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Hanbinnie sleeps. It’s a miracle, all things considered, that he managed to fall asleep in this nosy space, with hair dryers going on and off, people chatting and laughing, a cell phone blasting music, managers barking orders. His ipad, still playing a video, rests precariously on his chest. Even in his exhaustion, he remained diligent, monitoring the screen. Zhang Hao, watching him through the mirror with hawk-like focus, noted every movement.
He made a mental checklist of Hanbin's actions: every two minutes or so, Hanbin placed his hand on the back of his neck, massaging. He must be in pain. His leg bounced up and down, up and down, almost involuntarily. He must be anxious . He rubbed his tummy, almost subconsciously. Does it hurt, or is he hungry? Zhang Hao believes it’s the latter.
Each blink is slower and slower, eyes shiny and droopy. His makeup is already applied; otherwise, Zhang Hao knows he’d be rubbing his beautiful brown orbs in an effort to stay awake. Despite the thick layer of concealer, the faint purple outline beneath his eyes is still visible. Zhang Hao can’t remember the last time Hanbin slept more than four hours.
Finally, his eyes close for good, head dropping back against the couch. Zhang Hao is glad. He goes around the room, asking everyone to please lower their voices, to turn off the music, to silence their phones. They do. The room grows noticeably quieter.
Zhang Hao is worried. His chest tightens up every morning they have to wake up at the crack of dawn, every night he knows will be sleepless for his other half. There are things he can see, that everyone can see, except Hanbin.
He doesn’t want Hanbinnie to wake up from his brief nap with a sore neck, so he gently lifts him, supporting his back and knees, placing him on the sofa with a fluffy cushion under his head. Hanbin’s eyes flutter open, instinctively wrapping his arms around Zhang Hao’s neck. Up close he looks so, so tired. “Hyung,” he whispers groggily, not letting go.
Zhang Hao doesn’t want to leave him either, so he kneels beside the sofa. Hanbin buries his head near the juncture of Zhang Hao’s neck, and he lets him. The room might be full of people, but none of that matters. The only thing that matters now is Hanbin, the only one Zhang Hao can see.
“Shhh,” Zhang Hao whispers next to Hanbinnie’s ear. “I’ll wake you up later, my love. Don’t worry.” His hands comb through Hanbin’s hair, stiff with gel.
“Hyung is so good to me,” Hanbin slurs, already slipping back into sleep.
Zhang Hao’s heart aches. He doesn’t think he’s good, at least, not good enough. “Sleep,” he whispers one last time. His lips tingle with the ache to kiss him, to hug him, to hold him in his arms all afternoon while he peacefully dozes off. But they can’t. Not here, not now. Later.
Hanbin’s arms relax, allowing Zhang Hao to sneak around the room, gathering things they’ll need later: a hot pack for Hanbin’s neck, the biggest sandwich he can find in the cafeteria, an iced Americano, and a squishy ball. Those always work.
Someone is about to shake Hanbin awake. Zhang Hao takes his arm before he can achieve his goal. He knows his grip is a little too strong, and his glare must be murderous, but he doesn’t really give a fuck.
“Stop,” he hisses through his teeth. “What are you doing? Can’t you see he’s tired?”
“Yes, but—”
Zhang Hao knows what he’s about to say. I need him to do something . Sometimes it seems like Hanbin does the work of ten people, instead of just one.
He interrupts him before he can continue, not in the mood to hear some inconsequential explanation. “Can’t someone else do it?” he asks. What he means is, Can’t you do it? “I’m sure you can manage without him.” Or are you that incompetent?
He’s heard, loud and clear.
Sitting on the floor, back against the couch like a soldier on post, he looks around. It’s mostly silent, as per his earlier request. Some are dozing off, just like Hanbin, some are playing on their phones, some are getting the finishing touches on their make-up, their hair.
Gyuvin, from his place on the other side of the room, gives him a thumbs up.
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
He’s been looking at his phone all afternoon, the chain of unanswered texts glaring back at him menacingly. Hanbin’s given no signs of life, buried in schedules.
Zhang Hao knows this is the life they chose, knows Hanbin finds happiness in his work. But he still worries. Worries enough to bite his cuticles raw until they bleed. Worries enough to pace around their house, staring through the window, as if that will make the van carrying Hanbin arrive any sooner.
He worries enough to pretend he’s asleep on the couch, late into the night, just to know, to hear, to feel Hanbin coming back to the dorms. Hanbin will wake him up with a peck to his nose, to his forehead, to his cheeks, to his lips. Zhang Hao will open his eyes slowly, still pretending, but Hanbin knows better. He always does. Yet Zhang Hao still pretends.
Hanbin’s self-inflicted duty is to take care of everything and everyone around him. Zhang Hao’s duty is to take care of Hanbin and Hanbin only.
“Hao-hyung, you’re really good to Hanbin-hyung,” Gyuvin had said earlier that day, out of nowhere. He’s pretending, but Gyuvin also sees through the facade.
His eyes snap open. Gyuvin is perched on the armrest, looking at him with sad eyes. Zhang Hao didn’t even hear him come up the stairs, mind loud with thoughts. Just one thought, really. One person.
Zhang Hao is taken aback by his words, enough to sit up, enough to clutch the front of his shirt, right where his heart is, suddenly in pain. “What do you mean?”
Gyuvin sighs. “Yesterday…” he starts, but Zhang Hao doesn’t hear the rest. Yesterday.
He had run all morning, all afternoon, from the first floor to the second, to the kitchen, to the bathroom, to the grocery store, to the pharmacy—anywhere Hanbin needed. He woke up sick, body gnawed little by little by expectations, by responsibilities. And yet… he’s not here today, resting.
“Gyuvinnie…” Zhang Hao interrupts Gyuvin’s monologue. He feels a little bit bad for not listening, but there’s something he needs to know. And lately, Gyuvin seems to know. “Do you think he’s happy? Do you think… he knows I love him?” his voice sounds frail, uncertain, so unlike him.
Hanbin’s been closed off, Hanbin’s not been talking. Zhang Hao knows he trusts him; the issue is elsewhere. Maybe…
“Hyung…”
“I just want to give him everything, I want to be the best. I won’t settle for less. And lately…”
Zhang Hao doesn’t need to say. Gyuvin understands. Gyuvin knows, Gyuvin sees. And lately Hanbin’s been looking worse and worse, Zhang Hao doesn’t say, but Gyuvin understands. He doesn’t sleep at night. When he smiles it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s been getting sick more often , Zhang Hao doesn’t say, but Gyuvin understands.
“I wish you could see things through my eyes,” Gyuvin begins. He doesn’t understand what Gyuvin means, yet he doesn’t ask either. “I love Hanbin-hyung, you know that?” Zhang Hao nods. Gyuvin is not waiting for a confirmation; he isn’t even looking at him.
His hands are sprawled in his lap, and he keeps curling them into little firsts and then uncurling them, curling them and uncurling them. He might be young, but he’s seen enough, knows enough about life to understand some things Zhang Hao wishes he wouldn’t.
“I love him with all my heart. But there’s no one that loves him more than you. I know that, Hanbin-hyung knows that, the world knows that, Hao-hyung. I wish you could see it too.” Zhang Hao feels like crying, but he won’t. Gyuvin has enough on his plate already. “It’s just… hard for him to know when to stop.”
“He doesn’t want to worry us.”
“He doesn’t want to worry us,” Gyuvin echoes.
Later, in the comfort of Hanbin’s bed, after he’s awakened Zhang Hao from his fake-slumber and they’re resting, pressed close together, Zhang Hao asks. “Is something wrong?”
He can feel Hanbin shaking his head. “No hyung, don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
“That’s not what I asked…” Zhang Hao rests his head on Hanbin’s chest, chin against his heart, pouting. It’s beating underneath, strong, yet not fast. Just steady.
Hanbinnie is relaxed. Zhang Hao is glad.
A caress to his cheek, soft thumb barely pressing against the apple. “I don’t want to worry you with dumb things.”
Zahng Hao’s eyebrows scrunch in annoyance. “Hanbin. Listen to me very carefully,” he says, trying to sound threatening, but he’s just sulking. He shifts, his face hovering over Hanbin’s now, arms supporting him. They’re so close Hanbin goes a little cross-eyed trying to focus on him. “I tell you everything. You’re the only person in the whole world who knows everything about me—the good, the bad, the ugly, anything. I would like the same in return.”
“But hyung. If I can fix it on my own, I shouldn’t bother you,” Hanbin protests. “Besides, you already—” He knows what Hanbin’s about to say. You already have enough on your plate, hyung. It’s not a lie, but it doesn’t matter. Their burdens can be shared. That way, they’re less heavy.
Zhang Hao cuts the rest of his sentence with a loud smooch to his lips. “Hanbin, have I ever made you feel like you’re a bother?”
“What?! No!” Hanbin answers, offended on his behalf.
“Then?”
“Then?” Hanbin echoes his question, then his face lights up with understanding. “Oh…”
“You will tell me, because I want to know. You’re not burdening me, you’re not bothering me. The opposite. When you talk to me, I’m happy, my heart is happy, and I feel at peace,” Zhang Hao asserts. Hanbin’s eyes fill with regret, with concern. “It’s when you don’t talk to me that I worry, Hanbinnie,” he adds, almost a whisper against Hanbin’s lips.
“I’m so—”
“Don’t apologize, just promise me. When something’s bothering you, you’ll tell me. That’s all I ask,” Zhang Hao almost pleads, dropping his forehead to rest against Hanbin’s.
Their lashes touch, their cheeks touch, their noses touch, their chest touch. Their hearts beat against each other, their legs are tangled. This is where he wants to be, days and nights, minutes and hours, months and years, decades and centuries.
Hanbin sighs, puff of air colliding against Zhang Haos mouth. “I promise, then.”
Zhang Hao believes him. Hanbin’s eyes tell the truth.
Taerae claps from the top bunk. “Well said, Hao-hyung.”
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
“Hyung,” Hanbin says as Zhang Hao fries a couple of eggs to go with their rice.
He’s standing right next to him in the kitchen, shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow, pinkies intertwined, his head resting almost on Zhang Hao’s neck. He sighs, slow and sweet and syrupy. From the corner of his eye, Zhang Hao can see that Hanbin’s are closed, long lashes resting atop his cheeks.
Even when he’s not smiling, his dimples remain visible, forever marking his skin, a testament to all the times he’s been happy. This morning, he looks at peace, like he could fall asleep right here, which is something that hasn’t happened in a long time. “You’re so good to me.”
Zhang Hao wants to die. Wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to change the world they live in, wants to wrap Hanbin in bubble wrap and place him in a glass container, wants to carve his chest open so Hanbin can stay inside him forever, so he doesn’t have to endure the wrath of everything on his own. But it’s impossible.
What he’s been doing for Hanbin is nothing compared to everything Hanbin’s done for him, and yet, Hanbin is thankful. That’s all he can ask for.
His reward is Hanbin: Hanbin looking peaceful, basking in the morning sunlight; Hanbin falling asleep right away in the warmth of his embrace, instead of tossing and turning, sleepless night after sleepless night, worries clouding his mind; Hanbin eating three full meals, even if it’s takeout, even if it’s something incredibly simple prepared by Zhang Hao; Hanbin smiling, not just for show, but the real ones. The ones that show on his eyes first, the ones that make his whole face contort with happiness.
Hanbin’s tired, but he’s also happy. Both things can coexist.
His shaky inhale does not go unnoticed by Hanbinnie, whose expression grows concerned. “Hyung, did I say something wrong?” he asks, eyebrows scrunching up.
“No, It’s just—” Zhang Hao starts, but can’t continue, throat closing up, heart zipping up.
It’s just what, exactly? Does he even have the words, know the words, to explain what this is?
The feelings clogging his chest, his every sense. The way his eyes prickle with tears at the mere sight of Hanbin peacefully sleeping; the way his body relaxes once his nose is deeply buried in Hanbin’s neck, inhaling that scent that’s so him ; the way his hands itch to touch, to feel the expanse of his skin; the way his heart melts with fondness every time he hears Hanbin’s beautiful, husky, honeyed voice on stage; the way his mouth has memorized the taste of Hanbin’s.
The way he loves him, unashamedly, unabashedly, with every fiber of his being. The way he can’t imagine a future where they’re not Hanbin and Hao, Hao and Hanbin. How does he even put all those feelings into words?
“It’s just…”
Frustration wells within the walls of his chest. His left foot stomps on the floor, just a little, his hands ball into fists, and an irritated huff leaves his lips. Hanbin deserves to know, deserves to hear the magnitude of everything stored in his soul, but today, the words have taken a life on their own, refusing to make the trek outside.
Hanbin’s eyes soften, molten chocolate under the sunlight. “I understand,” he murmurs against the skin of Zhang Hao’s temple, dusting gentle kisses right there. He knows that Hanbin knows. But it doesn’t do anything to quell the unease swimming in his stomach.
“You’re so cute when you pout,” Hanbin says, now draped across Zhang Hao’s back, hands sneaking underneath his shirt, faces pressed from the top of their heads, their ears, their cheeks, their jaws.
Hanbin is relaxed, humming a lullaby he taught Zhang Hao a long time ago. Their eyes are closed, their breaths in sync.
He will find the words.
The eggs are burnt now. It doesn’t matter. Zhang Hao will cook them as many times as necessary, as many times as Hanbin wants, as many times as Hanbin needs. Forever.
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
A few months after their debut, Hanbinnie’s mom invites them over for dinner. It’s just the three of them: Hanbin’s dad is at work, and Hanbin’s sister is at school.
It’s a nice affair, as it always is with Hanbin’s mom. There’s not a single universe where she could make him feel anything other than warm and loved.
They’re about to leave when Hanbin excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving Zhang Hao alone with his mother at the empty table. They cleaned up earlier, working together like a well-oiled machine: Hanbin washed, Zhang Hao dried. After that, Hanbin’s mom prepared some tea and pastries, so they would leave with their bellies fuller and their bodies warmer.
Even though she’s the nicest person on earth, Zhang Hao still feels a little bit nervous, a little bit shy, a little bit restless. His right leg bounces up and down, up and down; he keeps fidgeting with his hands, hidden underneath the table.
She’s been watching him, observing them both with attentive eyes—while they cleaned, while they ate, white they talked. A little bit too attentive for Zhang Hao’s comfort. He senses no malice behind her actions, he’s certain not a single trace of malice resides within her. She’s simply curious. He doesn’t know what Hanbin has or hasn’t told her, or if there’s anything to tell at all.
“Hao,” she starts, chin resting on her palm, head tilted slightly to the side. His head snaps back up at the sound of her voice. Hanbin resembles her so much, his heart squeezes in his chest at the sight. This is only his third time meeting her in person, but his first time being alone with her, without Hanbin cushioning his natural awkwardness, so he doesn’t know what to expect. “You’re so good to my Hanbinnie,” she says, surprising him.
“What do you mean, Mama?” Zhang Hao asks, caught off guard by her statement.
Zhang Hao knows she’s not his mom, but he’s been allowed to call her that since they first met. It’s comforting to have someone care about him in that way, especially when his own mother is so far away.
It was strange at first, the suggestion, considering the implications in his own culture, and especially considering it came directly from her, while Hanbin profusely blushed and looked everywhere but in Zhang Hao’s direction. Yet, not so deep down, it felt right. It still feels right, even to this day, as if they’ve known each other for years, for centuries, instead of just months.
Her eyes sparkle with happiness, crinkled at the corners. She’s beautiful. “You handle him with such care,” she continues. “Your eyes soften and brighten when you look at him, you touch him as if he were the finest treasure.”
Zhang Hao is taken aback. He’s aware he’s different when it comes to Hanbin, he knows he behaves differently, but he didn’t realize it was so obvious even to the eyes of onlookers.
She giggles, sweet and mellow. Her gaze is knowing, reflecting years and years of experience. “I don’t want to assume anything, and Hanbin hasn’t mentioned anything to me either, if you’re wondering. It’s just what I see.”
What I see. If she sees, then who else does? Hanbin? The entire world?
If he could, he’d let everyone know. Even if they haven’t said anything, even if they haven’t talked about this , this thing brewing between them, this thing that’s been going and growing for far too long to be considered nothing, not when it’s actually everything . Not when his heart beats in Hanbin’s frequency.
His cheeks flush; he fidgets with his fingers now resting on the table. “He’s good to me. I’m just learning from him,” Zhang Hao admits.
It's the truth. He’s never been the doting type, he’s never been the sentimental type. Feelings are not easy for him, not something he’s used to discussing, not something he’s used to showing. It’s been a challenge for him to let his guard down, to let someone in, to trust someone so much to show weakness, vulnerability. But Hanbin is… Hanbin. There’s no difficulty, no complexity in being with him.
Hanbinnie said to him, not that long ago, yet long enough to fit into a different stage of their lives: I want your worries to be mine, hyung. I want you to share everything with me, the good, the bad and the ugly. When worries are shared… they’re less heavy, don’t you think? His smile was so sweet back then, so earnest, Zhang Hao had no choice but to comply.
“Hanbinnie… he has a soft heart, too big and kind for his own good,” she says, bringing him back to the present. “When he was a kid, I worried. I worried so much, day and night, that someone would hurt him, that the world would hurt him.” Mama takes a deep breath, smiling, but this time there’s a bitter hint to it. “But I don’t have to say it. You already know it, don’t you?”
Zhang Hao does. He does, better than anyone. The world has hurt him too, way too often. But thinking about Hanbinnie hurting… it’s enough to awaken something within him, a beast that’s been lying dormant on the surface of his heart.
Mama’s eyes seem distant, lost in a foreign land, a foreign time, something far away, out of reach. Even if she tried to take a hold of it, it’d slip through her fingers. “He used to cry easily, my Hanbinnie, but lately, he barely does it in front of me. He’s been through a lot. I’m sure you understand more than I ever could,” she says with a deep sigh, as if the weight of the world is crushing her shoulders.
Zhang Hao can see where Hanbin gets it from, that big and soft heart. Despite the years, despite the hardships, hers has not been corroded; it’s still there, intact.
His hands, his restless hands, are enveloped in much smaller ones. He’s cold and she’s warm, just like Hanbin. The skin is wrinkled, but soft. There’s a ring on her finger, testament to her own love.
Sometimes, deep into the night, he likes to come up with silly ideas. When he’s alone with his thoughts, there’s always one question lingering in the corner of his mind. Why is Hanbin always so warm?
There must be a scientific explanation for it, sure, but where’s the fun in that?
Zhang Hao’s own explanation is better: There’s a star in Hanbin’s chest, instead of a heart. It could rival the sun, seeping heat through his skin. That’s why he shines so brightly, that’s why Zhang Hao feels drawn to his orbit.
It seems the same applies to Mama. If he were to squint his eyes and tilt his head just so, he’s certain he’d see a little halo of light enveloping her.
“I came here with a purpose today, Haohao. I wanted to ask you to look after him, to take care of his heart, but it won’t be necessary. I’m happy he has someone like you by his side. I can go home with a calm and happy heart.” She squeezes his hands, once, twice. “You have each other, and that is enough to face any challenge head on.”
Zhang Hao squeezes back, once, twice. “I will take care of Hanbinnie, and Hanbinnie will take care of me. You have nothing to worry about, Mama.”
Hanbin finds them like this, hands intertwined, soft smiles and softer eyes.
He pretends to throw a tantrum, wrapping his arms around his mom’s shoulders, pouting his lips like Zhang Hao often does. “Don’t steal my mom, Zhang Hao!”
Mama laughs, and Hanbin joins in, the sweetest melody. “I’m her favorite son now!”
If Zhang Hao cries himself to sleep that night, wishing he could turn back time, wishing he could somehow alter the past, wishing he could have been there for Hanbin during the darkest times of his life, no one has to know. If Zhang Hao is glued to Hanbin’s side the next day, pouty and whiny and needy, he’ll chalk it up to being in one of his moods.
Truth is, albeit impossible, his heart yearns to right past wrongs, even if they weren’t his; his heart yearns to soothe old wounds, to mend them to the best of his abilities, but he can’t.
He might not have been there, but he will be. It is a promise, and he’s nothing if not stubborn.
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
This feeling is overflowing.
Most of the time, words fail him, which is why Zhang Hao often resorts to actions: clinging to Hanbin’s back while he does his skin care routine, while he’s cooking some rice, while he’s changing his clothes.
Hanbin never complains, instead, he adapts effortlessly, never bending over to wash his face, so Zhang Hao doesn’t get detached from the new home he’s made of Hanbin’s back; setting everything in advance, so he doesn’t have to walk around the kitchen and disrupt Zhang Hao; slipping on his shirt first, so he doesn’t disturb the sleepy boy hanging onto him.
There are other ways that Zhang Hao shows his love. He tightly holds Hanbin’s hand underneath the table during company meetings, unabashedly affectionate even if it’s obvious. Sometimes, he feels the urge to grasp both of Hanbin’s hands, rubbing them gently, up and down, as if to reassure himself of their presence.
He turns off Hanbin’s alarm every time he wakes up first, granting his pretty baby an extra fifteen minutes of sleep. On those mornings, instead of Hanbin, he’s the one who checks on everyone in the dorms, making sure they’re up and about.
He playfully bites Hanbinnie’s lovely cheek when he’s too cute for his heart to handle; he takes care of the laundry, ironing and neatly folding Hanbin’s clothes when he’s too occupied to do it himself.
And on busy days, Zhang Hao prepares food for Hanbin—simple sandwiches, fruits, and snacks—alongside a cheesy message on a hot-pink heart-shaped note. If asked, he’d deny its existence, but Hanbin will snap a picture of it, sending a grateful Thank you for everything, hyung, or he’ll call, voice laced with tiredness, but cheery nonetheless, honey dripping in every vowel and consonant as he says with all the honesty in the world I love you hyung.
Zhang Hao’s chest constricts. Never in a million years he imagined he’d find a home in a foreign land, a home in a not-anymore foreign boy.
He’s reminded of something Gyuvin once told him: I wish you could see through my eyes . Now, Zhang Hao understands what Gyuvin meant. There’s something lodged in his throat, something that’s been there for endless hours, endless days, endless months, over a year. Words, feelings, love; he must release it before his lungs collapse, bit by bit, before he suffocates with this unspoken weight.
Lately, they haven’t had much time just for each other, and it’s taken a toll on Zhang Hao’s mood. He’s feeling sulky, strangely melancholic. But now Hanbin is in his arms, or perhaps he’s the one nestled in Hanbin’s embrace.
The room is dark, and it’s not cold, yet Zhang Hao insisted on covering their bodies with his fluffy pink blanket. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes,” he murmurs.
Hanbin hums, a touch puzzled. Zhang Hao can’t see him, but he’s seen him so much that he can almost picture the quizzical expression. “What’s that supposed to mean, hyung?”
He doesn’t really know how to explain it, so he asks instead “What do you think about me?”
“If hyung wants me to compliment him, he should just say so,” Hanbinnie teases him, playfully squishing Zhang Hao’s cheek with the hand that’s not currently trapped by the weight of his body.
“Just answer the question, Sung Hanbin.” Hanbin is silent for a few minutes. Zhang Hao is so restless that it feels like hours. “Why are you taking so long to answer? Do you not love me anymore?” He pouts, turning his head away from Hanbin. Hanbinnie seems to really enjoy seeing him sulk, so he always puts on a proper show, just to make him a little bit happy.
“Shut up,” Hanbin chuckles, smile shining through his tone. “I’m just trying to find the right words.”
Suddenly, Hanbin grips Zhang Hao’s jaw, turning his face and locking their eyes. Even in the darkness, Zhang Hao can still discern the shine in Hanbin’s eyes, the curve of his mouth, the long sweep of his lashes. He doesn’t need light to see it, to see him. He always does.
“Hyung is my joy,” Hanbin confesses, taking Zhang Hao’s free hand and guiding it to his face. He can feel the stretch of Hanbin’s cheek as he smiles, his dimples. “Hyung is my heart,” Hanbin continues, taking Zhang Hao’s free hand and guiding it to his chest. He can feel the beat of his heart, slow and steady.
He’s here. Hanbin is here. And he will always be.
His words are simple. But Zhang Hao understands.
“My turn now,” Zhang Hao says. He wants to see Hanbin’s face, wants to commit this moment to memory, so he reaches over and turns on the bedside lamp. Hanbinnie blinks, one, two, three times in rapid succession, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness.
“I have a friend,” Zhang Hao starts. Hanbin makes a little huh sound, eyebrows scrunched and eyes confused, but he remains attentive to Zhang Hao’s every word, as if liquid gold were pouring from his mouth.
This is why he wanted to see him. He loves observing every shape and form Hanbin’s face takes, loves memorizing every nuance, loves tracing its planes with his eyes.
“This friend of mine… I met him under very special circumstances,” Zhang Hao begins, a little smile playing on his lips.
Special circumstances might be the understatement of the century, but there’s not a single thing about that damn show that he regrets. It gave him Hanbin, at the end of the day.
Speaking like this makes it easier to let his heart soar, to let his heart spill from his mouth. Hanbin deserves to hear it, deserves to hear only praises, only beautiful things for the rest of his life.
“This friend of mine is a wonderful person. He cares deeply for everyone and always puts himself last. I don’t like that, but I really, really love him, and I understand that’s who he is as a person. But lately—”
“That’s why lately hyung keeps spoiling this friend of his, right?” Hanbin interrupts. “Why he packs him lunch, why he comes into his room in the middle of the night to make sure he’s asleep, why he turns off his alarm, why he keeps storing his cabinet with vitamin after vitamin, why he washes and dries his hair even though hyung’s eyes are barely open from tiredness…”
Hanbin’s chin rests atop Zhang Hao’s chest, his breathing heavy. Zhang Hao doesn’t dare look at him, even when he wanted to, eyes trained not on the ceiling, but on the thick wooden slats that make out the mattress of the top bunk. “I could go on forever.”
Hanbin noticed. Of course he did. Nothing escapes his radar. “I really, really love him. I wish he loved himself as I love him. I wish he were insanely proud of everything he’s achieved. I wish he weren’t so hard on himself. I wish life were kinder to him,” Zhang Hao whispers, trying to steady his trembling voice. “Still, I like to think that I make this friend's life a little better, easier by being with him.”
Zhang Hao dares to look at him. Hanbin’s eyes are red, and he blinks, blinks and blinks. “Sometimes I think, what would my life be without him? I’m grateful I never have to find out, but you know what?” he asks, dragging himself down so they’re both face to face, heads resting on their hands. “I would have met him regardless. I would have found a way for us to be together, even if we didn’t know each other existed.”
“I hope hyung doesn’t speak like that about all his friends,” Hanbin jokes, or tries to, with his never-ending eyelashes damp with salty droplets of tears. In Zhang Hao’s lips, they taste like the finest delicacy, sweet and tender, just like the eyes they’re coming from.
“Dummy,” Zhang Hao says. Their noses touch, and he briefly closes his eyes. “He’s my friend. My best friend, but also much more than that. He’s everything to me. My other half. I lived just fine without him before, you know?” But Zhang Hao knows that just fine would have never been enough for him. “Now I don’t think I could go a day without seeing his pretty face, without hearing his pretty voice, without feeling him right next to me.”
Hanbin keeps crying, eyes puffy, porcelain skin blotchy and red. He looks beautiful like this, Zhang Hao thinks. He always looks beautiful, otherworldly. Zhang Hao could spend hours to no end just admiring every contour of his face, yet there’s something magical about seeing Sung Hanbin, unbreakable leader, strong and purposeful, with his guard down. It’s not something that happens every day, it’s not something that happens with just about anyone, so these moments are special; Zhang Hao treasures them close to his heart.
“I’m thankful I get to spend another year of his life with him,” Zhang Hao finishes.
“Hyung speaks prettily,” Hanbinnie says, sniffing and blinking the last remnant of his tears away. “He’s my crying button. I feel safe enough with him to let everything out.”
His words put Zhang Hao’s heart at ease, finally, after tumultuous weeks. “Then do it, Hanbinnie. There’s nothing in the world I want more than to hear every single thought in your mind.”
“I’m trying hyung.” Zhang Hao knows he is. He also knows it’s hard. Hanbin falls onto his back, pulling Zhang Hao with him. “We’re both trying, aren’t we?”
“When worries are shared, they’re less heavy. You taught me that, Hanbinnie. I’m just reminding you.”
The clock strikes twelve, yet they’re still awake, Hanbin’s face buried in Zhang Hao’s neck, Zhang Hao’s hand buried in his hair, scratching and petting, scratching and petting, as Hanbinnie sniffs from time to time.
His warm hand has snuck its way past Zhang Hao’s borrowed t-shirt, an old thing that Hanbin’s had since high school, and settled right atop his heart.
Tomorrow, at god knows how early, Hanbin will pepper Zhang Hao’s face with kisses in order to wake him up, so they can embark on a myriad of different adventures throughout the day.
That tactic is not guaranteed to work, so Hanbin will take Zhang Hao’s hands and play with each and every finger, caressing and kissing, caressing and kissing, caressing and kissing, until every nook and cranny has been loved. Zhang Hao’s heart will beat rapidly in his chest, cheeks heating up, body vibrating with the need to carve a space for Hanbin to live in, mind full of thoughts of them finally becoming one.
If his eyes remain closed, Hanbin will trace them with his index finger. He will take his sweet time, counting every eyelash, discovering a new, shorter one that’s just recently grown, and dusting away the old ones, the ones who fall, the ones that have already completed their life cycle.
Zhang Hao’s eyes will most likely remain closed, as he loves to play this game, loves having Hanbin’s full attention.
Hanbinnie’s last effort goes like this: he’ll sneak his soft hands beneath Zhang Hao’s shirt, slowly and maddeningly making his way up, brushing every bit of skin he can find. Zhang Hao will shiver, but his eyes won’t open, too stubborn to let down the facade. Hanbin will pinch his nipples, and Zhang Hao will squeal, waking Gunwook, or Taerae, or whoever is rooming with them.
Zhang Hao, sulking, pouty lips, will say something along the lines of You’re so mean to me, Hanbin. Hyung loves you so much and this is how you repay him . Hanbin’s eyes will overflow with tenderness, with excitement, with fondness, with love, and Zhang Hao’s will too. Their mouths will meet in the middle for a barely-there kiss, a share of puffy breaths tingled with laughter.
Mornings are theirs.
But for now they stay like this—just Hao and Hanbin, Hanbin and Hao, as it was meant to be.
A new day has started.
“Happy birthday, my love,” Zhang Hao murmurs to the top of Hanbin’s head. “It might be your birthday, but you’re my greatest gift.”