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hanbin hadn't known it but he'd spent his entire life waiting for hao.
in groups of acquaintances, in seas of strangers, he was restless. only now did he realize who's been missing from his life all this time.
"he could eat shit for all i care," hao rolls his eyes. he rants on and on about his boss. hanbin stares at his lover in front of him on the other end of the dining table. the dark purple under his eyes accentuated by the light above.
his appearance is disheveled, hair messy and the sleeves of his shirt pushed up haphazardly. hanbin reaches over, hooking his fingers in the collar of hao's shirt to fix it. hao doesn't even pause, continuing spilling his heart out to hanbin at the table. they have to heat their dinner two times because they keep forgetting to eat it.
hanbin grew up with love. his family had taken care of him and his friends had always been nothing but supportive of him. so why was there a gaping hole in his chest begging to be filled with love?
“the hole is hao-shapped,” hao giggles childishly, doe eyes curled into a smile.
“the hole is hao-shaped,” hanbin solemnly confirms.
his heart no longer stammers in his chest at the sight of hao in their room, their kitchen— their home. at first, it scared him. was he losing his feelings for hao?
no, he realized. the love became so common that it became his default setting.
his heart didn't beat against his chest when hao smiled at him because a certain warm kind of contentment had replaced it.
now, he plucks hao's eyelash off his cheek and whispers, “make a wish.” and hao replies, “i already have everything i could wish for. maybe some ramen though.”
hanbin blows the eyelash away with a puff and grins at hao. “your wish has been granted,” he says before wrapping his arm around him and pulling him to the nearest convenience store.
they sit in a park, hot cups of instant ramen clutched between their fingers. the air condenses when hao breathes out. hanbin doesn't bite down his smile anymore.
hanbin always thought the mask had melted into his face, that it couldn't be separated from him. then how did hao peel it away with such tenderness that he didn't even notice?
funny how quick the years pass. one moment they were two boys crying on the roof of hanbin's house and the next, they're husbands.
he smiles a little to himself. things do indeed get better.
hao's elbow presses into his side. “what's so funny?”
hanbin wants to tell him the truth. it's funny that they can dance in the living room of their home. it's funny that he can press a kiss to hao's cheek without guilt. it's funny that they've chosen each other over and over again— despite, despite, despite.
“your hair,” he says instead. he lets the love bleed into his tone instead of the words. hao doesn't pat it down. maybe because he knows hanbin would do it for him.
here's the thing: he'd do anything for a moment of appreciation. he'd work for anyone if only to see a moment of relief on their face, so he knows he's real. so he knows he's seen.
in their living room, he pulls hao so close he can't tell where one ends and the other begins. perhaps the lines are so blurred they can't be separated anymore. like strands of a braid, of DNA. how could you isolate hanbin from hao without separating him from himself?
but hao— hao's different in the way that between the universe and hao. he'd choose hao without a moment of contemplation. his universe resides within hao's wide eyes.
“i'd bleed all over this kitchen if you told me you liked red.”
hao tips his head back and laughs. the chorus of his life. “fortunately, i like pink.”
pink. cotton candy. kisses stolen. bubbles blown in his face. hao's favorite sweater.
a cacophony of the sentences he's heard deafens him. “your love is sinful.”
hanbin wants to laugh. what's sinful about the way hao fixes his tie for him? or the way he picks hao up after his job? what's sinful about their love which is more mellow than the clouds above?
the regrets that used to flood him can no longer drown him. he floats above them all.
so what if he's not a star? he'd be a street lamp for a moth to buzz around, to kiss. he'd reject all privilege to stay with hao.
it isn't love only when it's his body pressed against hao's, when it's hao's soft sighs in the heated room.
it's also just as much love when hao sends him a text that he might not see until the next day. it's also love when he tries to make a chinese dish for hao so he can have a piece of home here.
hao cries so hard that night that hanbin fears he'll cough his heart out through his throat.
“they'll hate me, hanbin.” he sobs, tears and saliva and snot rubbed on the fabric of his shirt but it doesn't deter him.
what hanbin wants to say is that it's okay. that they can hate him and he can still be. that his being doesn't revolve around them or anyone else. but instead he kisses the crown of his head and whispers, “they'll never.”
hao's always held onto things so hard it left his knuckles white and cuticles bitten. hanbin has learned that he loves the same. he holds onto hanbin as if he'll slip through his fingers like the golden sand.
it's not that he's any better. some days, hao wakes up with bruises blooming on his body. he doesn't utter a word, just adorns a knowing smile that hanbin reciprocates.
after a lifetime of unrequited affection, he learns that a lot of life is loving, even if it doesn't echo back.
not all of his actions, his emotions, his thoughts, will be seen. but those that are, will be endlessly appreciated and cared for by hao.
love— his mother had said— was when you felt safe even in the middle of a fight. he thinks that's the second truest thing he knows. even when they argue, all it takes is a few soft breaths before a hushed voice whispers, “hanbin,” or he whispers, “hao.” after all, anger is only fear baring it's teeth.
hao once said he's scared of the person— no, thing, he'd said— he's turning into. hanbin will assure him time and again that he will love every version of him.
what's the truest thing he knows? hao's name between his lips, on his tongue, under his teeth— sweet like tangerines.
hao peels one and gives half of it to hanbin. when hanbin goes to pick the pith off, he finds it already clean. “you said you don't like the white thingies,” he replies, as if hanbin is supposed to say okay and forget the gesture. he says it like hanbin is supposed to move on from the little big things he does for him.
perhaps that was the sweetest tangerine he'd ever eaten. he later realized that's the taste of love, ever present on his tongue.
hao tastes like everything hanbin has ever craved. hao tastes like the coffee he brews them for breakfast or the instant ramen they have outside a convenience store.
which is to say, hao is his comfort.
he peels away the layer softly, careful not to damage the flesh inside. the slices come apart in his fingers, sweet. hao has always been the sweetest.
he wants to be the gentlest, to love and be loved soft as the breeze kissing his face. he wants to love despite the anger, or maybe because of it. he wants to love hao like he's been wired to.
“love's a heavy word,” hao had replied after hanbin confessed, lay his heart bare all for the love of his life to consume, or if not deemed worthy, simply touch.
“i have strong shoulders, i can carry it,” he replied, firm. the word is heavy undeniably, but he's never felt lighter than when he's laughing with hao, breaths intermingling.
sometimes, love letters don't end with ‘i love you’; sometimes, they're signed off with, “you can have the rest of my coke zero.” or perhaps there's no difference between the two.
sometimes, love letters are sticky notes stuck on the fridge door.
when hanbin's hands dig into the flesh of hao's thighs, he wants to squeeze so hard it leaves imprints of his hands. little love letters.
the intensity of it makes him shake. he looks at hao and wants to swallow him whole. keep him safe inside of himself. forgo this mortal shell and become one as they're meant to be. he wonders if it'll scare hao, the way his soul screams:
I LOVE YOU AS THE BLOOD LOVES THE LIP AND THE LIP THE KISS, AS THE FIRE LOVES THE FOREST AND AS LIFE LOVES TO CLING TO DEATH. COME TO ME. HEART TO HEART. THIS FLESH IS BUT AN IMPEDIMENT IN OUR PROGRESSION TO UNITY.
it leaves him in awe of his emotions and hao. the way hao isn't scared. the way hao screams back:
IF YOU ARE THE BLOOD, LET ME BE THE LIP AND LET US MEET IN CRIMSON. LET ME BE THE FIREWOOD YOU CONSUME AND LET US BURN, FOR WE ARE THE FATED ONES, DESTINED TO BE TOGETHER IN SPITE OF THE WHISPERS AND THE FINGERS.
perhaps, patience really is of the virtue. maybe spending the first twenty two years of his life somewhat alone was preparing him for the absolute heaven that was hao. after all, what's twenty two years to the eternities left to live with hao?
hanbin was loved before hao came into his life too. but the way hao loves, he thinks he's blessed to have experienced.
let the world move on, hanbin thinks, for he will disappear for a lifetime in his lover's eyes.