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Hanbin was supposed to meet Minseo fifteen minutes ago.
It’s late, so late — he’s been awake since the early hours of the morning and, honestly, he wants nothing more than to sleep. He wants to crawl into bed and pull his covers over his head and pass out for a week straight. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s had a full night’s sleep. Wake up early, go to sleep late, on repeat for months.
God, he misses his bed. But — he misses his boyfriend more. Minseo is waiting for him, Hanbin promised, and this is a rare moment alone that he would be stupid to miss.
Sneaking out has always been hard, but it’s worse when your teammates refuse to sleep. When you’ve got Binghua asking for help with pronunciation and Hajoon bugging him for tips and Youngseo popping his head into the room every five minutes to see what they’re up to. Hanbin is almost shaking in his seat, desperate to slip away, when Hajoon finally passes out and while Binghua is in the bathroom, Hanbin takes his opportunity to escape.
He pulls his jacket tight around his shoulders and shuffles down the hallway, down the stairs, another set of stairs, and finally through the front doors and into the courtyard. He’s hoping the cameras won’t pick up on his face, or, if they do, that the staff will let him get away with it anyway. Whatever. He’ll deal with the consequences later. He’s kept Minseo waiting long enough.
He’s already there, like Hanbin expected, huddled on the steps leading up to the doors and in front of the fountain, bundled in his padded coat and arms wrapped tight around himself. It is mid December. The crisp chill air is already creeping in at the end of Hanbin’s fingers and the tips of his nose. Every breath comes out as mist as he looks at Minseo, the back of his head, his mess of dark hair and the way his leg is bouncing in either impatience or an attempt to warm himself.
It’s not often he gets to look at Minseo when he thinks he’s alone. Seeing him sitting here, waiting for him where they promised to meet, pulls at a string in his chest, leaves him with a soft, dull ache.
It’s so familiar. They've been in this place before, not this exact spot, not physically, but like this. A year ago, a different show, sneaking out just like this even though they weren't together together back then. Over the past year, stealing moments of quiet when they finally were together together. Now, doing it all over again.
Through it all, Minseo. The only constant.
He doesn’t think he would have been able to do it without him. Any of this. All of it. If he has to go through this again, he’s just glad it’s with Minseo.
“Sorry,” Hanbin says, taking his spot next to Minseo. Minseo jumps lightly, clearly as lost in his own thoughts as Hanbin had been. “Have you been waiting long?”
Minseo shifts to move closer, stops himself, then presses against Hanbin when he realises there’s no one watching and they don’t have to be so careful now. There’s no eyes on them, no cameras, nothing between them. Just the two of them. Together.
His shoulder bumps against Hanbin’s and a spark ignites between them, not forgotten but rekindled, laying dormant waiting for moments like these. Minseo smiles wide in pure joy, barely contained, happy to see him. Oh, how good it feels to be missed. “Not long, I only managed to get away five minutes ago. No one can sleep,” Minseo tells him.
“Same here,” Hanbin says quietly, a well practised hush left over from quick whispers under watchful eyes. “Everyone’s too excited. Or too nervous. I can’t tell which one I am.”
“You should be nervous,” Minseo teases lightly, nudging his elbow into Hanbin’s side. Hanbin lets him, scoffs and clutches his chest in mock indignation like Minseo expects him to do, just because Hanbin knows it will make him laugh. He’d do anything for Minseo’s laugh. He thinks he’s made a fool of himself thousands of times just to hear it.
Minseo likes to joke that he fell first but Hanbin fell harder, and, thinking about it, he’s probably right. No, he’s definitely right. Hanbin cannot imagine doing this without Minseo. He cannot imagine a life without Minseo. In reality, they haven’t known each other long, have been officially together for even less. He feels like he’s known him forever. He doesn’t remember what it was like before Minseo. He doesn’t want to.
“You don’t look very excited either,” Hanbin says, and Minseo shrugs, tipping his head back and exhaling a cloudy breath. He’s been thinking, he has a lot on his mind — Hanbin can tell.
“It’s kind of nostalgic, isn’t it?” Minseo asks, and Hanbin snorts a laugh, leaning back on his hands too, the grit of the stairs digging into his palms. His arms ache from dancing all day, his legs, too. There’s a dull twinge in the small of his back. “Being here, doing this again.”
Can you really be nostalgic for something that happened just a year ago, when the memories are so fresh? Fantasy Boys was only a year ago, yes, but it feels so far away, so long ago. They have been through so much together and they are still going through so much together. The future is a terrifying, uncertain thing, a thousand different paths, a thousand different possibilities. Hanbin just hopes they all lead to Minseo.
“Yeah, it is,” Hanbin says, pressing his shoulder to Minseo’s again, knocking their knees together. He can feel his warmth even through their layers of clothes. There is a blanket of stars looking down on them, shining just out of reach. He has his own star right here. “I can’t believe I let you drag me into this again.”
Minseo blinks, forcing a smile. Hanbin knows he tries his best to always be happy, positive and excited, a source of energy for everyone to take from. He also knows that behind it all Minseo is tired, too. “We didn’t really have a choice,” Minseo says. “Besides, you were the one that begged to be the one coming with me. You didn’t have to be here.”
Hanbin wants to tell him, ‘I would go anywhere with you.’ He intertwines his fingers with Minseo’s instead and hopes it gets the message across. “I couldn’t let you do it alone,” Hanbin confesses. It’s the truth.
“Do you think the kids are okay?” Minseo asks, leaning heavier into Hanbin and turning his face away so he can’t see the furrow in his brows or the worry crosses his lips. Always hiding his burdens, even now.
Hanbin laughs lightly, trying to take some of them onto himself. He wishes he could take them all, put them in some place Minseo can’t reach so he doesn’t have to think about them anymore. “I think we should be more worried about Wooseok and Hikaru having to babysit them.”
It doesn’t help. “And what about the others— Sungmin and Ling—” Minseo starts again.
“Hey,” Hanbin cuts him off, shutting him up by squeezing his hand tightly. “Stop worrying. They can take care of themselves, you know. They’re going to be fine.”
“I know,” Minseo sighs. “I just miss them.”
Minseo has always had a big heart, too big to fit in his chest, filled with love and bursting from behind his ribs. Hanbin has been on the receiving end of it more than he can count. He’s still greedy for more.
He’s made friends here, people he never thought he’d get so close to. But he knows how it will end — this is a cycle he’s been through before. He will get attached and they will be torn away from him. He misses his family, his group. His rocks. He misses being at home and the routines they’ve fallen into now they’ve learnt how to navigate each other. He misses the familiar faces of his friends and messing around with the kids. Most of all, he misses Minseo.
“Me too,” Hanbin says, then, “I miss you.”
That makes Minseo laugh, bright and easy, a song only for him. His lips split back into a grin again and it feels so good to see him happy, to be the one making him happy. It’s dark but he swears he can see the tips of Minseo’s ears changing shade. The soft glow of the moon is reflected in his eyes. Hanbin wants to kiss him so badly it hurts.
“I hate being so far away from you,” Minseo admits. “I know you’re right here, you’re not really that far away, but it’s still… you’re still too far.”
Hanbin knows. He knows too well. It’s so hard having Minseo here with him but not being able to touch him, to kiss him or comfort him when he needs it, to not be able to crawl into his bed when he can’t sleep and slot himself against Minseo’s sleeping body and hold him. God, he wants to hold him. He would give anything for one good night of sleep with Minseo in his arms.
It’s been months. They have to be so careful. There are so many cameras and staff members and other boys around. It’s impossible to be like how they were. Hanbin finds himself holding back so often that he’s sure he’s going to break one of these days. He didn’t when Minseo was on stage without him, when Yonghyun was lifting Minseo on his back during sports day, not even when he came to visit his practice room and found him asleep with his cheek pressed to Junwon’s leg. He’s not jealous, he’s just sad he can’t be the one there for Minseo in these moments.
It’s hard. They’ll get through it. There is a certain freedom waiting for them at the end of this.
Minseo shifts against him, his face so close now, loose strands of hair catching on his eyelashes. Hanbin instinctively reaches out to brush them back, his fingertips ghosting Minseo’s skin, thumb hovering over his cheek, his ear, and then trailing down his neck. Minseo shivers at his touch.
They’re close. So close. The closest they’ve been in a long time. Minseo reaches tentatively for the front of Hanbin’s shirt, gripping at the fabric and tugging him forward, forward, forward, until the cold tip of his nose brushes Hanbin’s and their breath fogs between them.
It’s been so long, too long, that it almost feels like the first time again. Hanbin’s fingertips buzz in anticipation and he’s so nervous, so breathless, that he almost forgets tilt his head a little when Minseo leans in, and Minseo laughs, warm against his lips, and Hanbin laughs too, and then he’s kissing him, finally, after what feels like years, decades, forever.
Minseo sighs into the kiss, melts a little into Hanbin’s hands, and Hanbin feels it too, like everything he’s been holding, all his stress and his worries, have faded away to nothing. This is something that only Minseo can do, a feeling only he can invoke.
It’s only small — too fast, over way too soon.
When he pulls back, Minseo is smiling, wide and bright and boxy in the way Hanbin adores. A giggle bubbles in his throat and Hanbin smiles, too, he can’t help it, Minseo just makes him this way. He makes it so easy.
Minseo settles against his side again. His hand finds Hanbin’s in the dark and slots their fingers together. Minseo rests his head on Hanbin’s shoulder and Hanbin slouches a little so there’s less height between them.
“If you saw a shooting star right now,” Minseo says after a moment of comfortable silence. “What would you wish for?”
What would he wish for?
How is he supposed to tell Minseo that he doesn’t need a shooting star? That he sees one every day, in the dusting of moles across Minseo’s face, in the curve of his eyes when he laughs, in the bow of his lips. That stars catch in the spark of his eyes every day, when he’s dancing and when he’s talking about something he loves. That every time Minseo looks at him, Hanbin feels like all his wishes have already come true.
It’s silly, kind of embarrassing, and insanely cheesy, but Hanbin says, “You.”
Minseo shoves at his shoulder lightly. Hanbin is sure his face is burning. He thinks his own is, too. He feels warm all over. “Not even debut?” Minseo teases, but his voice is a little quieter than it was before, a little softer.
“Technically, we’re already debuted,” Hanbin retorts, sneaking an arm around Minseo’s shoulders, holding him as close as he can for as long as he can, carving the shape of him against him so when they have to separate again he can remember the feeling. “I’d be happy with anything if I had you.”
“You already have me,” Minseo says, his voice a blend of embarrassment and shyness. It’s not easy to make him like this - Hanbin will savour it. Minseo is cute. He’s pretty. He’s everything to him. Minseo exhales, relaxes. “Did you mean it when you said I was your soulmate?”
Hanbin presses a kiss to the crown of Minseo’s head and Minseo’s body shakes with a stifled giggle. “Of course,” Hanbin tells him. “And I meant it when I said you’re my best friend, too.”
His soulmate. His best friend. Minseo has taken up all the space in his brain, in his heart. He is Hanbin’s everything. His entire world. A universe full of stars and everything beyond. He loves him more than he can ever say.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Minseo says. Then, maybe because he feels like it wasn’t enough (it’s always enough), “I’m glad I met you.”
There is so much Hanbin could tell him, so much he wants to tell him, but they have so little time. This moment is fleeting, it will be over before he can even blink. It’s such a small fragment of their lives, yet so monumental, so important. Every second with Minseo is like this.
They sit in quiet for a few more moments, just savouring the time they have, basking in each other’s company. Like all good things, it has to come to an end; Minseo peels himself away and Hanbin is instantly hit with the cold space between them that he’s going to have to get used to again.
“We should get back in,” Minseo says, forcibly restrained. One of them has to be the sensible one. That’s why Minseo is their leader. “We need at least a couple of hours of sleep.”
As if on cue, Hanbin yawns, stifled behind his hand. Minseo huffs in amusement and smiles and Hanbin swears he feels a shooting star pierce right through his chest and into his heart. He could beg Minseo to stay, just a little longer, steal a little more time, but Minseo is right. “Right, can’t have you catching a cold before your big performance,” Hanbin says as he pushes to his feet, extending his hands to pull Minseo up after him.
Minseo’s hands linger in his for a moment, the warmth of his palms bleeding into Hanbin’s. He doesn’t want to let go. He has to. He leans in to leave one last kiss on Minseo’s lips.
“That’s not fair,” Minseo complains, scrunching his nose in displeasure when Hanbin moves away. “You can’t just do that. Who knows when we’ll be able to do this again.”
“You said we should get back,” Hanbin says, shrugging nonchalantly, like it’s easy to separate himself from Minseo and it doesn’t feel like he’s ripped a part of himself away. “It’s just for a little longer. We can do whatever we want when we’re home.”
“Yeah,” Minseo says. “When we’re home.”