Work Text:
Zhang Hao was not going out tonight.
That much he had decided when he woke up that morning with a sore neck, a half-finished composition, and precisely zero motivation to pretend he enjoyed turning a year older. There was no party, no grand plan, not even a store-bought cake waiting in the fridge. Just another Tuesday, except with more texts from home than usual and the annoying awareness that he was celebrating his birthday in a different country, surrounded by people he barely knew.
Well. Not entirely barely.
"You cannot possibly be this boring," Gyuvin deadpanned from across the room, flopping dramatically onto Hao’s bed like he paid rent for it.
Hao didn’t look up from where he was rummaging through the bottom drawer of his wardrobe. "I'm not boring. I'm busy."
"You’re folding socks."
"I’m reorganizing."
"You’re hiding."
Hao let out a very dignified sigh and pulled the drawer open a little harder than necessary. It squeaked in protest.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Ricky lounging in the desk chair like a prince with nowhere to be. "You know," Ricky started, tone light and clearly gearing up to say something annoying, "in most cultures, birthdays are celebrated. You know, with joy? Friends? Alcohol?"
"And in most cultures," Hao snapped back, still not turning around, "people mind their business."
"No, they don’t," Gyuvin cut in immediately, all mock indignation. "What cultures are those? Most people absolutely do not mind their business."
Hao opened his mouth to argue, and then promptly closed it.
Okay. Fair. He couldn’t even dispute that one.
Gyuvin looked entirely too smug about it.
"I’m not in the mood," Hao said after a beat, voice a little softer this time. "I appreciate it. Really. But I just... don’t feel like pretending tonight."
There was a pause. Hao could hear the rustling of sheets as Gyuvin shifted on the bed and the faint clicking from Ricky fidgeting with a pen from his desk.
Then Ricky, blunt as ever: "You're homesick."
Hao didn’t answer.
Because, yeah. Maybe. A little.
Korea had been exciting at first. New food, new people, new everything. But the excitement had slowly worn down into something quieter. Not quite sadness, but a kind of low-grade loneliness that buzzed under his skin like static. He had friends here, Ricky had adopted him immediately, and through him, Hao had met the others. But it still felt like orbiting a group rather than being part of it. Not in a bad way. Just… not fully in it.
And now they wanted to go to some bar, probably full of strangers and noise, to celebrate a birthday that didn’t even feel like his.
"Come on," Gyuvin said, voice gentler now. "Just a couple hours. You can glare into your drink and judge everyone. That’s like your favorite hobby."
"I’ll even buy you your first round," Ricky offered. "Or two, depending on how fast you down the first one."
"You guys are insufferable," Hao muttered.
"Correct. And yet," Gyuvin pointed at him with a sock he had apparently stolen from the drawer, "we’re still your best option tonight."
Hao finally turned to look at them. Gyuvin, stretched out like a cat on his bed, smirking. Ricky, spinning slightly in the chair, eyes too bright for how smug he looked.
And fine. Maybe it would be easier to go out for a bit than listen to them whine for the next three hours.
He closed the drawer with a small thunk and crossed his arms.
"Okay," he said slowly. "What should I even wear?"
Ricky grinned like he’d just won the lottery.
Gyuvin actually whooped, grabbing one of Hao’s sweaters and launching it into the air in celebration.
"Victory!" Ricky said, standing up and clapping once. "You won’t regret this. We’ll make it a night worth remembering."
Hao just rolled his eyes and muttered, "That’s what I’m afraid of."
But deep down, he was already wondering if that one black button-up still fit.
***
Getting ready with Ricky and Gyuvin turned out to be its own kind of fever dream.
Somehow Hao had been convinced not only to wear the black button-up but also to let Ricky go at his hair with a blow dryer like it owed him money. Gyuvin had been in charge of cologne and "strategic accessories," which apparently meant a thin silver chain and one ring "just the one, trust me, any more and you’ll look like you’re trying too hard."
By the time they left the dorm, Hao barely recognized himself in the mirror, but not in a bad way. His hair was styled to effortless perfection, a few strands falling just right over his forehead. The shirt fit snug across his shoulders, and the makeup Ricky had insisted on applying ("just concealer and a little glow") made his skin look practically ethereal.
He looked good. He knew he looked good.
Which was honestly more intimidating than reassuring.
They arrived a few minutes early, standing just outside the bar's glowing entrance beneath a flickering neon sign that buzzed faintly in the night air.
One by one, the rest of the group filtered in. Jiwoong came solo, naturally composed and immaculately dressed like he’d walked out of a fashion ad. Hao had met him twice before through Ricky, both times charmed by how quiet and grounded he seemed, and how he always remembered Hao’s name.
Matthew arrived not long after, practically bouncing in place as he greeted everyone with a hug that lingered half a second too long. Hao had only met him once, but Matthew acted like they were best friends already, beaming at him with so much warmth it was impossible not to smile back.
Taerae, Gunwook, and Yujin showed up together in a blur of laughter and chaotic energy. Hao barely knew them beyond what Ricky had mentioned, but he knew enough to match the names to the personalities:
Yujin, the youngest, had a glint in his eye like he was constantly plotting something. Gunwook immediately challenged Ricky to a "grip test" and ended up pulling a bottle cap in half. And Taerae was the one desperately trying to keep them from getting kicked out before even entering the bar.
It was a strange group. None of them were people Hao would've imagined himself spending a birthday with back home. Some, he barely knew at all. But they were here. For him. Because Ricky had insisted, and Gyuvin had backed him up, and apparently, that was enough.
Still, it felt strange. Not bad, just unfamiliar. A birthday party full of people who weren’t exactly close friends, but close to the people Hao trusted most here. A borrowed kind of celebration. A stitched-together kind of night.
He wasn’t sure what to make of that.
But then someone made a joke, probably Matthew, and Yujin cackled, and Jiwoong shook his head with a fond smile, and Ricky slung an arm around Hao’s shoulder, pulling him toward the door.
"Let’s make some memories, birthday boy."
And Hao, despite everything, found himself smiling too.
***
They didn’t walk into the bar so much as burst through it.
It wasn’t exactly their fault, the door swung too fast, the music was a touch too loud, and Gunwook immediately tripped over the tiny step at the entrance. Taerae caught him mid-stumble, barely, while Yujin snorted behind them and called it “a strong start.”
The place was small, maybe two dozen seats total, dimly lit except for LED strips tucked behind the bar and a few mismatched neon signs that threw soft reds and pinks across the wood-paneled walls. A steady beat pulsed overhead. Mid-tempo, bass-heavy, something trendy but not distracting. The kind of song you could dance to without thinking too hard. The kind of place that tried just enough to look like it wasn’t trying.
Most of the crowd looked like university students or people in that vague early-twenties blur: too polished to be undergrads, too soft-eyed to be out of it. A few couples leaned into booths, the rest scattered across stools and standing tables with drinks already in hand. It was warm, a little humid, and everything glowed slightly under the low light. Not unpleasant, just enough to make Hao hesitate at the threshold.
It wasn’t that he regretted coming out. Not exactly. But the sudden noise, the movement, the way his friends naturally fanned out like they owned the space. It all made him want to step back, just for a second, just to breathe.
He drifted to the side, half-listening as Matthew declared himself in charge of ordering something “sexy but strong” and Gyuvin immediately shot it down with, “So, water?” Gunwook was already sizing up the other tables like they were training partners, not strangers, and Jiwoong hovered behind them, hands in his pockets and gaze somewhere near the ceiling, the picture of calm disapproval.
And that’s when Hao saw him.
Behind the bar, tall, lean, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, collar slightly undone, stood the most captivating person Hao had seen all night.
Maybe longer than that.
He was moving with that easy, fluid confidence that came from knowing exactly what you were doing. Mixing, pouring, sliding drinks across the bar without spilling a drop. Laughing at something a customer said. His smile - God, his smile - was radiant, all white teeth and kind eyes, framed by a jawline that should be illegal. One of those people who made you feel seen when they looked at you, like the whole room faded except for wherever his attention landed.
And Hao immediately noticed the tattoo.
Just barely peeking out from under the edge of his unbuttoned collar: three fine-line symbols inked just above his sternum, nestled where his collarbones met. A sun, a star, and a moon. The placement was striking, too intentional to be random, and it pulled Hao’s gaze like gravity.
He looked away. Then back again. The bartender had caught him.
And smiled.
Hao’s heart stuttered. He blinked, shifted on his feet like the floor had tilted, and forced himself to look anywhere else, only to glance back a moment later and find the man still watching.
Still smiling.
His skin felt warm. His shirt suddenly too fitted. He needed a drink.
“I’ll get the first round!” Matthew announced from somewhere behind him, loud enough that a few heads turned. Hao startled slightly, caught like a deer in headlights.
Ricky was already halfway to the counter. “What are we thinking? Shots? Cocktails? Long drinks?”
Gyuvin clapped. “All three!”
Hao did not move toward the bar.
He told himself it was because someone else was already ordering. But the real reason was probably still standing behind the counter, now pouring a neon-blue drink into a shaker, nodding along to the music.
Hao tried to act normal. Failed.
This night was going to be a problem.
***
The table they claimed was slightly too small for their group, which naturally meant they all ignored the available stools and began immediately rearranging the furniture. Jiwoong pulled over an extra chair from a nearby table. Gunwook dragged two together, knocking over a drink menu in the process. Taerae apologized to the people beside them approximately five times in under a minute. Yujin flitted around stealing coasters.
Hao sat wedged between Matthew, who was already taking blurry selfies with whoever would lean in, and Gyuvin, who kept elbowing Hao every time someone said something remotely chaotic, which was often. Ricky sat on Hao’s other side, arm casually slung over the chair back.
Everyone had settled quickly into conversation, drinks in hand, voices overlapping in a constant stream of teasing and jabs and way-too-loud laughter. Hao nodded along, smiled when prompted, but mostly… he drifted.
His focus kept slipping. Because every few minutes his eyes wandered to the bar.
More specifically, to the bartender.
He moved with such ease it was honestly kind of unfair. Leaning in to speak with customers, laughing at whatever they said like he really meant it, flipping bottles with just enough flair to make it look spontaneous. And every time he walked past their table, delivering someone’s second round or clearing away empties, his eyes landed on Hao.
Every time.
And every time, Hanbin smiled.
Not the polite kind. Not the customer service mask. The kind that reached his eyes, tilted just slightly into mischief, like they were sharing some inside joke that hadn’t been said out loud yet.
It was ridiculous. Hao felt ridiculous.
But when Ricky got distracted telling a story that required full-body reenactment, Hao stood up.
“Going to get another drink,” he mumbled, mostly to no one.
The bar was busier now, but not overwhelming. Hao slid onto a stool and waited.
Hanbin noticed him immediately. Of course he did.
“Back already?” he asked, resting his hands on the edge of the bar, close but not quite touching. “Didn’t get your order in last time.”
“Someone beat me to it,” Hao replied. His voice didn’t even shake. Well... Barely.
Hanbin tilted his head. “So, what can I get you now?”
Hao rattled off something safe and simple, then hesitated before asking, “Did you grow up around here?”
“Born and raised in Chungcheongnam-do,” Hanbin said with a shrug. Then, almost teasing, “But you—you’re not from around here, right?”
“No, I’m from China. I’m an exchange student.”
“Your Korean’s really good.”
Hao laughed under his breath. “It’s passable. As long as no one uses idioms or asks me to spell anything.”
“You’ve got a bit of an accent,” Hanbin said, “but it’s nice. Kind of charming, actually.”
Hao felt his ears go hot. He opened his mouth to respond, but Hanbin beat him to it.
“You here just for fun?” Hanbin asked, glancing toward the table. “Or celebrating something?”
“Oh.” Hao scratched the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. “My birthday, actually.”
Hanbin blinked, then gave a theatrical little gasp. “And I wasn’t told? That’s tragic. Hang on.”
He turned, grabbed a different bottle from the shelf—something clear and sharp-looking—and poured a small shot into a glass.
“For the birthday boy,” he said, sliding it across the bar.
Hao smiled, catching it by the rim. “You’re not going to make me drink alone, are you?”
There was a pause. A shift.
Hanbin leaned in a little closer, resting one arm on the bar, just enough that the neckline of his shirt fell open a bit more, and Hao’s gaze dropped to the tattoo again. Still barely visible. Still impossible to look away from.
Hanbin caught him staring. Of course he did.
“Only for the most handsome customers,” he said easily, and poured a second shot for himself.
Hao choked on his laugh, face already burning.
Hanbin raised his glass. “How old are you turning?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Ah,” Hanbin nodded. “Then I guess I have to let you drink first.”
Right. Korean drinking etiquette. Older or not, it was Hao’s birthday. He turned slightly to the side and took the shot, hissing quietly as the burn hit his throat.
Hanbin drank after, slower, as if savoring it.
There was a beat of silence.
Then he slid the drink Hao had ordered across the counter, fingers brushing against Hao’s knuckles just briefly. Intentional or not, Hao didn’t know. He barely remembered how to move.
“Happy birthday,” Hanbin said, eyes still on him. “Hope it’s a good one.”
“Getting better by the minute,” Hao said before he could stop himself.
And that made Hanbin’s smile go just a little crooked. Dangerous.
Then someone at the far end of the bar called for his attention, and the moment broke.
Hanbin tapped the counter once, a light see you later gesture, and turned away.
Hao stared at the drink in his hand, then slowly turned back toward his table.
He could still feel Hanbin’s gaze, even after it was gone.
He was definitely in trouble.
***
Back at the table, things had somehow both escalated and disintegrated.
Someone had ordered the next round—probably Ricky, judging by the satisfied smirk on his face—and now the drinks were multiplying. There was a hazy blur of colorful glasses, some full, some half-empty, all starting to look dangerously alike. Hao slid back into his spot between Ricky and Matthew just in time to hear Gunwook say something about thumb pressure technique and Jiwoong respond with the flattest “no” Hao had ever heard outside of a movie.
“You survived,” Gyuvin said, raising a brow.
“Barely,” Hao replied, taking a sip of whatever had been placed in front of him. It was too sweet and definitely too strong, but he didn’t complain.
Around him, the table buzzed with overlapping conversations once again. Yujin was dissecting the psychology of Instagram captions, Taerae was giggling uncontrollably at something no one else had heard, and Matthew was writing something on a coaster with lip liner and refusing to let anyone see it.
It was warm. Loud. Disjointed. Hao’s head was already a little floaty from the earlier shots, and the room had taken on that soft, forgiving blur where everything felt just slightly too close and too far away at the same time.
Then, a shadow fell across the table.
Hanbin.
He appeared like it was nothing, just another bartender on just another circuit, but Hao felt the atmosphere shift the second he stepped in. Or maybe it was just in his head. Probably. Hopefully.
“Next round,” Hanbin announced, sliding drinks onto the table with practiced ease. “Compliments of… someone with questionable judgment.” He winked, vaguely in Ricky’s direction, who raised his glass in salute.
When Hanbin reached Hao’s seat, he didn’t just place the drink down.
He leaned in slightly, just enough that the others wouldn’t hear, and said, “Still holding up, birthday boy?”
Soft. Smooth. Unassuming. But the warmth behind it felt too direct, too specific to be casual.
Hao blinked. “Still vertical,” he said, barely above a whisper.
Hanbin’s smile curved, slow and knowing. And then, he did it again. That small nod. That tap on the table with two fingers. Not a goodbye, not really. A placeholder. A promise to circle back.
He turned and disappeared into the crowd of bar-goers, tray under one arm.
Hao didn’t move for a second.
Then:
“So…” Gyuvin drawled, drawing the word out. “That was… not subtle.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hao said, way too fast.
Ricky snorted. “You’re blushing.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” Gyuvin leaned in, clearly delighted. “Oh my God, are you flirting?”
“Can we not-” Hao said, dragging a hand down his face, “-do this right now?”
But Ricky was already raising an eyebrow like he was calculating something. “I mean, he called you birthday boy. With eye contact. That's, like, textbook bartender flirting.”
“I thought you said all bartenders flirt.”
“Yeah, but that was personal. That was targeted. That was-” Ricky gestured vaguely, “-wrist-grab-in-a-Kdrama energy.”
“Oh my God,” Hao muttered again.
Across the table, Jiwoong clinked glasses with Taerae and pretended not to hear anything, which somehow made it worse.
And still, under all of it, Hao could feel it.
The hum under his skin. The soft echo of that smile. The way Hanbin had said “birthday boy” like it meant something more.
He took another sip of his drink.
This was fine. Everything was completely fine.
***
By the time the fifth round had blurred into a sixth, the table had fully descended into a kind of pleasant chaos.
Matthew was now inexplicably holding a glow stick. Yujin had a straw stuck behind his ear like a pencil and was using it to gesture dramatically at anyone who made eye contact. Gunwook had not stopped challenging strangers to thumb wars and had developed a crowd of exactly three people who seemed genuinely invested in the results.
Hao, to his own surprise, was actually having fun.
Or maybe it was the alcohol.
It wasn’t like he was drunk-drunk. Not yet. But things were fuzzier. Softer. Laughing was easier, and talking felt more fluid, even when he stumbled over longer Korean words. He’d stopped worrying so much about how he looked, or how many people he knew at the table, or whether or not he was imagining the way Hanbin had smiled at him like that.
Okay, no. He was definitely still thinking about that.
The smile. The voice. The way he leaned in like he didn’t even have to try.
It should’ve been illegal to be that charming while also knowing how to shake a cocktail without looking ridiculous. It just wasn’t fair. Hao had spent the better part of twenty minutes pretending to listen to a story about Ricky’s last roommate (who may or may not have set a microwave on fire) while mentally cataloguing all the possible meanings behind a moon-sun-star tattoo combination.
He was not okay.
“You’re up,” Gyuvin said, nudging him. “Go get another round before Gunwook tries to barter with someone for tequila.”
“Why me?” Hao asked.
“Because you’re the birthday boy,” Ricky added sweetly. “And we’re all exploiting you.”
Hao rolled his eyes but stood up anyway. The table wobbled slightly when he pushed off of it, which was either structural instability or the drinks kicking in. Either way, he walked toward the bar with a little more confidence than earlier. Looser. Warmer. Definitely buzzed.
Hanbin looked up the second he approached. Like always.
“You’re becoming a regular,” he said, smile curling at the edges.
“Dangerous territory,” Hao replied, resting both hands on the bar. “You’ll start learning my order.”
“I already know it.”
That shouldn’t have made Hao’s stomach flip. And yet.
Hanbin raised an eyebrow, waiting. Hao rattled off the order anyway, mostly for show. Hanbin nodded, already turning to mix the drinks.
“So,” Hanbin said, glancing at him over his shoulder, “how’s the party? Worth leaving your sock drawer for?”
Hao groaned. “You didn’t hear that.”
“I hear everything behind the bar.”
“You weren’t even-”
Hanbin turned back around, placed a shaker on the counter with a grin. “Your friends talk loud when they’re fake-muttering.”
Hao dropped his forehead into his palm.
Hanbin laughed. “I’m glad you came out, though.”
That made Hao look up.
Something in Hanbin’s voice was softer now. Still warm, but less teasing. Like he meant it.
“I almost didn’t,” Hao admitted. “It’s weird, spending your birthday in a place that doesn’t feel like yours.”
“But it will,” Hanbin said. “Eventually. The best nights usually start with a little hesitation.”
Hao didn’t know what to say to that. Mostly because his brain was too busy replaying the words I’m glad you came out in increasingly less platonic tones.
Hao laughed, but it came out breathy.
Hanbin slid one of the drinks across the bar, then leaned forward a little, forearms braced on the counter.
“You’re really turning twenty-five?” he asked, tilting his head. “You look younger.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is.” Hanbin’s gaze dipped lower for a second, barely, but it was enough to make Hao suddenly very aware of the way his shirt still clung to his shoulders.
He pretended to check the rest of the drink order.
Hanbin poured the last glass. Then, quietly: “You know, you’re fun to talk to.”
And there it was again. That warmth. That shift. Like the teasing had simply given them permission to go somewhere a little deeper.
“You too,” Hao said, surprised by how honest it sounded.
Then someone from across the room shouted, “Yah, bartender!” and Hanbin gave Hao a look that was all apology and reluctant duty.
“Back to work,” he said, stepping away.
“Tragic,” Hao murmured, mostly to himself.
Hanbin didn’t hear it. Or maybe he did, because he turned back at the last second, just enough to flash that crooked smile one more time.
Hao floated all the way back to the table.
***
Hao had definitely crossed some kind of threshold.
He wasn’t sure when exactly it had happened, somewhere between shot eight and Taerae using a lime wedge as a monocle, maybe, but the air around him had taken on that soft, honey-thick quality where everything felt warmer, funnier, louder. Someone, probably Gunwook, had gotten a hold of the bar’s Bluetooth speaker and was now cycling through early 2000s dance tracks.
Hao was laughing. A lot. Genuinely, loudly, head-thrown-back kind of laughing.
Even Jiwoong was smiling now, subtly amused as Yujin tried to convince him that drinking water was “the coward’s path.” Ricky was mid-rant about being “chronically overlooked as a group dance center,” and Gyuvin had his head in Hao’s lap. Not because he was tired, but because he said Hao’s thighs had “excellent pillow properties.”
It was chaos. Beautiful, chaotic nonsense. And Hao somehow felt like he belonged in it.
He leaned back in his seat, letting out another breathless laugh at something Matthew said (he wasn’t even sure what, it might’ve just been the way he said it), and-
Warm fingers landed gently on his shoulder.
“Careful,” came a voice behind him. “Didn’t want to wear that drink, did you?”
Hao froze.
Hanbin.
He twisted in his seat too fast, eyes wide, and found Hanbin standing right behind him, empty glasses stacked carefully on a tray, chest just a little too close, shirt just a little too undone, and that damn tattoo still peeking out like it knew it was being looked at.
“S-Sorry,” Hao stammered. His voice cracked. “Didn’t see you there.”
“Clearly,” Hanbin said, smirking. “Should I be worried about you falling out of your chair?”
“No,” Hao said, way too defensively. “I’m very stable.”
Hanbin raised an eyebrow like he didn’t believe him for a second.
“I mean,” Hao went on, “in a physical sense. Emotionally? That’s-” he gestured vaguely, “-pending review.”
That made Hanbin laugh. Not just a polite chuckle. A real, startled laugh that lit up his whole face.
God. Hao wanted to bottle that sound.
“I think that’s the most honest answer I’ve heard all night,” Hanbin said, adjusting the tray on one arm. “Are you doing okay?”
“You’re very-” Hao stopped, mid-sentence. Then blinked. “Handsome.”
Hanbin tilted his head, amused. “I'll take that as a 'no'.”
“I'm doing great,” Hao said firmly.
Another laugh. Hanbin reached out instinctively as Hao rocked slightly in place, fingers brushing Hao’s elbow, steadying him. His hand was warm. Hao may or may not have leaned into it more than strictly necessary.
He didn’t know how to exist in his body for a full three seconds after that.
By the time Hanbin was moving back toward the bar and Hao looked back at the table again, someone (Jiwoong, probably) had called a vote on heading home. Everyone was suddenly blinking a little slower. Gyuvin had migrated to lying fully across the booth. Ricky was checking Yujin’s phone for Uber coupons.
“We calling it?” Hao asked, trying to sound casual.
Ricky looked up. “We should.”
“I’m fine,” Gyuvin mumbled from the table, face squished into his own elbow.
Taerae yawned so hard he looked like he might dissolve. Gunwook had already started shepherding Yujin toward the door.
Someone said something about splitting cabs. Someone else tried to organize Venmo payments. Hao stood there in the middle of it, watching the night start to fold in on itself, and suddenly felt a pang of something weirdly sharp and sad.
He didn’t want to leave. Not yet.
The buzz was still warm in his chest. His cheeks still hot from laughing too much. And Hanbin—
His gaze flicked back toward the bar, almost automatically.
Hanbin wasn’t looking. But he was there.
And Hao… didn’t want this to end.
***
Saying goodbye was as chaotic as the rest of the night had been.
Someone had left their coat. Someone else was trying to close their tab with the wrong bartender. Gunwook attempted to organize a group photo with a coaster as a tripod and the flash accidentally blinded Taerae. Yujin was already curled up in the backseat of an Uber before the rest of his group had even made it out the door.
“I’m walking,” Jiwoong announced, calm as ever, slipping his phone into his pocket like a man about to stroll off into a noir film. No one questioned it.
Taerae and Gunwook followed Yujin into the car with matching sighs of exhaustion. Hao barely managed to say goodbye before the door shut and the car peeled away.
Ricky was still inside, having succesfully moved Gyuvin from the booth to the bathroom where he was now hanging tiredly over a toilet bowl. Hao had tried to peek in at one point, only to be shooed away with Ricky’s sharp, “He doesn’t need witnesses.”
Matthew clapped a hand on Hao’s shoulder just as he reached for his phone. “Don’t stress about anyone,” he said, eyes glassy but smile genuine. “You’re the birthday boy. You survived.”
Then, without another word, Matthew wandered into the night like he was following a calling only he could hear.
And just like that, it was quiet.
Hao stood still for a moment, the bar behind him now muffled, lights bleeding into the pavement. The night air was cool against his cheeks, crisp in that way that made you think too clearly all at once.
He pulled out his phone and squinted at the screen, thumb hovering clumsily over the maps app. The address swam a little. So did the blue dot. The idea of figuring out which direction was “north” felt like an impossible math problem.
He barely had time to consider it before someone stepped up beside him.
“You look lost.”
Hao’s heart jumped sideways. He turned and—of course.
Hanbin.
No apron now. Just a jacket over that still-too-open shirt, hair a little messy like he’d run a hand through it too many times. The tattoo was still visible. Still making Hao’s brain short-circuit.
“I’m not lost,” Hao said, absolutely lying. “I’m… triangulating.”
Hanbin raised a brow. “You pulled up your maps app and forgot how directions work, didn’t you?”
“I have it under control.”
“Right,” Hanbin said, unconvinced but clearly amused. “You walking home?”
“That was the plan.”
Hanbin gave him a look. “You can barely stand still.”
“I’m standing fine.”
“You’re swaying.”
“I’m just dancing internally.”
That earned a quiet laugh. “You sure you know the way?”
“Nope.”
“Cool.” Hanbin shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “I’m walking you home.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Hao said, though it came out soft.
“I want to.”
That shut him up.
For a second, they just stood there. Close enough to feel the edge of each other’s warmth in the cool night air. Hao glanced sideways and saw Hanbin already watching him.
The tension from earlier was back. Immediate. Heavy and expectant, but not uncomfortable. Just there, like gravity.
“Okay,” Hao said finally, voice quieter now. “Then walk me home.”
Hanbin smiled. Not the bartender smile. The real one.
“Lead the way, Captain.”
Hao turned toward the street, heart pounding, warmth blooming in his chest again.
He didn’t know exactly what he’d just agreed to. But he was pretty sure it was going to wreck him in the best possible way.
***
They hadn’t been walking long, but Hao had already broken into song twice.
Not the full versions, just snippets. Half-mumbled lyrics, Taerae’s dramatic high notes, that weird vocal run Matthew had done with a straw in his mouth. At one point he added finger guns. For rhythm, presumably.
Hanbin didn’t stop him. If anything, he encouraged it by laughing every single time. Not the bartender laugh, not the flirt-on-autopilot chuckle, open and easy and just a little breathless.
It made Hao want to keep performing. Which was probably dangerous.
He was halfway through a dramatic rendition of whatever Taerae had been yelling at the bar earlier when he spun a little too fast on the sidewalk, one arm out like he was balancing on a beam.
The world tilted. Or maybe he did.
Hanbin caught him by the elbow without missing a beat.
“You really are trying to fall for me, huh?” he said, grinning.
“That was awful,” Hao said, but he was laughing. “That was objectively terrible.”
They kept walking.
The streets were mostly quiet now, just the occasional car or a late-night delivery scooter buzzing past. Every so often Hao bumped into Hanbin’s shoulder—once on accident, once very much not—but Hanbin never moved away.
“So,” Hao said, as they turned a corner. “Be honest. How often do you flirt with drunk customers?”
Hanbin tilted his head like he was genuinely thinking. “Only with people who hum GOT7 while jaywalking.”
“That was one time.”
“That was five minutes ago.”
They walked a little further in comfortable silence. Hao could feel himself sobering up, just a little. Enough for his thoughts to string together more coherently. Then he paused.
“Wait.” He stopped walking. “We haven’t even… do I know your name?”
Hanbin blinked. Then made a face like he couldn’t believe they’d gotten this far either. “Wow. Okay. Real mystery romance arc.”
Hao reached out, poked his arm. “You’ve been flirting with me for, like, hours.”
“You’ve been flirting back!”
“I didn’t know your name!”
Hanbin bit back a grin. “It’s Hanbin.”
“Hao.”
They shook hands very seriously. Then immediately broke into laughter again.
Hanbin pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Since we’re getting formal—wanna exchange numbers? Before one of us walks into traffic?”
Hao fumbled for his own phone, unlocked it, stared at it blankly.
“Okay,” he said. “But, like. You might need to spell it for me. I’m entering it under… ‘hot bartender with celestial chest tattoo’ for now.”
“You are so drunk.”
“Not drunk. Sentimentally impaired.”
“Uh-huh.”
Hao squinted at the contact field again. “Wait, did I save you as Han Hot Moon-?”
Hanbin leaned over, took the phone from him, and fixed it himself. “Just Hanbin,” he said, handing it back. “Unless you want me to call you Birthday Boy for the rest of time.”
Hao thought about that. Then shrugged. “Honestly? Could be worse.”
***
The streets had emptied more the farther they walked, the buzz of music and neon left behind like static fading from a radio.
Now it was mostly quiet. Just the soft rhythm of their shoes against the pavement and the occasional hush of a passing car. A distant dog barked once and then stopped. Somewhere in the silence, the city felt smaller. Slower.
Their steps had synced up without trying.
Hao’s shoulders had relaxed. The tipsy haze still lingered in the warmth in his chest, but his thoughts had settled, no longer spinning, just glowing. Every now and then, his hand would brush Hanbin’s by accident. Hanbin didn’t pull away. Once, he brushed back.
It wasn’t flirty anymore. Not in the flashy, charming way from before. It felt quieter now. Intentional.
Hao glanced over at him. Hanbin looked so different like this. Not the polished bartender with the easy smirk and steady hands, but someone real. Jacket zipped halfway up, hair ruffled by wind, face soft in the pale streetlight. He was smiling at nothing. Or maybe at Hao.
“I meant it,” Hanbin said suddenly.
Hao blinked. “Meant what?”
“When I said I’m glad you came out.”
The words landed different now. Gentler. Like they’d been waiting for the noise to fade before they came out.
Hao didn’t answer right away. He didn’t want to rush the moment.
“I’m glad too,” he said eventually. “I thought I’d feel like an outsider all night. But I didn’t.”
“That’s because you’re not,” Hanbin said. “Not to them. And definitely not to me.”
Something flickered in Hao’s chest. Something that felt dangerously close to hope.
They walked a few more steps.
“Is this weird?” Hao asked, voice quieter now. “That we barely know each other?”
Hanbin shrugged, not unkindly. “Is it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m overthinking it.”
“Probably.” Hanbin nudged him gently. “But that’s okay. I kinda like that about you.”
Hao smiled, small and stunned. The cold air bit at his fingers, but he barely noticed.
“Feels like a birthday wish,” he murmured without thinking.
Hanbin turned to look at him.
“A what?”
Hao met his eyes. Braver now. Bolder.
“You,” he said. “This. Us walking like this. It feels like something I might’ve wished for. If I’d thought I could.”
Hanbin’s expression changed. Just slightly. Like he’d been hit with something he didn’t expect but didn’t want to look away from.
For a second, neither of them said anything.
Then Hanbin reached over, gently curled his hand around Hao’s.
And held it.
No comment.Just warmth between them.
And Hao, heart thudding against his ribs, let him.
They walked like that the rest of the way, fingers laced in the quiet.
***
They stopped in front of the dorm gate, bathed in the warm buzz of a flickering streetlight.
Hao’s hand was still in Hanbin’s. Neither of them had let go.
The building loomed behind them, tall, familiar, stupidly normal. And for a moment, they just stood there. Facing each other. Not quite ready for the night to end.
Hao looked up. Hanbin looked back.
It wasn’t like the tension from earlier. That had been playful, electric, all glances and timing. This was something else, still charged, but softer. Thicker.
Hanbin smiled. It was quieter than the others from earlier. Less cocky, more hesitant.
“I guess this is your stop,” he said.
“Yeah.” Hao’s voice was barely there. “I guess so.”
They didn’t move.
Hanbin’s thumb rubbed gently along the side of Hao’s hand, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. Hao’s heart stuttered.
He didn’t want this to be over. Not yet. Maybe not at all.
He took a breath.
And before he could talk himself out of it, he blurted:
“Can I kiss you?”
The silence after was immediate.
Hao’s entire body locked up. “Sorry- I didn’t- I mean, I’m a little-”
But Hanbin was already nodding.
Not even a pause.
“Yes.”
He stepped in before Hao could panic again.
One hand came up to Hao’s jaw, gentle and certain. Hao barely had time to process the warmth of it before Hanbin leaned in.
The kiss was soft. Not rushed. Not careful, either.
It was the kind of kiss that felt like a sigh, like everything they hadn’t said had found its way into the space between them and settled there, warm and steady and right.
Hao’s fingers curled into Hanbin’s jacket without thinking. Hanbin’s other hand slid to the back of his neck, pulling him just a little closer.
They didn’t need more than that.
When they pulled apart, Hao was breathless. Glowing. Possibly floating.
Hanbin leaned his forehead gently against Hao’s for a second. Just long enough to make it feel like a promise.
“Happy birthday,” he whispered.
Hao smiled.
“Best one yet.”
He stepped back reluctantly, fingers still buzzing, and turned toward the building.
Halfway to the door, he turned back.
Hanbin was still standing there. Watching him. Waiting.
“Text me,” Hao said.
“I will.”
Hao nodded. Fumbled with the keypad. Slipped inside.
And finally, finally let himself grin like an idiot.