Archive of Our Own

Footsteps crunching against fallen leaves. Gentle and sweet melodies from songbirds. Faint rustles of the wind dancing between trees. Soft chatters of small woodland creatures as they climbed the trees and crossed the tall rustling grass. Sounds of a gentle stream flowing downwards.

These were all things Hanbin was accustomed to hearing as he slowly woke up from his slumber in midday with his arms raised in a languid stretch and a soft hum let out in delight. The sun gently streaming into his home from the window a distance away was warm, casting cool, dappled shadows of leaves onto the hardwood floor. There was a soft yawn that lingered at the front of Hanbin's face, which he let out from parted lips as he continued to warm his muscles up and get ready for the day ahead of him.

He made his bed with purpose—not one given to him, but rather as an indication of a fresh start of a new day. The blanket with its bright blue, rivalling the vibrancy of the boundless skies right outside, was gently tucked underneath the soft mattress. Hanbin completed each action with intent, gently patting down the creases and smoothing out the small pockets of air that had characteristically formed without fail each time. He did not mind, liked the routine even. Smiling to himself, Hanbin stepped backwards from his bed once he was done, pleased with his own work as he had been every single day.

Happiness, Hanbin realised, came to him so easily when he allowed himself to breathe.

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The fresh start of the day always brought Hanbin much joy. When he stepped outside of his humble cottage, he was met with nothing but lovely nature surrounding him. Without fail, it would cause his ears to twitch in happiness—soft, fluffy, and warm appendages that sat at the top of his head, warm oranges that turned golden in the sun—and a smile would automatically appear upon his features. The breeze would welcome him with freshened delight, and flowers seemed to turn towards him as if he were the sun, allowing Hanbin to marvel in the beauty of their colourful petals and dusting the green with a kaleidoscope of glorious and vibrant pinks, whites, yellows, purples, and reds. Animals would come up to greet him every day, without fail, though Hanbin's quite sure that they were only this enthusiastic about his arrival because of the bag of seeds he held in one hand for the birds and the squirrels.

Hanbin, as always, would laugh and gently poke fun at the creatures. The short journey to the birdhouse was tread upon so many times that the grass growing never quite covered the path. Hanbin found charm in that, too, as the birds flew alongside him and the squirrels scurried around his feet, until he untied the bag of seeds and poured a small amount on the tray for the birds, and another one on the ground for the squirrels. Hanbin would receive sweet songs of praise from the birds each time, and the squirrels would let him give them gentle pats on the head as a symbol of trust and appreciation.

His day continued gently from there. Hanbin returned back inside, preparing a small and simple meal for himself with the meat he hunted and the mushrooms he had foraged for. It was delicious enough, warmed his stomach, and nourished his body—all of which he was ultimately grateful for.

Sometimes, when he settled down with a cup of hot tea after, Hanbin would look out of the window and daydream. He would remember the days of his past where such niceties did not exist—not because they really did not, but rather, they had no place in the world Hanbin knew and subsequently left behind.

Here, there was no feeling of breathlessness. He did not go about his day wondering whether he could survive or if the walls around him would cave in. So, as he sipped at the tea that smelled and tasted of rooibos, Hanbin counted every single one of his blessings, for not many like him had been given that sort of luxury—or ability—to leave the tortuous life he led. He suffered sleepless nights, endless chases, and cruel ridicule, like every other hybrid he knew. Yet, Hanbin had been the one lucky enough to leave it all behind.

As the day progressed, Hanbin had continued with his schedule. He would always wait until the sun set into a comforting evening glow before he would forage in the area around his cottage, picking out the wild plants, fungi, and fruits he could eat. Today was no different: Hanbin was ready for another day just like this, arm hooked underneath the handle of a wicker basket as he gently traverses through the grassy terrain. He hummed to himself as if joining the chorus of birds in the treetops high above where he was, the sensitivity of his ears easily allowing him to listen in. It was a soft song, melodious and somehow retaining a sort of harmony, as his basket grew heavier with each food item he picked up and placed within.

"This should be enough," he murmured to himself, looking into the basket before he nodded lightly in satisfaction.

Although it had been a little more difficult for him to grow accustomed to food that was mostly vegetarian in nature, there was not much else he could do if he wanted to avoid going into town as much as he did. It was a small sacrifice he was willing to take, if anything, and… besides, the mere idea of interacting with other people, with people that would look at him and only see the price of a cat hybrid of his particular rarity, had caused goosebumps to raise up against his skin and shudders of fear and dislike to send a chill down his spine. No, Hanbin would much rather be alone living off of plants and mushrooms and sweet fruits than show his face in the town again.

The recollection was enough to cause a bad taste to form on the very tip of his tongue. Hanbin frowned subtly, gently flipping the lid to his basket shut before he made his way back home. From there, he would sort out his spoils and then store them away properly, after which he would be able to settle down with another bowl of stew and perhaps read a book about spells and enhancements before he turned in for the night—

Hanbin stopped in his tracks.

"And so the flowers sing!"

"Let there be sunshine, rain, and merriment aplenty!"

"Why, the heavens will reward them greatly, for they are…"

Hanbin frowned subtly. His ears had twitched in a way they had never in a while—they had, after all, not been used to hearing the sounds of another person in a long time. And beyond the fact that there were sounds, they were also words that were sung out in a language that Hanbin actually knew, and understood. The strange singing voice was beautiful and melodious. Hanbin believed he had not heard anything this pretty before, the voice strong but gentle all at the very same time, commanding Hanbin's attention in a way where it had felt… dangerous.

He found himself sucked in, enraptured by the melodious tone the stranger carried, too charmed to resist, and besides… It had been months since Hanbin last saw someone. Surely a little peek would not harm anyone—as much as Hanbin had begun living the life of a recluse, tucking himself away into the safety of a cottage so deep in the woods that not many, except for those that called the forest their home, had ever ventured into before.

And he was a cat, for goodness's sake. Surely his curiosity would be well excused.

Hanbin followed the sound of the sweet melody quite easily. It was hard to miss when it stood out from all the ambient sounds of the outdoors, almost jarring in nature if not for just how beautiful the stranger’s voice was. Following it led him to a part of the forest he did not go to often, but not out of a particular specific reason not to do so beyond the lack of foraging possibilities. There was just too much empty space and too few plants that grew around the area, and Hanbin was almost sure that the forest fairies that he shared the beautiful place with were oddly territorial. Hanbin himself would never have been let in without a prior invitation, but he did not quite mind that.

So imagine Hanbin's surprise, when he made his way through the long winding path that led him closer and closer towards the fairies' plain, to find the very fairies—in the apparition of woodland animals of spotted deer and sweet foxes—gathered around a human, whose sweet voice was now booming in quality, yet delightful to listen to all the same. Hanbin's lips parted to emit a soft gasp, eyes unable to part from the wondrous sight before him. Were the fairies… charmed? By a human, no less? Hanbin had to admit that the way the man had played the lyre was beautiful, too: a perfect accompaniment to his voice. It was beautiful, yes, but to garner the fairies' attention this fully, this irrevocably so… Hanbin could not help but be in awe of the singing man before him.

And from where he stood, he had been far away enough that he could not see much more beyond the formation of the little circle. Hanbin could only feel his curiosity grow even more, the subtlest frown appearing on his features at the same time his brows had knitted together in focus as he squinted, trying desperately to be granted a better view of the strange, foreign man.

Hanbin supposed there was reason to not be too curious. In his bid to go closer, he had somehow forgotten the fact that he had a basket full of delicious food items—and that the woodland creatures around him would most definitely want their share of the food, too. It embarrassed Hanbin to admit this, but it was no secret that he had gotten along with everything in the forest—from the smallest insect, to the biggest trees, and even the mischievous imps that would spare him from their more devastating pranks. Usually, Hanbin would have laughed and shared his spoils all too happily, but today, the little squirrel that had wormed its way into his basket had exposed him entirely with the loud rustling and the gasp that escaped Hanbin in his surprise.

And if that hadn't been enough, the air around him was now blanketed in silence when the singing and lyre-playing had somehow come to an abrupt stop. Hanbin did not need to look up to figure out that all their eyes were now on him, as he watched in abject horror whilst the evil, evil, and did he mention evil, squirrel scurried away with an acorn stuffed within its fluffy cheeks. Hanbin's own cheeks had flushed with a deep red, where he now burned brightly from within in his embarrassment. His ears had flattened down on the top of his head, tail wrapped around his waist as if to hide into himself… except it was of no use.

"You, who stands amongst the trees," the stranger called out, voice so alluring Hanbin had no choice but to look up, a soft whine dying in the back of his throat. Was he going to be scolded for intruding? Oh, Hanbin hoped not…

"So… sorry! I didn't mean to disturb. I'll make my move now—"

Light, tinkling laughter caused Hanbin to immediately go silent. He felt too embarrassed to continue on, encouraged to keep quiet even further by the laughter that had, though not inherently mocking in nature, brought back unsavoury memories of a past supposedly long gone.

But he wasn't given much time to dwell on such matters.

"Nonsense. Come, join us and make merry—a song I will sing, as a perfect harmony," the stranger spoke, lips curved into a smile that Hanbin wasn't sure he was deserving to be on the receiving end of. His hand was stretched out, too, as if inviting for Hanbin to truly come—a clear indication that the invitation was not extended out of goodwill, but rather, an inexplicable desire for Hanbin to be there. He knew not why, or how, but he feared to question it and hence abstained from doing so.

The man, to Hanbin's wonder and slight surprise, was very eloquent and well-spoken, even though the lilt to his voice was foreign to Hanbin as someone who had only ever grown up in one town. He'd heard of people like him: travelling bards, who brought about songs and poems aplenty to entertain a crowd, usually for coin, sometimes for a place to stay the night before they set off for their treasures once more. Yet, it was the first one Hanbin had seen play to an odd crowd of fairies, and to have the fairies receptive to a person like this.

It made sense, though. There was a pull to the man that Hanbin could not deny, one that had him swallowing the nervousness that bubbled at the back of his throat as he tried to collect himself, putting the awkwardly shaped pieces of his identity back together until he finally entered the clearing. The fairies were not creatures he was unfamiliar with, but it had been the first time he did not have to prove himself just to enter their space… perhaps the bard had a similar experience earlier on?

"A pleasure to have you join us. Now, let us begin again," the bard announced, his fingers now moving to gently strum the lyre he had held in the other hand. Hanbin had settled down onto the grassy plain, the blades of green warm against his skin. He had a perfect view of the bard from where he sat, surrounded by the creatures who paid Hanbin little to no attention at all. Their eyes were focused on the bard before them, settled on a stump where Hanbin himself had only sat a few times before, looking more at home and more well-poised than Hanbin ever had been.

And from up close, the stranger was… beautiful. Beautiful, to the point of him being easy on the eyes. There was something captivating about the bard. When he began to sing again, all Hanbin could think about was the fact that it had been his entire existence that was thoroughly captivating. Soft, plush dusty pink lips parted to sing a song Hanbin had never heard before, and pretty fingers strummed the lyre to form the melody. Hanbin was mesmerised, and so were the creatures around him. The bard was a storyteller, one that looked so pretty, almost as if his dewy skin glowed in the soft evening sun.

The skies around them only seemed to turn more golden as time passed by. No one seemed to make a move, all too absorbed by the beautiful stories that filled the air. It was unfortunate, though, when the music had soon slowed to an end, and so did the bard's voice, growing lighter until the trance-like state had left them all. Hanbin slowly returned to his senses feeling oddly rejuvenated, his body lighter than it had felt before he settled upon the grass.

"It seems that the night is upon us," the bard declared, looking towards the skies. Hanbin had found himself turning to look as well. What used to be vibrant marigold skies during the day’s golden hour soon morphed more into a beautiful show of oranges, pinks, and a deep blue, signalling the sun’s fast descent upon the horizon. For a moment in time, it seemed as if the skies had been more vibrant: as if they were an active witness to the sweet music that filled the air. Hanbin was mesmerised—he had never quite stayed out this late into the day before; it was always limited to short bursts of three to four hours when the sun was not too high up, but not too dangerously close to sunset, either.

Was this what he missed while he had kept himself cooped up in his cottage? Hanbin would only witness the sunset through the window, curled up in bed after a quiet day out where he would not even see someone remotely like him.

But another part of him felt pity, too. A sense of longing for something he never even thought he'd experience, condensed into a bard with the sweetest smile and a lyre in his hands. The fairies all seemed to express the same disappointment in their own way, but they had not lingered long enough for the bard to do anything to remedy the situation. It was always like this with these woodland creatures—one moment they were here, and the next, not anymore. Oftentimes with a silent warning that the other beings they've invited into their circle should clear the area soon. It was why Hanbin had quickly gotten up, one hand on the basket, and the other on his beating, aching heart.

"Good sir," Hanbin began softly, as he inched closer to the bard. "We must make haste to leave before we anger the fairies."

"Oh?" the bard let out, brows raised, as he got up from the stump he sat on. "I'll make my leave soon. Though, would you be kind enough to point me towards the direction of the nearest town? I suppose it is best I settle in for the night."

… The nearest town? Hanbin found himself frowning at those words.

"I'm afraid the nearest town is too far away for you to make it before the middle of the night," Hanbin said softly. “Are you going to set up camp?"

The light happiness that seemed to constantly linger on the bard's features seemed to drop a little. There was a soft gasp that slipped past his lips, hand coming to cup over his mouth before he shook his head. "Oh, no—I um, don't exactly know how to, you see. I've always been travelling from town to town, inn to inn. I suppose I was too carried away today to think about the time…"

Hanbin had felt bad, somewhat. A part of him wondered if it was his addition that had caused the bard to lose track of time, especially when he had launched into an entirely new song and tune after inviting Hanbin to spectate. He hadn't exactly thought too deeply about it, until he heard a small gasp from the bard once again, eyes widening as his free hand began to wave in front of him, as if in denial about something.

"It's not your fault! Don't feel bad! It's entirely my fault that I lost track of time. It happens when you're enjoying yourself, you see!"

… Huh? How did the bard even figure that out? Hanbin's ears twitched back in interest, all as he waved his hand as well, the corners of his lips curved into a sheepish smile. He wasn't sure why the bard had been that nice to him—Hanbin did not have people this kind to him before to the point that they would reassure him that it had not been Hanbin's fault, but rather, their own. Hanbin had been so accustomed to the past that it seemed as if this habit had bled through to the present, where he was still so… careful. But perhaps he did not have to be.

"You perform beautifully, good sir," he said softly. Hanbin did not know what to say beyond that, because his mind was more so fixated on this one other question: How was the bard going to survive the night? This side of the forest wasn't too dangerous, but it only worked if there was a proper campsite. The bard had none of that, and seemed incapable of setting up one without any camping wares to his name. He worried about it even more—a problem a stranger had that somehow became his own, too.

And then it struck him.

Enough for him to let out a soft exclamation, ears now perked up and tail swishing happily behind him. He had smiled brightly, and against his better judgement (or lack thereof), had then proposed, to a complete stranger—

"I know! You could stay the night at my cottage! It's nothing too fancy, but I'm sure it's better than being faced with the elements out here, and…"

Hanbin's voice had trailed off immediately, eyes widening now as he looked at the bard. He had offered his cottage out just like this, and to a stranger, no less. What if… What if the bard thought he had other intentions? Hanbin let out a soft groan, one directed more to himself and his own impulsiveness.

"… Oh, I… I'm so sorry. I was getting ahead of myself. You probably wouldn't want this from a complete stranger—"

"Nonsense. You are kind," the bard spoke, smile only growing wider. The lyre was now tucked underneath one arm, whilst the other hooked around Hanbin's, much to his own bewilderment. He was beginning to be whisked away just like this, without any further explanation. Hanbin's cheeks were flushed red, flustered beyond compare as he walked alongside the bard, nose easily catching a waft of the scent that the man brought with him—the salt of the sea, a light jasmine, and a tangy sweetness of some citrus. He smelled comforting, albeit foreign, and nothing like how a travelling bard would smell… wait. Hanbin wasn't supposed to think about all that.

There was a brief groan that bubbled at the back of the hybrid's throat, ears flattened at the top of his head as he gently guided their footsteps to… somehow head towards his home instead.

"Innkeepers are complete strangers too, are they not? And yet I trust them. There is no need to plant the seeds of distrust between the both of us," the bard spoke, grinning. "And if you believe myself as a complete stranger as you are to me, then let us remedy this right now. I'm Hao. A travelling bard from the town of Frasin, a coastal town near the Southern seas. And you are?"

Hao. Travelling bard. Frasin. Hanbin hiccuped softly. He supposed, by this logic, this bard—Hao—was not a stranger to him anymore. Hanbin supposed he had to introduce himself, too.

"I'm… I'm Hanbin," he spoke, haltingly as his tail pressed closer to him, almost defensively so. "A… a… thing, from Ethernia. The town is far away from here."

"That settles it then, thing Hanbin from Ethernia," Hao spoke softly, words a little teasing as if to question Hanbin's choice of words. Hanbin had decided to ignore it for the most part—all because he knew why he had been so hesitant himself. Even if the truth had been staring them right in the eye with his cat-like ears and tail, Hanbin… had not wanted to admit what he was outrightly, perhaps out of shame, or something else.

Hao, however, seemed entirely unfazed, grinning as he gently patted at Hanbin's arm. "It's a pleasure to meet you. We're friends now!"

… Friends, huh. Hanbin found that he liked the sound of that quite a lot, especially as he continued to lead them through the forest, approaching his cottage rather swiftly. Hanbin himself had no idea how he was whisked away to his own home by someone else, who laughed and spoke so much like the sun that Hanbin had, for a moment, wondered if the sun had actually set at all.

But the darkness that surrounded them, which eventually darkened the forest they were leaving, told Hanbin exactly what time of the day it was. He was just glad that the cottage was only a short distance away as they finally reached the entrance.

"We're here," Hanbin declared softly, and a little awkwardly as well. Thankfully, though, his hesitance had mostly dissipated by the time they had arrived. A part of Hanbin also told him that Hao was just going to be here for a night, either way—there was no need to worry too much when the bard exuded nothing but kindness. He turned to the man for a short moment, before he gently unlocked the door with a brass key hanging on a string wrapped around his wrist. Hanbin pushed the door open, gesturing inside, all whilst he tried to ignore the fact that Hao's arm was still wrapped around his own. Maybe a little too belatedly so, too.

"Thank you, Hanbin," Hao replied, taking the initiative (that had Hanbin sighing out softly in relief) as he unfurled his arm around Hanbin's to step inside first. Hanbin entered shortly after Hao did, gently shutting the door behind them, locking it with both the key and a small little latch at the doorframe. He had stepped further in, watching as Hao continued to move into the place. Although Hanbin had been the one to invite the bard into his home, there was something so oddly unnerving about having someone look at his place. What if Hao didn't like the colours of his curtains? What if his beds were too soft for the bard's liking? Many thoughts were endlessly swimming in his head, so much so that he wished he could shut his brain off.

Hao had turned to him then, none the wiser to his suffering, and smiled once more.

"You have a really pretty home! It almost makes me jealous."

And just like that, Hanbin found the worries that had spun together into some awful, horrid tale, had been easily unravelled, like a rope that snapped into the many twines that made it up. Hanbin's lips parted softly in disbelief, until he snapped back to reality. Right, he was supposed to be a good, and welcoming host.

"Thank you, Hao," he replied, smiling a little. There was a bout of silence that settled between the both of them for that short moment, before Hanbin was sparked back into action again.

"Ah! Do you want to go wash up first? I can show you where the bathroom is, and once you're done you can decide if you want to have dinner before you rest for the day. I'll be having dinner myself, but it's just a simple meal," Hanbin said softly before frowning subtly. He knew that this did not make him a very good host, but there… were limitations, anyways. Hanbin's hands were tied, and he hadn't exactly expected himself to be stuck in this sort of situation at all.

"I unfortunately cannot provide much more than what I have… but if you really don't want it, I can cook something else with the things I've foraged today," he added, gently patting the basket he was still holding onto.

Hao, surprisingly, did not meet him with contempt. All he did was nod a few times, and thank Hanbin as if he had been some sort of saviour. (And Hanbin supposed he was, considering he had helped Hao stay away from the elements of a volatile forest for the night.)

"That'd be nice, Hanbin. You're a really good host," he said, laughing softly. Hanbin, for some reason, became flustered at the compliment, trying to wave it away the same time a little sound slipped past his lips. Hao was simply too good with his words and too good at making Hanbin feel appreciated—all of which puzzled Hanbin enough for him to want to dismiss the compliments and kindness, hurriedly guiding Hao along to the bathroom and disappearing afterwards to get their dinners ready.

When Hao had returned from the shower, Hanbin had tried his best not to stare too much, focusing on the stew in front of him. It was the same one he had this afternoon, but for some reason, it seemed warmer and somehow tastier right now with Hao's company.

How… odd. Hanbin did not dwell on it, though, and continued to enjoy his food, all whilst he tried not to melt underneath the compliments he seemed to constantly get from Hao, whether it was about the cleanliness of his bathroom (odd, kind of), or the decoration that hung on the humble walls of his cottage, or the food that Hanbin served them both for dinner.

Hao was such a breath of fresh air that Hanbin's lungs ached the more he took him in. Hanbin had bid Hao a soft 'goodnight' with a mixture of fear and hope when the bard had turned in for the night on the plush couch the hybrid had tried to make as comfortable as possible for his guest.

It was also a gentle, almost hesitant goodbye, when Hanbin had watched Hao leave his cottage the moment morning had rolled about. He ached to have someone like Hao near him again.

"You can always come visit whenever you're going around towns," Hanbin said softly, as he lingered a small distance away from the door Hao was now exiting. Hanbin still had no idea why he had been so eager to invite the man back here. "Whenever you can't find an inn to settle in for the night, and you remember that my cottage is near… my doors are open for you."

Hao's smile was comforting as he waved a hand goodbye.

"I'll remember that," Hao replied. "We will cross paths again before you even know it."

Hanbin had hoped Hao hadn't been lying—even if he was used to being lied to, Hanbin genuinely hoped that the bard hadn't lied—and watched as the man left.

Hanbin only made a move to shut the door after Hao became nothing but a small speck of warm auburn against the vibrant green of the grassy fields, away from the forest they were in last night, away from Hanbin's cottage that never moved from the plains it had stayed rooted in.

Hanbin, for the first time, had yearned for something more than just 'freedom'.

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Hao had been true to his words… mostly true to his words.

Because if Hanbin had been honest, then he had never once stopped thinking about the bard. Perhaps it was rather unhealthy, but it was how Hanbin lived his days nowadays—marked not by the way the birds and squirrels visited him, but rather, the gaps between when the bard would visit him once more.

Some days, he would find Hao singing for the fairies again. Each time had always been a different tune, all alluring in their own right, talking about towns and worlds Hanbin never got to visit and never would. But he would listen to Hao's tales, sung to him in sweet melodies, of the grass that appeared a little different, of the townsfolk that looked nothing like either of them, and of the skies that seemed to hold more than just the stars and the moon at night. He would immerse himself in all of them, transported into the worlds he never would have known had it not been for Hao.

But on all the days he did see Hao, it was only for small pockets of time. Hanbin had admittedly started longing for more than the one to two hours he got with Hao every few days when the bard sought him out in midst of his travels.

"I'm just crossing the forest on the way to another town." He'd get it most of the time. Hanbin supposed the forest was quite central (though he could not exactly say the same about his own cottage).

"I saw this in the local market in this new town I visited, and I thought you'd appreciate it." Hanbin liked that one the most. All these little trinkets started to fill up the shelves of his home, finding a space to settle in, to remind him of the wondrous travels the bard went on, and the beautiful songs and stories that came with them. Hanbin listened to them all, and he found himself humming the songs to himself when Hao's melodious voice did not accompany him on that day.

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The next time Hao arrived at Hanbin's doorstep, a heavy storm was raging outside.

Hanbin had sensed it in the air earlier in the day and had opted out of foraging today. The things he kept in his home were sufficient for the next few days, so he had been safe from having to face the wrath of the storm, and instead, he opted to curl into his bed, reading books to while away time that he possessed so much of today. For a moment, his mind did wander off towards the bard, hoping that Hao was not within the radius of the storm raging outside, thunder striking at every other moment, painting the usually blue skies a dreary grey. Hopefully, Hao was safely within an inn, opting out of travelling on this particular day.

Hanbin dove deeper within his blanket, pulling the piece of fabric over the top of his head to muffle the loud thunder, ears pressed down on his head. His sensitive hearing did not help him this time, serving more as a detriment than anything else as his heart thumped and lived in the unfortunate shadows of a past he wished he could forget. Hanbin had, against his own wishes, remembered the way he was always kept cold and trembling even—and especially—on the stormy days, deprived of a shelter he thought even the worst of sinners in their world had deserved, at the very least. But he reminded himself that the warmth he possessed was now his, encapsulated within the thick blanket he used, soft and snug. Safe.

The moment was broken by firm knocks sounding on the door. It caused Hanbin to jolt and gasp in surprise, for he had not expected a guest—not in this storm, and not around this place where he only knew Hao. The bard had not promised when his next visit would be, either, but in Hanbin's predictions, he should only be coming on the day after, not two days earlier like right now. Fear settled deep into his bones and caused his ears to flatten on the top of his head once more as his tail thumped against the bed multiple times. He had not gotten up to head towards the door, afraid of what was past it, before—

"Hanbin! It's Hao."

The blanket was thrown off of his body in a flash, and his hurried footsteps were soft against the hardwood floor. He swung open the door, ears perked up, lips curled into a smile and ready to greet the bard. What a pleasant surprise!

"Hao!" he called out, eyes widened as he took in the man's figure. "…You're soaked."

He must have been stating the obvious. Hanbin quickly tugged the sopping wet bard into his home. Hao laughed in response, almost as if the man could only feel amusement about his situation and the way Hanbin had quite literally pointed out what he must have been feeling—sopping wet, his clothes a darker shade from how wet they all had become, white blouse clinging to skin that Hanbin had found himself having to look away from, cheeks ablaze when he caught sight of the colour of skin right past the now translucent fabric.

"Unfortunately, yes. And just as unfortunately, not from a fun day at the lake," Hao replied, still sounding rather jovial about his own situation. Hanbin had shook his head subtly and quickly headed towards his room and towards the closet, retrieving a towel for Hao. When he returned and handed it to Hao, the bard had accepted it with a soft word of thanks, whilst Hanbin busied himself with helping to take Hao's belongings, placing them on the table gingerly, spreading it all out so that they could at least try to dry in the air. Hanbin would do something about that later on, but for now…

"You should probably change out of your clothes," Hanbin spoke, shaking his head a few times as he guided Hao deeper into the house. The bard had not put up a fight, following behind Hanbin until they reached the bathroom. It was strange, really. This was the second time Hao was here, and just like the first, it seemed like it had been born out of a lack of choice—like Hanbin's place was the easiest for the bard to seek refuge. Hanbin… well, he did not mind it one bit. Would it be slightly too nefarious of him to want inconveniences like this to happen to the bard more so that they would be granted more time together?

"Go take a shower," Hanbin quickly added, clearing his throat and shaking his head, as if it'd rid himself of all the weird thoughts he had developed in his head. "I'll go grab you a change of clothes and put them outside for you to retrieve."

"You are an amazing host once more, Hanbin. For that, I am forever indebted," Hao replied, and he entered without another word. Hao… always spoke a little funny to Hanbin. He wondered if that was how everyone in Frasin spoke—for starters, he's never been there, so he wouldn't know—but he had easily pushed that thought to the back of his mind. Maybe he could ask Hao later on after he was done with his shower?

Hanbin had slowly made his way back towards his closet, mulling over the clothes he had. It was a minimal collection, the range not wide like what he had seen the bard wear. It was almost as if the man would come visit Hanbin in different outfits each time, with one set not the same as another. It made Hanbin wonder how the travelling bard would be able to achieve such a feat, but most of all, he hoped that the simple clothes he had possessed were enough for the man. This was never a thought that had crossed his mind the first time he met Hao, but now that they were closer, and now that he knew Hao was more of one for extravagance despite being a traveller…

Oh, well. Hanbin believed no one would turn down a nice comfortable set of clothing over sopping wet ones. With how bad the storm had been raging outside, it was inevitable that Hao would have to stay the night, even if the day had only really just started. When Hanbin looked out of the window in his room right now, though, it seemed nothing like the mid-afternoon scenery he was used to. It was so grey, the grass a muted dark green as rain continued to pelt down onto them. Lightning flashed once more, causing Hanbin to squeeze his eyes shut and flatten his ears as he prepared for the clap of thunder that happened seconds right after. How torturous.

Hanbin slowly made his way back out of his room, clutching his most comfortable set of sleepwear to his chest. He placed it down carefully onto the floor right outside the bathroom, knocking on the door lightly to inform the bard of its existence, before he moved to the table now filled with Hao's belongings.

"I guess it's better to dry them now," Hanbin mumbled to himself. He brought his hands to hover over them, eyelids fluttering shut as he mumbled a small incantation, a spell he had learned from the copious books he read in his lonesome. It summoned gales of air that danced along and around the items gently, and the moisture that formed on them wicked away slowly but gradually.

"You know magic?"

Hanbin had jumped at that. When did Hao even exit the bathroom? There was a flush to his cheeks that formed, before he gradually nodded his head as he turned to look at the man. Hao was now freshly showered, donned in Hanbin's clothes, the towel hung around his neck. He looked… comfortable. And good, even if all he wore was Hanbin's simple clothes, stripped of the usual showy extravagance that Hao tended to come with. Even then, he was still… beautiful. Hanbin's control of his own magic had waned, and before he knew it, a gust of air whipped at his face as if to shake himself out of the trance-like state he had gotten himself into. He let out a loud yelp in surprise.

That seemed to at least entertain Hao. The bard laughed lightly and leaned closer. For a moment, Hanbin had panicked, wondering what Hao was trying to do, until he noticed that the bard's vision was locked onto the items on the table.

"Whoa, they're all dry now," he commented softly, eyes widening a little. "You're quite literally magical. I wasn't aware that you were a user of magic."

Hanbin smiled sheepishly, bringing his hands down before he turned to look at Hao.

Big mistake.

The bard was now standing so close to him that the only thing Hanbin could really see in his vision was Hao in all the man's beautiful glory. His skin seemed so smooth, cheeks dewy and flushed from the shower. His lips were softly parted, flushed and plump as if it was their natural state of being, and his eyes were filled with admiration as he continued to look towards the table. Hanbin had thanked his lucky stars—which he did not have much of—that Hao had not turned to look at him, hiccuping a little as he took a small sliding step to the side, and turned to face his attention at the table as well.

"There are certain types of hybrids that are magically inclined," Hanbin explained with a soft nod of his head. "Only one type per species, though, so… the people that possess such powers are few and far in-between. I only really know my family."

Hanbin hadn't even known why he shared this information with Hao. The ears settled on the top of his head and the tail that wrapped around his waist, golden orange and akin to the sun, had always been telltale signs of his lineage. It was supposed to be something glorious—until something bad had happened somewhere down the line. They were stripped of their power and prestige, and they lived mostly within the shadows, trying to hide from perpetrators that had wanted their powers. They were shunned by other hybrids of their kind, too, in fear of being harmed by association, and as much as Hanbin had not wanted to blame them or lament a little, he still did. But perhaps the most hurtful thing he had told his parents—and the one thing he had regretted the most, too—was cry about how they had chosen to bring him into this cruel world to begin with, left to suffer under the hands of power-hungry monsters.

He never got a chance to apologise, either.

"Are you alright, Hanbin?" he heard Hao ask soon enough. He turned to the bard once more, the distance now a little more manageable as compared to the lack thereof. His eyes widened subtly, as if surprised that a question about his well-being had even surfaced when he was just talking about magically inclined hybrids.

"Why… Why do you ask, Hao?"

Hao had hummed, pointing towards the top of his own head, as if that had proven to be a proper response. When Hanbin did not reply, Hao laughed lightly, and then pointed towards Hanbin's head, confusing him even more. Until he spoke.

"Your ears," Hao replied. Immediately, Hanbin realized what Hao was talking about. Horrified, he had raised his hands, coming up to cover the fluffy appendages that betrayed way more than he hoped they would. There they were, flattened once more. Curse the heavens!

"Don't worry, Hanbin. I will not pry," Hao added with a playful wriggle of his brows. All Hanbin could do was groan faintly, the feeling of defeat now so prominent deep within him. And if he wasn't covering his ears, then surely they would betray him, too.

A silence ensued between the two of them afterwards, with Hanbin not wanting to say anything that would further expose himself to the bard—not because he did not trust Hao, but because he was mortified that he was acting this way around the man to begin with. Hao was also busy, too, as he lifted his items to inspect them, soft delighted hums leaving him as if he had been more than just pleased that the items were dry, thanks to Hanbin. As for Hanbin? Well, he felt himself swell up with a sense of pride just by this alone.

"You've really done a good job," Hao said softly, "It was almost as if I wasn't caught in a storm with them—achoo!"

Hanbin jolted from the sudden sneeze. It was something quite intense, perhaps due to the sheer strength of the bard's lungs. He always sounded so loud and clear when he sang, after all. Did that make sense..?

"You need to get warm and dry before you catch a cold," Hanbin quickly concluded. It felt almost natural by now, the way his hands rested on the bard's shoulders to guide him along the house. Too natural that he had almost grown flustered from the mere thought—but he managed to hold back enough to simply set Hao down on the floor right in front of the fireplace a safe distance away. Usually, Hanbin would only use this in the very depths of a snowy winter. The fireplace would remain mostly untouched until then, but today would be an exception. With a softly muttered incantation, Hanbin lit the fireplace up, the ember flames now burning brightly to introduce more warmth into the cottage. Hao was appreciative of it as he leaned a tad closer, hands held out towards the warmth. Hanbin quietly observed the way the orange seemed to bounce off of Hao's skin. The bard was beautiful, even more so when tinged with the warmth of a radiant light, highlighting the high points of his face. He was so immersed in admiring the man, unaware of his own actions and the way his gaze lingered. Or at least, until he heard Hao's voice through the crackle of the fireplace.

"Would you like to join this poor bard in his attempt to keep warm?"

Hanbin could not help the soft laughter that slipped past his lips. Hao's way of speech was truly quite amusing. Perhaps he should ask the bard about it later on—why did Hao always speak with such a flourish? Were the people of Frasin just like him? These thoughts filled his brain once more, but in response to Hao's invitation, Hanbin had shook his head, gently declining it. For now.

"I'll make us both some hot tea first," he added hastily, right after noting the way Hao's face fell. And just like it was automatic, the same radiant smile made its way to Hao's features once more right after Hanbin had explained the reasons behind his refusal. Hanbin refused to comment on how adorable Hao actually was—nor did he try to acknowledge it in his head. (It did not work.)

So Hanbin quickly escaped the situation, heading into the kitchen to do as he promised. He did not have that much in his pantry when it came to tea—Hanbin tended to only drink one type after all—so he ended up with a blend of rooibos and ginger, bringing the teapot and teacups in a little wooden tray. It was a balancing game Hanbin had not done in a long while with the lack of guests, but he managed to do so either way until he was finally by the fireplace, too, setting the tray to balance on a small wooden stool.

Hao sensed his presence, welcoming Hanbin to settle beside him. Almost entranced, Hanbin accepted the offer, sitting beside the bard with a soft smile.

"We just have to wait for it to steep a little more. Then, it'll be ready," Hanbin explained. "Rooibos and ginger. I hope you don't mind that mix… I don't really have many other teas stocked up."

"Oh, however could I mind? It is not my house, so I will accept any sort of kindness and goodwill, Hanbin."

Hanbin could not help but laugh softly then. The way Hao had spoken was truly too humorous. It sounded almost grandiose, subtly archaic, and tinged with a flair that embellished his words and gave them more weight than he supposed a situation like theirs ever required. At the beginning, Hanbin had thought that it was just the bard's way of dressing up his stories. But the more he spoke with Hao outside of his performances, the more he realised it was just… the way he spoke.

Hao was rightfully confused, of course, with the laughter Hanbin had let out. It took a while for Hanbin to recollect himself, too, smile still on his features and laughter still clinging to his every breath and the words he spoke.

"Sorry, Hao. It's just… the way you speak is rather interesting. I don't think I've ever heard anyone speak like this before," he admitted, waving a hand gently in dismissal. "Of course, it's not to say that it's odd. I just wonder if everyone from Frasin speaks that way. I've never been, and… you don't sing about it, so I don't know anything about that place. Other than the fact that you're from there."

Silence. There was a gentle lapse in their conversation. One that did not tend to happen, too, because with Hao, conversation seemed to flow easily. Hao had a small smile on his face, though Hanbin could see quite quickly that it did not quite reach his eyes, at all.

"Well, Hanbin, not everyone speaks like that in Frasin. Do you wish the knowledge to be bestowed upon you?" Hao asked, softly. Almost quietly, as if he had been uttering a secret. "If you are, lean in close, and I will tell you the tale of a town near the Southern seas."

And how could Hanbin deny this? He had always loved Hao's songs. He adored his stories, the way he flourished, and the way he seemed to shine the more people looked at him. The way he shone, even when no one but Hanbin looked at him. This sort of radiance was rare, Hanbin knew. This pull, the way Hao had dragged everyone in, to listen to him, to orbit around him and his stories—even if Hao was just a human, his voice was near magical.

Hanbin had first poured them both a cup of tea. Once Hao had accepted it, Hanbin moved closer to the bard, eyes looking up at the man with a soft, subdued eagerness he barely kept under wraps, waiting to hear the tale. They drank the tea for a short moment, silent for a while until Hao set his own cup down.

"Ready?" Hao asked, voice soft and gentle in the sweetest of whispers. Hanbin nodded his head subtly and mirrored Hao's actions to place his own cup down as well, and Hao, with a smile, had acknowledged the small nod with a light hum of his own. Hao waited until Hanbin was done and settled back comfortably once more before beginning.

"Frasin, of the Southern Seas, 'o sweet Frasin," Hao sang, his melodious voice filling the space between them once more. It was quieter this time, more intimate in nature, and Hanbin decided he liked this, too. Where he did not need to share the beauty of Hao's voice with the fairies, or the birds, or the squirrels that came to listen. Although Hanbin believed the bard's voice was too beautiful to be kept a secret, Hanbin could not help but want to, either way. At least in this very moment, where it almost sounded as if Hao had been… vulnerable. Perhaps he did not sing about his hometown much? Either way, Hanbin allowed himself to focus on the sweet lilt of Hao's voice instead of anything else.

"Where the sun kisses the sand where the waves meet. Frasin, I sing about thee—" Hao's hand flourished, invoking Hanbin's interest, his ears gently twitching as he continued to listen. "And about a boy, with wings that are clipped, who dreams only of freedom, caged within."

Hanbin blinked a few times then, the subtlest frown appearing on his features as Hao continued to sing. Now, the man did not look at him, and instead stared into the crackling fireplace, gaze looking so faraway. Hanbin ached to be closer, the gentle shift of his body unnoticed—or unspoken. A pregnant pause, and then…

"Sickly he was, yet so full of glee. In the night, where only the moon bears witness, the boy flees. From his home, from his sweet Frasin."

Melancholy. All at once, Hanbin's heart ached, twisting deep within his chest in a sort of pain he somehow could feel just from Hao's singing alone. There had been no lyre, no proper embellishments—just Hao, in all of his raw honesty, singing about Frasin. About himself.

"Lonely was he, yet with only one dream. Wealth and riches, he cares little—all he wants is just to sing. In a wish to sing, so does he," Hao continued, the corners of his lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "So he travels the world, lonely but free, and dreams of sweet Frasin."

Hanbin clung onto every word, quiet, as he pressed his cheek into Hao's shoulder, as if to gently tell the bard that he was there. There was a soft hum of delight, as if he had acknowledged the tender gesture. Hanbin let his eyes flutter shut, fingers squeezing tighter around the mug of tea—and even tighter so, when he felt a soft hand gently patting at the back of his head. There was nothing that Hanbin could have properly felt in this moment, seized by emotions that he never thought possible.

The ache for freedom was something he felt most prominently, though, for Hanbin himself had dreamed of that for many years and was deprived of it for just as many. The song had ended moments ago, but Hanbin clung to every word, every note. It explained to him why Hao had spoken rather oddly, despite the shared language—whilst Hanbin lived amongst the common folk, Hao had not. But there had been nothing uppity about Hao. Nothing that threw Hanbin off like the way the very people he had been fleeing from his entire life would speak to him. Hao was gentle, sweet, and starry-eyed, nothing like the haughty people that had treated Hanbin like he was less than. In fact, it almost felt like an insult that he was even comparing Hao to them. He stopped shortly after realising this fact.

They sat there, in shared silence, as Hao's hand continued to gently pat at the back of Hanbin's head. It was so… soothing. And nice. Hanbin did not want Hao to stop one bit.

"You've fulfilled your dream," Hanbin whispered softly after a while, breaking the silence with a gentle statement. Hao had hummed in response, shoulders lifted just subtly as he took in a deep inhale. Hanbin's head followed along subtly, until Hao had let out the soft puff of air in a gentle, slow sigh.

"I have indeed," Hao finally spoke. Although Hanbin could not quite see Hao's face, he assumed that there was a smile etched upon his features, surely. That was what Hanbin felt, too, as he fulfilled his dream of freedom, though it came to him as a life of isolation. But it was a trade-off he was willing to make, even if he craved the interaction. He was a social creature, driven to reclusiveness from the circumstances of his birth down to the harsh realities of the society he lived in. He smiled, even in the face of loneliness, and continued to find new reasons to smile, especially after he met Hao.

In a way, meeting the bard had been a cure to his loneliness. On days they did not meet, he would think of what to do when they did, and on days they did, Hanbin talked to him, listened to him sing, and now, sat in the comfort of each other's company, where Hao's fingers began to gently comb through Hanbin's hair in slow, and long strokes, comforting him even without explicitly meaning to do so.

"I'm happy for you," Hanbin whispered, words subtly slurred, as he felt his body growing heavier. The storm raging right outside seemed to have messed with Hanbin's circadian rhythm entirely—he was beginning to feel sleepy even at a time when he tended not to. Completely not because of the hand on his head, of course. Though Hanbin hoped that it wouldn't stop.

"What now..?" Hanbin asked, still just as quiet. He wasn't even sure why he asked that question, nor what he had hoped to hear from it. Did Hao want to continue chasing his dreams, travelling the world and singing like he always wanted to? Or did Hao want to return back home, to Frasin, now that he had travelled so much already?

… Hanbin realised that he hoped it would not be the latter. At least, if Hao continued to travel, there was still a small chance that Hao would continue visiting him, in the pockets of free time that presented themselves to do so. Frasin was so far for someone like Hanbin, who only knew of Ethernia, and now, the forest he lived in. And Hanbin… he did not want to say goodbye to Hao forever.

"I will continue travelling, Hanbin," Hao whispered, gently scratching at Hanbin's scalp, causing a soft yawn to leave the hybrid, "…and I will—"

Hanbin did not stay awake long enough to hear the rest of what Hao had to say.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

Something shifted between the two of them after that day. Hanbin felt it the moment he had woken up, body aching. The sun was now up, shining gently and humbly into Hanbin's cottage once more. His head lifted, and all at once, memories of last night flooded his brain when his eyes had landed on the shoulder he had rested on. As Hanbin continued to observe, he also noticed something quite surprising—his tail had curled around Hao's arm, too. He was quick to unfurl that, though; the embarrassment of having fallen asleep—and clinging to Hao in the process—had been enough for him.

In his hastiness, he had woken Hao up, too. The bard was a little slower when it came to getting up, a soft groan leaving his parted lips as he raised his arms in a stretch. Somehow, that sight was enough to bring a smile to Hanbin's features. That was, until Hao had turned to look at him.

"We fell asleep?" Hao asked, sounding subtly confused. Hanbin nodded gently in response.

"Yes, we did, and I'm sorry. It must have been really uncomfortable," Hanbin spoke, a small pout appearing on his features. Although his limbs ached, Hanbin had an inkling that the bard's body would be aching even more so, especially considering Hanbin had been leaning on him the entire time. But instead of getting upset, all Hao did was smile and gently shake his head.

Then, it happened.

Hao's hand reached out towards him, swift enough for Hanbin to squeeze his eyes shut and for him to scrunch up slightly. Nothing ever bode well for Hanbin when people approached him like this—he thought of his ears tugged at, jaw grabbed, and of the pain that came with rough handling. Instead of that, though, there had been nothing—for long enough to notice that Hao was just hovering his hand near Hanbin's head, pausing.

"Can I pet you?"

Hanbin's brain effectively short-circuited. His eyes widened, unable to comprehend the request. But he knew that there was an answer—and that answer, no matter how hesitant, how soft, was a…

"Yes," Hanbin squeaked out. Hao grinned then.

Hanbin could not help but let his eyes fall shut, feeling the soft hand of Hao's on his head once more, gently petting at the soft locks of hair, patting them down, inching so close to his ears, but never quite touching them. It was comforting, delightful, and Hanbin had not wanted it to stop.

Except it did, eventually, after what felt like too short a time. Hanbin had opened his eyes once more to Hao's smiling face, the bard's features soft in the morning sun and delicate like the dew that gathered on the tips of the grass blades. Hao was beautiful, too beautiful, and Hanbin, well, he ached for… something. A 'something' he could not quite place.

As they slowly got up from where they sat, laughing together from how the soreness of their bodies caused a few groans in the midst of their struggle to get up, Hanbin had a faint idea of what that 'something' might have been. He let Hao freshen up in the bathroom first as he prepared a nice breakfast for the both of them, and they laughed happily with one another over their shared meal. The idea seemed to only continue forming, getting clearer in Hanbin's head, even if he could not quite place it still. Hanbin decided to make peace with it being unknown, at least for now.

What he had not expected, though, was for that idea to solidify itself when he stood at the door, preparing to bid farewell to Hao, who already decided to leave that morning since the storm had let up.

 ("There's a new town I want to visit," Hao had said. Hanbin wished Hao hadn't.)

"I'll see you soon?" Hanbin asked, hopeful, as Hao gently shrugged on his bag, thumbs hooking underneath the straps of leather to readjust them to settle better upon his shoulders.

Hanbin was used to the answers he tended to receive.

"We'll meet when we do."

"You'll see me sooner than you think."

"Perhaps soon, perhaps later. Either way, our paths will once again cross."

He did not mind them, of course. They all held unspoken promises of Hao returning, even if the 'when' had been uncertain. He learned not to ask for too much, not when Hao's company for a few hours every few days was enough (except it was starting to become less so).

"I'll see you in three days' time, Hanbin," Hao replied this time around.

It was new, unexpected, and filled with a certainty that had Hanbin hopeful, filled with happiness, and the knowledge that he would soon turn greedy.

Hao's time. He wanted more of Hao's time, he wanted to have the bard with him again, and again, and again. Until Hanbin wasted away into nothing, until the world wasted away into nothing, though Hanbin felt as if he would still covet for Hao's time, in whichever capacity he was allowed to.

This 'something' that Hanbin wanted, he realised, was Hao.

Hanbin wanted Hao the way the flowers would grow in such a way to seek the sun. He wanted the bard the way the waves wanted to kiss the shore. He wanted Hao, in a way that scared him.

All Hanbin did in response, however, was smile and nod his head.

"I'll see you in three days then, Hao. Stay safe until then."

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

… And so, three days came and went.

Three days had passed, and yet, Hao… he was nowhere to be found.

Although he had felt rather upset by this situation, there was nothing he could do besides wait. Hanbin knew nothing beyond the fact that Hao had been travelling. To where, he did not know. And even if he thought he knew for how long, it seemed that Hao proved him wrong.

Hanbin went to sleep, feeling colder than he usually did, even underneath the warmth of his blanket.

The days only seemed to blend with one another. Hanbin found himself waking up to the same soft sounds of nature, to the same sunrise, the difference only more prominent on the days where it had rained. Hao was nowhere to be seen for the days that followed, and even the fairies had begun missing the bard who would bring his tunes more often than the sudden lapse. How long had it been since any of them had seen Hao? Hanbin was beginning to worry about Hao—was he alright? Safe? Healthy, still? Or did his sickly constitution finally cause him to succumb?

Life, unfortunately, still had to go on somehow. Despite the worries that clung to him heavily, he still foraged for his meals, still fed the small creatures that had depended on him mostly for a little snack. It had given him purpose beyond waiting for the bard to return. Would it have been better on his poor, aching heart, if Hao had not promised that he would return three days later? These 'three days' seemed to bleed on endlessly, almost as if it had worked on a completely different system where the days did not start with the rising of the sun, and end with the setting of it. The usually vibrant skies seemed duller now, and Hanbin… he could most definitely feel his heart aching for a present—and a future—it seemed he had no business being in.

It hurt, of course. But he powered through, a smile faint on his features. And even if this was his reality, a part of him still pined.

A part of him still believed that that night would be the last night he would go to sleep lonelier than the previous one, the bard absent and unable to soothe over the aching yearning of his heart.

The days were considerably colder now. Hanbin had to leave his cottage with a soft scarf curled around his neck and his hands tucked into thin cotton gloves. The change of seasons was just a small turn away, where the breezes of autumn brought with them the frigid promise of winter. Hanbin had continued to forage in the forest, where the green leaves turned into magnificent shades of orange, yellow, and red. They were golden, almost, and reminded him too much of a certain bard that had not showed up for months. He wished he could shut his eyes, and wished he could turn away entirely, but his livelihood was at stake. Hanbin had to ensure he stockpiled enough to last him through the entirety of winter, though it seemed almost as if he had the opposite problem at times, when he found his basket heavier than usual. Why?

Well, he had somehow managed to pick up more than he needed. More than enough for one, and just right for two.

Hanbin wished he did not think of the bard anymore.

The beginnings of the sun setting had been Hanbin's cue to return home. His eyes had cast a glance towards his basket, now full, and had believed that he had picked more than enough to sustain him. The path back home was so familiar that he could do it with his eyes closed, the monotony starting to claw at his insides as he inevitably craved for… more. His prayers always seemed to be unanswered, though, or at least, it's what he had thought.

So how was he to feel, when he spotted a figure right at the front of his cottage's door, glowing yet lonely? A spark in his heart had prayed for it to just be one person, and one person only.

When his eyes caught sight of the silhouette of a lyre, Hanbin rushed towards the figure without another thought.

"Hao!" he called out, and hoped with all his heart that he had been right, as he threw his arms around the man, hugging him tightly. The basket swayed heavily in his hand, pressed against the figure's front now, and Hanbin was greeted with his most favourite music of all.

Sweet, melodious laughter, as light as the breeze that swirled at the fallen leaves around them. A soft sweet song, one that Hanbin had missed, and one that Hanbin wished to hear again, finally audible and no longer within a bittersweet dream.

Hao was here. He had finally returned.

"Hanbin," Hao called out softly. Hanbin felt Hao's hands gently pat at his own, but they were… cold. Colder and weaker than usual, even, as it lacked the general firmness that Hanbin was more accustomed to. He pulled back, slowly, all as he refrained from making actions far too large. Hao turned to him then and Hanbin could finally see the bard, set against the glowing sunset.

Hao was always beautiful in the sunset. That was a fact that had never been refuted, because it was impossible to do so. And yet, despite this fact, he had looked.. gaunt. Hanbin frowned subtly, attempting to hide away the worry that he was sure showed on his features, either way.

There were parts of Hao that Hanbin remembered. He remembered full cheeks, where the apples of Hao's cheeks would raise every time he smiled and spoke animatedly whenever he got excited. Now, they were so sallow and sunken in, almost as if Hao had lost a considerable amount of weight. Hanbin's heart dropped, as he slowly noticed more things—Hao had seemed so much smaller in his clothes, though this was not an outfit he had ever seen on the bard before. Yet, the fitting always remained the same—perfectly tailored, fitting Hao like a glove. That was what Hanbin was used to, and yet… Hao had looked so frail. It both scared and worried Hanbin immensely.

"Have you been… alright? It's been so long, and…" Hanbin bit down on his lower lip, just in time for Hao to emit another faint bout of laughter before he slowly shook his head.

"I'm fine, Hanbin. Admittedly tired, I am—but nonetheless, fine. Better, now that I've finally seen you."

Hanbin tried his best not to let that comment affect him. It wasn’t entirely working, considering how his cheeks heated up even in the cold of the autumn evening.

There were so many things Hanbin had wanted to ask. Questions that lingered at the tip of his tongue for he had imagined this exact scenario for the longest time—what would he do when he finally had Hao in front of him again? Would he ask why he had not stayed true to his promise of returning in three days, and caused those days to eventually turn into months?

What Hanbin realised, though, was that he, too, had definitely felt better the moment he saw Hao. Like that, their hearts were synced. Hanbin would have been lying if he said that did not somehow cause his heart to flutter.

"Let's go in," he said softly, in lieu of a response, because Hanbin swore he would end up embarrassing himself if he were to actually acknowledge Hao's words.

"I was afraid you'd not want me inside after all this while," came Hao's voice. It was soft, almost hesitant, as if he had been afraid of an alternative reality that had Hanbin denying the bard's presence back into his home. Hanbin shook his head quickly, as if to completely denounce the notion.

"That's impossible, Hao," Hanbin replied shortly after, as the door unlocked with a soft click. He pushed the door open to make enough space for Hao to enter first. And as the bard walked past, entering Hanbin's cottage before he did…

"I miss you far too much for me to do that," he whispered.

Hao turned behind, brows arching subtly. "Did you say something, Hanbin?"

The hybrid smiled simply, shaking his head after he locked the door behind them, removing his gloves and tugging down his scarf to set them aside, along with the basket. It was almost as if Hao had never left, too. Hanbin had guided him around the place as he always did, setting Hao upon one of the chairs around the round table, filled with unfinished craft projects that he pushed aside for now—things that he had tried in a desperate bid to break the monotony of his life while waiting for the bard to return.

"Tea for you?" Hanbin asked. When Hao nodded, Hanbin moved quickly into the kitchen, preparing a pot of the same sort of tea he did all those months ago, setting it onto the table. Hanbin also noticed the way Hao seemed to shiver despite being inside, which prompted him to quickly light the fireplace, ensuring that the cottage would turn warmer with time. This… although it was a lot of scurrying about, it felt normal. Doing things for Hao, making sure the bard was as comfortable as he could manage in the humble cottage home when he was sure Hao had been used to so much more back in Frasin. He was at least going to try to aim to be more hospitable than the inns he supposed Hao stayed in during his travels. At least that. And… he hoped that his presence was far more enjoyable than the lack thereof, within the rooms of the inns in towns so far away Hanbin would never hear of them, if not for Hao.

It took Hanbin a while, but he had finally settled on a chair himself too after a while, tail swishing gently behind him and ears twitching, as he continued to stare at Hao unabashedly. The bard, on the other hand, was more so focused on the teapot, as if counting down the time left for the tea to steep. When their glasses were now filled with the hot liquid, Hao finally spoke, breaking the gentle silence that settled between them.

"I'm sure you have questions aplenty," Hao muttered, eyes briefly glancing towards Hanbin's direction. Hanbin watched the bard closely, noting the way the mug seemed to tremble gently in Hao's hold. It was odd to witness, considering Hanbin had never once seen it before. Just… How weak had Hao become in the time they spent away from one another? Why did it feel as if he was face-to-face with someone completely different now?

"They can wait, if you need to rest," Hanbin offered. A part of him felt rather endeared with the fact that Hao had accurately pointed out his curiosities, and how his questions teemed at the surface, threatening to pour over. But all of this could wait. It could wait until Hao felt better, looked better, and had more strength in his body before replying. Hanbin… he could wait. He's waited months, after all. Years, even if he hadn't been aware that he was waiting for the bard to enter his life all along. One more night, or a few more hours before he supposed Hao would leave again, was nothing for him.

"That's fine." A short pause, before Hao placed his tea back onto the table, a small smile appeared on his features. "If we wait any longer, I'm afraid your ears will bruise. Ask away, Hanbin."

For starters, Hanbin blushed. His ears seemed to betray him again, and again, in his subconscious. When Hanbin had been fully aware of them, he came to the belated realisation that they had been twitching on end, impatient and eager for answers Hanbin wasn't even sure he was entitled to. Yet, here Hao was, encouraging him to ask the questions that weighed heavily in his mind, almost as if he knew Hanbin too well.

And perhaps Hao did. Hanbin was an open book, somehow, read again and again by Hao. How did Hao feel about him then, when most of the man was shrouded in mystery? Hanbin knew he liked spending time with Hao. And… could the same be said the other way around? Did Hao miss Hanbin in the time they were apart, as well?

So many questions, yet so little actual justification for him to ask. Hanbin felt entirely out of his element, even though there hadn't been a need for him to do so—Hao told him to ask, after all. Ask away, even. But where should he start? Hanbin mulled over that for a while, his fingers gripping tighter on the glass before he took a decisive sip of the tea.

Hanbin supposed he could start from there. In all these days where he did nothing but miss Hao, Hanbin could not help but wonder if the bard had felt the same. Or was he the only one who had the man constantly running around in his mind, giving Hanbin little to no rest—and control—in whether or not Hao would surface in his thoughts, and eventually bleed into his dreams?

"Did you.. miss me?" he asked, voice soft, and quiet. Almost as if he had been afraid of the answer.

"I did. A lot."

It's a quick reply. One spoken without a single shred of hesitation that it had quite admittedly knocked the wind out of Hanbin's lungs despite the fact that he was simply seated there. When Hanbin finally dared to look at Hao, he noticed a fiery determination shining in his eyes, almost as if he was daring Hanbin to question how genuine his reply had been. Hanbin found that he could not quite dare to do so, believing Hao even though there were so many other reasons for him to do otherwise.

"Then… Why did it take so long for you to come find me again?" Hanbin asked, trying not to choke up from the sudden wave of loneliness he felt bubble up. There was so much sadness that had surrounded him in this moment, and in the lonely moments before that, too, as he thought of Hao.

"I… had not a single choice, Hanbin," Hao replied, teeth sinking down onto his lower lip. This time, his reply had come slower, as if he had to think about the response. It did not come easily. Not as easily as his admittance that he missed Hanbin—just like the way the hybrid himself had done so, about the bard.

"If I was given the freedom, I would have honoured my end of the promise. I'm sorry."

Hanbin could not even refute the sincerity he heard in Hao's voice. It was so prominent, hanging in the air alongside the apology that Hanbin did not even ask for. He was appreciative all the same, and yet, as he looked at Hao, as he took in his features once more, almost sickly in nature with how heavily prominent his cheekbones and how dark the underside of his eyes had become, Hanbin could not help but ask the next question.

"Have you been unwell?"

Hao looked at Hanbin then, the corners of his lips curved into a smile. It looked tired. Resigned, almost. Hao nodded gently as if he had been afraid of acknowledging his current state as the truth.

"Very. The travels have caught up, and I found myself… incapacitated for a while. I came as soon as I could, Hanbin. I'm sorry. Please, believe me. There was not a part of me that meant to leave you—"

"Hao," Hanbin stressed out, the single syllable holding the pain that he had gathered deep inside of him for the months they had gone without one another. There had been no restraint left in the eyes of the hybrid who had missed the bard too much, as arms soon curled around the man, tightly, hugging him close with his body half lifted off the chair. He felt Hao tense in his arms for just a moment, hands flying up to Hanbin's arms to grasp onto them, but that same tenseness had eventually dissipated, where he now had the bard just relaxing in his arms, a soft sigh slipping from between Hao's lips.

"You don't have to apologise, silly," Hanbin muttered, his voice half muffled against Hao's head. "I… I will admit, I was upset, and I missed you dearly, but no one could have seen that coming."

Hanbin could feel Hao nodding subtly against his arm, even if the actions did feel a bit hesitant either way. He took it as a cue to continue speaking, though, as he continued to hold Hao in his arms.

"But as long as you miss me too, that's fine with me. That's fine, but…" Hanbin pulled back then, even if every single fibre of his body longed to stay close. He did not move far, though, just enough to look at Hao, as he took in the man's state once more. His heart ached for the truth he already knew the moment his eyes had landed on Hao once again, at the entrance of his home—Hao was sick, and he was still unwell even now. Yet, even in this state, the bard had thought to come find Hanbin, almost as if in an attempt to alleviate his worries. Of everything.

In a sense, Hao did succeed. In another sense, however, Hanbin was now filled with another type of worry—but thankfully, this could be remedied, somehow.

"… If you really feel sorry, Hao, can you…" he trailed off then. Was he in any position to ask that of Hao? Hanbin hadn't known where the two of them stood with one another. Was he allowed to say this?

"What is it, Hanbin?" Hao urged, his voice gentle. As was the smile on his face, as if he was coaxing an answer out from Hanbin. Whether it had been bait or not, he did not know. Hanbin just knew that he took it.

"Then, Hao… can you stay? At least, until we get you feeling better. Just to ease my worries," Hanbin whispered, brows knitting together afterwards. "It's okay if you don't want to. I know you want to travel—"

"I can stay, Hanbin," Hao replied then, a smile still spread across his features. "If that is what you want."

Hanbin's world felt as if it had been knocked off balance. He could not think about anything else beyond the fact that Hao had agreed to stay, if that was what he wanted. That finally, after all these months of knowing Hao, of pining for the bard to stay for more than a night, that it would finally work out somehow. It was unheard of that his dreams would become reality. But if he was still stuck in some sort of dream, then… Hanbin wished that he would never leave.

"That settles it then," Hanbin added, feeling positively giddy by the news. He could not help his smile, nor could he help the way he leaned in to hug the man tightly. He was so happy with this, with the prospect of seeing Hao more, and he was also filled with the desire to nurse Hao back to health as much as he could. To return colour back to his face, and rejuvenate the man such that his cheeks would become full again, and for the discolouration to fade from underneath his eyes.

"I'll take care of you well, Hao. I promise."

"I don't think I've ever had a single shred of doubt, Hanbin. I am in good hands."

They laughed together softly right after. A sweet sound, a gentle harmony, and one that Hanbin wished he could hear again, and again, and again.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

And so the days continued, just like this, with Hanbin preparing proper nourishing meals for Hao, recipes gathered from books that used to collect dust in the shelves he owned. Hanbin had even moved Hao to lay in his bed instead while he took the couch, even despite Hao's protests that he was just fine there. Hanbin wasn't having any of it, of course.

They would go on walks together, with Hao bundled up warmer than Hanbin was. Short ones that allowed Hao to get the sun and fresh air, which Hanbin believed was completely essential for Hao's recovery. The walks also felt nicer when he was doing it with Hao—there was laughter shared between the both of them from the soft jokes that they would crack, and Hao would tease Hanbin about his 'protective' side when he had told the fairies off gently for insisting to want to listen to Hao sing and perform once more.

("He's sick, so he can't do it!"

"Boring! Boo, Hanbin, you're a spoilsport!"

"It doesn't matter. He has to get better first before he can perform again!")

"You know, Hanbin," Hao spoke, causing Hanbin's head to whip towards the bard. Even when Hanbin was crouched beside a tree, a distance away from where Hao stood, his attention would still be focused on the bard if Hao had asked for it.

"You know I'm able to perform already," Hao continued, brows arching subtly before the faintest of grins appeared on his features. "I have, multiple times, in the comfort of your cottage. Am I sensing an urge from you, Hanbin, to somehow keep that side of myself to you?"

Hanbin gasped softly then, head rapidly shaking a few times before he turned his attention back to the mushrooms that were growing on the base of the tree. What nonsense, he hadn't been trying to do that!

"You can afford to be honest, Hanbin. I promise I won't tell on you to the fairies," Hao teased with a laugh. Curse Hao… he already knew the answer, and yet he was trying to goad it out of Hanbin. Hanbin ignored the flush that formed prominently on his cheeks, warming him even without the scarf wrapped around his neck.

"... Fine, yes, maybe," Hanbin replied, softly grumbling underneath his breath. His ears were pressed flat on the top of his head, feeling oddly as if he'd been seen right through. And he was, wasn't he? Hao had a knack for knowing exactly how Hanbin felt about things—especially things concerning Hao himself.

"Knew it. It's okay, Hanbin. Your secret stays safe with me."

"If it doesn't, I will know who the culprit is when the fairies start playing pranks on me…"

"That would still be the fault of your own! I claim no sin towards the eventual malice you'll face from them," Hao gasped, eyes widening. "Oh, did I say ‘eventual’? A slip of the tongue, perhaps!"

Hanbin's eyes grew wide, getting up and walking towards Hao with a soft huff—except all it did was pull laughter from between the bard's lips.

And when Hao was laughing like this, happiness so evident and sickness seemingly so far away, who was Hanbin to stop that from happening?

In the end, Hanbin had given up and laughed along in fond exasperation.

"I will know who to blame, Hao," Hanbin threatened, grinning as he took the bard's hand, guiding him back to the cottage. The days were getting shorter and colder, after all—Hao shouldn't be out for too long.

"Let's go back home," Hanbin said softly, smiling afterwards. "It's getting late."

"Yes, let's, Hanbin. Or should I say, the person facing the fairies' wrath?"

Hanbin had laughed once more, shaking his head in defeat whilst Hao had been right by his side, celebrating a victory that hadn't even happened just yet.

Hanbin wished that these days would never come to an end.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into a month.

Hanbin eventually grew used to the idea of Hao being around him. Hanbin liked having the bard around, where he spent his time teaching him various things: from the various plants, fruits, nuts, and herbs that he could forage as he travelled, to how to cook. Although Hao was definitely more well-to-do than the usual travelling bards, such skills were important for normal survival, especially considering just how much Hao travelled himself, too. A part of Hanbin also wondered if Hao had survived through sheer luck and a lot of faith, travelling from town to town, bouncing from inn to inn. And what if they were far apart? What did Hao do, then?

Hanbin shuddered at the answers he was given, if he had been honest. Hao… he trusted people too much.

("What do you mean you just. Go into people's homes? Sit in their carriages? What if they kidnap you? Or do bad things to you?"

"… Well, that's how I got closer to you, though?"

Hanbin was silent. Silenced, even. How could anyone have a proper comeback to that when it had been very much real?)

Hao was also starting to get better after all their time together. After Hanbin had sorted Hao's nutrition out, making sure he had gotten all of what he needed to lead a healthy life, the month together had proved to improve Hao's constitution greatly. The colour returned to his face, and he seemed to glow from within even more so than before. His cheeks were full and round as he smiled, and his voice held a vigour that had returned. Hao's strength was mostly regained, and… as much as it had made Hanbin happy to see Hao getting better, there was a small part to himself that knew what this entailed.

The first time he had received a hint was one night after dinner.

Hanbin left to wash the dishes, and returned to see Hao in the living room, packing a few of his items back into his satchel. It consisted of small items—things that would not be missed even if they had disappeared. But Hanbin had witnessed it all, remembered every part of Hao down to the belongings he possessed. Of course he was going to miss it, even if it was some random brooch that spent the entire time just shifting around the house, from table to table, to make space for their food, their drinks. For them.

But Hanbin had not said a thing, and hoped that the unsettling feeling of an eventual departure would, somehow, be untrue.

Hanbin went to bed that night feeling unsettled. There was this unease that had wrapped around him like an unwelcome guest that he could not push aside. It clung to him quietly, weighing down on him.

Hanbin's surprised that he could even fall asleep.

The sun rose once again, denoting another day's beginning for Hanbin. He stretched himself out on the couch—his temporary resting spot as Hao took his bed—and decided that he could get up bright and early to prepare breakfast for the two of them. It was a routine by now, with Hanbin making sure that food was ready for both of them to eat by the time Hao had slowly started waking up. When he opened his eyes this morning, he had expected to see the door to his room closed, with Hao predictably still asleep inside it.

Today, he saw the door left slightly ajar. His eyes scanned the small living area then, over the trinkets he had received, over the shelves filled with books. Over the table where his crafting projects were left untouched for the month Hao had been here, until his eyes finally landed on the bard, shrugging on his jacket.

Hanbin had a lot of hope for someone who had been betrayed many times by the world around him. It was almost as if his aching heart could never grow hardened by the treacherous events that life tended to throw his way. Hanbin was foolish, in the way he continued to pine, in the way he remained starry-eyed throughout it all, even if he had resorted to a lifetime of isolation to seek his peace. Hanbin still believed. And he still hoped, that perhaps, Hao would not be in such a haste to go.

"Hao," he called out softly, voice a faint croak, thickened with sleep and wobbly with the emotions that he felt deep inside of him. His chest ached at the same time he felt his throat close up, almost as if his body had been getting ready for the onslaught of sadness that would hit him like torrential gusts of wind and knock him off balance.

All at once, Hao had paused. It took a moment, but the bard finally turned to look at Hanbin, a soft smile faint upon his features as if he hadn't been caught in the middle of trying to leave. When Hanbin hadn't even been awake, no less. Hao was one of the latest people to wake up that Hanbin had ever met, triumphing even Hanbin himself, who tended to start his days near the afternoon.

"Good morning, Hanbin. The sun is shining beautifully today, is it not?"

Hanbin had taken a short glance towards the window. As Hao had accurately pointed out, the sun was truly warm and gentle even in the cold autumn days. A welcome change, and yet, it felt as if it had been far from enough when he was faced with the reality of his current situation.

Hao was leaving. And if Hanbin hadn't woken up, Hao had intended to leave without the hybrid even knowing.

Admittedly, it hurt. Hanbin felt as if there had been at least something between the both of them that would ensure the bard would at least not leave without a word, but here he was, witnessing what he thought impossible. He looked on, quietly, ears gently drooping in his subconscious, tail curling around his waist in an all too protective manner.

"You're leaving," Hanbin whispered. It hadn't been a question. It was posed more as a statement. An observation that would have been clear to anyone with eyes—Hao had put on his jacket with the sheer goal of leaving, satchel already placed by the entrance of Hanbin's cottage. All at once, Hanbin had ached to tear into it, to ruin the bag and everything within it and force Hao to restock his supplies first before he could even leave. But Hanbin could not—would not—do that.

"I am."

Somehow, that reply had cut into Hanbin deep. He swallowed down thickly, the lump that formed in his throat a painful reminder of the fact that this had not been one of the many dreams he had of Hao's eventual departure from his home. It appeared there, and within his daydreams. Hanbin wanted to be cool enough to send Hao off with a wave and a promise of meeting again soon, but that was before he had grown accustomed to Hao. The way he could hear Hao snoring even behind the closed door, thoroughly enthused by the supposedly prim and proper man letting out the soft noises in his sleep. The way two mugs now hung constantly on the drying rack instead of one, because Hao would join him for tea so often that Hanbin had to forage for more rooibos far earlier than he had ever anticipated. To the point they eventually ran out of that, too, and had to resort to drinking another tea blend, even though Hao would say it was his favourite. How two sets of utensils were now more heavily used than the rest, where Hao had a specific spoon from Hanbin's small collection that he enjoyed more.

So how was he supposed to return to being by his lonesome, where he would have to grow accustomed to not having Hao in his home, once more? Hanbin found that impossible to do. It was a reality he had to face, but Hanbin… a part of him refused to. In fact, it was desperate enough in its refusal for him to ask—

"Can you stay?"

Three simple words, with only one thing he wanted from Hao. A soft 'yes'. A small nod of Hao's head, if the idea of staying rooted at one place for too long was terrifying enough for the bard that he could only answer physically. Maybe Hao would remove his jacket, and settle on the couch beside Hanbin, to pull him into a hug and assure him that he was going to stay.

And yet, as with almost every other thing in his life, all Hanbin was met with was… disappointment.

Instead of every other variant Hanbin had thought of, Hao continued to smile. It ached, it truly did, because Hanbin knew what that smile meant.

Hanbin pressed his ears to the top of his head, this time entirely on purpose, hoping not to hear.

"I'll see you next time, Hanbin."

The answer had been loud and clear. Hanbin would have to spend his days missing Hao again. When the door opened, Hanbin had looked away. He had not said goodbye the way he tended to do—not when that was the last thing he wanted to tell Hao now.

The silence hung in the air—something Hanbin would soon need to grow used to once more—and the door soon clicked with a shut. Hanbin curled back up on the couch, the ache in his heart one he could not quite ignore. His lower lip wobbled, eyes brimming with tears that he told himself he could not shed.

Hanbin missed Hao so much that he thought he could die.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

Hanbin had wondered how he would have been like in the days to come.

Would his heart continue to ache so much that he would not be able to look at Hao even if he did return? Or would he be so filled with rage that he would chase Hao away from a ten-metre radius of his cottage, effectively keeping himself safe because he would not have to deal with the ache of seeing Hao leave once again?

The answer, it turned out, had not been either of the two.

The first time Hanbin saw Hao again, it was with a crowd. The fairies were excited to have Hao return, bringing songs and gifts of apologies to them for having taken that long to recover. Hanbin found himself unwillingly whisked into the fairies' circle, made to sit, because they knew just how much Hanbin had enjoyed Hao's performance, too. The bard had greeted him with a smile that Hanbin could not quite return, but the hybrid could not deny the way his heart danced in his chest as Hao sang, his melodious voice filling the air once more. He had left as quickly as he appeared, though, not staying for the night and rushing elsewhere, almost as if it had burned him to stay for longer.

Hanbin supposed he could live with that.

The second time Hao had returned, he had brought with him another satchel, one made with the finest leathers Hanbin's eyes had landed upon, an exquisite piece of craft that he could only ever dream of possessing. It was embellished with silver hardware so shiny it reflected the blue of the skies onto it, akin to a beautifully polished mirror. Hao had good taste—Hanbin knew that all too well, and was about to ask Hao what it had been for. He could not hide his surprise when Hao had gently placed the satchel over Hanbin's shoulder, a satisfied grin now present on the bard's features as he looked at the hybrid with a small nod of his head.

"That fits you well," Hao had commented lightly, sparkling eyes meeting Hanbin's own—which were starstruck, yet confused.

"It's a gift, Hanbin. Maybe you can bring this around instead of your basket," Hao explained.

As much as Hanbin had tried, he could not help the faint smile that appeared on his features as he gently adjusted the gift on his body. When Hao had left, Hanbin began to use this bag, storing his belongings in the satchel instead of the wicker basket from then on.

The third time when Hao came by once more, it had been snowing lightly. Soft, powdery snow seemed to settle upon the grass plains, as they entered a deep winter. The trees were now bare, and all Hanbin had on his agenda today was to go fishing by the stream.

He met Hao by chance today, as it always had been with the bard. Always on Hao's terms, and never on his.

Hanbin had set the satchel down by the bank, moving nearer to the water. The top surface had been frozen over, but nothing Hanbin could not solve with the small pick he had brought along with him, making a hole large enough for his small spear to pick up any fish that happened to swim downstream.

"That's new."

Hanbin almost fell onto the river in shock. He had gasped, barely managing to grasp at the slippery ice by the bank. Perhaps it was his fault for being this focused, but who could blame him? Fishing needed a lot of focus. When Hanbin turned, frowning and about to give the only person he knew would be here—Hao—a piece of his mind, he had stopped short of a piece of mind to give because he must have positively lost it the moment his eyes landed on the bard.

No matter how many times Hanbin had—or managed to—look at Hao, he was beautiful.

In fact, it almost seemed as if Hao had gotten prettier each time he had returned. There was always this glow to his cheeks, soft and pink, upon fair skin. Hao would always look at him with a smile, even though Hanbin had admittedly spent a good portion of time just evading Hanbin's gaze, almost as if he'd been too afraid to look. He knew what his traitorous heart felt every time their gazes would meet, after all—it was beyond admiration, or affection. Hanbin had fallen in love with the bard.

And each time Hao had returned back to him, that ache to keep him here grew again, and again, even if it was not supposed to. He ached for Hao the way the water from the streams would always want to return back to the sea, and he ached for Hao the way the waves always met the shore, tirelessly, again and again.

Even if he knew he was grasping at straws each time the bard had showed up once more, Hanbin could not help but hold onto them. To cling to the thin strings that held them together, and hope one was strong enough to make Hao want to stay.

"I guess I never fished around you before," Hanbin muttered, stabbing into the hole with a petulant huff. When he felt the spear impale something, Hanbin had drawn it out and was met with the sight of a fish, speared through and limp on the weapon. The success had Hanbin rather pleased with himself, but still, he could not help but feel ever so aware of the presence of Hao just a short distance away from where he stood.

"You have not, indeed. I was not aware of your skills," Hao muttered, hands gently clapping a few times. Hanbin hated how the praise and compliments seemed to cause the corners of his lips to twitch upwards the same time his ears perked up in happiness that he couldn't quite hide away. But Hanbin still tried, anyway.

"You would be," Hanbin began. There was a part of him that had grown impatient, irritated, as he turned to look at Hao, the fish deposited into a small metal pail that he had dragged around with him for this occasion. "If you stayed."

Was it selfish of Hanbin to accuse Hao right off the bat? Maybe. But he felt as if he had every right to do so.

"You're upset," Hao stated, as if Hanbin himself hadn't been aware of his own feelings.

"And will you do anything about it?"

The silence that had fallen between the both of them this time was not… gentle. It was not comfortable—the tension could have been cut with a knife if one was determined enough. Hanbin stared at the bard the same time Hao looked back at him, and this time, it had not been Hanbin who had looked away first. It had been Hao, almost as if he'd been guilty. Or at least, Hanbin hoped he was.

"I don't suppose I can actually do anything," Hao replied. "But I can grant you some space. We can talk again then."

Hao paused after his words. When Hanbin looked at Hao, he could not quite register anything on his features. There was a faint smile on the bard's face, but it had not been genuine. Was Hao hurting like Hanbin had been? Or was he just at a loss on how to deal with Hanbin's sudden tantrum? In a sense, Hanbin had felt horridly childish. Selfish, even, because he had wanted Hao to stay even though it was the last thing the man had wanted to do.

"… And," Hao spoke, the word breathed as if he had been struggling to get it out, "If you don't want to see me again… I will understand."

And just like that, Hao had been quick to leave. With no actual explanation to Hanbin because if the hybrid had been honest, there was no need to offer him anything. Hao did not owe Hanbin anything, because the two of them together had admittedly been nothing. A part of Hanbin had believed that he would be happier if Hao had kept his distance and stopped coming back entirely because his heart ached more each time Hao had left.

But when Hao's back faced him, his figure slowly growing smaller, all Hanbin felt was a deep sadness at the realisation that sunk deep into his bones—a reminder of just how much his soul had ached for Hao, even if only for a moment. Even if he was only granted that short moment, Hanbin had realised. He'd rather that than nothing at all.

"Hao!" Hanbin called out then, against his better judgement. The bard had paused almost immediately, turning to look back at Hanbin. There was no smile—only an expression schooled into practised neutrality, silently waiting for Hanbin to continue.

"Will you return?" Hanbin asked, voice quiet and subtly restrained. Almost as if he'd been afraid of the answer.

A ghost of a smile had formed right upon Hao's features—if Hanbin had not been so entirely focused on the man, or if he had not been so accustomed to even the smallest shifts in Hao's expressions, he'd have missed it.

"I always will, Hanbin."

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

The world was quiet today.

The falling snow was perhaps the reason why—there were gaps of silence where nature used to sing in the warmer days. Hanbin did not mind the colder days, though, when he could sink into the comfortable warmth of his blanket with the fireplace blazing and warming the cottage up. Food could wait until later when he felt less tired, and when his stomach started to protest. Until then, though, Hanbin simply curled up in bed, ears twitching gently as he got more comfortable.

It was inevitable, but the crackle of his fireplace had reminded him of Hao. The bard seemed to exist in every corner of his cottage now, from the way the trinkets still lay displayed in the small space, all the way to how Hanbin had not been quite able to put away the items that Hao used in the month he was here. It was a glorified torture technique Hanbin had thought up all by himself, and one that he willingly subject himself to.

Hanbin could not help but think about the last time they met—where he had more or less thrown a tantrum, quietly lashing out because there was so much hurt in his system that he could not quite comprehend beyond blindly letting it out. Hao was calm through it all, gently telling Hanbin that he would return if the hybrid had wanted him to. Hanbin wished fervently that he could have been somewhat like Hao. What would it have been like to be able to keep his emotions in check? Hanbin was a hot mess and then some, and he spent the days in Hao's absence pining for the bard again, even though he was afraid that this would eventually end in heartbreak once more.

Was it wrong for him to want Hao to stay? Hanbin asked himself that question multiple times, but found that there was truly no answer to his dilemma. He had liked when Hao was happy, and he also wanted to believe that Hao was indeed happy in the time he spent here while recuperating and getting healthier. It was just hard to accept that as the truth when Hao had always looked towards the skies and the horizon with such yearning that Hanbin felt as if he was placing a cage around Hao, who sought only freedom.

He was also not blind. Hanbin could see the smile that would perpetually be on Hao's face whenever he visited, singing about a new town he had gone to in his absence. It hurt Hanbin, but he also knew that he was unable to provide that sort of happiness to Hao.

The man must have grown tired. Hanbin knew he would have, if he had to deal with him—maybe the demons from his past were right, too. Hanbin was close to nothing, useless if not for the prestige of his lineage. Still…

Hanbin's lower lip quivered subtly as he came to terms with the truths he arrived at in his bout of self-loathing. And yet, even in all his sadness, all he could think of was how much simpler it'd have been if Hao was here to share the heaviness he felt in his heart. Hao would gently wish it away with a sweet song and gentle pets to Hanbin's head that would calm him down without fail.

Hanbin missed Hao. It was a reality he lived with, a sadness that lingered in every breath he took, eyes brimming with tears as he remained buried underneath his blanket, ears pressed to the top of his head, and tail wrapped around his body in a futile attempt to soothe himself. Another lonely day, which Hanbin thought he could have lived with. And which he did, until Hao had inevitably come into his life, their paths crossing with one another so gently that Hanbin wanted nothing but for them to keep crossing again, and again, and again, until they would eventually converge.

"Hanbin?"

A single utterance of his name in an all-too-familiar sweet voice. Hanbin supposed he was starting to hear things, from how much he missed Hao. He choked back on a soft sob, and curled back into himself even more.

"Hanbin! Please open the door, lest you wish a bard half-frozen than thawed!"

… Hao?

Hanbin quickly shot up from his bed. His head had whipped around to seek the source of the voice, for it had not stemmed from the direction of the door. Where… could Hao have been? Or was he imagining an entire scenario that did not exist?

The answer was quickly evident when his eyes caught sight of a man by the window. It caused him to jump lightly in surprise, a soft gasp leaving his parted lips as his hand clutched at the fabric of his shirt right where his heart would have been.

Hao. By the window. Shivering as if he had been out there for way too long in this weather, especially with how badly the man actually was when it came to his tolerance for the cold.

Hanbin knew what he had to do, of course. He knew he should have told Hao to go around to the entrance so he could let the man in. That he needed to bring Hao into the warmth of his cottage that had inevitably become Hao's too, whether the bard had wanted it or not. He knew what he needed to do, but the only thing he ended up doing was pulling the latch to the window open, the frigid air all at once spilling into his room, causing a shudder to run down Hanbin's spine.

"Hanbin? What are you—"

Hanbin did not let Hao finish his words before he leaned out of the window, throwing his arms around the bard's shoulders and pulling him into a tight hug as he sobbed. The tears that he tried so hard to keep to himself had begun to fall tirelessly, almost as if a dam had broken, as he hugged Hao's cold body to his own, his warm cheek pressed against Hao's much colder one. Hanbin cried, because he missed Hao so much, and he cried even more because Hao somehow always managed to appear whenever Hanbin had missed him most. Was the bard magical, too, and was he skillfully hiding that part of himself away?

"Oh, Hanbin," Hao whispered.

Hanbin could feel the bard melt into the embrace, too. The cold arms that wrapped around Hanbin were so much warmer than what his fireplace could ever hope to provide. Within Hao's arms, Hanbin could feel how warm his insides felt, happy and finally at ease, just because the bard was there.

"I missed you," Hanbin admitted softly, words muffled against Hao's neck. "I missed you and I don't know what to do without you anymore, Hao."

Hanbin had tightened his arms around Hao, uncaring if his calves started to burn from the strain. He needed Hao to know this much, and at least pour his heart out the best he could before he ended up regretting it again. There, when the snow flurried and drifted into the open window, Hanbin had confessed it all.

"I love you, Hao. And I don't want to hate the fact that I do. I miss you when you're not here, and I miss you even when you are," Hanbin continued, tears trickling down his flushed cheeks, where Hanbin had entirely been unable to control them. He didn't want to, either way—he wanted to be honest, to bare his heart out in its entirety for Hao to take.

"I know why I was so upset back then," he admitted, just as Hao's hand gently pressed on the back of his head, as if soothing him. Hanbin's heart ached, but not in a way where it had been out of sadness, no—it was all of his yearning condensed into one teary confession, and the reaction to the gentleness he received from the bard as he held him close, despite the uncomfortable position. Despite it all.

"It was because I loved you, and I was hoping I was enough for you to stay. Please, tell me I'm enough for you to stay," Hanbin begged, pulling back with tears in his eyes as he looked at Hao. It was unfair just how beautiful the bard looked even though he was teary-eyed too, the tip of his nose reddened. Whether from the cold, or from Hao's own emotions, Hanbin did not know.

All he wanted to know was whether Hao had felt the same.

"Hanbin," Hao called out softly. There was a smile that soon appeared on Hao's features as his gloved hand cupped at Hanbin's cheek. The hybrid could not help but lean into it, aching for the affection he felt as if he had been deprived of in the days they were not together.

"I always believed that there was no need to rush into things," the bard admitted, "But I rushed into falling in love with you."

When their eyes met, Hao was smiling.

Although Hanbin was crying, the bard had still managed to smile, though there was something admittedly quite pained in his features as he did so. Hanbin wished Hao would let him in—to tell him of the pain that he felt, rather than handling it all on his lonesome. He knew the bard was strong. It was people like Hao, who would leave a comfortable place in search of his own meaning in life, that had been incredibly strong in Hanbin's eyes. But in those eyes that he had seen, filled with conviction, Hanbin also witnessed pain, flashing by so quickly that he almost missed it.

"I wish I could tell you I can stay," Hao replied, causing Hanbin's heart to fall from his words alone. Even after all this, Hao had not wanted to stay. Hao could not stay. Hanbin pulled back, saddened, because even in their love, it had not been enough.

Except he could not pull back too much at all. Hao's arms curled around him tightly in a fierce embrace, keeping Hanbin locked there, as if Hao was adamant on keeping him there until he had finished saying his piece, the way Hanbin had done so the other way around just moments ago.

"In the future, I dream of settling with you. I thought it impossible that my dream would change, but alas, Hanbin—the sweetest version of my dream starts, and ends, with you. I too ache to be with you, and I worry whenever I do not see you, Hanbin. My heart sings a tune just for you," Hao confessed, a wet bout of laughter leaving his parted lips as trembling arms held Hanbin tighter, almost as if he'd been afraid that Hanbin would just slip right through his arms.

"For now, I still want to chase my dreams of exploring all the towns my feet can carry me. Even though I have once daydreamed about you joining  me on the journey and oh, how I long for you to do so—I know you wish to stay. But, can I be selfish, Hanbin?" Hao asked then, his voice a mere whisper. "Allow me to go, and return to you when my heart aches for yours. Wait for me, but I promise, not for long."

There Hao went, stupidly eloquent once more. His words were what had swayed Hanbin, and his words continued to be what Hanbin would relent for. With a soft sniffle, he nodded his head as he dreamt of a 'tomorrow' where they would finally be together. Hanbin wished he was stronger, too.

If he had followed along with Hao on his travels, would the ache in his heart lessen? Although that was a possibility he had toyed with, time and time again, Hanbin knew the answer all too well himself—he would not be happy. Moving around would cause him too much distress, and Hao knew that of Hanbin even without the hybrid having to admit it.

At the end of the day, Hao had known him well. Hao had cared about him more than words could say, and had always respected his decision to stay while he went through all the effort to travel all by himself, possibly taking so many detours just so he could spend some time with Hanbin. He saw it now—how selfish he had been, and yet, Hao had entertained it all. Loved him through it all, too.

"I'm sorry, Hao," he whispered softly, sniffling as more tears stung in his eyes and slipped out before he knew it. "I'm sorry for how selfish I've been, too. I will wait for you. Like I've done. Like I always will do. And when you come back for the last time, I will welcome you with open arms."

Hao had smiled then, both hands coming to cup at Hanbin's cheeks. Hanbin felt the cool leather warming against his flesh, and felt, all the more, Hao leaning in slowly and quietly. Hanbin's lips parted the same time his eyes squeezed shut, almost as if his subconscious had been fully aware of what was going to happen and had been too shy to witness it. A kiss? Maybe. Hanbin wasn't going to begin admitting that he wanted it, though.

The seconds ticked by tortuously slowly, almost as if it had been frozen in the frigid winter air. Hanbin was prepared for it—the first contact of Hao's plush lips upon his own, the same sweet pink pair that he had dreamt of kissing for the longest time. The way he believed it would taste exactly like the sweet jasmine Hao smelled like.

He's ready, Hanbin believed.

"Achoo!"

Hanbin had gasped, jolting back in surprise from the sudden sneeze. Then, as realisation struck him, the hybrid could not help but laugh brightly in response as the bard's cheeks turned redder—both from the cold, and the embarrassment, no doubt. Hanbin wasn't sure just how much more love he could feel towards the man, his heart swelling with the affection he possessed for the bard almost helplessly. How was he ever supposed to cope with the love he felt inside of him?

"If I wasn't stuck in the cold, I'd already have succeeded in my pursuit," Hao mumbled, his lower lip jutting out to form into the smallest of pouts. It was then that Hanbin realised their current situation. His eyes widened, gasping and pushing Hao back the same time he settled back properly onto his feet.

"I'm sorry! I'll meet you at the door," Hanbin replied, shutting the window without waiting for a response from Hao. His hurried footsteps sounded loudly in the cottage, as opposed to his usual silent ones, Hanbin's impatience causing him to lose control of himself. Not when he finally had Hao to himself, in a way where he knew it was true even if they were apart.

The door was flung open quickly enough. Hanbin had beat Hao there, but the moment Hao had appeared, Hanbin did not hesitate to tug him in, arms quickly curled around Hao, as he let the door slam shut. Hanbin wasted no time to connect his lips to Hao's own with a soft smile faint upon his features, exactly the way he had wanted to do for months. Hanbin could hear faint laughter from the bard, but the same gentle kiss was returned.

Hanbin had always imagined what it'd be like. Would his heart threaten to beat right out of his chest, overwhelmed by the sensation of finally being this close and intimate with the man he loved so dearly? Instead of that, however, all he felt was calm. It was quiet—there had been no sounds he had to listen to to look out for danger, wrapped within the cocoon of Hao's warmth and the bard's lips on his own. Hanbin felt safe. Warm.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

How long had it been since their lips first met? Hanbin had not a single idea, but when he pulled away, there was a smile spread across his features. It was one that caused his cheeks to ache, but it mattered little, not when his heart seemed to leap and soar. Hanbin felt like he was flying, even if he was anchored within Hao's arms.

"You've always looked so adorable," Hao murmured, gently brushing his gloved thumb over Hanbin's cheeks, causing the hybrid to lean in without much additional thought. "Especially when you smile. Your dimples—they resemble a feline's whiskers."

Hanbin blinked a little then, head tipped subtly to the side.

"Hao, I am a cat…"

"That's— that's not the point. Anyways." Hao cleared his throat right after, causing Hanbin to burst into soft laughter as he hugged the man once more, nuzzling his face against the smooth slope of the bard's neck with a smile. "The point is, I'm… home."

Home.

To hear this single word uttered by Hao, as the two of them hugged each other, had been far better than Hanbin thought it would have been. Even the sweetest of his daydreams had not prepared Hanbin for the happiness that he felt in that single moment. If he hadn't been soaring earlier on, then he would be right now, all as he excitedly nodded against Hao's skin, causing the bard to laugh.

"That tickles, Hanbin…"

All Hanbin did was laugh and continue doing it, whilst his hands gently peeled off the layers of the bard's winter clothes, allowing them to drop to the ground in faint thuds. Laughter seemed to follow them, all the way as they waddled into the room, where they fell together onto the plush bed.

"You have no idea how many times I wanted to come in when you were sleeping here," Hanbin whispered, nudging Hao to lay properly before he found home in his bed, too, hugging Hao close to his body, his face pressed against Hao's shoulder. This, too, was so incredibly natural that it felt like breathing for Hanbin. His ears twitched in their happiness, tail coming to curl around Hao's waist, as if to keep the bard close.

"I dreamt of times like this, Hao. When we could hold each other close."

Hao's hand came to rest on the back of Hanbin's head again, blunt nails gently scratching against his scalp. It caused the hybrid to purr against his wishes, but when he had been this happy, there was nothing that could stop him from expressing it—his furry ears be damned, too.

"And when I could say—"

"I love you? Me too, Hanbin."

"You know me so well," Hanbin whispered, words laced with adoration and affection alike.

If it was possible, he'd hang all the stars in the sky for Hao wherever he liked them—and they would look at the constellations together, hand in hand, laid upon the grass when the days were warmer. For now, though, they would cosy up in the bedroom together, tucked in each other's warmth, with Hanbin unable to stop his own soft purring when Hao's hands were so wondrous—one scratching gently at his scalp, the other gently rubbing at the base of his tail. He could not even recall a time where he felt this relaxed, this… loved. And of course, Hanbin had found it in a man who had his heart since the moment their eyes first met.

Time seemed to blend into a sweet mix of soft confessions and gentle touches, where Hao was Hanbin's, and Hanbin was Hao's. And for the first time, like how they both had wished for the longest time, they were now falling asleep peacefully beside one another, heartbeats synced in the same gentle rhythm—of love, of patience, and of understanding.

Hanbin loved Hao easily, and perhaps the hardest thing about it all was just how hard he had tried to deny himself of this for the longest time.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

When morning rolled about, the bed beside Hanbin was warm and moved lightly. As he opened his eyes, he was greeted with the prettiest sight of all—Hao, laid in his bed, arms still wrapped securely around Hanbin the way his arms were wrapped around the bard, too. His lips were so pretty—pink, plump, and subtly parted—and Hanbin could not help but lean in to gently press the softest kiss upon them. It seemed enough to cause the bard to lightly stir, the softest whines leaving his parted lips before he tugged Hanbin closer, pressing the laughing hybrid gently into his chest.

"It's too early," Hao mumbled, voice muffled against the top of Hanbin's head.

For the first time, he had woken up with Hao still here, in his arms. It was far from a dream he dreamt, and nothing like the reality that he thought would happen—waking up to a cold bed, with Hao nowhere to be seen. This reality was what he loved living in, and although Hanbin knew that there would come a time where Hao would leave once more, there was this comfort that he would soon choose to return home.

Home, to Hanbin.

Hanbin smiled, gently pressing his hand upon Hao's chest, where he could feel the faintly beating heart of his lover—of a man he could not help but love, and would be willing to wait for, again, and again, and again.

For now, Hao was here. That was all that mattered.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss against Hao's chest then.

"Welcome home, my heart," Hanbin whispered, voice dripping with affection.

A soft rustling. The blanket was soon pulled over their bodies by Hao, tucking them into the warmth once more.

"It's good to be home."