Early Monday morning marks the first rainfall of a parched summer. Each drop falls in gentle kisses upon their sunburnt skin, soothing the peeled complexions. Hanbin isn’t fond of summer showers; the false sigh of relief that washes over him, the fleeting reprieve. Instead, the humidity clings to his uniform, urging him to shed his skin. 

This is why, an hour before class even begins, he finds himself slumped over his desk, his head buried in his arms. The monotonous drone of rain patter against the windowpane soothes the blackness behind his lids. In these few moments that are his, he allows the tears to well in his eyes. However, that’s the extent of his kindness, as he wipes them away as quickly as they fall. 

At the ring of the bell, Hanbin stirs, peering out at the tear-streaked world. In his half sleep, he’s made privy to Monday morning secrets – stolen kisses at the water fountain outside, lingering hands as students bid each other goodbye. 

A crowd of muddied shoes floods the hallways at the summons of their homeroom teacher. Ms Park’s face contorts into a red bundle of impatience, her voice growing shrill as she disregards their shallow apologies. Hanbin watches from his desk as his classmates tumble over one another at the doorway, tangled limbs shoving through to their seats. He offers half-smiles and creased eyes to the passing bodies. They return his practised kindness with cautious smiles of their own. Hanbin attempts a reassuring smile for Matthew, who fails to hide his concern as he sits behind him. 

The prevailing silence is Hanbin’s cue to rise, limbs heavy as he dutifully instructs his fellow classmates to greet their teacher. Her gaze grows soft, her voice even softer as she thanks him. As if he’ll break under anything louder than a whisper. 

“So, we have a new student joining us-”

He slides back into the cold wooden seat, his attention drifting towards the race of water beads cascading down the window pane. Entranced by the dance of droplets, he watches as one loses itself in another, forming a large globule that sparkles with a halo in the sunlight. 

Ripples of grey clouds wisp through the boundless sky, a silver line tracing their edges. Their loose shapes are too deformed to contort into the flying dragons his father would draw in the sky. 

“You’re never too old for a little magic,” he would remind him. 

And so, Hanbin searches each cloud with a distant curiosity, haunted only by the impossibility. 

Forever haunted by the impossibility. 

The water droplets slow in their path down the glass. The patter of rain dulls into silence. 

The clearing of a throat cuts through the tranquillity. Rich and resonant, a reverberating depth that penetrates Hanbin’s core as if it speaks directly to him. Hanbin’s gaze is enrapt by a pair of cold eyes piercing his soul. 

“I’m Zhang Hao,” the voice sings to him.  

Applause echoes throughout the classroom as the unfamiliar face navigates the aisles, claiming the only empty seat beside Hanbin. Hanbin claps too, hands acting on their own accord, enthralled by the melodic voice. A chill caresses his neck, as the icy gaze remains transfixed on him.

He’s gifted refuge when Ms Park addresses him. “Hanbin-ah, as our class president would you be alright to tour Hao after class?” 

Hanbin creases his eyes again, answering with a pliant nod. 

As every new day before, the class begins with a broadcast on the wall-mounted TV. A practised ritual where 30 students sit, eyes glazed over as the grainy recording preaches on the apparent correlation between abstinence and high academic standing. Even Ms Park seems more fascinated by her new collection of chalk markers, testing the opacity of her array of colours. 

Hanbin’s mother did the same whenever his dad had gifted her with a carefully curated selection of stationery. “Who said romance was dead?” she’d laugh. 

Hanbin sighs. Able to recite the broadcast from memory, he chooses instead to observe Hao’s reaction.

Within the heavenly wrought contours of Hao’s features, every emotion is laid bare. Sharp, thick brows furrow in confusion. Decadent brown eyes narrow in disbelief. Pretty, pink lips press together in a subtle pout. Hanbin allows his gaze to linger on the lips for a moment longer. Just a moment. Before he peels his eyes away with a force too embarrassing to admit. 

Not a single twitch of restraint conceals Hao’s thoughts – his expression, a commitment to truth. Perhaps he isn’t aware of the watchful eyes that hide themselves in the paint-chipped walls. Or perhaps Hao has never known to cower from a scrutinising gaze. The way his golden crown shines daringly amongst a sea of black heads, Hanbin settles on the latter. 

Hanbin suddenly finds himself the subject of Hao’s confusion. Caught red-handed in his shameless reverie, he freezes in shock. A deer in headlights. Or maybe just a fool – a wide-eyed, red-cheeked fool. He watches as Hao scribbles across the corner of his notebook, discreetly rips the page out and throws him the crumpled ball. It lands triumphantly on the floor between them. Hanbin allows a soft laugh to pass his lips at the sight of Hao, who seems genuinely offended by his own aim. He reaches down for the ball and cautiously unfolds the paper. 

No one here fucks?

Hanbin forgets how to breathe. Words betray him, abandoning him with nothing but a pathetic shrug in response. Hao’s bottom lip protrudes further, causing Hanbin’s stomach to churn in self-hatred. Yet, just as he begins to fabricate a better response to soothe Hao’s pout, Hao’s attention returns to the TV screen once more.  

And Hanbin is left to ruminate on the absurd scribble of words.

– 

When recess rolls around, Hanbin finds himself hovering awkwardly beside Hao’s desk. The classroom quickly empties, Matthew curiously eyes the pair as he leaves them alone. Hanbin ignores him, only because he has a tour to give. It’s obedience, duty – call it as he may. An excuse, even, if he meanders dangerously close to honesty. 

Hao looks up at him, eyes twinkling a lighter brown under the sunlight. Rising from his seat, he meets Hanbin’s gaze at a paralysing proximity. There’s curiosity circling his irises. A brownness so impossibly vivid and transparent.

“Hanbin,” Hao murmurs, his name falling like a secret on his lips. Hanbin leans in, entranced by the intimacy laced in Hao’s tone. 

Hao tilts his head, a smirk playing on his lips as he releases a breathy chuckle. “I’ll find my own way around,” he remarks, waving a dismissive hand as he saunters out of the classroom. 

Hanbin slumps where he stands, failing to notice the body lingering in the doorway. 

“Unless there’s something only you can show me,” Hao adds in a cautious invitation. 

Hanbin considers the boy for what he is – a mere stranger. A blank canvas not stained by knowledge or unnecessary details. A blank canvas that tempts him to lay his grubby fingers across its surface with no fear of consequence. Logic will tell him otherwise. But today, Hanbin chooses not to be led by logic but by the tantalising smile that dangles just beyond his reach. He wants to snatch it and make it his own. 

“I think that’s something you’re going to have to earn,” Hanbin attempts a tease, but the playfulness is so foreign that it comes out more awkward than anything. 

But Hao is kind to him. 

Hao’s cheeks rise, plump curves softening his angular features. His eyes twinkle brighter, invigorated by the challenge. 

“Spoken like a true class president,” he laughs, before abandoning Hanbin in the empty classroom. 

Hanbin returns to his seat, cradling his head in his arms as he finds comfort in the familiar. If he allows curiosity to get the best of him, he could follow Hao. He could chase after the echoing laughter that beckons him from the hallway. But curiosity is not meant for the ill-prepared. And Hanbin feels Hao is not one any level of apprehension can deem him ready for. So maybe it’s a degree of self-preservation that keeps him rooted to his seat, that keeps him content to let the moment pass, allowing the gentle hum of the air-conditioning and the growing patter of rain alone to accompany his thoughts. 

At the end of recess, bodies trail back in, clinging together as if the threat of solitude looms large. Hanbin’s eyes instinctively trace the crowd for the boy adorned with his golden crown, but he eludes him. Hanbin’s stomach churns again. 

He swerves in his seat to face Matthew who blinks at him in surprise. Hanbin knows it’s a selfish question, considering he made no effort to talk to the boy earlier. But he asks anyway. 

“Have you seen Hao?”

Matthew smiles at him with an endearment Hanbin has neither earned nor deserves. 

“I thought he was with you.”

Hanbin slumps into his seat at his answer. “He didn’t want a tour,” he mumbles in reply. 

“I’m sure it’s not your fault,” Matthew reassures, in more ways than one. Hanbin’s grateful that he tries, frustrated that he can barely reciprocate. 

Matthew leans forward in his seat, softening his tone in a way that would irk Hanbin if it was anyone else. 

“Hanbin, I’ve been meaning to offer but I guess I never found the right timing,” he begins cautiously, “if you ever get sick of your uncle’s cooking, you’re welcome to come over to mine. You can bring Yujinie too.”

Hanbin nods in promise. 

“One day.”

And, for once, he means it too. 

–

Hanbin idly tosses a slice of sausage on his lunch tray, the drag of his chopsticks against the metal stinging his teeth. 

“You shouldn’t play with your food,” the voice he’s been craving finally speaks, satiating the hunger his trayful of food fails to. 

“Where have you been?” Hanbin’s words come out almost accusatory as he fails to conceal the frustration heavily laden in his voice.

Hao raises a curious eyebrow as he takes a seat opposite him. He grabs the tortured sausage slice, taking it into his mouth with a disarming nonchalance. 

“Exploring,” Hao answers as he chews, “this school is a lot bigger than I thought.”

“I got blamed for you not being in class,” Hanbin says, curious if guilt is a phenomenon Hao was familiar with. 

Hao smiles. “You don’t care about that.” 

He’s right. He doesn’t. But that isn’t something to decipher so quickly after knowing each other for only a few hours, exchanging only a few words. Hao claims another sausage, giggling as he does so, like some childish thief. Only, he’s unaware that Hanbin has already surrendered them entirely to him. 

“You know, you’re surprisingly unpopular for class president,” Hao mumbles in what should be an offensive observation. 

Hanbin nods in response, fully aware that the image of him with an entire table to himself amid a crowded cafeteria is enough visual aid to support Hao’s conclusion. 

“I would’ve thought you rigged the votes if you didn’t look the way you look,” Hao adds with a suggestive lilt, his gaze wandering over Hanbin's features.

Hanbin frowns. “How do I look?”

And to that, Hao smiles in his torturously transparent way. “No need to be humble, Hanbin. It’s just me.” 

But what captivates Hanbin’s attention more isn’t the brazen flattery, but Hao’s choice of words. 

It’s just me.  

As if he's eager for Hanbin’s vulnerability, just like Hanbin is eager for his. An indulgent thought at the very least, bordering on blind hope – that's what he should be telling himself. Instead, Hanbin’s lips turn up into a smile, his cheeks lifting in a manner so natural that it’s unfamiliar. He fails to recognise the absurdity of it all. Part of him refuses to. 

“What if I did rig the votes?” Hanbin asks, smirking.

Hao’s gaze wanders, tracing Hanbin’s features with painstaking diligence. Eventually, he lands on the metal tray that has gradually been nudged to sit directly in front of him. He eyes the remaining sausage slices.

“You wouldn’t,” Hao concludes.

And Hanbin’s heart clenches because he’s being perceived so easily when he’s been trying not to be perceived at all. 

–

“I tried to find your hideout,” Hao confesses, their shoulders bumping into each other as they trudge along the wide corridor. 

“Any luck?”

“No.” Hao pouts in a way that Hanbin is getting overly fond of. “Which is why I’ve come back to earn it. Like you said.” 

As Hao speaks, callused fingertips brush against Hanbin’s palm. They play a rough tune against his flesh, announcing their presence. And then they hover in place as if waiting for approval. A rush of warmth burns Hanbin’s cheeks. He meets Hao’s gaze and, for the first time, discovers a vulnerability that mirrors his own. For a moment, they’re the only ones alive.

“Hanbin?”

He pulls away at the sound of his name, turning to find Matthew jogging towards them. Hanbin glances at Hao, who fidgets with his fingers, his expression now uncharacteristically guarded. An apology dances on the tip of Hanbin’s tongue.

“Hao. You’re here too.” Matthew sighs in relief, slightly breathless from his hurried pace.

Hao looks at him in question. 

“I’m Matthew,” he clarifies, “We’re in the same class. I sit behind Hanbin. Actually, Hanbin and I went to the same middle school.”

Matthew was always adorable when he got lost in his nonsensical rambles. Hanbin watches as Hao’s lips press into an endeared pout. 

“Well, you’re adorable,” Hao laughs. 

Hanbin sighs. They’re all merely collateral damage to the boy’s unyielding honesty. 

Flustered by his candidness, Matthew stutters. “Oh. Um. Thanks. I- um. Actually. Ms Park was looking for both of you.”

Hao points at himself in confusion, receiving a nod of confirmation from Matthew. 

Hao lets out an uneasy laugh. “Is it too late for me to run away?”

Hanbin smiles, in the way Hao’s presence allows him. So much so that he ignores the knowing smirk growing on Matthew’s face as he observes them. 

“You want to move schools after only one day?” Hanbin muses – a possibly foolish move considering who he is talking to. 

Suddenly, Hao leans in as if he’s forgotten Matthew is there, or perhaps he just doesn’t care. Strands of his hair brush against Hanbin’s forehead. If Hanbin steps forward in the slightest, he could collapse into the depths of Hao’s gaze. 

“Unfortunately,” Hao pulls back. “I’ve found a good reason to stay.”

And once more, the world falls into silence. 

“Ms Park’s in the office,” Matthew calls out, his voice suddenly distant as he fades far out of sight. And in the remaining echo, Hanbin can hear the smile that sits on his lips. 

–

“Why are we here?” Hao all but groans, gripping impatiently at the bundle of fabric entrusted to them. The sun shines down mercilessly as they stand at the school gates. 

Ms Park sighs. “Hanbin’s here because he’s obedient and dutiful. You’re here because you ditched class on your first day.”

Hanbin can’t help but smile at how quickly Hao’s face falls in resignation. 

On Ms Park’s command, they tug at the sides of the cloth, unravelling the large banner.  

Embrace Virtue: Purity Prevails

Hao stifles his laugh with his shoulder.

Ms Park frowns, and Hanbin readies himself for a careful defence. But instead, she sighs heavily. “Is it that bad?”

“It’s pretty bad,” Hao answers with an honesty Hanbin envies. 

As they hold the banner, Ms Park readies the ladder against the wall mounting the school gate. She gestures for them to climb. Without a word, Hao stares at Hanbin, eyebrows raised in expectation. Hanbin feigns a scoff, fighting against the grin twitching at his lips. It proves to be a losing battle – he’s already climbing the rungs as Hao smiles smugly, steadying the ladder from below. Hanbin loops the string around the metal pole, the simple task turning finicky as the thread dampens from remnants of the earlier rain. 

With Hanbin seemingly preoccupied, Ms Park recognises this as her perfect opportunity to speak to Hao. Hanbin has no intention to eavesdrop, but the only other noises accompanying them are the distant echoes of bubbling laughter and the occasional car drifting by. 

Ms Park’s voice drops into a wariness that he's painfully familiar with. 

“Hao, I understand the challenges of transferring schools at the end of the semester, especially in your final year,” she acknowledges, her words carrying a weight of empathy, “You used to attend a performing arts school, didn’t you?” 

Hanbin remembers the callused fingertips. He imagines the numerous hours of dedication and the beauty in Hao’s music which is likely as unyielding and authentic as he is. The way each word rolls off his tongue in melodies that Hanbin yearns to memorise. 

Ms Park continues. “I know this environment can be quite the opposite of liberating at times, but if anything is troubling you, I’m always here to talk. And if I’m too much, you can lean on Hanbin.”

“Because he’s class president?” 

Hanbin struggles to decipher the apprehension in Hao’s voice. 

“Because he needs someone like you,” Ms Park clarifies, “I believe you’ll be a good influence on each other.”

“That’s a first.” Hao’s laughter rings out, a bittersweet loneliness buried deep beneath his words. 

Hanbin climbs down the ladder, feigning ignorance as best he can. Though his curiosity begs for answers, his queries struggle to escape his lips. So instead, he spends the next ten minutes tying and untying the other end of the banner in silence until Ms Park is finally satisfied with its levelling. 

They wander back to their classroom, the faint echo of footsteps following them as they walk. Panicked students run past, attempting to avoid a lecture on tardiness from their fuming teachers. But the pair’s pace only slows. 

“Hanbin,” Hao calls. 

Hanbin hums thoughtlessly in response, momentarily dazed by the mild scent of lemongrass incense wafting off Hao’s uniform.

“What does it feel like to be needed?” 

Hao’s sincerity pierces the air, causing Hanbin to flinch involuntarily. Hanbin studies Hao’s gaze. His eyes are searching, imploring, beseeching. And Hanbin aches to give everything he has. 

But before he can respond, Hao’s eyes fall to the ground. “I just thought you’d know. Since you’re class president, people rely on you.”

Hanbin pauses, grappling with the honesty Hao asks of him. 

“If all I’m good for is what I can do for someone," he quietly confesses, "then as long as someone else can get the job done, I’m expendable."

Hao lifts his gaze, the intensity of it heating Hanbin’s cheeks. “In that case… I think I’d rather be wanted.”

–

A shameful beep blares from the card reader as Hanbin taps onto the bus. He tries again. Over and over until he’s feverish. The bus driver offers him an apologetic shrug. But just as Hanbin turns to alight, a familiar figure pushes past him, tapping on his behalf.

“We’re together,” Matthew says, dragging a confused Hanbin behind him. He pushes Hanbin gently into the window seat, then joins his side.

“Thanks,” Hanbin mumbles awkwardly, fidgeting with his bag strap.

They sit in silence for a while, with only the sound of monotonous traffic accompanying them. It’s almost relaxing, if not for Matthew’s constant side-eye. His leg is restless beside Hanbin’s – jittery at first, and then bobbing incessantly as the bus inches closer to his stop. 

“So Hao’s nice,” Matthew suddenly says. And with those few words, it’s like the dam finally breaks. 

“We talked for a bit after school,” he continues relentlessly, “He plays a bunch of instruments. Apparently, his cousin plays guitar too. He’s in middle school though. But I’m thinking of inviting them to join the band club. You could bring Yujinie to watch the auditions. I think he’d like Hao.”

Matthew was always strangely endearing when he danced around what he actually wanted to say. However, as the unfortunate subject of his current spiral, Hanbin’s experiencing severe whiplash. 

“Matthew,” he groans, clutching tighter on his bag strap. 

Defeated by his own words, Matthew sighs in response. “I’m not blind, Hanbin. All I’m saying is that I missed your smile.”

And with that, he disappears from Hanbin’s side. As the bus takes off, Matthew’s waving arm fades into oblivion. Yet his glaring smile lingers as green spots, momentarily blinding Hanbin. He blinks away the silhouette, processing Matthew’s words. 

Black, white, silver cars flit past the bus window, painting the world in a monochrome blur. The clouds, too, begin to gather again in their grey swirls. Hanbin’s eyes search instinctively, expectations low. But ever so faintly he catches the flick of a tail in one, a glimpse of talons in another. A smile grows on his lips.

He would tell his father he saw magic today. 

–

“I’m home,” Hanbin calls out.

The kitchen glows a verdant hue, courtesy of the cluster of soju bottles, a sight that had thankfully grown rarer in the passing months. They stand on the drying rack, their labels messily peeled, leaving behind ghostly white remnants. Their bottle caps add to the collection within the jellybean jar.

Hanbin places his bag in his room, peeking through the slightly ajar door to the bedroom beside his own. Inside, the curtains are closed shut, leaving only a sliver of light from the living room to aid Hanbin’s vision. Within the darkness, the bedsheets rise and fall with his uncle’s steady breathing.

“He got someone else to close Ludia's today since you’re working tonight,” Hanbin hears his younger brother call from behind. 

He turns to find Yujin towelling his wet hair as he probes through the fridge. The white light illuminates his placid face as he deliberates the sparse options available to salvage him from their uncle’s cooking. 

“You haven’t eaten yet?” 

“I was waiting for you,” Yujin answers, reluctantly reheating the pot of jjigae left for them atop the stove. 

Hanbin offers him a weary smile before retreating to the bathroom. 

The warm shower soothes his tender muscles, his fatigue making an unwelcome appearance when his day is to stretch into tomorrow. It’s usually in here where the tears shed themselves, the salty drops disappearing into the abyss of the drain. But today his exhaustion numbs him. 

With closed eyes, he surrenders to the gentle symphony of falling water. It reminds him of the morning rain – the way it fell so fleetingly that it was over before he could even release his sigh, his breath catching in his throat. Until the velvet voice sang to him from lips so pretty, that he forgot how to breathe at all. Hanbin allows himself to be taken by the thought, taken by the image of Hao long enough for the ache in his muscles to dull. 

When Hanbin exits the bathroom, Yujin is waiting patiently at the set table, his food untouched. He smiles at the sight. Yujin was always quiet in his gestures, his love timid yet steadfast, a silent strength ushering Hanbin to lean on him more than he should. Hanbin wills his limbs along, the distance to his brother growing impossibly larger with every step. With a heavy sigh, he finally sinks into the chair.  

Yujin’s gaze falls to his bowl. “This is your third night-shift in the past week,” he mutters between pained mouthfuls, wincing as the flavour insults his tongue. 

“I got some sleep before school,” Hanbin softly whines in response. 

“You used to work evening shifts.” 

Hanbin hears the almost imperceptible tinge of concern hidden within his voice. Yujin usually never pries, even less so with every passing month, their conversations ending in fewer sentences. However, today his words seem to ask for a resolution. 

“I didn’t see you for two weeks because of that,” Hanbin sulks, “I’d rather work nights.”

Yujin finally lifts his gaze. A warmth settles in his eyes. 

“This tastes just like dad’s,” he groans, smiling fondly at his portion of jjigae. 

“Bad cooking must be genetic,” Hanbin laughs. But whilst they complain, they eat as if starved. 

It’s in this silence that Hanbin feels most comfortable. He had long passed the point of believing things could return to the way they once were. But in these moments where they scoff down the food they once threw tantrums over, Hanbin’s breaths fall more steady. 

“Hyung,” Yujin begins, his spoon twirling aimlessly in the rice, “Do you think they’d be disappointed in me?”

Hanbin frowns in confusion. “Never,” he insists without much need for thought.

His chest tightens as their words hang in the air, the silence stretching taut between them as he swallows past the lump in his throat. Doubt flickers in Yujin’s eyes. 

“Where’s this coming from?” Hanbin asks softly. 

“My teacher said that my grades-”

“Your teacher’s an idiot.” Hanbin interjects, “They clearly didn’t know Mum and Dad at all.”

Yujin laughs. “You don’t even know what he said.” 

Hanbin sighs, settling his spoon down against his bowl. “Yujin-ah, I know you . And that’s more than enough.”

Yujin stares at him for a moment, before his gaze falls again to his bowl. He bites hard at his quivering bottom lip urging Hanbin to soothe his tension. 

“Besides, you’re still a kid,” Hanbin adds.

Yujin rolls his eyes, an exasperated shudder leaving his lips. “So are you,” he rebuts. 

Hanbin scoffs. “Barely.”

“But you are .” 

And his words hold such conviction, Hanbin is almost swayed. 

–

The convenience store hums along softly to the distant tune of suburban rain. Silence settles thick in the humidity, the squeak of wet shoes on linoleum growing less frequent as the night deepens. It’s well past midnight. Hanbin is reorganising packets of ramyeon when he hears the bell ring from the store entrance. He allows a few minutes to delay the inevitable – just enough not to conjure the wrath of his manager – before trailing over to the counter. 

“Hanbin?”

He sees the black box dye before he sees Hao.

“Are you dyeing your hair?” Hanbin panics, mentally berating himself for not showering Hao first with every rendition of you’re a sight for sore eyes that he can come up with.

Because he truly is a sight for sore eyes, wearing a teddy bear jumper and black track pants, glasses that finally explain why he spent the day squinting at the chalkboard. Behind the glare of his lens, his weariness is magnified. He holds himself more closely than he did earlier in the day. Hanbin wonders how many sides of him he is yet to see. Hao begins to fidget under his gaze, tugging at a loose thread hanging from the hem of his jumper. 

“It’s for my cousin,” he eventually explains, nodding at the strawberry-haired boy – a curious sight still wearing his uniform despite the ungodly hour – hovering over the ice cream freezer in deep thought. 

“He was supposed to go to cram school but then he came home looking like that. His parents think I’m a bad influence.” Hao finishes his sentence with a laugh, but the sound comes out hollow, his eyes flickering with a hint of resignation. 

Hao’s cousin joins them at the counter, unloading his arms of possibly every strawberry-flavoured product their store sells.

“You’re buying, right?” He states rather matter-of-factly to Hao.

Hao sighs. “Hanbin, this is Ricky. Ricky, Hanbin.”

Ricky gives him a once over, and Hanbin holds his breath, suddenly hyper-aware of his bare arms poking from his work vest.

“The Hanbin?” Ricky asks, making no effort to conceal his amusement. 

Hao’s eyes widen in panic as he nudges Ricky with a sheepish grin. And for once, Hanbin’s grateful for the long night. A smile dances on his lips as he scans their items, his eyes not daring to stray from Hao’s. Hao silently holds his gaze, as if that’s all his fatigue will allow. Fingers fumble, pulling harder at his jumper, unravelling the thread in its entirety. 

“Hanbin, enough chit-chat! Back to work!” his manager’s voice booms from the backroom. 

Hanbin responds with an obedient yes, sighing as he bags the products. 

“You barely said a word. Can he even see us?” Ricky asks, head spinning around in search of the source of the voice. 

“He watches the security feed.”

Ricky responds with a scandalised gasp, drawing a laugh from Hanbin. The middle schooler seems clumsily endearing beyond his calm exterior. Fragments of Hao appear within him – the softness safely guarded by a confident stature, the emotions written plainly on his face for anyone to read – a lifetime of influence that stirs strange envy within Hanbin. 

“That’s 37,000 won,” he reads from the screen.

Hao’s shoulders fall heavy as he hands Hanbin the cash. He returns the change. His hands – desperate to comfort Hao and finally gifted with a silent opportunity – gently caress across Hao’s palm, before retreating. Hao smiles genuinely for the first time tonight.

“I’ll see you soon,” Hao says as they leave. 

Every word from his mouth is uttered like a promise. 

–

“What time do you get off work?”

Hanbin almost drops his armful of Milkis cans at the voice. Hao stares, leaning against the fridge beside him, his head tilted in expectation. The chill aluminium numbs Hanbin’s skin. An hour's absence has never lingered so achingly.

“At 4,” Hanbin finally answers, receiving a baffled frown from Hao. “It’s usually 6, but I get off two hours earlier so I can make it to school on time,” he elaborates. 

Hao’s brows furrow deeper. “We’re minors, is that even legal?” His voice is scrutinising – scolding, almost – as he pouts disapprovingly. But it only serves to soothe Hanbin’s exhaustion.  

“It’s good pay.” Hanbin shrugs, biting back a smile as he restocks the remaining cans. He tells himself that it’s the sleep deprivation making him delirious, not the way Hao leans closer as he speaks, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose revealing the concern heavy in his gaze. And perhaps also an intimacy that makes Hanbin a bit light-headed. 

Hao’s body lingers, silently. 

Now it’s Hanbin’s turn to scold. “You should go home, Hao. Get some sleep before school.”

“But, what about you?”

Even at 2am, with his voice hoarse from fatigue and his eyes fighting to stay open, Hao sees through it all. 

“What about me?” Hanbin echoes, unable to give him the answer he deserves.

Hao sighs heavily, disappearing between the many aisles. Hanbin traces his movements with his eyes, watching as he drags his feet towards the counter. Hao beckons him with a smile and Hanbin’s legs are moving before he even realises. He pauses beside Hao, staring at the bowl of ramyeon and the triangle kimbap piled on the counter. 

Hao lets out a confused laugh. “You know, usually you stand on the other side of the count-”

“It’s on me.” The words tumble out of Hanbin. “Whatever you want. It’s on me.”

Hao stares at him, tired eyes widened as if he’d just been shaken from a deep sleep. The overhead lighting paints his face pale, the blush spreading across his cheeks growing more obvious by the second. He presses his lips together as if fighting a smile and it’s in this that Hanbin realises that Hao sees through him once again. 

Hao turns to peruse through the aisle behind them. “In that case, are you hungry?” Even with his back turned, Hanbin can see the way the apples of his cheeks sit high.

“I- I guess I wouldn’t mind one of those boiled eggs,” Hanbin answers, fidgeting with the zipper on his vest as he fights the urge to curl up into a ball and roll away. 

After preparing his ramyeon, Hao trails to the seats along the window with his food. Hanbin follows close behind, a diligent shadow on this quiet night. 

“I’m surprised your manager hasn’t said anything yet,” Hao pants, glasses fogged up as he nods at the security camera directly above them. 

Hanbin, however, is more enrapt by the way Hao’s lips swell and redden from the spiciness of the ramyeon. “He’s napping so he can take over later,” he mumbles in response. 

Hao inhales sharply. “Is it always this quiet?”

“Today, more than usual.”

Hao licks his lips, and the sheen glistens under the fluorescent lights. “Hanbin?”

Hanbin peels his eyes away, locking eyes with an amused Hao.

“I thought you were hungry,” Hao laughs, nudging the food towards him.

Hanbin obediently takes a bite of his egg, hoping a mouthful of food will stop him from saying too much – a worry that worsens with every passing minute in Hao’s presence. Hao’s gaze softens as he lifts a finger, pressing it against the swell of Hanbin’s cheek. Flustered, Hanbin blinks rapidly, feeling the heat radiating from his skin under Hao’s gentle touch.

“Your cheek looked cute,” Hao remarks, withdrawing his hand.

He fidgets with his fingers as Hanbin chews awkwardly on his food. The rain patters insistently against the window pane. Outside, the orange glow of the streetlamp casts shimmering ripples on the flooded sidewalk. Fog envelops the night in an embrace so tight that it should be suffocating. Hanbin steals a glance at Hao, his heart swelling at the subtle radiance emanating from his tired features. 

“You should go home once the rain stops,” Hanbin suggests, his voice betraying the reluctance brewing within him. “Won’t you get in trouble for being out so late?”

Hao’s eyes soften at his concern, but a subtle hint of unease lingers in his gaze. 

“Not really. My parents travel a lot for work, so I practically live alone most of the time.” He stares out at the deserted street as he speaks. “I was thinking of sleeping over at Ricky’s tonight, but I told them I was going home.”

“Because of the hair dye?”

Hao’s fidgeting hands rediscover the long thread hanging from his jumper. “Among other things.”

The right words elude Hanbin, a stranger to the comfort he aches to provide. 

“Red suits him,” he says, feeling foolish he can’t offer more.

Hao’s hands pause in their restlessness. He smiles incredulously, slapping Hanbin on the wrist, his cold touch lingering. “Don’t ever tell him that, he’ll never change it.” 

The thought alone is enough to make Hao laugh, a sound so ravishing Hanbin’s intent on hearing more – will give him anything to hear more. 

“Blonde suits you.” 

Hao laughs again, more withdrawn this time. Doubt wrinkles his forehead as he leans away. Hanbin would be concerned if not for Hao’s fingers drawing mindless shapes against his wrist. 

“You haven’t seen me with anything else.” Hao points out, his tone disbelieving. 

Hanbin smiles, giving way to his thoughts. “I’m sure you look good in anything.”

It's a simple confession – it holds only truth, not embellished nor disguised. But perhaps that is what Hanbin had been so afraid of. Enchanted by a honey voice that pries his soul with perceptive eyes and electric touches, Hanbin feels comfortable . So much so that it’s foreign. And although his mind rages on, loud and constant, and his heart pounds diligently, he’s never desired the present to be stretched into forever as much as he does right now. 

Hao’s hand freezes in its movement as he comprehends Hanbin’s words. He smiles with his eyes, his gaze so saccharine that Hanbin finds himself instantly addicted. 

“Hanbin, I swear, you’re-”

The overly familiar bell chimes. An echo of voices and a flurry of footsteps drown all hope of Hanbin hearing the remainder of Hao’s words. And his disappointment must be written on his face as Hao lets out a soft chuckle. 

“Go do your job,” he nods towards the counter, a forgiving smile on his lips, “I’m not going anywhere.”

– 

What should be a ten-minute task extends into hours, and Hanbin finds himself hurriedly dragging out a sleep-dazed Hao as his shift ends, wary of his manager noticing the boy's lingering presence. They bask under the warm street lamp, a single umbrella shuffling them closer despite the stilling rain. Flecks of light bounce off the water-speckled vinyl, whispers of rain drawing patterns across their silhouettes. 

“I don’t remember falling asleep.” Hao pouts, eyes barely open as he tugs at the black jacket draped over his shoulders. “Is this yours?” he asks, frowning at the unfamiliar garment. 

“Your hands were cold,” Hanbin says, using his free hand to pull the hood over Hao’s head, ruffling his hair in the process. He brushes away the stray strands falling messily into Hao’s frames.

“They’re always cold,” Hao mumbles, eyelashes fluttering under Hanbin’s gentle caress. “What about you?” he asks, staring pointedly at Hanbin’s bare arms. 

“I run warm.”

Hao narrows his eyes, unconvinced. Driven by a perhaps misplaced confidence, Hanbin drops his hand, ignoring the soft whine that escapes Hao’s lips at the loss of his touch. His trembling fingers tentatively interlace Hao’s.

“See? Warm.”

Seemingly too early in the day to play coy, Hao closes his eyes and presses his lips together – the plump rise of his flushed cheeks exposing his every thought. He lets out a shuddering sigh, opening his heavy eyes. “Do you live nearby?”

Reminded of their impending separation, Hanbin’s grip unconsciously tightens. “The apartment block up the street. You?”

Hao smiles wearily. “20 minutes away.” 

Hanbin nods, ready to walk him home. 

“By car.”

For a moment, Hanbin just stares back. His confusion morphs into concern as he watches Hao chew at his bottom lip. Hanbin can’t fathom bidding goodbye, reluctant to grow more familiar with the word than he already is. He’s aware this particular goodbye isn’t permanent. The lingering touches and terribly suppressed smiles feed into this growing conviction. And yet, he is still pained by the thought of Hao driving off into the darkness as he’s left alone with the fading hum of the engine. And the image of Hao stepping into an empty home with dawn as the only warm embrace to welcome him. Hanbin can’t allow it, not when he’s standing right there. 

“You can come home with me.”

Hao’s eyes are fixed on the pavement. Focus furrows his brows, as if it helps him ground himself in reality – in a rationale that they’ve already established doesn’t apply to them. “Hanbin, I can call a taxi,” he says, though his grip doesn’t relent, “You don’t need to-”

“I want to.”

Hao finally lifts his gaze, searching for any hesitation in Hanbin’s eyes. Hanbin watches as his gaze falls to his lips, lingering there with a fervour that burns Hanbin’s cheeks. Hanbin allows him to stare, to ponder. Deciding against his thoughts, Hao’s body falls limp, his head finding solace in the curve of Hanbin’s shoulder.

“Let’s go, then,” he mumbles, his voice muffled. 

– 

As they meander across the damp pavement, the vinyl umbrella falls to Hanbin’s side, the excuse for proximity losing its necessity with every step. Their journey home is mostly silent, only broken every few moments by Hao retrieving his hand to wipe his sweat, always returning to Hanbin’s warm grip. He performs it thoughtlessly, like a habit. He gravitates back towards him, like an instinct. And Hanbin lets his mind wander at the idea. 

He only regains his thoughts the moment Hao’s palm doesn’t fall back into his grasp. Hao remains standing in the entryway to the kitchen, his bare feet shuffling side to side before Hanbin nods for him to enter. Hao takes note of the wooden skating separating the two areas, lifting his feet unnecessarily high to clear himself of any danger. Hanbin catches his triumphant gaze and a warm adoration settles in his chest. He nudges open the door to his uncle’s room, finding it absent. 

“My uncle’s gone.”

“He’s opening… Ludia’s again today,” Hao calls from the kitchen, his syllables oddly stretched, “If Yujin sleeps in again, he’s going to hide alarm clocks around the house. And if you don’t eat breakfast… he’s going to start hand-feeding you every meal.” 

Hanbin turns around, wonderfully confused by Hao's words. He finds the boy pointing at a neon pink sticky note clinging to the fridge, his uncle’s handwriting haphazardly scrawled across. Hanbin smiles, half in realisation and half in fascination that Hao easily deciphered the childish scribbles that boldly claim to be letters. 

“What do you usually do when you get back from work?” Hao asks, curious hands now removing the steamy lid from the pot atop the stove. Hanbin thinks to warn him before he takes a whiff, but Hao hums in delight at the aroma. 

“Get ready for school,” Hanbin answers as he walks over to fill a glass of water for Hao, scolding himself for not offering one earlier. 

Hao frowns as he drinks. “When do you sleep?” 

“Usually on the bus.” Hanbin’s thumb wipes away the droplets gathered on Hao’s upper lip. “Or before class,” he adds. 

“Hanbin.”

The familiarity of his scolding tone conjures a guilty smile on Hanbin’s lips. It’s childish, the way he grins unabashedly in an attempt to defeat the disapproving frown creasing Hao’s forehead. And it proves to work, as Hao rolls his eyes and shakes his head. However, he refuses to give in completely, avoiding Hanbin’s vicinity by drifting his attention to the jar of soju caps. 

“What’s this?” he asks, fingers tracing the lid. Hanbin eyes his slight tremor – the way it’s been insistent from the moment they parted hands. 

“My brother’s idea. If our uncle drinks too… often,” Hanbin’s voice drops into a mumbled whisper, “if he fills the jar he has to take cooking lessons.”

Hao’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “But his cooking smells good.” 

Hanbin laughs surprisedly, grateful for the details Hao chooses to focus on. “He’d like you.” 

Hao’s sleep-ridden eyes sparkle vividly at his remark. Hanbin has to turn away, lest he melt from the warmth radiating from Hao’s smile. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks, eyes slowly wandering back to meet Hao’s.

“Still a bit full from before,” Hao answers rather honestly, “but I know I’ll be starving by the time school starts so I’ll eat anyway.”

Hanbin nods in response, his gaze growing shy as he forms his next words. “You can wash up first. You can borrow my uniform. I-” Hanbin falters, his face burning as he speaks, “I think we should be around the same size.”

Hao’s mouth opens for a moment, though any words he had intended to say fail to make an appearance. Instead, he nods obediently. His feet remain planted where he stands until Hanbin leads him to the bathroom, handing him a fresh towel, a spare toothbrush and a set of uniform. As the door separates them, Hanbin leans back against the solid wood, sliding down to the floorboards. He sits there, steadying his breaths to the mellow tune of the song Hao hums. 

–

“And you’re sure you’re not just saying that to be nice? Cause you know my uncle can’t hear you, right?” Hanbin watches on in concern as Hao finishes his second helping of food. 

Hao shakes his head vehemently. “I like it,” he insists. Then he frowns in thought. “But my opinion might be skewed since I’m stuck eating my own shitty cooking most of the time.”

“You cook?” Hanbin asks, eager and vaguely terrified as to what food has morphed Hao’s taste buds into enjoying his uncle’s cooking enough to reach for seconds.

Hao laughs. “Barely. That’s why my mum always says I should find someone good at cooking.” And with that, Hao leans in ever so slightly, a strange glint finding home in his gaze as he speaks, “Are you any good?”

Hanbin chokes on his rice at the implications of Hao’s words. If Hanbin thought himself delirious earlier, common sense and objectivity have certainly abandoned him now. Because as he sits there, gathering what’s left of his sanity, he smiles back, braver than he’s ever been. 

“I can learn,” Hanbin muses.

And to that, Hao snorts. 

“Shouldn’t you wake up your brother?” he asks, glancing out at the sunlit view from the balcony beyond the living room. 

“I’ll do it before we leave,” Hanbin says, gathering their empty bowls for the sink as Hao follows behind him. 

Hao races past him for the dish sponge, his socks skidding against the floor. Wary of the stack of ceramic in his grasp, Hanbin’s movements are a beat too slow. Dish sponge in hand, Hao pokes his tongue out in victory. A breathy chuckle escapes Hanbin’s lips.

“If I ask him to eat every meal with me, I think I’ll see him even less than I already do,” Hanbin continues, choosing not to pander to the gloating boy, “He’s not a fan of being coddled.”

Hao holds his hands out patiently as Hanbin pulls the pink rubber gloves over his palms. 

“But you like coddling,” he notes with certainty, eyeing Hanbin’s gentle movements. “Have you always been like that?”

“I guess,” Hanbin hums, “but it’s probably gotten worse since my parents…” The words spill out of him without conscious thought. Upon realisation, he watches Hao’s face, searching for any shift in his emotions, any sign of discomfort. 

Hao just smiles softly, his gaze wandering to the family portrait hanging from the living room wall. “What were they like?”

They clean in silence, Hanbin’s mind running rampant to find the right words. In the passing months, he’s allowed his grief to be defined by others. By faces he barely recognises telling him that his parents loved him, that they were good people and he must miss them. Some say he should take his time to mourn, others say he needs to step up for Yujin. His uncle doesn’t say anything. Hanbin doesn’t blame him – he knows well enough that he loves them both. But standing beside Hao, their elbows colliding every so often as they rinse the dishes… it’s unfamiliar, talking about his parents to someone who doesn’t know them already, someone who isn’t mourning them too. 

He voices the first coherent thought that comes to mind. “My mum was a teacher.” 

Hao laughs in a manner so subtle, yet so disarming. “That explains why you’re such a teacher’s pet.”

Hanbin scoffs in disbelief, eyeing the playful smirk on Hao’s lips. It’s strange how the world contorts to the image Hao deems fit. The way he chooses to see Hanbin wholly as if he’s no longer the shell of the boy he once was. The way Hao seeks his company, though dull and monotonous. It’s infectious, his clumsy smile. 

“What about your dad?”

“He co-owned my uncle’s cafe. He was good with people. Always knew the right thing to say. My mum could never get mad at him. But then again, he was scared of her so I guess it worked both ways,” Hanbin unknowingly grins as he speaks, his mind flooded with fond memories he’d forgotten even existed. 

Hao doesn’t ask more, as if satisfied by Hanbin’s smile alone. Hanbin watches as Hao moves to wipe clean the dining table, a thoughtful pout pursing his lips as he collects the stray grains of rice. And it’s in this, the most mundane of gestures, that Hanbin knows without a doubt.

They would like you too.

–

Hao leans on his shoulder, his head bobbing softly from the bus’ rhythm. His hand naturally finds Hanbin’s as they rest their eyes from the daylight. It was only yesterday that Hanbin was sighing out the bus window, fidgeting in his seat as his shirt clung to him from the rain and sweat. Today isn’t so different – grey clouds still loom above, droplets blur the windows, umbrellas soak the floors – everything is still the same. But today, Hanbin doesn’t sigh. 

“Do you always get to school so early?” Hao groans, voice hoarse from fatigue.

“Mmhmm,” Hanbin hums in reply.

Hao’s body shudders at the thought. “I can’t imagine being at that place any longer than I have to.”

Hanbin says nothing. It’s become habitual, sleeping in places that aren’t his bed. He’s grown afraid of the comfort of his mattress, worried that if he allows himself to rest, days will pass him by and he would have to spend the rest of his life playing catch-up. Hanbin decides to share this another time, his curiosity piqued by the utter distaste in Hao’s voice. 

“Why did you move to our school?” he asks, lifting his head off of Hao’s to force himself awake before they miss their stop. 

There are more people scattered across the seats than earlier. Most mind their own business, few glance over in intrigue. Hanbin doesn’t have it in him to care, more focused on the way Hao nestles his head closer. 

“Apparently, violin was getting too expensive,” he whispers, his tone defeated. 

Hanbin nods to himself, rubbing circles on Hao’s hand, sharing the only comfort he’s able to give. “We have a band club. It’s probably kinda mediocre compared to what you’re used to.”

Hao hums in acknowledgement. “Matthew told me about it. Are you in it?” He lifts his head from Hanbin’s shoulder, blinking his sleep away. 

“No. But Yujin is a fan.”

Hao smiles, amusement lifting his tired features into a mischievous grin.“So if I join the band, he’ll think I’m cool?”

Hanbin rolls his eyes, yet his heart warms at the thought. “If that’s what you want.”

–

“If you ask me, I think it’s kind of poetic.” 

Hao laughs at the fresh bird droppings splattered across the banner adorning the school gate. Whilst he certainly agrees, Hanbin only hopes the imminent rain will wash it away before someone with a less forgiving sense of humour bears witness. 

“Hao?”

The boy hums in reply, shoving his phone into his pocket after capturing an array of photos to laugh at later. 

“I thought, since we’re here already, might as well show you.”

Hao’s eyebrows rise sharply in question. He wears his fatigue worse than Hanbin, the exhaustion weighing down his eyes as he peers at him. And yet he’s beautiful even like this, with heavy lids, tense brows, and a fatal pout. 

“My hideout,” Hanbin explains, scuffing his feet against the pavement. 

Hao immediately brightens with intrigue. He tilts his head, colours flickering through his eyes as if deciding whether to act coy or be honest. Hanbin should’ve known that he would choose the former.

“I’ve already earned it?” Hao asks, fluttering delicate lashes over his imploring gaze, “In a day?”

Hanbin sighs, choosing to walk off before giving Hao the liberty to catch the beaming grin creasing his cheeks. “It’ll help pass the time,” he calls out, his pace slowing until he hears a hurried patter rejoining his side. 

Their footsteps soon fall in tandem, echoing as they climb the flights of stairs. Other than the caretakers and the occasional preoccupied teacher, the school grounds are rather barren. Only their quickening breaths accompany their ascent. 

“I tried coming here yesterday,” Hao pants as they reach the final landing, “It was locked.”

A rattling jingle sounds as Hanbin pulls out a set of keys from his bag, flipping through them until he finds a golden one. “Ms Park gave me a spare key when I became a senior.”

Hao eyes him, failing to disguise the mockery threatening to escape his lips. “Teacher’s pet,” he hums as he walks through the open door. 

The vast expanse of the green rooftop steals Hao’s breath. Hanbin watches as his mouth falls agape in awe. A jungle of buildings litter their view. Beyond the skyline, mountains peak into the clouds. Even from a distance, their vivid green is more impressive than the rooftop they stand on. The sight itself isn’t particularly impressive, but it’s the openness of it, the way the breeze carries him under the sun, that spurs a sense of wonder. 

“Am I the first person you’ve brought here?” 

Hao’s eyes brim with anticipation. Hanbin wishes to gift him the privilege, but honesty has found its home in Hao’s presence. “Matthew knows about it,” Hanbin confesses. 

Hao pouts. “Are you telling me that I could’ve asked him this whole time?”

Hanbin only laughs, following as Hao leans against the railings. “Do you come here often?” Hao asks, his voice falling to the stretch of field below them.

Hanbin watches Hao’s inquisitive eyes trace the view. “It’s been a while,” he hums in reply, “I think the last time was with Matthew after the funeral.” 

Hao turns to face him, an apprehension settling in his features. “You know, we don’t have to be here if you don’t wan-”

“I want to.”

The words appear so easily on Hanbin’s lips, it takes a moment for him to recognise the shock that widens Hao’s eyes. A shuddering breath escapes Hao. 

“I hate how you say that.” Though his words hold loathing they come out in a raspy murmur, as if the confession itself parches him.

Hanbin leans in, attempting to decipher Hao’s expression. “How do I say it?”

Hao peers at him intently, the rims of his eyes now reddened with fatigue. His skin flushes with a softer red, a feverish heat radiating from the touch that finds Hanbin’s hand. Yet Hanbin remains entranced by what burns deep beneath Hao’s darkening gaze. And it only occurs to Hanbin what it means when Hao takes a purposeful glance down at his lips. 

This time Hanbin spares him no chance to change his mind. 

Their lips meet shyly, tentatively. Hanbin has never been kissed before, never been consumed with the desire as much as he is now. Yet his inexperience fails to worry him in the comfort of Hao’s embrace. He cannot explain how months of accumulated fatigue evaporates so quickly. But there is magic in the inexplicable. Magic in the way Hao walked into his life as if he knew it was where he belonged. Hanbin once rolled his eyes at the idea. But he’d be a fool to deny it now. To deny the boy that provides him solace with a mere grin.

Hao hums into the kiss, his lips lifting into a smile. 

Hanbin flinches as a drop of water falls on his cheek. He pulls away, the image of Hao enough to make him breathless despite the innocence of their kiss. Hao’s dazed eyes furrow in confusion.

“I think it’s raining,” Hanbin explains, looking up at the sky that grows duller by the minute. With a gentle tug, he pulls Hao back towards the door. “We should head inside.”

As the drops fall heavier, Hanbin's pace hurries, wary of their lack of umbrella. However, Hao’s hand suddenly escapes his grasp. Hanbin turns around to find the boy grinning at him, unabashedly. “Hao,” Hanbin chides, “you’re going to get sick.”

Hao walks backwards, dodging Hanbin’s attempts to lull him back into his embrace. “Then you can take care of me,” he laughs, low and taunting, the sweet melody muffled by the thickening shower. 

Hanbin can only watch as Hao runs into the downpour, his name falling silent on his lips. 

Hao. 

A beauty of the summer rain. Plump lips glisten like beads of morning dew. Bleached strands of hair drip against his countenance like a bejewelled crown. A constellation of moles, branded by divine decree, as if the gods themselves sought to remind the world of its insignificance in his presence. 

Hao. 

If Hanbin had only known, he would have prayed for this rain to bless him much sooner.