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“Hanbin-ah,” Hao says.
Hanbin’s already smiling just from the sound of his name in Hao’s mouth. This entire night feels like a dream. He’s still reeling from Tomboy, from the lights of the stage bright on his face, from the noise Hao had let out when their group placed first. “What?”
“We need to change,” he says. “Everyone else already left.”
It’s true; the two of them are the only ones still in the results room. Everyone else has left, even Gunwook and Hui. Hanbin was too caught up in their own celebration and his delight at seeing Hao so happy.
He’s never thought of himself as a particularly selfish person, but he likes to succeed. He wants to debut. But when he’s confronted with Hao’s earnest joy at a top placement, his surprised delight whenever he moves up in the rankings, Hanbin can’t help but want him to succeed. It’s strange, this desperation he feels for Hao to win.
And yet, after tonight, it’s hardly surprising. It was the best stage of his life. He doesn’t know that he’ll ever reach such a height again. It’s both terrifying and exhilarating to know that this is it, that standing next to Zhang Hao is all that he has ever truly wanted.
Desire is a strange thing. Sometimes when he looks at Hao, he can’t tell what it is he wants. It lurks in the space between his ribs, in the hollow of his throat, in the press of his tongue to the back of his teeth.
“Hanbin-ah,” Hao says again, gentler this time.
Hanbin’s grin becomes impossibly wider. “Sorry. I’m really happy.”
Hao smiles back. It feels like everything in his life has been leading to this moment. “Me too,” he replies.
Hanbin wraps his fingers around Hao’s wrist and tugs him out of the room. He has never felt the lack of a camera on the back of his neck more.
They are under surveillance nearly everywhere they go. This corridor and a few of the others, the restrooms, and the places where they can do household chores are the only spots where there is privacy — or, as much privacy as they can get in a place with this many people.
There’s no camera on them now, and perhaps that’s why Hanbin doesn’t let go of Hao’s wrist, doesn’t uncurl his fingers even when he can feel Hao’s sluggish pulse quicken under his fingertips.
“Hyung,” Hanbin says, and then stops, his words bitten off. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say.
Hao turns to look at him. His eyes are dark. He’s still wearing his Tomboy outfit. His makeup has smudged slightly, but it is still just as devastating as it was earlier. “I don’t want this night to be over,” he admits.
Hanbin swallows. “It doesn’t have to be.” He’s still holding Hao’s wrist. He is hyperaware of the spots where their skin is touching.
Hao tips his head to the side slightly, considering. He glances around, almost slyly. They are, for once, completely and utterly alone. They don’t speak when Hao opens the storage closet in the hallway, and they don’t speak when Hanbin locks the door behind them.
“Are you sure?” Hanbin asks.
There is no hesitation in Hao’s voice. “Yes.”
Only then does Hanbin step closer, pressing Hao’s wrist against the door as he closes the space between them.
It is a dry, careful kiss, the kind that can only be had when it is between two people who have tried desperately to cease wanting each other.
They pull apart. Hao’s pulse races like wildfire under Hanbin’s fingers. If not for that, it would be easy to think him unaffected, but Hanbin knows him so well. He feels as though he was made to know Zhang Hao, as though they have always been meant to find each other.
He surges forward.
Their kiss this time is desperate and messy. Hanbin’s tongue licks into Hao’s mouth, over his teeth. His grip on his wrist tightens and Hao reaches for his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. Hao’s hand is blazing through the fabric of his shirt, sweat still clinging to both of their bodies from their performance.
Hanbin squeezes Hao’s wrist and Hao arches up into him with a whimper, the sound swallowed greedily by Hanbin. He wants this with a startling intensity, wants to hear every noise Hao can make and catalogue them all.
There aren’t cameras but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t be caught, doesn’t mean this couldn’t ruin both of their lives forever. It’s difficult to get himself to care about anything other than the taste of Hao’s mouth against his. Hao bites his lip and Hanbin groans, his free hand coming up to cradle Hao’s face. His skin is hot, and when Hanbin pulls away they’re both panting.
“I can’t do this,” Hanbin says, just as Zhang Hao speaks up and says, “This is a mistake.”
Hanbin starts and stares at Hao. His hands are trembling faintly, his eyeliner smudged. “I can’t be gay here,” Hao says, the words tumbling out of him too fast. “I’m going to debut. I can’t be gay.”
“I can’t cheat on Matthew,” Hanbin says, just as his brain starts to catch up to his mouth and he realizes that that is, in fact, not what he should have said.
Hao’s head snaps up. “What?”
Hanbin grimaces. “Matthew and I are together. We have been for months.”
Zhang Hao’s face pales. Hanbin regrets ever opening his mouth in the first place, regrets wanting to be in Tomboy group and command as much of Hao’s attention as possible.
Across from him, Hao’s mouth is still spit-slick, still red from all the times that Hanbin has kissed him. His jacket hangs askew on his body, red imprints on his neck from where Hanbin had wound the string around his fingers and pulled it tight. “What were you thinking?” he hisses.
It’s a fair question. The truth had been that he wasn’t thinking. He was too caught up in the feeling of standing next to Zhang Hao on stage, of listening to him hit every note like they’d been practicing this song for months instead of a week. Matthew had been the last thing on his mind. He’d lost sight of everything, even debut, at the sight of Hao silhouetted in the stage lights, his chest heaving from exertion and the smile on his face so sincere and joyous that it hurt to look at.
“I just wanted to perform with you,” he says, stupidly.
Hao runs a hand through his hair and tugs at it harshly. Hanbin wants to reach out and gentle his touch, wants to push Zhang Hao into the door and kiss him until they’ve forgotten everything but each other.
“I can’t do this,” he says. “I… if this is a way to try to make me lose—”
“It’s not!” Hanbin interjects. “I kissed you because I wanted to. In that moment, I wanted it more than debut.”
Hao swallows. It seems that he has stunned him into speechlessness for the second time in a matter of minutes. “More than debut?” he says, voice small.
Hanbin can’t take it back. He should. “Yes.”
Hao’s gaze on him is heavy. Now that he knows how Zhang Hao’s mouth tastes against his, it’s difficult to think about anything else. He’d made a noise in the back of his throat when Hanbin had shoved him against the wall; had he liked it?
“If you meant it,” Hao says, his voice trembling only a little, “you have to tell Matthew. I’m not — this already has to be a secret. I can’t be your secret too.”
Hanbin’s pulse skyrockets. He can feel each heartbeat moving blood sluggishly through his veins. He feels like a new person, like his life has been neatly partitioned into sections. There’s before Boys Planet, then before he and Zhang Hao kissed, and now, after he and Zhang Hao kissed. There isn’t anything else.
“I’ll tell him,” he says. It will ruin Matthew’s chances. He’ll be devastated, surely. It already makes Hanbin’s chest ache to think about ending things with him. Matthew was the first out person he ever met, the first person he ever kissed. They were going to debut together and change the world.
It was a nice dream. Unrealistic, of course, but nice.
Hao narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything else. He brushes past Hanbin and leaves, closing the closet door tightly behind him. The irony isn’t lost on Hanbin as he slumps against the door, scrubbing a hand over his eyes.