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Zhang Hao knows the thing brewing between himself and Hanbin is incredibly fragile. It’s too delicate to touch, to nurture, to cup with his hands, blow on, and tend to like a growing flame. Zhang Hao wants to feed it with kindling, spark it with magnesium, and make it burn. In the Boys Planet dorms, the most he can do is watch it, cross his fingers, and hope his heart is strong enough to keep it alive. When Hanbin grabs his hand and squeezes it tight, Zhang Hao wonders if Hanbin is reaching for the heat inside of him, too.
They're always speaking in code. They jump around the ifs and the maybes, because it's too real, too scary to think about—what are they doing, playing around like this? Both of them know what it means to be an idol, but they can't stop looking at each other like they can't help themselves. Zhang Hao wonders what he would have done if he met Hanbin earlier. Done his masters degree, continued being a teacher, never put himself in the public eye, just so he could keep Hanbin all to himself. How selfish, when Hanbin is someone so deserving of the public's love. Hanbin says, “ We have so much in common. ” Zhang Hao says, “Don't do this with anyone but me.” Hanbin writes with his fingers, into the palm of Zhang Hao’s hand, I really like you, hyung. Zhang Hao's fiery heart will splutter in his chest, burning, come to life. I like you too, Hanbin-ah. They see each other the following day, Hanbin’s hand carefully left atop Zhang Hao's thigh, and Zhang Hao still can't be sure.
He can be sure to the extent that he knows but doesn't know how far they will take it. Doesn't know if there's a line, and if they're ever going to cross it, or if they're going to remain here, indulging each other just enough until this is over. Fragile things never last. They always break. Between the massages, encouraging words, the laundry room, it’s all still so very temporary. The flame that could burn out at any moment, because they are unable to tend to it correctly.
They’re rarely alone. There’s always cameras, or another trainee, or a microphone clipped to the front of their shirts. They speak with their eyes, their hands, their feet beneath the table in the dining hall. Zhang Hao wishes he could create a morse code that only himself and Hanbin could understand. He misses his easy access to his phone, wanting to text Hanbin late into the night, already fretting about a future where that’s the only type of contact they will get. It hurts to realise how desperately he needs to debut with Hanbin. His dream is no longer his own, but reliant on Hanbin by his side.
They take the elevator together. Zhang Hao is in the habit of walking Hanbin back to his room, despite being on opposite sides of the building. He can’t help himself, eager to milk every second of Hanbin’s time, counting the seconds they are able to spend together. Each one is a gift. Zhang Hao wonders about the limited number of seconds they have left and how he should spend them. He keeps reaching into this bag of time, banking on never hitting the bottom. Hanbin makes Zhang Hao greedy.
“Are you tired today, hyung?” Zhang Hao is older, but Hanbin always treats him like he’s not. Like he wants to take care of him, or keep him safe, as much as Zhang Hao wants to protect him in return.
They’re alone, waiting for the elevator. Zhang Hao likes being babied by Hanbin, so he pouts, nodding his head sagely. “Super tired. I might not even make it back to my room without passing away.”
“Ah, poor Hao-hyung,” Hanbin teases, reaching up to pat Zhang Hao on the top of his head to placate him. Zhang Hao leans into the touch, tingles racing from the point of Hanbin’s contact all the way down his spine. He can never get enough of Hanbin touching him. “I might just have to carry you, then.” When the elevator doors open, Hanbin’s hand lowers to Zhang Hao’s neck and doesn’t let go. He guides Zhang Hao into the elevator and Zhang Hao goes obediently, ears red, heart racing. He doesn’t think he’s ever going to get over this feeling.
Without taking his hand off Zhang Hao’s neck, Hanbin glances across and presses the button for their floor, before returning his gaze to Zhang Hao’s face. The elevator groans and jerks upwards, the pair of them alone inside, and Zhang Hao feels hot, hot, hot. He’s not supposed to touch the thing between them. It’s fragile, and prone to break, and no matter how warm he feels in his chest, he’s not allowed to nurture the spark lest it burns all the way through him.
“Hyung,” Hanbin says, a whisper of a word, but it carries a weight behind it that Zhang Hao doesn’t know how to bear.
“Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao responds throatily, equally as quiet, saying his name for the sake of saying it, for the way it perfectly shapes his mouth.
Hanbin pulls Zhang Hao closer. He leans down and nuzzles their cheeks together, rubbing against him like a cat, hand still firm on the back of his neck while the other grips his waist. “Hao-ge,” he says, and Zhang Hao can feel his lips moving against his cheek.
“Mmm,” Zhang Hao hums, wrapping his arms around Hanbin, because what else is he to do? The air is thick, the elevator is both so small and so large, and Zhang Hao thinks Hanbin must be able to hear the sound of his heart beating.
Hanbin shifts. He tilts his head, guiding Zhang Hao’s by the back of his neck. They’re almost on their floor. Then for one brief, destructive, marvelous second, Hanbin presses their lips together.
Zhang Hao makes a choking sort of noise, because he never expected Hanbin to do something like this. Hanbin is kissing him hard, trembling against his mouth, and overall it’s extremely awkward as well as equally the best and worst moment of Zhang Hao’s life. Zhang Hao reaches up and grips Hanbin’s cheek, pressing back against him just as ferociously, then Hanbin makes a wounded sort of noise and pulls away. He stares at Zhang Hao, eyes widened and a little crazed, and drops his hands from Zhang Hao’s body. He brings the hand that had been gripping Zhang Hao’s neck and touches his own lips in awe, or maybe disbelief.
The doors ping open. Zhang Hao lurches forward, bashing the close doors button. He picks a random floor, one far away, and sets it as their destination. He stares at Hanbin again, waiting for him to say something, but all he gets are those beautiful shocked wide eyes and more terrible silence.
Frustrated, Zhang Hao lightly hits Hanbin on the shoulder. “Ah!” Hanbin yelps, recoiling. “What was that for?”
“You have to confess before a first kiss,” Zhang Hao grumbles, crossing his arms. “You can’t just do it out of the blue.”
Hanbin frowns. “I tell you I like you all the time.”
Zhang Hao raises another threatening hand. Hanbin cowers. “This is different, stupid! Really! What are we supposed to do!”
“Hyung, I like you so much. You’re my mirror, my other half. I think I knew you in a past life,” Hanbin mumbles. Zhang Hao immediately feels his face warm and wonders if it’s still appropriate to hit him again. Instead, he collapses against Hanbin’s body and screams into his chest.
“I like you! So annoying. Really. What are we going to do. I didn’t think this would happen.” The doors open again. Hanbin groans, bashing the button and sending them off to another floor. It’s a good thing it’s so late and nobody else is wanting the elevators now. Even so, they don’t have a lot of time. They never have time.
“Hyung, you’re perfect. We’re perfect. We’re both going to make the top nine and debut together. You don’t have to worry. Don’t overthink it. We were made for this. Right? You and me. We were made for this.”
Zhang Hao thinks about their fragile thing. The relationship he wants so badly but he doesn’t dare to even touch in case it breaks. He thinks about Hanbin, so recklessly willing to drop it from the top of an elevator shaft, confident they’re strong enough to endure the fall. Maybe, this whole time, while Zhang Hao has been quietly watching his fire, Hanbin has been the one keeping it alive. Certain, always so certain. Eager to burn, if Zhang Hao will burn alongside him.
“I trust you,” Hanbin says. The doors to the elevator open. It’s their own floor, this time. They’re exactly where they’re meant to be.
“I trust you,” Zhang Hao says. Hanbin squeezes his hand, then releases him.
When they leave the elevator, Zhang Hao is a different person than he was going in. When Hanbin says goodnight, it’s filled with promise.