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“Sorry for the wait, it’ll be just a few more minutes until your turn to walk.”
The staff member bows twice, trying to come across as sincere even though Hanbin can tell she has a million other things on her mind. She doesn’t wait for a response before she moves on to the next person with the same routine. Bow, apologize, bow again, move on.
He doesn’t envy her job, managing a group of celebrities with tensions as high as they can be before an awards show can’t be easy. Especially not with the prima donna attitudes that some of them can adopt when they’re dissatisfied. Fortunately, Hanbin isn’t one of them, content to hover by the entrance until it’s finally his turn to walk the red carpet. Hanbin’s manager, on the other hand, rubs his hands together, huffing at the delay.
When Hanbin used to attend these events with his members so many years ago, they used to make him giddy. Seeing the friends he hadn’t gotten to meet in a while and preparing for the grand performance stages made award show season one of the most stressful, but exciting times of the year. Now, with only his manager for company, the season has started to lose its sheen.
The harsh November chill cuts through the air, and Hanbin shivers a bit in his tailored suit. They’re far enough away from the crowds of fans and flashing cameras that Hanbin can barely hear the sound of the shutters clicking from here. Still, he tries to steel his nerves so he doesn’t do something embarrassing when it’s finally his turn, like flinch at the sudden onslaught of camera lenses pointed in his direction the second he steps onto the carpet. It would be a rookie move in comparison to Hanbin’s twelve years in the industry. Even after three years, he still hasn’t gotten used to facing the cameras alone. It was much easier to stomach the assault of cameras when he had his U-VERSE members as pillars of support by his side.
A few other actors and actresses mill around with their managers nearby, none of whom Hanbin recognizes by name. In any case, he’s not really feeling up to socializing right now. That can be saved for the after party, when the alcohol is flowing, and Hanbin won’t have the stress of whether or not he wins this trophy hanging over his head anymore.
He’s already decided, tonight will either be a celebration or an opportunity to drown in his own self-pity- there’s no in between. Although he’d never been the biggest fan of the lavish after parties that this production company throws, finding them almost garish with their false niceties and unsubtle flaunting of wealth, he’s just glad he won’t be the one footing the bill to get drunk tonight.
Even under the guise of being a celebration, those kinds of events are actually all about making connections. He was probably in for a lecture tomorrow morning no matter the outcome of the ceremony itself, and Hanbin would have to profusely apologize to his manager for failing to do what actually mattered– which didn’t involve bringing home a trophy at all. No, Hanbin’s manager was definitely hoping he would get to brush elbows with whichever next award-winning director had the perfect project for Hanbin. It’s not that Hanbin wouldn’t want to talk to them if he could, it was just a bit difficult to break through the swarms of other hopefuls trying to convince the director of the exact same thing.
It’s a pity, but that’s usually how these things tend to go. Compared to the near decade that Hanbin had spent as an idol, three years is nothing in the acting industry. Really, Hanbin is lucky to even be nominated for an acting award at this ceremony, though he doubts he has any chance of actually winning the category.
He was proud of his performance in the drama, of course, but he didn’t think the three lines he’d been given per episode were really enough to justify a nomination, let alone deserving to win over the more serious contenders. It’s not like Hanbin hadn’t known this when he’d taken the role. Honestly, he never even expected to be up for any acting awards for this drama at all.
Unfortunately, it’s not as though he’s exactly spoiled for choice in the role department these days. Among his options, it had been the story that drew Hanbin to this script in particular. Sure, the majority of it followed a standard boy-meets-girl, meet-cute-to-unexplained-rivalry to eventual-lovers webtoon adaptation. However, Hanbin found his character, the main lead’s younger brother, Minwoo’s journey to coming out and being accepted by his family poignant enough that it was worth the potential fallout for taking on such a controversial role. In the end, Hanbin had enough of the LGBTQ characters in dramas facing only tragedy and inner turmoil. He wanted to play a gay character with a happy ending, sue him.
His manager had been vehemently against Hanbin taking the role at the time, but once the drama came out, Hanbin’s fans had unwaveringly defended his performance online. The scene of him coming out to the main lead had gone viral for a few days across a couple forums, critics and fans calling it a shining moment in the otherwise generic drama, which was apparently enough to earn him a nomination at this semi-prestigious awards show.
It was his first nomination since his rookie year as an actor, and the only one he had received for any of his projects this year. So, to shiver here in this cold was actually almost an honor.
As time wore on, however, and Hanbin seemed no closer to getting on the carpet than he had for the past fifteen minutes he’d been standing here in the cold, he wished that his manager hadn’t confiscated his down coat while they were still in the car.
No matter the result, Hanbin hoped his fans wouldn’t be too disappointed in him, as he had a feeling they were at least half the reason he’d been nominated in the first place. He could thank his time as an idol for their one-track-minded determination to campaign online for this nomination. They were probably trending hashtags about him being here already, something with sweet words that could warm his heart instantly even through the coldest wind that the early winter of Seoul could muster.
Finally, the staff motions Hanbin towards the entrance to the red carpet, the only thing separating him from the crowds ahead being a thin black curtain blowing loosely in the wind. His manager pats him on the shoulder in a gesture of luck, and Hanbin paints on his practiced smile, the one that photographs better than reflects any true emotion.
He hopes his hair doesn’t look too odd under the bright lights, as it was currently colored a distinctive half-black, half-golden combination he’d done himself on a whim with the help of Matthew earlier that week. After having blond hair for months with no sign of approval from the company to dye it back to black, Hanbin had decided to take matters into his own hands. Though, he supposes, he could have done it more responsibly than half-drunk with Matthew on a Wednesday night. But it was the first time he’d seen his former group-mate and close friend in months, as Matthew had been a guest on a traveling variety show that traversed at least half a dozen countries (if the episode titles Hanbin has to catch up on are any indicator of what his friend has been up to). Unfortunately, the spontaneous attempt had resulted in black dye being spread so unevenly across his hair that whole sections on top of his head were still the almost-brassy blond that it had been colored before his botched fix.
The following morning, his stylist had taken one look at his two-toned hair, whimpered in mourning, and managed to turn it into something presentable over the course of eight long hours. Trapped in the chair, he’d been forced to listen to her ensuing rant about how ‘people with no control over their lives always take it out on their poor, poor hair.’
Read to filth by a woman who had seen Hanbin at his highest and lowest points throughout his career, it was safe to say that Hanbin had learned his lesson. However, staring into the mirror afterwards, he didn’t think the final result was that bad. People would be talking about it, that’s for sure.
“Hanbin, look here!” One of the photographers calls to him, “Your hair looks great.”
He recognizes the man from some of the other events he’d attended recently. Offering a polite wave, Hanbin makes sure to catch as many of the cameras as he can before moving to the next part of the carpet. This time he makes a heart, and the shutters pick up to an even faster speed. The lights at the top of the backdrop are hot against his back, glinting against the gold detailing around the collar of his suit jacket, chosen to match his hair.
“How are you feeling tonight? Do you think you’ll be going home with the trophy?” Another reporter shouts to him. Hanbin turns himself in the direction of the question, but there’s really no way to tell exactly who it came from.
“I think all the nominees gave their best performances. I’m honored to even be considered among them,” Hanbin answers, always the one with the politically correct answer at the tip of his tongue, never even contemplating sharing his true feelings on the subject.
He knew he wasn’t supposed to search himself online, but being a (mostly unemployed) actor left him with a lot more free time than when he was an idol. None of the journalists had given him any odds to win, the predictions for his category split between a seasoned older actor who played a chaebol villain and another older actor who played a comedic chauffeur that would randomly burst into song while driving during each episode. The bitter part of Hanbin, the side that was most important to keep under lock and key when he was at a public event like this, whispers resentfully that Hanbin had probably only been nominated so his fans would join the live broadcast.
That was the thing they never discussed about being an idol trying to make a name for themself in a new industry. He would always have to wonder whether he really earned any of it, or if entertainment companies and directors were only trying to exploit the fanbase that attaching Hanbin’s name to a project would bring. For someone who worked as hard as Hanbin, who threw his all into every audition even when he knew he never stood a chance, that was the scariest thing of all.
Balanced on the precipice of a cliff, Hanbin wonders if anyone would really care if he fell if his fans were no longer there to prop him up.
Hanbin is ushered off the carpet just as the announcer calls out the name of the next actor, all the cameras instantly swiveling away from Hanbin and back towards the other end of the carpet. It’s one of the nominees for best actor, Hanbin thinks, but he doesn’t look back to confirm, making his way into the venue with his head held high in case anyone’s eyes were still lingering his way.
For the first few years of his idol career, Hanbin was sure he would never want to leave the stage. All the hours he spent in the practice room and the recording studio, under the scrutiny and judgment of executives who’d never known what it was like to work so hard in their lives, were worth it as soon as Hanbin stepped onto the showcase stage. A small number of fans gathered to support them, waving banners because they didn’t have any lights yet, chanting their names in time with the dance break of their song. At the beginning, there were so few fans that Hanbin knew most of them by name, especially the ones that would come to their fansigns.
It wasn’t glamorous then, the six of them crammed into a two bedroom apartment– not ideal at all for six teenage boys growing into adulthood with the eyes of the world on their backs– but for as much as they squabbled, Hanbin could see this becoming his forever. It took some time, but eventually they paid off their trainee debt after successful comebacks and moved into a larger dorm. Members went from coworkers to chosen brothers until Hanbin couldn’t remember who he was before becoming the leader of U-VERSE.
But, the burning ambition they’d had when they were teens had diminished to a smoldering ember by the time they were in their mid-twenties. The members were his best friends, but they were all fed up with the company’s poor management, the constant overworking, and the overbearing fans.
As heartbreaking as it was at the time, Hanbin understood why they weren’t willing to renew their contract. It was time to move on. They had given their youths away as members of U-VERSE, and now it was time to figure out who they truly were without the reputation of the group as a looming shadow over their shoulders.
As the leader and second-oldest member, there had been a natural expectation that Hanbin would start a solo career to take advantage of the momentum of the group before interest in them fizzled out. They weren’t global stars by any means, but a few of their songs had gotten famous enough to join the legions of overplayed K-pop songs in retail stores across the country, so they weren’t unknown.
That’s what a few of the younger members did. Once they settled down and signed with a new agency, they started fresh and tried to put the past behind them. They debuted with new concepts, edgier, more daring sounds that their old company would never approve of, and built new identities for themselves like the past seven years hadn’t existed at all.
Somehow, it was only Hanbin that was stuck in the past, missing the days when the six of them shared everything together, yearning for the feeling of knowing that no matter what, there was always someone with his back by his side. Unsure of his path forward without the security of the U-VERSE members relying on him to lead them, Hanbin, on the advice of the group’s oldest member, took the plunge and enlisted early.
The army never gave him the grand realization of what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, but it did teach him how to live on his own. Two years later, at twenty-seven years old, Sung Hanbin returned to the spotlight, pulling himself out of his pre-enlistment slump and reemerging in the acting world as the lead in a short web-drama. Nine years after his debut, Hanbin was starting from scratch. But just as he’d fought his way to survival in the cutthroat idol world, he’d make a name for himself here in the acting industry too.
That was easier said than done. Roles were hard to come by, especially now that Hanbin didn’t have a company with deep pockets to finance the connections he needed to get lead roles. He took any audition that was even floated in his direction, even the ones his manager argued were above him. The drama he was nominated for today was one of those roles. Hanbin understood why the older man would be wary of Hanbin taking such an overtly LGBTQ role, but after two years of playing someone’s goofy best friend, the forgotten ex, the teacher, the cousin, the coworker, Hanbin would take anything that had more character development than just cheering the main lead on in their journey to find love.
So yes, Hanbin thinks as he enters the venue, rows of chairs arranged around a glittering center stage, he would like to win this trophy, but he can never admit it– can never show a hint of desire let it be misconstrued as greed– has to always be the humble idol his fans expect and never let his true wishes peek through the cracks in his perfect facade.
A staff member shows him to his seat. The floor is about half full already, though most of the other guests are milling about with each other, conversing politely and blithely in their black-tie outfits as if unaware of the audience above them tracking their every move. All the nominees and guests have been placed on the main floor, creating the illusion of a gala instead of just a regular award show. There’s a main stage in the center of the room, elevated on a platform illuminated by golden light. At first glance, the whole set-up seems totally normal, only until Hanbin looks up to see the groups of fans gathered at the railing of the second level, phones trained on whichever actor or actress they’d offered their hard earned paychecks up to see. The production team has created a living fish bowl, and Hanbin feels like he’s barely a minnow surrounded by birds above the water ready to snap him up at the first sign of a mistake. Hanbin’s seat is near the back, away from most of the main cameras set up to film the show.
Of course, Hanbin never expected to get more than a few seconds of time on the live broadcast. The fancams from the audience above would surely be more than enough to satisfy his fans online. Without the cameras to distract him anymore, the stiffness of his collar itches at his throat. Surely it wouldn’t be too unprofessional if he just undid the first two buttons. He was so far away from the cameras that the odds of them catching a flash of the tattoo across his collarbones were so low that Hanbin was willing to risk it, at least until the live show began.
It takes another hour before the red carpet event finishes and everyone takes their seats. Not wanting to stray too far from his designated section for fear of catching the glare of the staff already with their hands full trying to keep everyone under control, Hanbin only gets to introduce himself to a few of the rookie actors sitting behind him.
One of them, Hanbin can tell from the way he keeps fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves, was probably a fan of U-VERSE if his nerves when talking to Hanbin are any indication. He had a big reputation as an idol, especially in the group’s last few years, one that he has never been able to shake after all this time, no matter how many times he strikes out in the acting world. Either way, the pair are polite to the point where Hanbin feels like he’s having a one-sided conversation, and if they compliment him on his drama one more time, Hanbin might just confront them about how he’s not sure if they’ve actually seen it at all given how vague all their descriptions of the show have been so far.
“And the part where you talked, sunbaenim,” One rookie compliments, “I think I almost shed a tear myself.”
“Oh, really,” Hanbin smiles politely, “That’s really kind of you to say.”
“You really inspire me, you know,” The other jumps in, “I don’t know if I could do what you did, enlisting early like that, giving everything up, taking the risks that you did.”
“I didn’t give anything up,” Hanbin corrects, creases at the corner of his eyes surely giving away how the smile he presents them with is anything but sincere. “I found something new that inspired me.”
“Yes, of course,” He agrees hastily, though Hanbin can tell that the rookie doesn’t believe it.
Is it so hard to accept that Hanbin genuinely likes being an actor? He knows the rumors that have followed him around the last few years– that he’d spun out after the disbandment of U-VERSE (not untrue), that he was jealous over the success of his members (entirely baseless and false)– name it and Hanbin had probably seen the accusation attached to his name at some point! For some reason, people seem to believe that Hanbin only became an actor because, for some big Reason with a capital “R,” Hanbin couldn’t be an idol anymore. Why else would he chase any small part that came his way? Why else would he give up the perfect solo career that was waiting for him three years ago.
Was it so hard to believe that Hanbin was happy like this? A quieter thought at the back of his mind. Was it so obvious that he’d lost some of the spark he’d had when he was still a member of the U-VERSE now that he was on his own?
The harried staff member taps him on the shoulder. “Sir, if you could return to your seat, the program is about to begin.”
Hanbin bids farewell to the rookies, returning to his assigned seat at the front of the back section. The chairs aren’t particularly comfortable, a hard black plastic that seems to sink directly into his bones through the coarse material of his suit. On either side of him strangers have taken their seats, though whether they’re other nominees or just seat-fillers, Hanbin isn’t sure.
The MCs of the show are a pair of A-lister idols, who introduce themselves to a large cheer from the second level audience, their under-eye glitter visible even on the big screens projecting on either side of the venue so that the fans above, and Hanbin at the very back, can still see what’s going on.
Hanbin wishes that he would’ve made more of an effort to get his manager to have him placed near someone he knew. He didn’t have the most friends in the acting industry, but surely someone he’d worked with before had to be at this show as well. Scanning down the slip of paper listing the number of awards and performances still to be announced, Hanbin sighs internally. This was going to be a very long evening.
The first hour of the show crawls by, with the numbness in Hanbin’s left foot as the only thing that keeps him from dozing off as he sits through speech after speech. Neither of the rookie actors Hanbin had spoken to earlier win the award they were nominated for. Politely, Hanbin doesn’t turn in their direction to catch their reaction after the winner was announced.
The chosen ‘Rookie of the Year’ is young, surely under twenty years old, and the screen flashes through a compilation of the projects he’d worked on this year as he walks up to the stage to accept his trophy. The vibrancy with which he seems to glow as he accepts the prize, thanking his mother for never giving up on him even when he wanted to watch movies instead of study for his exams, even fills Hanbin’s begrudging heart with hope for the future.
From behind him, someone cheers wildly as the boy walks down from the stage, waving his trophy in the air with triumph. This time, Hanbin can’t help but turn behind him curiously to see which of the seat-fillers was a secret fan.
Only, there’s no way the clapping man is a seat-filler, he’s far too attractive for that. Everything about him is sharp, from the perfect ‘c’ curl of his bangs to the lines of his crisp black suit. The glitter under his eyes and sparkly lip gloss rounding his lips gives his profession away. He must be an idol, though Hanbin didn’t know that any would be invited to this event that weren’t performing as well.
As if embarrassed at being caught, the man shrinks back a bit under Hanbin’s gaze, flushing slightly at the pointed apples of his cheeks even through his base makeup. He mouths something to Hanbin, but he can’t hear over the applause and music as MCs transition to the next award. Hanbin turns back farther to try and hear him properly.
“Han Yujin,” the man repeats the name of the winner as if that answers Hanbin’s unspoken question, but the shape of the name on the man’s lips seems practiced and comfortable.
“He used to be a trainee at my company before he decided he wanted to be an actor. I practically raised him,” he gloats.
“Congratulations then,” Hanbin smiles, and it might be his first real one of the night. The man’s joy is infectious, the curve of his eyes as he explains his connection to the winner adorable enough to even bring a smile to his own lips.
“It’s a pity he never debuted with us,” the man’s lips twist, almost forlorn at the memory. “He’s a great dancer too, you know.”
That at least confirms Hanbin’s suspicions about the man’s career, though, with the slim shape of him and perfect proportions that Hanbin definitely hadn’t swept an admiring glance over under the cover of the dimly lit audience, Hanbin can’t say he’s surprised. He doesn’t feel guilty for staring either, not with the way he’d caught the man unmistakably ogling the celestial ink peeking through his partially unbuttoned shirt.
“Are you in a group?” Hanbin asks before he can stop himself, mentally kicking himself for letting the words out before he thought them through. What if he got offended that Hanbin didn’t recognize him right away? It’s not like him to get so tongue-tied around a pretty man. In fact, it’s been his job for the last decade to act normally around them, but something about this idol makes Hanbin want to keep talking to him. So much so, that he seems to have lost half his anti-social tendencies and his tact after just one glance.
“You don’t recognize me?”
Then, the man employs the most lethal weapon of all, a pout that stretches from a slight droop of the eyes to the protrusion of his lower lip. Hanbin has to resist the urge to turn all the way around, putting his back to the stage (though he’s already most of the way there) to bow and apologize profusely for his mistake.
“No, no. I’m sorry,” Hanbin wracks his brain for any memory of the other. A face like that seems like it would be hard to forget, but Hanbin also had seen a lot of beautiful faces during his time as an idol. There was even a period when he’d been an MC on a music show and a variety show consecutively, meaning that new faces passed through his studio on a weekly basis. Had this man been one of them?
“That’s okay,” the man sighs, put upon, but with an almost teasing lilt to his words, like he’s the actor here putting on the show, and Hanbin is his enraptured audience of one following his every move. “I’m Zhang Hao.” A pause, “from ONEIRIC.”
The name sets off an alarm bell in his head. He does know it, he’d read it more than half a dozen times when he’d been trolling through the journalist predictions for the show tonight. As Zhang Hao’s first foray into a solo career after the disbandment of his group ONEIRIC, he’d released a very well-received original song for a popular romance drama earlier this year.
“You’re nominated for best OST,” Hanbin recognizes, and at this Zhang Hao seems to perk up, like a puppy whose name has just been called to play.
“Maybe you’re not so clueless after all,” Hao crosses his arms playfully, though he radiates a satisfaction that’s hard to miss. Even the seat fillers and other guests around them have started to take an interest in their conversation.
“Shhh.”
Hanbin jerks himself back into a forward-facing position at the sound of the staff hissing at them to be quiet. He tries to retune himself in to whatever the MC is talking about as he introduces the next award. It’s the same formula every time. Blah blah, it was a very strong pool of candidates. Blah blah there was an unprecedented difficulty in making the decision, etc etc.
If he turned back around, would Zhang Hao talk to him again? Or, was the first warning enough to chastise him into submission. Usually it would be enough for Hanbin, but tonight he’s bored and curious, trying to come up with a new topic of conversation that doesn’t give away the fact that Hanbin just wanted to hear Zhang Hao’s voice again.
Idols usually spoke with a certain tone, trying to make their speaking voice as melodic as their singing. Hao wasn’t like that, speaking in a way that was more cute than harmonious, choosing his words carefully like he still wasn’t entirely confident in the language, but with a determined tone that dared anyone to call him out on it.
The program transitions into the first performance of the night, a rapper who’d done the main theme song for some reality program about street dancers. Despite the sheer volume of the bass in the performer’s backtrack, Hanbin feels his eyes about to glaze over until he feels someone tap at his shoulder to get his attention. Trying to be more discreet, instead of turning around, Hanbin leans back, the legs of his chair tilting ever so slightly off the ground. Maybe the production company’s choice to go cheap on the furniture would actually play to his favor for once.
“Why do you think he wears sunglasses indoors?” Hao jokes, “So he can hide how he’s not sure which camera to make eye contact with?”
Hanbin turns back to the stage. Sure enough, Hao is right. Hanbin notices how the rapper’s head turns from camera to camera, but as a slightly delayed reaction only after the camera switches on the big screen, like he’s sneaking glances back and forth to the screen to see which direction he should be looking in.
“Not everyone has the instinct,” Hanbin defends just so he can keep the conversation going, “or the fashion sense.”
Hao giggles. The rapper’s outfit of lime green animal print over black leather is quite atrocious on the eyes, especially with the matching bandana tied over his hair.
Abruptly, Hao leans forward, whispering into the shell of Hanbin’s ear, “Look up and to your right. They’re recording us.”
Hanbin tries to look in that direction but Hao stops him by pinching the back of his neck. The motion is as sudden as it is unexpected, especially given how they’re still practically strangers, award-show camaraderie notwithstanding. It stings, but the lingering warmth from Hao’s touch burns even more.
“What was that for?”
“If you look that way, they’ll know we’re talking about them,” Hao whispers.
“But we are talking about them?”
“They’re not supposed to know that though.”
“What, you want to pose for them?”
Emboldened, Hanbin leans back even further into Hao’s space. His chair teeters a little bit, but he catches himself. He hopes Hao doesn’t notice.
“We could,” Hao replies. It’s not a no.
“It’s not going to…?” Hanbin trails off. The ‘cause problems for you’ is implied.
“I mean, they’ve probably already recorded us talking to each other for the last five minutes, so.”
“Fair enough.”
Hanbin puts on his best camera smile and looks up into the crowd above. They’re too far away to actually hear the resulting gasp from the fans, but Hanbin can easily imagine it. He can feel Hao posing by his side. Bravely, he puts up half a hand heart, smile only widening when he feels Hao’s fingers brush against his as he forms the other side. His manager is probably going to be pissed at him for this, but who cares. This is the most interesting thing to happen to him tonight, in a long time, if he’s honest.
Already, the tips of their hair are touching, that’s how much the distance between their faces had somehow shrunk. Hanbin doesn’t know who initiated the closeness, and Hao is leaning as far forward as Hanbin is leaning back. Suddenly, as if finally conscious of how far back his chair has tilted, Hanbin loses balance, would have toppled over completely if not for the fact that he had thrown his feet forward in an attempt to stabilize himself. Other than the squeak of the two chair legs regaining purchase on the floor, the incident doesn’t make a sound. Well, aside from the tinkling noise of Hao trying to stifle his laughter behind him. Hanbin feels the back of his neck flush and hopes the main floor is too dark for any camera to catch it. There’s no use though, Hanbin is certain the almost-catastrophe will be all over Twitter before the night is over. With how boring the ceremony has been so far, Hanbin can’t imagine anything more interesting happening to take over the trends than Hanbin almost falling on his face while trying to pose for a photo.
He can feel the glare of the staff from here, and he shrinks into the stiff back of the plastic seat like he might be able to melt right into the floor if he wills it hard enough. No such luck, but at least Hanbin knows when to quit. As funny as Hao is, any further conversation will have to occur after the end of the ceremony. Damn, he should’ve asked if Hao was going to be at the after party before he’d gone and made a fool of himself. Though who knows if Hao will ever want to see him again after the spectacle he’d just caused. If this was trending on Pann after the ceremony, his manager was really going to kill him, free publicity be damned.
*
Fortunately, there’s a ten minute break in the middle of the show, which allows Hanbin to gracefully slip away for a few minutes to the bathroom as far from his section as possible and splash some water in his face as a punishment for the stupidity of his actions for the last two hours. What happened to the perfect media-trained Hanbin? What happened to always having the answer on the tip of his tongue before the question was even asked? This could not continue. Whatever spell or curse Hao had put on him with a single whisper and a melodic laugh had to end right here.
He returns to his seat to find that the seating arrangement seems to have shifted around a bit while he was away, someone new placed in the seat to the right of him, though they’re turned away chatting with someone else sitting in the row behind. Sitting down, Hanbin resists the urge to check his phone, because that would probably become a national scandal knowing his luck, occupying himself with counting the number of awards left to announce in the second half (too many) and resolutely ignoring the fact that his own category is rapidly approaching.
“Long time no see,” Hao turns to face him, now seated directly on Hanbin’s right, the kind of shit-eating grin spread across his face that Hanbin could read from across the room as trouble. Every single warning system in his head should be going off right now. He should try and swap seats with someone else now if he wants a chance at fulfilling the affirmations he’d made to himself in the bathroom just minutes ago.
“Did you have a nice walk?” Hao continues, tilting his head in a way that is too adorable to resist.
“Er, yeah. I mean, not much to see though. I just went to the bathroom,” Hanbin rambles too much, shutting himself up with a wide-eyed expression after catching himself in the act. First the staring, now the rambling, was there a time Hanbin had ever managed to be normal? He couldn’t recall.
Hao frowns slightly, touching his own cheek, “You should have told me. I would have come too.”
Before Hanbin can cobble together an apology and a promise to make it up to Hao however he would like, Hao looks up at him through his lashes, and Hanbin knows Hao has already decided how Hanbin can repay him. “Could you check for me?” He blinks a few times, sealing the deal. Hanbin is a weak, weak man.
“Check?” Hanbin repeats, playing dumb.
“My makeup.” Hao puffs out his cheeks in a little huff, “They’re going to announce my category in this half. What if when I go up there it’s all messed up?”
The confidence Hao has that he’ll win the category isn’t lost on Hanbin, but he moves to reassure the other first, something within him refusing to let the other be unhappy on such an important day.
“Okay,” Hanbin agrees, “Come here.”
Instead of just leaning forward, Hao moves to the side, jutting his neck into Hanbin’s space so he has to dive out of the way before their faces collide. Though Hanbin isn’t blind to the game of cat and mouse they’d been playing for the past few hours, even he can admit that was quite bold. If he hadn’t had such quick reflexes to get out of the way, things could have ended up much, much worse for their reputations and in terms of avoiding a potential head injury.
That being said, the lights over the audience are still partially dimmed, but Hanbin can see perfectly well that Zhang Hao’s makeup is completely untouched. Really, now is the time to lean away, but it’s hard to pull back now that they’re so close together.
If any part of Hanbin was thinking about how this looked from an outside perspective right now, he would know that he had already crossed well over the line of propriety for an awards show. Unfortunately, that part of Hanbin’s brain turned off as soon as he noticed who was sitting beside him.
So without stopping to think at all, Hanbin swings himself around to Hao’s other side under the guise of checking the left side of his face, one hand nearly touching Hao’s cheek before he realizes that might actually create a blemish in his makeup.
“Perfect,” Hanbin whispers.
“What?” Hao’s head tilts in question.
Hanbin coughs awkwardly, “I said it looks good.”
If possible, the tension between them grows even more intense, especially as Hao keeps leaning over to whisper his opinions about the corny jokes the MCs are making or to share gossip he’s heard about the nominees. Despite the hundreds of people sitting around them, and not even considering the thousands watching above them, Hanbin feels like they’re in their own little bubble. Now that they’re sitting next to each other, with Hao practically sliding halfway onto Hanbin’s already tiny chair, there’s no reason for the staff to scold them again. Their knees keep knocking together, and Hanbin is sure there’s going to be more than one photo out there of him trying to turn his head back to stifle a laugh while Hao watches fondly. It’s hard to believe they were only strangers a few hours ago, because Hanbin doesn’t think there’s anyone else in the world he’s gotten along with so well instantly.
Where was Hao all the years when Hanbin had been an idol? Had they really never crossed paths, even at a music show? Hanbin wasn’t the best with names, but he usually remembered faces. He wants to ask, wants to look Hao straight on and ask him to swear that they’d never met before. Still, this doesn’t seem like the time or place, and Hanbin has already crossed the line too many times tonight to be able to write that one off as an accident.
Hanbin is startled out of his thoughts by the feeling of Hao’s hand brushing over his, hidden in the space between their chairs.
“The next category will be Best Supporting Actor in a Series,” the female MC introduces.
It’s not Hanbin’s first nomination, nor does he think it will be his last, but it always feels like it might be when they begin announcing the nominees. That wave of anxiety finally crests, Hanbin’s heartbeat thuds in his chest, and the seconds pass as slow as hours when they play the nominee reel. He’s watched that scene of himself so many times by this point, and thinks he could describe every detail of it even with his eyes closed.
The camera pans from the shadow of Hanbin and the lead actor on the dark sidewalk to their physical forms, back lit by a single street lamp. A long pause. Then, Hanbin, as Minwoo, finally gets the courage to bare his soul to his older brother for the first time. They must have recorded this scene a dozen times, and even then Hanbin hadn’t been entirely satisfied with it. Compared to the other nominees, he still feels lacking. Despite all that, he can’t help but feel a glimmer of hope simmer in his chest. They wouldn’t have nominated him if he never stood a chance, right?
Hao lets go of his hand. If they announce Hanbin’s name, the camera will pan right over in their direction, and they’d be caught on national TV. Inexplicably, he finds that maybe he wouldn’t mind that, missing the comfort of Hao’s warmth as soon as Hao retracts himself to his own chair.
“The winner is,” the female MC tears open the envelope, pausing for dramatic effect, “Park Heejun, for his comedic performance in ‘The Penthouse in the Basement!’”
Hanbin deflates as the audience roars with applause. He knows the camera might pan for his reaction anyway, so he claps politely, even as his whole body feels numb.
As soon as they move on to the next category, Hao grabs Hanbin’s hand, squeezing tightly even before he can be certain they are hidden between the chairs. Feeling Hao’s fingers curl gently around his palm, Hanbin doesn’t realize how hard he’d been shaking before Hao helps him to stop.
“Next time,” Hao promises, looking over at him. Hanbin can’t bring himself to meet Hao’s eyes. How many years has it been that Hanbin had promised himself ‘next time’ just to be disappointed again and again?
Hao keeps trying to whisper silly jokes to him to get him to laugh, but by the time they get to the end of the ceremony, Hanbin just feels raw. This isn’t the first award he’s lost, and it certainly won’t be the last, so why does it hurt so much? Worse, he’s never felt the eyes of the fans above so strongly. Can they see through him just as easily as Hanbin feels they can? Can they see how the glass that makes up his body, which he tried so hard to keep polished to perfection, has begun to crack under the pressure? Or were they right all along? Maybe Hanbin had washed up five years ago and never managed to recover.
“The final category of the night will be awarded to an artist who touched all of our hearts and our televisions this year,” The male MC introduces.
“I know this is what all of you up there have been waiting for,” He gestures to the rafters. “Here are the nominees for Best Original Song from a Series!”
The only sign of anxiety from the man beside him is a steady tapping of his foot against the floor, but Zhang Hao still manages to blow kisses brightly to the camera with a smile as it pans to him, the sound of his OST filtering through the speakers during the introduction of the nominees. Hanbin recognizes the song immediately. It had only been everywhere for the first half of this year, an inescapable part of the second-chance romance drama that had already taken home the ‘Best Series’ award earlier in the night.
The camera stays on them, and Hanbin can see half of his own face projected on the screens around the venue. It hits him then, as the female MC makes a show of tearing open the envelope, that Zhang Hao is going to win. He looks over at the idol, the way he holds himself, poised and flawless, and a twinge echoes in Hanbin’s heart.
It’s not jealousy. Zhang Hao clearly deserved to win, but it wasn’t happiness either.
“The winner is Zhang Hao!”
Hanbin feels himself clapping before his brain even processes the words. Hao stands up, walking through all the rows of seating to climb up onto the main stage. Hanbin watches him go, no longer worried as the cameraman follows behind Hao, leaving him to stare in peace.
Is this feeling wanting? Is it imagining that in another life, one where Hanbin hadn’t given up on being an idol, that it could be him standing on the stage accepting an award?
Hao looks beautiful under the stage lights, that much is undeniable. One of his delicate hands reaches up to take the microphone from the MCs, who step to the back of the stage to let him have his moment. He looks more serious now than he had the entire time he’d been joking with Hanbin, and Hanbin thinks he already misses the other’s real smile.
Maybe, it’s another kind of wanting.
“I’m so honored to receive this award today, and if I were to thank everyone who made it possible, we would be standing here for hours. I won’t put you through all that now, so I’ll keep this part short. Thank you so much to the team of ‘Below our Blue Sky’ for letting me sing for their beautiful series, to my company, to the members of ONEIRIC who have supported me even after we’ve gone our separate ways, and finally to my fans who have always supported me through every step of this journey together.” Zhang Hao sweeps through the first part of his speech in Korean with memorized ease.
“When I first came to this country so many years ago, I told myself that I would not let myself have any regrets. Unfortunately, I think it’s easy these days to be afraid, to worry about what others are saying about you, and to not be true to yourself.”
Hao pauses for a long moment, but Hanbin knows the audience must be hanging onto his every word. The speeches tonight have all been quite short, longer only if the actor has a particularly long list of thank yous to give before they can move on. Instead of following the usual script, the memorized lines about the strength of the competition and the future of the acting industry, Hao seems to have gone off book, confident in his words, though it’s clear he’s coming up with this part of his speech on the spot.
“I think it’s also hard sometimes to ask for the things that we want,” Hao continues, “In the song I sang for ‘Under our Blue Sky,’ the director asked me to sing about the feeling of being brave and chasing after the one you love. I had to ask myself not only how to convey these feelings, but also how I was going to convey them as my authentic self. I thought about the characters of the series, who were separated for so long until they were finally reunited under one blue sky. But in this life, time and distance aren’t the only things that can keep us apart, and I was reminded that living with no regrets means loving with no regrets too.”
Hao has to stop for a moment, and Hanbin can vaguely make out one of the staff members below the stage gesturing something to him. Are they forcing him to stop early? Hanbin grumbles to himself. They’ve already been sitting here for hours, the least they can do is let Hao have his moment.
“I think I’ve been speaking too long already,” Hao lets out a nervous laugh, “So I’ll just finish quickly.” At the words, the crowd seems to cry out in disappointment., Hanbin has to resist the urge to do the same.
“Anyways, these were the feelings I tried to convey in my song. And, just as Minae and Jumin were brave under their sky, I hope we can all be brave with our love under our sky as well. Thank you.”
Hanbin is still clapping when the male MC reclaims the microphone, “Thank you so much for spending the evening with us tonight. This was the 1oth annual Korean Film and TV Awards, we were your hosts–”
The closing words of their script fade out as Hanbin watches Hao return to their section, trophy clasped in one hand, triumphant despite having his speech cut off by the production team. Is it a cliche to say it feels like the whole world slows down around them? Somehow, even though they are still practically strangers, it feels like Hao is returning to him. The features that Hanbin had first interpreted as sharp seem to soften as he approaches like victory himself, returning on his chariot with glory in his grasp. Yes, Hanbin thinks, this is a different kind of want all together.
*
The after party is held in the ballroom of some five-star hotel in Gangnam just a few blocks away from the ceremony. Hanbin doesn’t want to be presumptuous, but Hao had spent barely five minutes away from him since they’d left the venue, and only at the behest of his manager to take a few photos to post on his Instagram account with his newly earned trophy.
At least here, Hanbin doesn’t have to worry about stray fansites catching him at an embarrassing moment, nor he doesn’t have to pretend like his constant need to touch Hao every few minutes is an accident instead of purposeful. Some hind part of Hanbin’s brain kicks in after too much time has passed between their last physical contact, like if Hanbin waits any longer to brush his hand against Hao’s elbow, the other might disappear right in front of him.
“I need to use the bathroom,” Hanbin whispers to Hao, tilting his head in the direction of the restrooms so Hao knows where he’s going before the idol thinks that Hanbin is trying to abandon him again. To his surprise, Hao follows him instead of staying behind at the little cocktail table they’d claimed for themselves, but it really shouldn’t when Hanbin could easily diagnose them both as stage-four clingers when alcohol was involved.
The harsh LED lights combined with the white tiled walls do little to wake Hanbin from the daze he seems to have been floating in since the end of the awards show. They’ve only had a couple drinks each, Hanbin because he’s a lightweight, and Hao because he kept getting distracted by others congratulating him on his win. Either way, he feels a bit floaty and out of his head from both the champagne and Hao’s constant presence by his side.
The room is empty aside from them, which makes the bathroom seem more like a liminal space than anything else. It doesn’t feel real compared to the packed ballroom outside, where it was nearly impossible to take a few steps without bumping into a stranger.
Finally under decent lighting, Hanbin notices the silver embellishments that dot across Hao’s blazer, a contrast to the gold trim around his own jacket. In the mirror, they make a sun and moon. Constantly orbiting around one another, at what point does gravity pull them close enough that they finally collide?
Hanbin’s leather shoes squeak across the floor. Hao is a shadow behind him, giving the room a cursory sweep before he makes his move. In what feels like a single step, Hao has Hanbin cornered against the sinks, the marble countertop digging into the small of his back.
“You should have won,” Hao announces, insistent and out of nowhere. “It was a robbery in broad daylight.”
To be honest, Hanbin hadn’t given a single thought to the award he’d lost after the ceremony ended. “It happens,” He replies, not sure why he’s trying to defend the result to Hao, who seems more than a little angry on his behalf.
“It’s not fair,” Hao stomps his foot cutely, “You brought every queer kid’s experience coming out to life, and they chose the glorified taxi driver who was convinced he was the next Mr. Trot instead.”
It’s not Hao’s verbiage that Hanbin gets stuck on, “You watched the drama?”
“Of course I did,” Hao crosses his arms, an expression of duh and mild annoyance taking over his features. “I just told you that.”
“And you liked it?” Hanbin doesn’t know where he’s going with this, but he knows he can’t just ask outright. Did Zhang Hao only like his acting, or was it the story that he related to?
Hao, who seems to have realized the words between the lines that Hanbin isn’t saying, looks up at him with the realization of the stalemate they’ve been hurtling towards, barely hitting the brakes in time before toppling off the cliff. Neither wants to say it first in fear of being wrong.
But it was Zhang Hao who reminded Hanbin what it meant to be brave when he put himself on the line on national television to remind the world to love without regret.
Well, Hanbin could be the first person to take his advice to heart.
“I chose the role because Minwoo reminded me of myself,” Hanbin bursts out, hoping it’s enough. Somehow, they’ve come nose to nose, Hanbin’s newfound confidence apparently nothing in the face of Zhang Hao when he knows what he wants, because Hanbin isn’t the only one who can be brave tonight.
“I watched the drama because I liked you,” Hao replies.
Hanbin’s eyes widen in shock so far that Hao actually giggles. He’s holding Hanbin to the counter with nothing but the sheer force of his aura and a loosely placed arm resting on the counter top, and now he’s giggling so sweetly it’s like he’s turned into a completely different person.
Several thoughts come to mind, and none of them make it out of Hanbin’s mouth before Hao starts speaking again, dropping yet another bomb on Hanbin’s fragile heart.
“Well? Wasn’t that enough?” Hao pouts. “Aren’t you going to kiss me now?”
It’s hard to disagree when there’s nothing that Hanbin wants more in the world. Leaning in, Hanbin wonders what his past self would think about him potentially kissing a man he’d just met in a bathroom at the after party for an award show at which he’d lost his only acting nomination of the year.
His eyes snap open as reality crashes over him. Trapped against the sink, Hanbin has no choice but to gently push Hao back, just half a step, to regain some control over the situation.
“We can’t do this.”
“What do you mean we can’t? You don’t want to?” Hao looks like a cross between fuming and disappointed, which shouldn’t be as cute as it is.
“This is a public bathroom.”
“It’s empty,” Hao argues.
“There’s CCTV,” Hanbin points up to the ceiling. Hao rolls his eyes, unimpressed as he tugs Hanbin in the direction of one of the stalls.
“No way!” Hanbin shakes his head, but he doesn’t let Hao’s hand go.
“What’s wrong now?”
“It’s gross.”
Hao groans, “Why do I always have to choose the pickiest ones?” He gripes to himself. “Okay,” He regroups, searching for a solution, “This is a hotel. We can get a room.”
“Isn’t that…” Hanbin doesn’t want to be presumptuous about what Hao wants, but given how he’d seemed perfectly amenable to kissing him in the bathroom, Hanbin can sort of see where this is going. And he’s not against that, it just feels really sudden, or maybe Hanbin is just starting to sober up. A hotel room seems too impersonal based on the fact that Hanbin doesn’t intend to let this be a one and done kind of deal. As long as Hao wants Hanbin around, he plans to be there, and if he has to earn that right, so be it, he will prove himself worthy of having him.
Only the disappointment seems to have faded from Hao’s initial tone, leaving only frustration behind. “So what, you want to go to your place? My place? You’re going to have to decide what you want or else I’m going to walk out of this bathroom, and you’re never going to see me again.”
Hanbin scrambles to take Hao’s other hand as though that would stop him from leaving. Then he has to drop it immediately to grab his phone from his back pocket.
“My place is just across the Han. I’ll call my driver.”
Apparently, that was the right choice, Hanbin thinks, catching a glimpse of the satisfied gleam in Hao’s eye at his words.
“Okay, but tell him to be quick,” Hao agrees, impatience bleeding into his tone. Hanbin sends another text to his driver that it’s urgent. The car arrives in the garage of the hotel ten minutes later to pick them up.
As soon as the privacy screen goes up between the front and back seats, Hanbin gives up on resisting any longer. Leaning right across the middle seat, Hanbin recreates the position he’d used to check Hao’s makeup earlier that night to connect their lips in a fierce kiss. For a few moments, Hao seems surprised at Hanbin’s sudden initiative, before his arm sweeps right around Hanbin’s neck to pull them even closer together. There’s nothing comfortable about the position, Hanbin craning his back to try and improve the angle, and Hao practically squashed into the leather seat under his weight. Still, neither takes any initiative to separate, only deepening the kiss further. Hanbin licks into Hao’s mouth, the taste of his mouth sweet from the cocktails he’d been ordering at the party.
The window behind Hao’s head is fogged up from their heavy breathing, which would make Hanbin laugh if he had any spare breath to expel to do it. Their foreheads remain pressed together, Hanbin’s seat belt stretched to its limit, as if it’s possible that he can bracket his whole body over Hao’s while still maintaining the guise of road safety. Now, compared to back at the ceremony, Hao’s makeup is definitely ruined, lip gloss smudged and probably half across Hanbin’s face and neck with how energetic they both had been since Hanbin had first connected their lips. It almost feels like a competition, but the kind with no losers, since Hanbin doesn’t think any award had ever brought him the same amount of instant satisfaction as this.
“Do you do this often?” Hao questions.
“Never.” Hanbin swears.
Hao smirks. “Good,” Hanbin thinks he hears him say, but he doesn’t really have time to process it before Hao’s lips are on his again.
Embarrassingly, the driver has to bang twice on the divider before lowering it as a warning that they’ve arrived at Hanbin's apartment. Hanbin thanks the man profusely, reminding himself to send him a bigger than usual end of year bonus in a few weeks, before directing Hao to the private elevator.
It’s only accessible by key card, and opens directly to his apartment, so Hanbin has no worries about being interrupted as they make their way to Hanbin’s floor. Intending to pick up where they left off in the car, Hanbin is surprised to see Hao sidestep his attempts to join them together once more.
“What will you do after this?”
“Huh?” Hanbin feels dumb, more kiss-drunk than under the influence of any alcohol anymore, “Like, tomorrow?”
“No,” Hao laughs, but it’s almost a bit nervous sounding, “I mean for your next project.”
“Oh,” Hanbin whines, realizing what Hao means. Does he really want to talk about work now? About Hanbin’s stunning lack of prospects while Hao is on top of the world with the best OST of the year?
“Do you really want to talk about that now?” Hanbin slides a hand along Hao’s arm in a silent request. The other lets him, but tilts his head pointedly like he’s still expecting a response to the question.
“I guess, I don’t know. Back to the auditions I guess,” Hanbin tries to shrug nonchalantly, not wanting to give away just how much he’s dreading it.
“You only want to do acting projects?” Hao probes.
“I mean, that’s what I’ve been doing for years now,” Hanbin replies.
“But are you happy?”
That’s a loaded question. Hanbin doesn’t have an answer. Well, he doesn’t have an answer he wants to admit out loud.
“If you died tomorrow,” Hao says suddenly, “What is one thing that you would regret never doing, if anything?”
It’s a morbid question, but Hanbin knows the answer right away.
“I never wrote a song. I was an idol for seven years, but I never tried writing a song for myself.”
“Okay,” Hao smiles appraisingly, “So you should do that.”
“I can’t,” Hanbin frowns, “I’m an actor now.”
“That’s the thing,” Hao shrugs, “It doesn’t have to be either or. When you’re on your own, you get to make your own path.”
Hanbin feels a bit cornered in his own elevator. There’s more conversation going on now than he anticipated when Hao had bluntly suggested they come back to his place.
“How did you get so good at giving advice?”
For the first time, Hanbin notices Hao flushing as he admits, “You know, I am older than you.”
The tension in the elevator seems to collapse as Hanbin realizes how informally he’d been speaking to Hao this whole time, just assuming the other was the same age if not younger than him.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry–” Hanbin bows twice in apology, halfway through a third as he says, “I just assumed.”
“It’s not by that much, just one year,” Hao corrects, “And you debuted first. So technically you’re a sunbaenim to me.”
“Don’t–” Hanbin starts to say, and Hao nods in agreement.
“See, it’s weird, right?”
It’s weird to try and put one of them on a higher level than the other, when they seemed so equal in every other way.
“I can call you hyung?” Hanbin offers, trying to keep the simmering desire to be closer even in how they called each other from being so obvious in his voice.
“We don’t usually use honorifics in China,” Hao explains. Hanbin doesn’t point out that Hao has probably lived long enough in Korea to get used to the term, not when he seems so bashful about something that he’s not saying out loud.
“Really?” Hanbin asks, “Then should I–”
“Well, there is a different one,” Hao suggests of his own accord.“Like this,” He lets the syllables pass slowly over his lips so Hanbin can get used to the unfamiliar sounds. “When we’re together you can call me ‘Gege’ but with other people, you can say ‘Hao-ge.’”
The word is unfamiliar on Hanbin’s tongue. He’d never had to study Chinese very much while he was promoting with U-VERSE, but he’d always heard his pronunciation was not bad. It's a pity he’d always slept through his Chinese classes during high school, for some reason he's never regretted that more than at this very second. Still, even if he can’t impress Zhang Hao with his mastery of the Chinese language, he can hopefully endear himself to the older in other ways.
“What’s the difference between them?” Hanbin asks curiously.
“Well,” When Hao smiles, his cheeks tend to curve outwards in a way that makes Hanbin want to pinch them to feel if they’re as soft as they look. “One is a bit more romantic than the other.”
“Gege,” Hanbin repeats the word, just to see that sparkle glitter in Hao’s eyes upon hearing him say it. Hanbin has a feeling it means a bit more than that, but for now, he’s happy to use Hao’s shyness to advantage.
Trying to regain some control of the situation, Hao announces, “Well, are you going to make me stand in this elevator all night?”
Hao laughs as Hanbin, embarrassed, remembers that he has to tap his key card again to get the elevator to actually open to his apartment. Scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, he lets Hao tug him inside, even though the place actually belongs to him.
“My back hurts,” Hao complains, “The car was too uncomfortable.”
Hanbin shouldn’t find it as endearing as he does, sweeping Hao into his arms and soothing the small of his back with a gentle motion of his hand. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have– Do you want–?”
Hao cuts him off, dragging Hanbin’s hand further down to the swell of his ass over his slacks. Hanbin can feel the blood rushing to his ears, “I think you can make it up to me by showing me some place more comfortable, huh?”
Inadvertently, Hanbin’s hand presses Hao closer to him as he nods, only a little pathetically, “My bedroom is down the hall.”
*
Despite Hanbin’s best attempts to get Hao to stay through the night, the idol declines, though not without complaint. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that my manager is already going to have my neck for disappearing this long.”
“What’s a few more hours if you’ll already be in trouble?” Hanbin throws an arm over Hao’s chest to stop him from moving, his own face half pressed into the pillows where he’s lying on his stomach.
“It’ll be worse trouble if anyone catches me leaving in the morning,” Hao reminds him. Unfortunately, Hao is right, and as much as Hanbin wants to make the argument that he’d not famous enough to have fansites waiting outside his building every day, it’s not impossible that someone might snap a picture of Hao trying to make his escape in broad daylight, upload it to Pann, and ruin their careers completely.
Before Hao can slip away, Hanbin has one more question to ask, the one that’s been burning at him for hours, and will continue to bother him if he never collects the courage to spit it out.
“Have we ever met before?”
Hao rolls over, staring at him with searching eyes, like he’s not sure if Hanbin is being serious or not. “It’s been bothering me all night,” Hanbin admits, “Since I first saw you. At the show I thought it was just because you were an idol and I’d probably seen you somewhere, but now I’m not sure if that’s why you looked familiar.”
“Give me your phone,” Hao instructs.
Confused, Hanbin reaches down for where his phone had fallen earlier in the night, passing it over with no argument. Hao types something before handing it back. Hanbin doesn’t know what he expected, proof? Evidence that Hanbin wasn’t going crazy and that this award show wasn’t the first time that Hanbin had been graced with Hao’s presence?
Instead, he’s met with a new contact on KakaoTalk.
Hao slides out of the bed underneath Hanbin’s arm, gathering his clothes from the floor.
“You can borrow something–” Hanbin sits up, moving to let Hao into his closet, definitely not with the hidden agenda of seeing Hao again when he inevitably needed to return Hanbin’s clothes.
“This is fine,” Hao shimmies back into his slacks, though Hanbin is sure the stiff feeling of the pants can’t be comfortable at all.
“At least take a sweater, you didn’t even bring a jacket,” Hanbin fusses, remembering how chilly it had been while they waited in the garage.
“Hanbin, it’s fine,” Hao places a soft hand on his chest to stop him, “I’m just going to be going from one apartment building to another, I’ll barely even be outside for more than a minute.”
Hanbin grumbles in disagreement, catching Hao’s wrist in his hand before he can take it back, grasping it gently, but strong enough to pass the message that he’s not letting go until he gets what he wants.
“Fine,” Hao gives in, “A sweater only.”
Hanbin sends Hao home his softest hoodie, and Hao leaves him with a promise.
“Text me if you figure it out,” Hao says.
“Figure what out?” Hanbin’s brows furrow.
“If we’ve ever met,” Hao smirks, letting the elevator doors close behind him. Not sixty seconds later– Hao can’t even be in the car by now– his phone buzzes with a text from a new contact. The profile picture is a nondescript image of a cartoon dog.
haohao
btw, i’m holding your hoodie hostage until you figure it out
Hanbin immediately pulls his phone out to search online. Honestly, he should have done this a while ago, maybe even when he’d first been in the bathroom during the break during the award show ceremony. It wasn’t that hard to Naver search his name plus Hao’s, and as expected several posts come up. Most of them are from last night, which, no surprise there. Hanbin scrolls past them, he can deal with that later. Eventually, he stumbles across a clip of the variety show he had hosted years ago in his last year under contract with U-VERSE.
It turns out Hanbin wasn’t crazy after all.
han🫘
[video file attached]
you can keep the hoodie
but i would like to take you on a date
promise there will be no extreme sports involved this time
haohao
deal
*
Hanbin wakes up to four missed calls from his manager and over fifty texts in the U-VERSE group chat. His manager can be dealt with after he figures out what reawakened the long inactive members-only chat room after months of silence. Usually it only reactivated when it was someone’s birthday or one of them had a comeback or project released.
It started with Matthew sending a series of exclamation points about an hour ago, followed up with a link to a video from Twitter. Matthew always did prefer the international-biased platform over the Korean sites that Hanbin often watched. Hanbin clicks the link to see two familiar faces appear on the screen. It’s Hao and him at the awards show last night, specifically, a video that captured the moment where Hanbin had been checking Hao’s makeup for him during the break.
He almost wants to laugh. It looks even worse from this angle that he could have imagined. From the slightly side-angled position of the fan, it completely looks like Hanbin could have leaned in to kiss Hao right in the middle of everyone.
Toggling back to KakaoTalk, he scrolls through the rest of the members’ messages. Mostly they’re teasing, it’s obvious from the other photos that Matthew sends from Twitter that they know Hanbin hadn’t actually kissed famous idol Zhang Hao in the middle of the ceremony. Well, Hanbin smiles to himself, he hadn’t kissed him during the event. He sends a series of shocked emojis alternating with exclamation points to feed the fire even more.
If something like this had happened before yesterday, Hanbin would have panicked beyond measure. He would probably already be in the office of the company, trying to figure out exactly how to draft his statement of denial and promise to do better. This morning, Hanbin doesn’t care.
If people spend more than ten seconds online, they’ll know nothing actually happened (then), and that there’s nothing to apologize for. For the most part, if the Twitter captions of the videos and photos Matthew had sent imply anything, it’s that people actually think that he and Hao would make a good couple.
For a minute, he contemplates screenshotting his favorite one and sending it to Hao so they can laugh about it together. Then, his phone lights up with another call from his manager, which he lets ring until it goes to voicemail. Instead, he scrolls through his list of contacts to find one of the producers he had worked with while he was still recording with the U-VERSE members to ask if he’d be interested in writing a song together.
He swipes back to Hao’s contact and presses the call button. For the first time in years, he feels like he knows exactly what he wants to do next.
“Hi?” Hao sounds confused on the other end of the line.
“Are you busy right now?” Hanbin asks.
“Not really,” Hao replies, curiosity lacing his tone.
“Do you want to go on that date?” Hanbin offers, trying to project confidence into his voice. He meant it that he wasn’t going to let Zhang Hao go so easily, not when there was something, someone, in his life now that he really wanted to keep.
Coyly, Hao pauses before he replies, “My manager told me I’m not supposed to be seen with you for a while.”
“Because of the video?”
“Yeah,” Hao says, “And because he assumed correctly where I disappeared last night.”
“That’s stupid,” Hanbin huffs, “There’s nothing even happening in the video.”
“I know!” Hao agrees, “That’s what I said!”
“So is that a no on the date then?” Hanbin asks, “If the deal is falling through, you know, that was my favorite hoodie–”
“I mean,” Hao interrupts before Hanbin can finish his teasing, “people are always going to talk, right? So…”
“So..?”
“So we might as well give them something better to talk about.”
“You missed me that much?” Hanbin teases, “It’s only been six hours since you left.”
“Yah, Sung Hanbin,” Hao complains, “You’re the one that called me–”
“Admit it, say that you missed me–”
“I’ll be at your apartment in twenty minutes. Put a mask on before you come outside and pretend that you’re trying to hide. And tell me you showered already at least?”
A pause. “I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”
“Sung Hanbin, that’s disgusting!”
“And yet, you like me anyway.”
*
THE LONG HISTORY OF U-VERSE SUNG HANBIN AND ONEIRIC ZHANG HAO
post by @one4hao
(+2.4k, -234)
Since that video of the two of them has been circulating so much, I wanted to share this video I found in my archives from when ONEIRIC first debuted. I’ve been a fan of Zhang Hao since then, but I really had to dig to find this haha. I was so surprised that no one else seems to have re-shared it yet. Back then, ONEIRIC members appeared on a variety show that Sung Hanbin was hosting at the time called “ EXTREME IDOL” where idols had to do extreme sports across Korea to promote tourism at the national parks lol.
[video attached]
Isn’t it so sweet? Hao was really scared to do the bungee jumping mission, but Hanbin comforted him and motivated him to face his fears. Sung Hanbin already did the jump and was waiting at the bottom, talking to Zhang Hao through the headset. I like this line the most, Hanbin tells Zhang Hao:
“If you never try, you might regret it for the rest of your life. But if it helps to hear, I’m waiting for you right here at the bottom.”
I wonder if they’ve been friends since this moment, or if either of them even remembers this at all lol. Zhang Hao seemed really touched to hear his words, and he even completed the bungee jumping challenge at Hanbin’s encouragement. But, I’m sure they were both very busy at the time, so maybe it’s only a distant memory by now haha.
Either way, it’s nice to see them together again. I heard that they’ve been seen hanging out a lot recently, but I don’t want to invade their privacy and look into it further. I know everyone has seen that video by now of them at the KFTA. It’s not real, but gosh, wouldn’t they be a handsome couple? BTW I’ll be deleting any nasty comments on this post, so don’t even think about trying to start anything here.
(edit: This post received a lot of traction, so please stream Sung Hanbin’s new single when it comes out this Monday! It’s his first musical release since the disbandment of U-VERSE. Also stream Zhang Hao’s latest cover on his Youtube channel, you won’t regret it!)
top comments
(+100, -32) OP is really writing some fanfiction here
(+156, -45) what was exaggerated? OP was quoting straight from the video haha
(+54, -2) WOW I’ve been a fan of Sung Hanbin for so long too and even I forgot about this…
(+345, -98) But imagine if they were in a drama together…
(+293, -123) It would have to be a BL genre