be right by your side.

Hanbin smiles one more time and Zhanghao closes the door as the younger one leans forward, saying something to the driver before leaning back into his seat. Zhanghao watches as the taxi peels away from the curb, waving to Hanbin through the dirty car window as the car speeds up.

He doesn’t lower his hand until the taxi disappears into a spot in the distance, shoulders sagging and smile falling as he turns back towards the hospital. 

He checks his watch. 

45 minutes.

The hallways feel longer now that he’s alone—the lights a bit too bright and the smell a bit too chemical. His feet drag sluggishly against the hospital floor, the vinyl floor pulling ugly sounds for his rubber soles as he makes his way back to the room.

The doctor is still in there, eyes closed as he leans back in his seat with Zhanghao’s folder tucked into a corner of his desk. He opens his eyes at the sound of the door closing behind Zhanghao, sitting up in his chair as he turns towards Zhanghao.

“I’m back,” Zhanghao says awkwardly. “Um…so—”

“You aren’t here for the trial are you?” The doctor grabs the folder from the desk, before opening a drawer in the desk and putting it inside. “I mean technically you are on paper—we have your consent forms and the correspondence between you and the hospital from a few weeks ago—but that was all for show wasn’t it?”

Zhanghao swallows the lie that he had kept on the tip of his tongue. “Yeah, I guess it was. I…I just needed him to forget about me and move on.”

“Did you know that it’s possible to die of a broken heart?” The doctor says, standing before walking around to the other side of the table. “A doctor in Japan recently described it as something called stress-induced cardiomyopathy or the ‘broken heart syndrome.’ What do you think dying of a broken heart would feel like?”

“Don’t wanna know,” he mumbles, sitting back in the chair as the legs creak under his weight. It’s loud, the groan of the plastic hospital chairs slightly embarrassing, but it eases the awkward tension in the room so he leaves it be, unexcused. “Doesn’t matter.”

“I think it would be painful,” the doctor says anyway, leaning on the desk as he crosses his feet out in front of him. “Hundreds of times more painful than what you feel in your chest.”

“I’d rather die with a broken heart.” Zhanghao fiddles with the zipper of his jacket, pulling it up and down as the sound of the zipper teeth coming together and apart again fills in the awkward edges of their conversation. “At least then it means, somewhere in all that pain, that I’ve loved.”

“I’m not talking about you,” the doctor shakes his head, hands coming down to his sides as he leans into them. “Imagine the boy, waiting for a person that won’t come. He might spend forever waiting for you.”

“He’ll know. I left a letter in his bag, he’ll see it.”

The doctor nods slowly. “And if he spends his whole life resenting you?”

“I’m okay with that. I’m okay if he hates me,” Zhanghao affirms more to himself than anyone. “But if he stays with me, he’s going to regret not choosing Juilliard—and I’m not okay with him regretting me.”

He swallows, hand subconsciously twisting the ring around his finger as his eyes dart to the watch on his wrist. 

30 minutes.

“You got somewhere you need to go?” The doctor nudges his chin in the direction of Zhanghao’s watch.

He nods. “The sea. Or, home. Wherever that is, I guess.”

Where was home for him? He’s not sure he knows. 

If someone had asked him that a few months ago, he’d give them the address to the run-down house at the heart of the island. Maybe a few years earlier and he’d tell them about the smell of rosin, the hardened skin over his fingertips, and the flickering lights in his practice room. 

As a kid he’d tell them about Ricky—about the wide-eyed kid that clung to the hem of his shirt with small hands. He’d tell them about the late nights spent half-drunk at the younger’s studio with blonde hair dye sticking to his clothes and the hours spent at the market picking out the ripest strawberries until their fingertips were stained red.

Now, he’d tell them about the soft skin under his hands, the lines of muscle shining in the twilight, and the lips as sweet as candy on his tongue. 

He wants to touch Hanbin again, to feel the firm muscle under soft flesh, to run his fingers through silky hair, to kiss the warm skin over his cheeks—he can’t. He’s stuck, anchored by a heaviness in his lungs to the gentle island air, while Hanbin travels farther and farther away from him.

Eventually he’ll return to the ocean, body nothing more than a shell on the ocean floor and Hanbin will forget about him—he’ll fade into nothing more than a summertime of faint memories. 

He checks his watch again. 

29 minutes.

He stands, tucking the chair under the desk carefully. “Thank you, doctor.”

The man sighs, running a hand down his face. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t.” 

It’s a promise he can’t keep. 

He swallows the guilt—it’s not the worst promise he’s broken. 

28 minutes.

He leaves the hospital, letting the air—now turned cold from the night—clean the smell of chemicals from his clothes. 

25 minutes.

He walks to the beach, hands tucked in his pant pockets. The sun begins to dip beneath the horizon, swallowed up by the land in the distance. 

He stops—just to say goodbye to the sun. 

He thinks it waves back. 

15 minutes.

The sky turns cold after a while, the sun disappearing completely into the ocean.

He’ll see it again soon. 

He keeps walking, footsteps echoing down the empty streets. 

5 minutes.

The beach is empty, save for a few forgotten towels and beach chairs. He’ll be like them soon—forgotten: enough to be missed, but not enough to be found again.

Hesitation crawls up his throat, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He’s tempted to turn back, tempted to crawl under the stiff hospital covers until he’s hooked up to enough machines to keep him surviving but never alive. 

He pushes that thought away, head tilted to the sky. 

There’s a flash of light and he wonders if Hanbin’s thinking about him too.

“Next life.” He takes off his shoes. “I can promise you that much.”

4 minutes.

The sand is cold beneath his feet and it’s a jarring contrast to the warm sand he remembers finding between Hanbin’s fingers and in the seams of their clothing after a day at the beach. 

He leaves his ring too, pressing a gentle kiss to the smooth surface of the pearl before slipping it into his shoe. He’s not sure what compels him to do it but maybe, just maybe, he wants to leave proof that he’s existed, that he’s survived and fought until his heart tore itself in half, and most of all, that he’s loved. 

3 minutes.

He wades into the water, watching as the sea travels into the stitching of his clothes before glueing the fabric tight against his skin. 

He takes one last breath and walks, step by step, until his head disappears beneath the surface.

2 minutes.

He tries holding his breath for as long as possible—lungs tearing at the seams—until he can’t anymore, and he takes a deep breath in. 

Water floods through his mouth, drowning his lungs in the taste of salt until they feel like they’re being torn apart. They fill and fill, water seeping into every last space in his lungs until black clouds his vision. 

The lack of oxygen is crushing on his lungs and he doesn’t know where he is anymore—body still stuck in the ocean but mind already drifting away from cold water.

His senses are torn away from him, seeping out of his fingertips until he feels weightless in the waters. 

1 minute.

His body sinks deeper, lungs finally surrendering to the weight of the water. But somewhere in the silence of the ocean, he thinks he hears his heart break first.