Chapter Text
“Music is the thousandth of a millisecond between one note and another; how you get from one to the other—that's where the music is.”
Hao had carved those words on his mind, his heart, his soul. He has worn them on his sleeves, a noble reminder of how the concept of music has not only shaped his talents but his life philosophy too.
The notes uttered by his violin aren’t enough to make music really come alive, no. It all gains significance in the transition from one notehead to the other. The tiniest of journeys that creates harmony. The gaps present between the strings of dotted black ink on pages.
Hao bridges the gaps with innate fluidity, with flicks of the wrist that cause the corners of his lips to twitch in content while playing, masterful fingers dancing across the strings at each shift.
Just like with his violin, he easily learns how connecting with other people takes the same kind of effort—he pays attention to emotions, he speaks to create a pattern solid enough to connect the notes, he uses music to love, and love becomes one with his artistry.
The moment he dares to believe he has become the conductor of his own orchestra, the controller of all feelings, the music sheets that represent his life start creating a frenzied melody. One that loses tune and turns into a wild mystery, that morphs into warm touches grazing claws, soft hushes hiding snarls, and delicate secrets dripping from fangs.
Hao finds himself perched on the borderline of light and shadow, between one note and the other, teetering on the threshold of rationality. Only then he discovers what it really means to care for someone so deeply you consider taking a leap from the edge as long as they'll fall with you.
And sitting by his side, fingers brushing against his own, eyes chasing notes between them, there is Hanbin—waiting for Hao to unravel the threads of their untold love.
The hand around the leather handle tightens when Hao steps outside the building. The faintest hint of fog seems to infiltrate between every free gap it can find—the few students walking around with umbrellas covering their bodies, the ones making a run for it, the branches hovering over wet cobblestone.
Hao takes a deep breath, head moving left and right inquisitively while he scoots aside the enormous porch made of stone to let a small group of students pass by.
With the case securely held by one hand, he tries his very best to open up his dark umbrella with the fingers of his free one. Struggling, of course, he helps himself with a snap movement of his chin, sliding the umbrella open.
His phone is busy buzzing in the pocket of the coat he's wearing, thick wool layer not enough to mask the vibrating and thin bell sound that his pocket emits.
Taerae, probably. He's set on knowing every little thing that happens in Hao's life since they won't be roommates anymore and his phone has been vibrating and emitting little noises since he has been out of class.
“I never thought this day would come,” his friend had told him in a hug the day he had left what had been their shared home for two years. “You’re leaving me for rich pricks and a one-time-only offer for the best music program ever. How dare you?”
Hao had laughed in the arms of his shorter friend and slapped his arm jokingly, a tinge of sadness still trying to evade through the cracks of his tough exterior.
Launched in this adventure, navigating through a maze of new walls he doesn't recognize yet, tinted with dark tones and scattered with music notes that paint yet-to-be-discovered sheets, Hao hopes to find a new self. Or maybe grow his old version of himself, learn, and change.
He's wildly optimistic, for some reason.
Probably an eerie one, he thinks as his long legs testingly descend one more stone stair of the building, eyes peeled on the spacious square of the campus where different paths spread.
He's supposed to walk straight ahead to his small but cozy apartment not too far away from the academy, since it is part of a boarding house. Hao’s plan was to move free of distractions to the bigger street that connects the school property to the bridge arched over the river flowing through the city's heart. Clutch his case closely to his body as the rain kept washing over his portion of the world and get himself home—that's all that was supposed to happen.
But the rain-slicked cobblestones begin to be less steady, his heart stops in time, and the droplets of blackened clouds fall a bit slower when Hao sees him.
He sees him because all around Hao students run against the wetness, feet moving unearthly fast to enter the academy, laughs and words echo around campus, and the idea of chaos seems normal.
Not him, not the tall man slowly walking under the rain. With black hair only darkening and a white shirt damping more and more at the lethargic pace.
Standing a bit further away, Hao bites his bottom lip in contemplation—at the very start of the thin strip of road that takes him to the bridge, to his apartment. His eyes are still set on the stranger patiently walking away, slender legs wrapped in blue jeans alternating in what almost looks like a dance.
He stares at his back, the back of this man where lines of muscles play hide-and-seek with him through the wet material of the shirt, and the shadow of a thin waist, too.
Not sure what convincing voice in his head orders him to, but Hao’s plans change drastically in a split second. He turns on his heels and splashes water by marching on crystal puddles mirroring his body not too long ago.
He meets him in the reflection of one of those earthly pools—Hao hovering his own umbrella over the other man and the stranger stopping in his steps to turn around.
In Hao's portion of the world, the one after their eyes locked for the very first time, it never rained ever again.
Hao hopes the umbrella is enough to cover both their bodies, or at least to protect the other from the annoying drizzle.
The stranger stares back with dark, thick eyebrows set in a frown. “Hi,” he says, with a visibly confused expression on.
“I just,” he's already trying to defend his actions. At least save his position and attempt and not make him look like the weirdest person this man—this beautiful, beautiful man—will ever meet. “I just saw you without an umbrella and thought you might need one.”
He feels idiotic now, Hao. He stands with an umbrella that is not able to save either of them from the rain and with a student, or who Hao thinks is one, who is petrified and silently inspecting him with curious eyes.
A tiny smile appears. Pink lips strain so that a set of white pearls can show themselves to Hao, and how can he not feel the Earth tremble under his own very feet at the sight?
The stranger does not only have a beautiful appearance, but the way he politely cocks his head to shake it in refusal makes him even more attractive. “I don't.”
At that, Hao frowns deeply. “It's raining.”
“Yes, I can tell,” the other man replies with what sounds like slight amusement. “I still don't need it. Please, cover yourself.”
Pushing the handle away, the man gently makes it so that Hao's umbrella entirely hovers over him again. It’s instinct when he takes a peek at the long, pretty fingers that stretch around his hand, a warmth he’s never felt before in his life kindly enveloping his skin.
“But you're wearing just a shirt.” Now, Hao thinks of himself as something exceeding the standard definition of idiotic.
Hao is dumb and stupid and a cretin, even, for parroting such obvious statements to the handsome student who still remains… Stoic, he wants to say.
He sees the warmth behind the politeness, Hao does. It doesn't cancel out a lurking double-edged sword that he probably doesn't know about but makes itself known from time to time.
Nonetheless, the stranger is still wearing only a white shirt, the thin material barely protecting him from the cold and rain.
Forcing himself to not stare shamelessly, Hao quickly acknowledges the nice sight of the man's physique. So similar to Hao's, in height too, but with exposed forearms that are traveled by blue, veiny trails and the muscles of his broad shoulders flexing under the wet fabric.
“Thank you, either way,” the student tells him when Hao stays quiet for some time. “I’m used to the weather by now.”
“To this?” Hao gasps, looking around to point at everything surrounding them—the gloomy, angry clouds spewing rain since this morning, mostly. “How?”
The other man seemingly pushes the umbrella even more toward Hao. He notices, still, and he suddenly feels shy. An emotion that doesn't normally belong to Hao.
“I've never seen you around before.”
The fact makes Hao nod, lips pursing, and the weight of the case in his other hand makes itself known. So he raises it to show the student his instrument. “New violin student.”
“Solo performance?”
“Orchestral.”
“You?”
“Piano.”
“Oh.”
The student hums positively, checking the object in Hao's hand and then going back to locking their eyes together.
Hao likes them, too. He keeps adding small details to like about this mysterious figure that he has approached, and it really should have been the first alarming notion for Hao.
Analyzing, yes. Hao scans the people he engages with almost mechanically—he is interested in knowing what people think, how, and why their life has brought them to Hao's. He studies them like he does with a new violin piece he has to get familiar with.
But fixating and showering with attention the smallest of details because someone genuinely moves him that much? This… This is definitely new for him.
“I'm Zhang Hao.”
The student baths Hao in attention, too. His eyelids raise and lower to study him before he nods, the thinnest rays of chocolate brown locks reveal themselves behind the wet, dark hair.
“Sung Hanbin, it's very nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Hao concurs. “Are you going to take the umbrella now?”
The other laughs, and Hao sees a few water drops join the rain as they drip from the man's hair. “I'm really fine,” he reiterates, but Hao wants to rebut again before he's stopped.
“When did you get here?”
“Here, as in the academy?”
The man nods.
Hao stops for a second and looks at the inside of his umbrella. “A few weeks ago?”
“It feels like you're asking me.” God, the smile he's being flashed with should be worthy of making new poems come to life.
He thinks he's being teased. “I was just thinking about it,” he purses his lips and raises an eyebrow. “For someone who's taking his time to walk under the rain, you sure are impatient.”
The student, Hanbin, closes his eyes shortly. “I apologize.”
A tickling drop of water falls between his fingers around the handle of his case, and Hao is reminded of the reality of the situation.
“I will let you go now, you're getting soaked,” Hao points with his chin at the man's shoulders and the wet locks of hair.
Sung Hanbin smiles warmly. “I hope I see you again soon, Zhang Hao.”
He really hopes so, too. The words are not spoken, however, and Hao only nods, reciprocating the kind smile.
Hao is the first one to slowly back away; a small smile scrunches his face, and he turns his back on the stranger to scamper off. The sleeves of his coat are a bit damp, a bothering feeling tickling his thin wrists, but he ignores it and keeps going.
He wants to circle around, twist his body so that he can look at the man again—an urge that surprises him and one that gets squished down immediately the further he gets.
Trying to focus on something else, anything else, he goes down the immense stone staircase that hosts iron lampposts along its side, which is a touch Hao has found romantically haunting since first climbing the flight of stairs.
On the bridge, too, with the rain hitting him much easier without the protection of sturdy buildings towering over him.
He stomps on the sidewalk to get rid of the dirty soil under his shoes, and even then, with a secretive quick dart of the eyes, Hao turns his back to meet the powerful and tall architecture peaks of the academy. The courtyard is basically invisible from where he stands, halfway through the time-worn bridge, but he wishes for one split second to be able to see behind the granite boundary confining the school and reach…
Hao shakes his head, shocked at how the stranger he just met is still residing in his thoughts.
Sung Hanbin.
He’s not able to escape even once he gets home, into the old but well-maintained building that hosts many rooms and lively evenings with students buzzing like busy bees along the endless hallways.
It’s been challenging to adapt to the weather, to the empty dorm too spacious for one person, to the windy nights lapping at the small windows of his new house, the always-present faint scent of oak and spices around every corner. Hao is not used to the echoing of his own thoughts, the vacant feeling of having someone live with him is enormous, but he gives himself courage and lives his days with purpose.
Taerae thought Hao needed saving when he called him one morning, pouting so hard his friend could feel it through the phone, and told him he felt alone. Hao had tried to reassure him, albeit with little avail.
Taerae then kept him on the phone for hours while Hao cleaned the entirety of the dorm—scrubbed and polished the worn hardwood floors, got rid of the scary amount of spiderwebs creeping at the corners of every room, dusted off the long, dark curtains draping from thick iron rods, and…
When he had sat down on the big, leather couch in the square living room with a pillow on his lap and the phone against his ear, Hao had admitted that nothing had changed.
Taerae had howled in a laugh, making fun of him for cleaning an already clean dorm, but it really made him feel better, in a weird way. Like he had taken back a bit of control over this new life.
He felt better after that call, his humor high enough that it let him shop for small things to decorate the apartment with—things he really hoped his roommate would like.
Ah, the roommate.
Hao stares at the tiny pool his umbrella has made by the door of his house. From the chair he’s sitting on around the table in the kitchen, the rainwater reflects the light from the few lamps around the house. All the yellow, dim hues shine on the wet surface, and they create little drawings of wood curves and yellow dots.
The roommate that was supposed to be here with him by now but had postponed his arrival for mysterious reasons he doesn’t have the privilege to know. He sighs, taking a sip of hot coffee from the white mug he took from back home, a warm reminder during the cold times.
In a flash, at the very second it takes him to blink, the face of someone pops up in his head, and he’s shockingly blinking at the umbrella on the floor.
Dark hair, kind smile, beautiful hands that felt warmer than home on his skin.
Hao has to gulp down the random image just like he’s doing with the coffee. He forces himself to swallow loudly and leave the kitchen—dirty mug on the chipped wooden table and his slippers under the chair with wobbling legs—to cross the living room and jump on the bed in his own dimly lit room with a loud exhale.
The softness of his mattress offers some relief from how thorny and dangerous the places his mind is taking him are.
All Hao wishes for is to concentrate on his music, study and study, and practice until his bones are jelly and his head free of all distractions.
He won't let anyone get in his way; he even whispers the words in the empty room before another unpredictable vision of the student he had met hours earlier comes rushing in again.
The solution is for him to yell a muffled scream into his fluffy pillow and cover his head with both hands.
This is not going to be easy.
Baader-Meinhof phenomenon, or frequency illusion—this is what Hao learns is happening to him.
Something new, a fresh fact you learn, or a new person you meet that you start noticing more and more often after the first encounter.
In Hao's case, it isn't a word or a song. It is Sung Hanbin.
Since meeting Sung Hanbin, the man with pretty fingers and deep eyes that could metaphorically bring Hao to life—perhaps even practically if they both concentrated hard enough—Hao has begun to see the man everywhere.
At a distance, when he crosses streets on campus and has to wait for the traffic light to turn green. Moments before he enters a building, he catches glimpses of jet-black, shiny hair or leather hanging from the man's shoulder.
When Hao is waiting for his morning coffee, he clearly sees Hanbin pass by the street from the big, glassed windows of the café. There are more moments, merely a couple weeks after they first meet, and Hao tries his very best to not turn it into a big deal.
In his bed, one evening with music sheets spread on his bed to paint the messiest of paintings, he reads about the phenomenon with the long name, and then come the other articles that mention how fate and the universe sometimes work together to make everything possible.
He has to call Taerae at that.
Struggling to put together all the sheets in an ordinary manner and also tug at his duvet to free himself from the soft serpent, Hao finds his friend’s name on the phone screen and presses on it.
A familiar ringing tone starts, and Hao huffs and puffs after the effort it took him to get comfortable.
“It's too late for you to casually call me.” The voice is low, and it immediately consoles him.
“Taerae,” Hao drawls out in a big whine, head sinking between his pillows and the couple of stuffed animals he keeps on his bed. “I'm going crazy.”
Hao hears some shuffling, probably his friend changing position, and a short cough. "What's wrong? Are you already missing me?”
“Shut up,” he mumbles. “I do, but shut up.”
“Tell me everything.” Taerae sighs on the phone, and Hao plays with the head label of one of the plushies as he thinks on how to share with the other what's happening to him. “You're taking too much time.”
Hao is feeling grim. “I met someone.”
“You—you what?” Taerae’s voice is not as throaty anymore. “Like went on a date?”
“God, no!” he quips. “I just…”
“You're scaring me.”
“I met this student a few weeks ago, maybe two.” He hates how ashamed he sounds. “In the academy's courtyard.”
“Okay,” Taerae temptingly pushes him to continue.
Hao kicks his duvet from the sheer embarrassment he feels. “I don't know how to say it without sounding crazy.”
Taerae is munching on something crunchy when he hums, another signal for Hao to keep going.
“We only talked once, that's all,” he gulps. “Very small conversation, like two minutes tops, but it felt like hours.”
“Was he hot?”
“Kim Taerae!” Hao scolds him. “That's the first thing you ask?”
Hearing the sentence out loud makes him sigh. Of course it is.
“You diverting the question tells me everything I need to know.”
“He is incredibly attractive,” Hao rolls his eyes, hoping that Taerae can feel it through the device and the distance. “Whatever.”
Taerae laughs clamorously in his ear. “Okay, so you talked to a beautiful man. How is this stressing you out exactly?”
Hao tugs at the little white label and bites the inside of his bottom lip in contempt. “I see him everywhere now, and I mean everywhere,” he stresses with gravity.
“Well, I hope you're getting to know him.”
“Have you gone insane?”
“Why?”
“You want me to actively talk to him?”
Taerae stays quiet, and it gives Hao all the time to smash his head on the fluffiest pillow on the bed as punishment for making this call.
“You are shameless,” Taerae states dryly. “You've had men follow you around for months in hopes of getting your attention and ignored them all entirely just because. Why are you acting shy all of a sudden?”
“I don't know,” he half-yells and whispers. “I have no idea. He is just constantly terrorizing me.”
“Wait,” some noise comes through the phone. “Wait, wait. Is he stalking you or something?”
“What?”
“What do you mean by terrorizing you?” Taerae sounds genuinely concerned, and Hao has to physically shake his head.
“No, no,” he wants to giggle at the misunderstanding. “I mean that he's all I've been able to think about ever since meeting him.”
“But you don't know him,” Taerae comes to the conclusion. “That's what is freaking you out?”
“It's more complicated,” Hao outright whimpers. “He's so pretty, and the way he speaks is so gentle, and it's like there's this sort of—” He waves his hands around, straightening his back enough to allow him to move. “Of magnetism between us that keeps sucking me in every time I see him.”
Some silence follows suit; Taerae is still eating some unrecognizable crunchy food, and Hao is now sitting up on his bed, wincing at the noise of paper scrunching all around him.
“Hao,” Taerae exclaims. “Talk to him.”
In response, he grunts.
“It's really that easy. Engage in conversation, stop him in the street and talk, or do something if you're so attracted to him. You're the spontaneous one between the two of us, it's insane that I'm the one giving you this advice."
“It's not that easy with him,” Hao throws a fit. “I would normally already be asking for his phone number, but…”
“But,” Hao knows Taerae is rolling his eyes.
He starts biting the skin around the nail of his thumb. “I don't know. I can't explain it. It makes me nervous just thinking about it.”
“Get over it.”
“I'm going to hang up now,” he bites back.
“Hang up, get over it, and go talk to the man. He's probably waiting for you to make a move.”
“Why would he?” He's exasperated.
Taerae snickers behind the phone. “I'm just trying to make you feel better, dummy.”
“I hate you,” Hao hisses. “Goodnight.”
He doesn't wait for Taerae to reply; waves of laughter get to him before he hangs up, so he knows his friend will be just fine.
His situation isn't better—what worries Hao now is how different Sung Hanbin makes him act when compared to his normal self and the ways he can either finally talk to the pianist or try his best to ignore him.
It is quite fitting, after spending days on end waiting for when Sung Hanbin would pop out, for Hao’s very first friend in the academy to be him.
Hao meets Kim Gyuvin while being neck deep inside the basket of his laundry, fighting against a worthy opponent: a white sock he cannot, for the love of God, pair to its twin that might probably be forever lost.
There's no knock on his door, Hao is sure of that. His apartment is spacious but not that big for a simple knock to be missed by his constantly alert ears.
Hao is busy searching tiny clothing items and holding a specific white shirt under his nose to smell if it should be washed or not when something pokes at his right shoulder and his soul leaves his body.
It leaves his body accompanied by a squeaky scream, not remotely delicate or poised, as his back turns around and he falls on the small pile of dirty clothes on the floor.
A hand clutches at his heart through his sweater when he sees a tall, tall boy standing in front of him, in his bedroom, staring from up high with round, dark eyes.
“I'm so sorry!”
“Oh, my God,” Hao can't take one single, deep breath without air catching in his throat and threatening to choke him. “Who are you?”
“I'm Gyuvin.” The boy shakes his big hands between them before he slaps them together in an apologetic gesture. “Kim Gyuvin, your roommate. I'm so sorry, I thought you knew I was coming today. You're Zhang Hao, right? Isn't this apartment thirty-four?”
He can't make sense of anything right now, and something is tickling his neck so he shuffles to take off whatever it is draped around his nape. “How do I know it is really you?”
His eyes roll when he sees the damned white sock between his fingers.
“I have the keys, and I have all the papers with me if you want to check,” Kim Gyuvin assures him. “You can also call the office and let them tell you all about me. I'm sure they've got a pretty hefty file with my name on it.”
“Okay, okay,” Hao tosses the sock on the floor and then looks at Gyuvin. “Help me get up, will you?”
The boy with black hair moves insanely quickly and hoists him up from the wooden floors like Hao weighs nothing. It shocks him how easily he's on his feet again, but he doesn't comment on it.
“Are you fine?”
“Yes,” Hao sighs, patting down his black sweats and scowling at the new addition to his apartment. “Never do that ever again.”
Gyuvin goes through the apology rite once again. His hands must be bright red by now, Hao thinks, giggling. “I’m truly sorry, I had my keys and got excited about meeting you, and I thought you heard me come in.”
“How in the hell would I—” He inhales and exhales sharply. “Just don’t do it again.”
“Of course,” the other nods vehemently. “I can’t believe you didn’t hear me.”
Hao’s lips part at the boldness. “Do you have a death wish?”
“Sorry, no,” Gyuvin replies, probably understanding what he said wrong. “Never again.”
Hao enjoys the way he makes the eyes of the boy double in size, so round and sparkly. He's walking beside him, head tilting upwards to look at the other’s small face that shows pink, thin cheeks and a sharp jawline.
“I thought you knew about my arrival.” The voice gets tinier as they get to Hao's living room. Well, their living room, now. “It wasn't my intention to scare you.”
“It's okay, I should have probably paid more attention,” Hao tries to giggle to get rid of some of the awkwardness that has naturally taken over their first meeting. “These dorms are so old but somehow deadly silent, too.”
“I know, right!” Gyuvin exclaims like he had been waiting for someone to say the words. “You could kill someone between these walls, and no one would probably notice.”
It's meant to be a joke, Hao is aware. The gloomy remark paired with the whispering of the wind outside the windows in the living room, right behind the couch where they're sitting, and the silence that follows it is not an ideal combination.
Gyuvin lowers his head in defeat. “Sorry, that was not funny at all.”
He laughs, amused by how cute and awkward the boy looks. “You're younger than me, aren't you?” he assumes.
The other pouts. “First year.”
“Oh, God,” Hao takes a pillow and lays it on his lap to rest his arms. “I just started my last year.”
“You're not that old, c’mon now!” Gyuvin presses his lanky arm on the backrest of their couch. “My best friend is also in his last year—speak of the devil,” he excuses himself when the phone in the pocket of his blue jeans starts ringing.
It's an upbeat pop song Hao has heard a few times when scrolling on his phone, but it becomes quite funny to see Gyuvin respond to it.
“Hello, my dearest Hanbin.” The younger boy slips with his body to get more comfortable. “I just got to the dorm.”
The mention isn't that worrying on its own, nor is the little dip his heartbeat suffers from when Hao hears that name uttered in delightful tones.
It could be anyone, Hao tells himself.
“No, I've got some time. Only have a few bags to empty out, and my roommate probably hates me already, so it's better if I leave for a while.”
Hao is shaking his head to mimic disagreement. He doesn't hate the new member of his apartment; quite the opposite.
“It's because you love me, Hanbin, and you can't live without me,” Gyuvin sings songs and brings a little laugh out of Hao too, who watches and, most importantly, listens. His ears might even hurt from the strain of following all the little words being exchanged, something he's not proud of.
The younger man hums at some point. “That's what you get for choosing to play the piano; this happened to you before…”
He misses the rest of the sentence; it evaporates into a speech bubble of nothing that poisons him.
What were the chances of his roommate's best friend being the same Hanbin—the pianist major who has been feeding his thoughts day after day?
“I can ask him.” Gyuvin shuffles on the couch, long arms dipping on the cushions and suddenly turning more to Hao's side. “Are you up for a cup of coffee? My friend is waiting for me at a café not too far from the apartment.”
He darts his eyes from Gyuvin to the phone in his hand, weighing his options.
“I would just like to get to know you better, that's all,” Gyuvin adds, probably noticing his hesitation.
The fingers in his lap play with each other nervously for a bit, but he ends up nodding. “Sure, I would love that.”
The other boy receives the news magnificently—he grins widely and sends numerous amounts of kiss sounds through the microphone of the phone that also tell him the person on the other side is laughing wholeheartedly.
“Get your coat, Hao.” The younger one is jumping off the couch like a spring, slender body inviting him to the entrance of their dorm, where Hao usually keeps his warmer and thicker clothes. “This is going to be so much fun.”
The time needed to leave their building and walk through the labyrinthine trails and roads of the campus is completely filled with Gyuvin talking. The boy is almost animated when he speaks, with big gestures and friendly touches as he half-hugs Hao as if they've known each other for years.
Hao is now aware of Gyuvin's passion, which is composition, and he talks with cute high-pitched noises every word in a while as he explains to him how much excitement he has to start studying. Hao can tell, really.
Then there are a few remarks the boy with joyous manners throws his way that give Hao the chills.
“You're going to love Hanbin! He's smart, he's funny, and he's the best at making new friends.” This sentence is one example.
Or the mysterious “He's—well, we've been dealing with a lot lately, but don't worry, we will treat you like royalty.” that has Hao watching his steps to make sure he doesn't trip on cobblestone paths.
He's a big fan of Kim Gyuvin; this is Hao's assessment when they get to the small coffeehouse nestled inside an old, brown-bricked building.
They enter through the thick wooden door and are immediately enveloped in sweet, honey-like scents mixed with a faint fog that tastes like coffee on his tongue.
Gyuvin is the first one to spot the person he has been looking for, sitting at a table by one of the windows on the left side of the shop.
And Hao wishes he could dig a hole right there and then, without the aid of a tool, no, even with his own nails scraping the grey tiles until he reaches the earth's core and perishes in flames.
He really wishes he could when his eyes set on the figure—on the pretty, oh so pretty, man who is smiling at Gyuvin with a blinding curve of the lips and has his stare looking sweeter than the air in the café.
Damned be this academy and his roommate; it is really Sung Hanbin waiting for him at the table.
Hao is way more shy than Gyuvin when they approach the square table, the surface already holding three cups of what looks like coffee and two plates of pastries.
His knees are weak while Gyuvin and Sung Hanbin greet each other with a warm hug made of arms and giggles that get lost in the air. Hao can clearly tell they're very good friends, and it's somehow a comfortable notion to live with. Maybe he'll meet someone that can give him these emotions, too, while he's at the academy. He sighs, mentally missing Taerae.
“Zhang Hao.”
This is so unfair.
“Hello,” Hao gives the piano student a quick tilt of the head. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Hanbin’s smile falters a little when his eyes land on Hao—he really doesn't want to notice, but he does, and it leaves a dreadful ball of bitterness pushing on his stomach.
“It really is,” Hanbin parrots. “I didn't know you were Gyuvin's roommate.”
“Again?” Gyuvin takes a chair from another table with a few apologies to the clients and returns to them with questioning eyes. “What do you mean again?”
“I had no idea I was going to be his roommate either,” Hao mumbles, sitting on the opposite side of the table from Hanbin.
“Guys, what do you mean with ‘again’? Have you already met each other?”
Hanbin pushes a cup of coffee towards Hao with a smooth motion, pink knuckles against the white porcelain. “You big puppy, stop yelling. Yes, we already met.”
“When?”
He's too busy staring at the cup to even elaborate on what he's been quizzed about.
“A few weeks ago,” Hanbin replies for him. “In the academy's courtyard".”
Hao chuckles. “I see you’re still set on not using coats,” he points out at the very thin layer of fabric covering his upper body—a simple t-shirt that cuts his slender biceps and shows a portion of the defined collarbones. Right between them, Hao discovers a small tattoo that looks as delicate as the lightest vibratos; he sees some kind of sun, with thin black lines and maybe a star and... He grows curious to see more of it, uncover more of the ink, and with it, layers of Sung Hanbin.
“It’s not very cold,” Hanbin comments, and Gyuvin agrees with him. Hao still judges them both for only wearing flimsy t-shirts while he’s wrapped in a warm ball of wool and warmth. “You don't like coffee, do you?”
“Sorry?” His head almost gets stuck between the collar of the coat he's trying to get off his shoulders and the scarf still around his neck. “What?”
“Do you want something else to drink?”
“No, no,” he gulps. “This is good, thank you.”
This is so embarrassing he wants to hide under the table or maybe bolt through the window by his left and leave a Hao-shaped silhouette on the glass like he was a character from an old cartoon. He was so sure he had hidden his disgust at the sight of the dark liquid in the cup, but Hanbin must have noticed.
“Is tea more your thing?”
“It seriously is just fine, I'll have this.” Hao is finally free from the shackles of fabric. “Don't worry, please—where are you going?”
Gyuvin chuckles on the right and drags his own cup to the edge of the table. “He's so stubborn.”
“Is he really going to get me something else?” Stupefied, he turns on the chair to stare at Hanbin's back wrapped in nothing but a white t-shirt and a pair of black sweats.
“He is,” Gyuvin affirms. That's Sung Hanbin for you.”
Hao falls in the chair, defeated.
“Actually,” the other lets out a pensive sound. “I don't think—” He's interrupted by the sight of Hanbin coming back to their table already. “Why do you have a whole tray?”
Hanbin appears with a cordial expression on; the pretty lines of his face are relaxed but only tugged between his brows. “I asked for tea, but the waitress started listing all kinds of names, and I had no idea,” he places the silver tray on the table when he sits down again and stares at Hao. “Hot water and all their assortment of tea.”
Hao blinks at the ceramic teapot, from which small clouds of vapor come out, then at the complementary cup placed next to it and the wooden box where many, many packets of different tea blends and flavors are put on display.
“You really didn't have to do this,” Hao bites down the embarrassment. “I could have just taken the coffee. I drink it when I have to.”
“When you have to?” Hanbin frowns, pushing himself closer to the table.
“Lectures and stuff,” he groans in response, politely taking the tray to him so he can start selecting something.
He would drink dirty water after all the trouble Hanbin went through, so it's not like he's paying that much attention to the poetic-sounding names on colorful packets. “When I need the caffeine boost to wake me up or keep me awake.”
“But you don't enjoy the taste,” Hanbin concludes in his place, and Hao lets a smile break free.
“Not my thing, yeah.”
Gyuvin is eyeing the tea himself behind the big cup of coffee, nose buried in it and the fingers of one hand pointing at something in particular. “That one, that one, that's a good one,” he quickly offers his opinion when he sets down the mug.
He's talking about some black tea that offers the refreshing whisper of mint and the tender cuddle of cardamom, which does intrigue him.
“I'm trusting your taste.” Hao picks the black tea advised to him and rips open the paper.
Gyuvin beams happily and stuffs his mouth with a spoonful of what looks like whipped cream, probably from one of the sweets on the table. “I have the best taste, you're going to see.”
A drop of cream flies from Gyuvin's open mouth to somewhere in the space around them, and Hao is genuinely laughing at the cute sight.
He's dipping the teabag in the water and closing the lid of the pot when he glances shortly in front of him.
Hanbin is offering his best friend a few napkins and showering him with a disapproving glare, but Hao can definitely see the real sentiment behind it—how much love there is. “Be careful. You're going to scare Hao away one pastry at a time."
But Hanbin stops looking at Gyuvin at some point and chooses to take a peek at Hao instead.
There's only silence between them, an almost comfortable sense of mutual understanding that takes the form of a quiet interaction where their eyes and furtive smiles make it possible for them to communicate.
Gyuvin is swaying a spoon between them, breaking their short moment and tempting Hanbin with the pastry first, who obliges rather quickly and parts his lips to taste, and then to Hao, but he kindly refuses because he ate lunch not too long ago.
Hanbin doesn't agree with his decision, however. The pianist shakes his head and takes the spoon between his own fingers to move it close to Hao's face. “I will not be suffering his tortures alone anymore. Eat.”
Hao does, in-between laughter and a deeply offended Gyuvin that takes the rest of the sweet treats all to himself. “Ungrateful brats.”
“We're both older than you,” Hao points out, swirling some sugar into his freshly poured tea. Or, the tea that Hanbin has so very gallantly decided to pour for him. “You're the brat here.”
Throughout their little meeting made of silly moments and interesting notions, Hao gets to know about the two incredibly odd men. Hao always catches himself in the act of secretively staring at Hanbin.
The student, who he learns is one year younger than him, is impossible to resist, if Hao has to be honest with himself. He wears a bright and collected energy on his sleeves, with a gentle tone of voice and tiny actions that would probably make Ho sigh endearingly if he didn’t have some dignity left in him.
When Hao shakes his head for the hundredth time at Gyuvin’s antics, Hanbin smiles at him and sends an understanding wince his way. Of course the move is caught by Gyuvin, who whines about their new, secret language he’s not a part of.
It’s strange, the way Hao finds his eyes naturally meeting the ones of the pianist—an instinct he cannot name, an urge he cannot recognize.
And just like that, with the sweet cloud of tea teasing the air and his eyes still fixed on the man in front of him, Sung Hanbin begins to sound and look more and more like Hao’s personal blessing and curse.