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Zhang Hao is at his wits’ end.
It’s 1:47 AM on a Thursday night — well, Friday now — and he knows because he’s been checking his phone obsessively for the past hour, wondering when the bass line from upstairs will stop rattling his ceiling like a misaligned milk pitcher. His Chemistry textbook lies open on his desk, but Zhang Hao hasn’t absorbed a single word because some inconsiderate asshole in room 403 thinks Thursday night is the best time for what sounds like a full-scale rave.
The music pulses through the ceiling in waves, each beat synchronized with the throbbing in Zhang Hao’s temples. He has a lab practical at 8:00 AM, followed by an eight-hour shift at 12:00 PM, and at this rate, he can’t see himself getting any more than three hours of sleep.
As if to mock his struggles, a chorus of loud cheers filters down to his room as the music changes to Shots by LMFAO. Zhang Hao sighs. Maybe three hours was too generous.
When the infamous lines of the song begin to play, accompanied by the chants of dozens of college students, Zhang Hao decides he’s had enough. He slams his textbook shut with enough force to blow a gust of wind through his hair and grabs his keys.
He storms out of his room without even bothering to change out of his pajamas — a soft cotton matching set covered in tiny raccoons that his friend Matthew bought him as a joke for Christmas. Zhang Hao would rather die than admit it, but it’s the best gift he’s ever received.
The hallway is mercifully quiet compared to his room, but he can hear the music increasing in volume as he climbs the stairs, along with the sound of laughter and voices. By the time he reaches 403, his irritation has crystallized into pure, caffeinated fury. He pounds on the door incessantly, the music loud enough that he has to hammer for nearly thirty seconds before it finally swings open.
The man who answers is not what Zhang Hao expected.
He’s tipsy, clearly — with a nearly empty vodka bottle resting against his hip and a steadily growing pink flush dusting his cheeks and ears. He’s dressed in all black, the top buttons of his shirt undone to reveal a celestial tattoo just below his collarbones, one that Zhang Hao’s traitorous eyes immediately flit to. The sun, star, and moon inked onto his chest suit him shockingly well, and Zhang Hao can’t seem to take his eyes off it.
Most strikingly, the man is beautiful, the kind of beautiful that makes Zhang Hao’s brain momentarily short-circuit, all sharp cheekbones and long eyelashes and eyes that seem to sparkle with more than just the hallway’s sterile fluorescents.
Zhang Hao falters for exactly three seconds, his prepared tirade dissolving on his tongue like sugar in hot liquid. Then, as he’s nearly blinded by a laser-like beam from a disco light in the background, he remembers his reason for coming. (Who even brings disco lights to college parties anymore?)
“Are you kidding me right now?” The words come out sharper than intended, pitched high with sleep deprivation and the stress of his exam. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
The man blinks slowly, like he’s still processing Zhang Hao’s presence. His gaze travels from Zhang Hao’s face down to his pajamas, lingering on the raccoon print with what might be amusement.
“It’s Thursday night,” the man says finally, his voice tinged with what sounds like genuine confusion.
“Exactly!” Zhang Hao gestures wildly at the air, as if he can physically grab his frustration and shove it in this stranger’s infuriatingly attractive face. “It’s Thursday night, for god’s sake! You couldn’t have waited for tomorrow? Or the weekend? Some of us have Friday 8:00 AMs, and some of us would like to get some sleep so we don’t fail our labs and destroy our GPAs.”
He’s breathing hard when he finishes, the anger and exhaustion coalescing into something much more passionate than he’d normally have the energy for. He’s not sure exactly what reaction he expects to face, but he’s geared up for the typical entitlement that comes with most college dorm party hosts. He braces himself as the man blinks again in a catlike manner, taking in Zhang Hao’s spiel carefully. What he’s not prepared for is a dazzling smile, so soft and genuine that Zhang Hao flinches in shock.
“Cute,” the man says, his eyes melting into something far too fond for a first meeting. The word hits Zhang Hao like a triple shot of espresso on an empty stomach — intense and dizzying, something akin to heartburn bubbling up in his chest in the form of embarrassment.
“What?” Zhang Hao snaps, not trusting himself to respond with anything other than hostility.
The man seems to shake himself out of it, his expression morphing into what might be genuine guilt. “I’m really sorry,” he apologizes, sounding like he means it. “It’s my best friend’s birthday, and — I mean, that’s no excuse, I didn’t think about Friday morning classes at all … I’ll talk to everyone about keeping it down right now.”
“I …” Zhang Hao starts, then stops. “Really?”
"Really." The man's lips curve into a smile that's small but genuine, and Zhang Hao feels all of the anger deflate out of him instantly. “I like your pajamas,” the man adds.
Heat floods Zhang Hao's face so quickly that he feels dizzy. He glances down at the raccoons scattered across his shirt and pants and wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole.
“They were a gift,” he mumbles.
“Well, they’re cute on you,” the man says. There’s something in his voice — warm and teasing but not mocking — that makes Zhang Hao feel like his stomach could enter the Olympics with how it’s flipping.
And there it is again — cute. Cute, even though he’s wearing raccoon pajamas. Cute, even though his hair is probably sticking up at odd angles, completely in contrast with the stranger’s artfully tousled look. Zhang Hao tries not to freak out.
“I should …” Zhang Hao gestures vaguely towards the stairs, the word cute still bouncing around his skull like an aggressive ping-pong ball.
“Yeah, for sure. Get some sleep.” The man steps back into his room, seamlessly fitting back into the flashing lights and red solo cups. He lingers, just for a moment, not turning his back immediately. "I really will keep it down. Promise."
“Thanks,” Zhang Hao manages, already backing towards the staircase, his heart pounding as he flies down the steps.
Back in his room, the music is noticeably quieter — still audible, but muted enough that he can actually concentrate. Zhang Hao flops onto his bed and stares at his closed door, trying not to replay the interaction in his head but helplessly doing so anyway.
Cute. They look cute on you.
Zhang Hao touches his still-warm cheeks and tells himself the flutter in his stomach is just relief that he can finally study in peace. It has nothing to do with whisker dimples or dark eyes or stunning cosmic tattoos. Zhang Hao wishes, belatedly, that he had gotten the man’s name, wondering what his own name would sound shaped around those pink lips. Wondering if the stranger would have said his name like he was tasting something sweet, in the same cadence with which he called Zhang Hao cute.
Embarrassing, truly — that Zhang Hao gets such little pull that this stranger’s words might just be the highlight of his month — but he can’t seem to mind when exhaustion pulls him under and the words cute, cute, cute, repeat in his dreams like a mantra.
The next morning, he aces his lab.
Zhang Hao thinks that’s the end of it.
His thoughts are plagued by the man for an embarrassing amount of times for the rest of the week, but eventually fade out when Zhang Hao realizes he’s too much of a coward to actually act on them. From time to time, when faint music streams into his room, he entertains the idea of going back up. But true to the man’s words, the noise really does stay down, and Zhang Hao is aware he’d just be an asshole if he complained again.
So, he assumes that’s the end, and tries not to mourn the absence of a future interaction.
Of course, all of that goes down the drain when Sung Hanbin walks into Say Yes! Coffee with a stunning resume and even more stunning smile.
Zhang Hao distinctly remembers his manager Kim Jiwoong informing him of the potential new hire to the café, but for it to be the beautiful stranger from room 403 is the last thing he could’ve predicted.
When Zhang Hao locks eyes with him — Hanbin, he knows now — he wonders if the man remembers him, if their conversation left even the tiniest of imprints on his brain the way it did on Zhang Hao’s.
To his surprise, Hanbin’s eyes instantly light up. “Pajama guy!” He exclaims, and Zhang Hao’s smile drops.
From then onwards, begins the story of Zhang Hao and Sung Hanbin.
Over the next few months, as Hanbin completes his training, he begins to develop his own style. Where Zhang Hao is all precision — following exact measurements and relying on organized systems to maximize drinks, Hanbin holds himself together with pure charm, luck, and instinct.
Today is no different.
Morning rush hits Say Yes! Coffee like a tidal wave, the line already stretching out to the door by 7:30 AM. Zhang Hao surveys the chaos from behind the bar with the calm focus of a general assessing a battlefield. This is his zone — he’s already pulled six shots and is topping off several iced drinks, has two milk steamers going simultaneously, and is mentally calculating the optimal sequence for the next drinks queued up.
“Iced double shot oat milk latte!” He calls out, sliding the cup across the pickup counter. The customer barely has time to thank him before Zhang Hao’s already moving onto the next order.
From the corner of his eye, he catches Hanbin fumbling with the panini press, that little crease between his brows that appears whenever he’s concentrating. Zhang Hao’s chest does something traitorous at the sight, warm and fluttery like the milk he’s steaming diligently, but he ruthlessly tamps the feeling down.
“Order for Sara!” Hanbin announces, depositing a wrapped sandwich onto the pickup counter with a proud grin.
Zhang Hao glances over and immediately spots the problem — condensation still clings to the wrapper, and the bread looks suspiciously pale through the clear packaging. His stomach drops.
“Hanbin,” he hisses under his breath, but it’s too late. The customer — a stern-looking woman in a business suit — has already unwrapped her lunch and taken a bite.
Her face contorts in disgust, and Zhang Hao watches in horror as she marches back to the counter, face-to-face with Zhang Hao himself.
“Excuse me,” she says, her voice sharp. “This sandwich is frozen solid. Did no one think to heat it up?”
Zhang Hao’s cheeks burn as every customer in line turns to stare. He glances at Jiwoong, who’s watching from behind the register with a glint in his eyes like he’s waiting to see how Zhang Hao will react. A test.
“I am so sorry about that,” he immediately jumps in, his customer service voice pitched higher than usual. “Let me fix that for you right away—”
“Actually,” Hanbin interrupts, popping up from behind Zhang Hao’s shoulder, “I’m the one who made your sandwich. I’m really sorry for the mistake.”
The woman’s expression shifts the moment Hanbin flashes his devastating smile, the one that makes his eyes fold into crescents and his whisker-like dimples appear. Zhang Hao watches in disbelief as her rigid posture melts and a blush overtakes her face.
“Oh, well,” she stammers. “I mean, it’s not that big of a deal—”
“No, no, it’s completely unacceptable,” Hanbin insists, his voice warm and sincere. “Tell you what—I’ll heat it up properly right now, and your next drink is on me. What would you like?”
The woman actually giggles. Giggles. “That’s very sweet of you, but really, I actually prefer my sandwiches a little cooler anyway. The frozen part was really refreshing!”
Zhang Hao has to blink rapidly to assure himself he isn’t dreaming. She’s eating the frozen sandwich with enthusiasm now, nodding in satisfaction like she isn’t consuming a health violation.
“You’re too kind,” Hanbin beams. “But I insist on that free drink. What can I get you?”
By the time she leaves with her free latte and still starstruck expression, Zhang Hao feels like he’s been put through a coffee grinder.
“Keep it up, Hanbin!” Jiwoong claps Hanbin on the shoulder as the latter slumps in relief. “Engaging with customers and making every experience feel right is one of our most important values.”
“Thanks, Jiwoong,” Hanbin grins, the reappearance of his dimples leaving behind a sticky-sweet feeling in Zhang Hao’s chest, reminding him faintly of the cafe’s sugar-free syrups. That is, until Jiwoong’s next words, feeling like the bad aftertaste.
“With how much improvement you’re making, you might just be up for Employee of the Year.” Jiwoong winks. Zhang Hao’s jaw drops to the tiles. Jiwoong doesn’t notice his mouth hanging open and simply returns to making drinks like he didn't just shatter his entire world.
“What the hell!” Zhang Hao calls out indignantly. “Why would he get Employee of the Year?”
Jiwoong turns to look at Zhang Hao like he’s just remembering his presence for the first time.
“Well, Hanbin’s been learning very quickly since he joined. He’s made a lot of improvements, and the customers love him.”
“He literally just served a frozen sandwich!” Zhang Hao cries out.
“That was ages ago! I’m a changed man now,” Hanbin insists.
Jiwoong chuckles at that. “Hao, everyone makes mistakes. It’s not about what he did wrong, it’s about how he made it right.”
“The award should not go to him,” Zhang Hao splutters at Jiwoong. “I can talk to customers too!” He shoves Hanbin away as the next customer in line approaches the register.
“Hi there!” Zhang Hao booms, his voice so enthusiastically loud that even Jiwoong startles. “Welcome to Say Yes! Coffee! How has your absolutely wonderful day been treating you?”
The customer blinks slowly, eyes flitting nervously between Zhang Hao and the door, like she’s considering whether her coffee is worth this interaction. “Um, it’s 8:00 AM.”
“Right! So early! So productive! What can I get started for you on this beautiful morning?”
Zhang Hao is aware he sounds like a deranged game show host, but he can’t seem to modulate the effortless charm Hanbin exudes. Behind him, he can hear the barely contained wheeze of said man trying not to laugh, which only makes him more determined.
“I just want a large coffee,” the girl says carefully. “Black, please.”
“Wonderful choice! Isn’t coffee just so fascinating? Did you know that coffee beans are actually—”
“Sorry, don’t mind him. He means well,” a smooth voice interrupts. Hanbin slides back to his position on the register, his hand circling Zhang Hao’s waist as he gently eases him to the side. His touch is searing hot, and Zhang Hao’s knees nearly buckle.
Zhang Hao huffs. “I can handle myself on the register!”
Hanbin’s hand shifts to Zhang Hao’s lower back as he leans over to whisper to him. “You’re staring the poor girl down like she just murdered your family. I got this.”
True to his words, the girl visibly relaxes when Hanbin takes over and begins to make conversation. Zhang Hao’s cheeks grow hot at the gesture. He should be angry, but Hanbin’s hand is so warm, shoulder knocking into his, and Zhang Hao can’t seem to think straight.
Hanbin leans close again, and his brain short-circuits. For one dizzy second, he forgets what he was even fighting for.
“I’m coming for your award,” he breathes cheekily into his ear.
The giddy feeling in Zhang Hao’s chest immediately dies on the spot.
“Hanbin didn’t come in today,” Kim Jiwoong announces Friday morning in lieu of a greeting as soon as Zhang Hao enters the back of the store. His voice is calculating, tone carrying the weight of gossip more than concern.
Zhang Hao flips through the café’s records book, noting down his time of arrival. Jiwoong can yap about Sung Hanbin all he wants, but Zhang Hao won’t let that stop him from getting paid.
“What does that have to do with me?” he mutters, tying up his apron in a practiced knot.
Jiwoong shrugs. “You guys are close, right? I thought you’d know what’s up.”
Zhang Hao scoffs. He and Hanbin may have been close once, but that was before he started coming for Zhang Hao’s position.
Still, the words sting in a way Zhang Hao hadn’t expected. He thinks about his shifts with Hanbin, their shenanigans when they were blessed with an empty store — from ridiculous drink concoctions to espresso shot chugging competitions. He thinks about the unexpected knocks on each other’s doors and boba runs between classes.
He thinks about Hanbin letting Zhang Hao into the dance studio, smirking at his reactions in the mirror whenever he caught him staring as he practiced. How Zhang Hao, in turn, would allow Hanbin to tag along on his trips to the library, even though Hanbin would use the soundproof study room to loudly poke fun at him while he would fret over his lab reports and problem sets.
He thinks about Hanbin knocking on Zhang Hao’s door to drag him to the upstairs parties he once resented, or when he would knock on Hanbin’s door to deliver questionable baking experiments.
He thinks about Hanbin joining him in a climate class that he absolutely did not need to take under the guise of it fulfilling his General Education requirements. He thinks about going to Hanbin’s open dance classes, relishing in the awestruck look in Hanbin’s eyes when Zhang Hao would master a particularly difficult choreography.
So perhaps Jiwoong is right, maybe they were incredibly close — until the possibility of Hanbin winning Employee of the Year became real enough to scare Zhang Hao, until he decided it would be easier to hate the younger.
Zhang Hao scowls at the thought of Employee of the Year, his knuckles turning white as he ties the strings of his apron tight enough to bite into his palms. Jiwoong raises an eyebrow, reminding Zhang Hao of his manager's original question.
“I’m not speaking to him anymore.” He has to hold back from crossing his arms like an angry child.
“You were fighting him over the register on Wednesday,” Jiwoong points out.
“A lot can change in three days.”
Jiwoong sighs. “Seriously, do you know what’s up? He hasn’t called or texted at all.”
That makes Zhang Hao pause. Ever since his current feud with Sung Hanbin, the latter became particularly more committed to “beating” him at work, whether it was clocking in earlier than him, going beyond the necessary opening requirements, or covering more shifts than usual. For him not to show up to work without any prior notice or explanation — maybe there is something wrong.
Zhang Hao relents. “I’ll go check up on him after my shift, okay?”
A Cheshire grin spreads across Jiwoong’s face. “So much extra effort,” he muses.
“We live in the same building,” Zhang Hao deadpans. He checks his hair in the small mirror on the wall before heading to the front of the store for his shift.
“I didn’t even tell you to go to his place!” Jiwoong calls to his back. Zhang Hao gives him the finger in return.
“Hanbin, open up!” Zhang Hao yells, pounding on his door for what feels like the millionth time. He presses his ear to the wood, but hears absolutely nothing.
“I can see your Snap location!”
Then, a rustle.
Zhang Hao hears the creak of a bed, and the sound of soft footsteps gradually approaching closer. The door swings open, revealing Sung Hanbin in his pajamas.
“You were in bed the whole time?” He shrieks. “Jiwoong was worried sick! He was acting like you dropped off the face of the Earth when you didn’t contact anyone!”
Hanbin wordlessly turns around, making a beeline away from the door. Zhang Hao huffs, following him inside his dorm without another thought.
“You’re just going to leave when I’m talking to you? Look, I get it if you don’t want to interact with me, but you shouldn’t ghost your manager. Isn’t that—”
Hanbin stumbles into the bathroom and slams the door shut on him. Realization dawns upon Zhang Hao when he hears retching from the other end. The puzzle pieces slot into place — Hanbin’s glazed eyes, paler-than-usual face, and complete lack of energy.
“Hanbin?” Zhang Hao asks, his voice softer than before. No response. “Do you need any help?”
“No,” Hanbin whispers faintly behind the door.
“Okay,” he responds uneasily, “but I’m staying here until you're better.” The promise slips from Zhang Hao’s mouth before he can taste it.
Zhang Hao takes his soft sigh as affirmation and immediately makes his way to Hanbin's nightstand.
One time, when Zhang Hao had gotten ridiculously drunk, not only did Hanbin earnestly take care of him, but he also allowed Zhang Hao to crash at his place. When the embarrassment hit in the morning — about letting Hanbin see him like that, about realizing that he was in Hanbin's bed and that the latter must've taken the couch — Hanbin had only smiled at him gently and pointed to the bottom drawer of his nightstand.
"I have medicine in there if you're hungover. Come out for breakfast in a few?" Hanbin had said, his eyes shining like there was nowhere he would rather be.
Zhang Hao shakes the thought away, focusing on the importance of his recollection — Hanbin's bottom drawer.
Zhang Hao sorts through the various supplements piled in the drawer before finally finding a small bottle of painkillers, distantly wondering if Hanbin even owns a thermometer. As he's grabbing water from the fridge, he hears Hanbin moving behind the door, followed by the flush of the toilet and water running from the sink. Hanbin emerges from the bathroom, his face glistening with water droplets. He looks tired in a way Zhang Hao’s never seen before as he trudges past him and collapses at the foot of his bed.
Hanbin groans softly at the hard surface, but makes no move to get up. Zhang Hao crouches down to the ground, pressing his hand against his forehead in concern.
“Hanbin,” he gasps. “You’re burning up.”
Hanbin makes a pitiful noise, shifting so he’s pressing his flushed cheek to the cold tile. Zhang Hao loops his arms through his and hauls him to his feet.
“You missed the bed,” Zhang Hao tries to joke, but even he can hear the terribly masked worry in his voice. Hanbin slumps onto the mattress, and Zhang Hao carefully pulls the covers over him despite his small sounds of protest. He’s clearly not concerned enough to do anything more, so he mutters incoherent nonsense under his breath and then closes his eyes.
Zhang Hao can’t help the minuscule twitch of his lips at the sight, but he turns back to the medicine bottles before he can allow himself to dwell on it.
Once he’s arranged an assortment of pills and the water, he gently shakes Hanbin, whose eyes are still shut.
“Sit up,” Zhang Hao urges, tapping his shoulder. Hanbin cracks open an eye, sulking. Regardless, he complies, sitting up and fully opening his eyes. “Take these.”
His frown deepens, but his gaze scans Zhang Hao’s face and he obeys without another word.
“How long have you been sick like this?”
Silence.
“When’s the last time you ate?” He tries instead. Hanbin pauses, like he’s taking a moment to genuinely think about it, then shrugs blankly. “Hanbin, you have to eat!”
“Not hungry,” he mumbles.
“This isn’t up for debate,” Zhang Hao shoots back. “I’ll go grab you something, so stay here, okay?”
Hanbin nods, sinking back into bed. Zhang Hao shoulders his bag and searches for Hanbin’s phone and keys, finding them on his desk.
“Here,” he says, tucking Hanbin’s phone under his pillow. “Call me if you need anything. I’m taking your keys so you don’t have to let me in. Take a nap, and I’ll be back soon.”
Hanbin only buries his face further into the pillow. Zhang Hao refills his water and adjusts the room temperature before slipping on his shoes at the front. He helplessly turns back to look at Hanbin once more, like a compass straying north. Then, he leaves.
Zhang Hao reenters Hanbin’s dorm with a giant thermos of steaming hot soup, an extra blanket, and an assortment of items from the nearby drugstore. He dumps the contents onto the table, wincing at the amount. He may have gone slightly crazy and swept nearly everything off the shelves at the pharmacy, but he convinces himself they’ll be necessary.
When he approaches the bed with the food, he’s surprised to find that Hanbin’s already awake. His brows furrow slightly at the sight of Zhang Hao.
“I brought you soup,” he explains, nodding at the bowl in his hands. “Eat.”
While the Hanbin 30 minutes ago was so sluggish he could barely keep his eyes open, this Hanbin is uncannily alert. His eyes dart back and forth between Zhang Hao, the soup, and the medicines scattered across his desk. He opens and closes his mouth, like he’s searching for the right words.
“Why’re you doing this?” A strange question to settle on, but Zhang Hao smiles at him softly.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t understand,” he replies, his gaze wary.
Zhang Hao frowns. “You’ve done the same for me. Remember when I got super drunk at Matthew’s and you brought me home? Or the time I couldn't even get home, and you let me sleep here?”
Hanbin goes silent.
Things like this between Zhang Hao and Hanbin are never questioned — they always go without saying. Hanbin threatens him at work, but still picks him up when he drinks too much. Zhang Hao fights him over the register, but still sits next to him in class and watches him from the back of the dance studio. Zhang Hao is still here, because he knows Hanbin would be no different.
“You don’t owe me for that,” Hanbin blurts out, his fiery-red ears betraying his embarrassment.
“I don’t think of it like that. I’m here because I want you to get better,” Zhang Hao says, holding out the bowl of soup to him — a peace offering.
Hanbin hesitates, then accepts it, blowing on it to cool it down and taking a sip. He hums in satisfaction, then shovels the rest down his throat within a minute. Zhang Hao gapes.
“Slow down,” he scolds, remembering the vomiting from earlier. He feels a pang of guilt realizing how hungry Hanbin must’ve been, motionless in his bed without the energy to eat.
Hanbin grows more lethargic on his second bowl, his eyelids beginning to sink. He catches himself just before he can allow himself to doze, and Zhang Hao frowns. He can’t help but wonder why he’s fighting sleep when it’s what he needs the most — his half-lidded eyes stay focused on Zhang Hao, and then it hits him. Maybe he wants to be alone.
He takes the bowl back and pulls the covers over Hanbin, noting with a twinge of satisfaction that some color has returned to his face.
“I’ll clean things up and then head out so you can get some sleep,” Zhang Hao tells him. Although something deep inside him longs to stay, to stick with Hanbin until he’s sure that his fever is gone, he stands up from the chair.
However, Hanbin grabs his elbow before he can fully turn away. When he looks at Hanbin, there’s a plea behind his eyes that he doesn’t seem keen on voicing. Even when he’s sick, he’s strong, tugging Zhang Hao back towards him until he’s sitting at the edge of the bed.
“Do you want more soup?” Zhang Hao asks, unsure of what he needs.
Hanbin shakes his head. “Stay,” he murmurs, faint as steam curling off a cup.
The word hits Zhang Hao like a sudden rush of caffeine. Oh.
“Sleep,” he coaxes Hanbin gently, his heart squeezing at the request. “I won’t go anywhere.”
Hanbin searches his face with a hint of desperation, and Zhang Hao’s breath hitches in his throat at the sparkle in his eyes. (Did Sung Hanbin always look at him like he had hung the moon and stars?)
He doesn’t have to think about it for too long because Hanbin seems to find whatever he’s looking for in Zhang Hao’s expression, and finally closes his eyes. Sleep pulls him under within minutes, evident in his deeper breathing and the loosened tension in his body.
Zhang Hao brushes some of his hair away from his forehead, softening at the lines of his face, more youthful and relaxed with the rest.
In a few minutes, he knows he’ll have to clean up, restock the fridge with food, and find a damp washcloth to reduce Hanbin’s temperature. But he allows himself a moment to stare, brushing Hanbin’s cheek with his thumb.
Even while asleep, Hanbin leans into the touch, like a flower searching for sunlight, and Zhang Hao flinches. He returns to his chair next to the bed and watches Hanbin until the sun rises, his heart a jumbled mess.
“Jiwoong.” Hanbin calls out one morning as he’s stocking up the pastry case, while the three of them are opening the store.
“Hmm?” Jiwoong shoots Hanbin a glance before going back to busying himself with counting the register.
“Why do you always schedule me and Hao together?”
The question makes Zhang Hao’s hands still on the machine he’s been setting up. He turns at the mention of his name, perking up with curiosity. Jiwoong’s brows furrow, almost as though the answer is obvious.
“You really want to know?” He asks, his tone suggesting the conversation could go in directions neither of them are expecting.
Hanbin and Zhang Hao both nod immediately. Jiwoong sets down the bills he’s been sorting through and leans against the counter.
“Hao is efficient, in pretty much all ways possible. He can make the most drinks in the least time possible, without compromising quality. He’s also great at responding to unexpected situations, has encyclopedic knowledge about coffee, and never gets scared under pressure. Thrives under it, actually,” Jiwoong explains. Zhang Hao preens at the compliment but stays silent, sensing he has more to say.
“But,” Jiwoong continues, and Zhang Hao’s smile wavers slightly, “he’s not the best with customers on a personal level.”
The criticism stings more than it should, even though Zhang Hao knows Jiwoong is completely right. He’s never been able to tap into the natural charm required of customer connections, not in the way that Hanbin can.
“Hanbin,” Jiwoong says, turning his attention to the younger, “you’re slower, and sometimes you freeze up during mishaps.”
Hanbin nods along like he was completely expecting the words — taking them with a grace Zhang Hao wishes he had.
“But you’re incredible with customers,” Jiwoong continues. “You know how to read them, how to make them feel seen. You’re perceptive, so you pay attention to the forgotten details like restocking. All of which Hao tends to fall short on. Which is fine, of course, because neither of you is perfect.
“All of which explains why I schedule you together. What one of you lacks, the other one makes up. You’re imperfect separately, but a perfect match together.” Jiwoong spreads his hands in a gesture that encompasses both of them.
A perfect match.
Zhang Hao steals a glance at Hanbin and finds the latter already looking at him with an expression that’s soft and wondering.
“Plus,” Jiwoong adds, “you two work better when you’re together. Hao, your efficiency improves when you want to showcase it. And Hanbin, your technical skills develop faster when you’re learning from someone who has high standards for you.”
Zhang Hao feels heat creep up his neck at the suggestion that he performs better when Hanbin is watching, that Hanbin, in turn, excels under his supervision.
“Anyways,” Jiwoong says, putting a pause to his grandiose speech to fish for the keys in his pocket, “I’m going to unlock the door now.” He moves toward the front of the store with a casual grace, as though he didn’t just shake Zhang Hao’s world entirely.
Zhang Hao shoots Hanbin an incredulous look, despite the warm feeling spreading throughout his chest. Hanbin looks equally confused, but his gaze softens when they make eye contact. The smile he returns is so tender that Zhang Hao has to look away, his face burning like a star. He returns to setting up and avoids thinking about Sung Hanbin and how incredibly red his ears were.
By the time Hanbin wakes up, looking well-rested for the first time in a while, Zhang Hao is reminded of his training days at the café from all those months ago, of his shy but earnest demeanor, unafraid to reveal his struggles and ask for help.
This Hanbin is similarly vulnerable, allowing himself to be open and show his weaknesses. Allowing Zhang Hao to help him.
“Why’re you looking at me like that?” Hanbin’s voice interrupts his thoughts, and Zhang Hao flushes, shaking himself out of his nostalgia. He presses the back of his hand against Hanbin’s forehead, sighing in relief.
“Drink this, it’ll help," he says, avoiding Hanbin’s eyes as he hands him a glass of orange juice. “I think your fever finally broke.”
“Yeah, no shit. I’m sweating balls,” he rasps, kicking off the blankets Zhang Hao had piled on top of him. He chugs down the juice and rubs at his eyes. “What day is it?”
“It’s Saturday evening. You pretty much slept through the whole day,” Zhang Hao grins.
“Did you stay since yesterday?” A hint of guilt flashes across Hanbin’s face.
“It’s fine, I got some work done,” he waves it off, gesturing to his computer propped open on his desk. Lies — Zhang Hao hadn't been able to focus on his work the entire time. He stands up, shutting his laptop.
“I … I don't want to overstay, so I'll head out, okay? I texted Jiwoong for you, so you’re not working Monday. There’s some extra soup in the fridge, so heat that whenever you want.”
Each word burns his chest like the acidity of an espresso shot, a part of him unwilling to leave Hanbin so soon and return to their usual fighting. But as Zhang Hao begins to gather his things, Hanbin catches his wrist. His expression is abnormally serious, his eyes piercing holes into Zhang Hao's.
“What’s wrong? Do you need something?” Zhang Hao uses his other hand to check Hanbin’s forehead again, but the younger man stops him.
"I need you."
Zhang Hao’s mouth falls open. “What?”
Hanbin quickly catches himself. "I need you — to drop this Employee of the Year thing. Jiwoong already told me he's giving it to you."
Zhang Hao is still stuck on the first three words of his sentence, but when the gears in his head finally turn, he gasps. It's a lot to process and he shakes his head, wondering if he even heard Hanbin right. How long was Zhang Hao fighting for an award that was already his?
"I thought you wanted to win," is all he can think of saying.
Hanbin smiles, warm and soft in a way so familiar that Zhang Hao's heart aches. “Hao, I don’t care about Employee of the Year. Go out with me.”
Zhang Hao finds himself at a loss for words, but Hanbin doesn’t seem to mind as he continues.
“I know I still have a lot to learn at the café, and I didn't even care about the award that much. I was mostly just messing with you, so can we please stop fighting over it? Or else I’ll seriously think you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” Zhang Hao chokes out.
Hanbin chuckles. “I figured that now. No one spends this much time and effort on someone they hate.”
“Shut up,” Zhang Hao says halfheartedly, his heart hammering in his chest. “Are you serious?”
Hanbin tugs him by the hands, enough that Zhang Hao is sitting on the edge of his bed. All traces of humor vanish from his face as he stares at Zhang Hao intently.
“Hao, I like you. I thought you were cute ever since you showed up at my doorstep in your pajamas. And I’ve been hopelessly obsessed with you ever since we started working together. Does that answer your question?”
Fireworks explode in his chest as he thinks back to Jiwoong’s old words.
What one of you lacks, the other one makes up.
When Hanbin is sick, Zhang Hao takes care of him. When Hanbin forgets to eat at the dance studio, Zhang Hao brings him food. And despite all their incessant fighting, Hanbin covers for Zhang Hao at the register. Hanbin invites him to parties when he’s cooped up in the library for too long. Hanbin writes notes for him when Zhang Hao dozes off in class.
Zhang Hao’s heart thumps in his chest as he begins to put together the little moments of their relationship. They were a perfect match the whole time, just as Jiwoong said, only he hadn’t truly realized the weight of those words. Zhang Hao itches with the need to do something, but his hands are still tightly grasped in Hanbin’s and he can’t think of much else to do than to lean down and press his lips to his cheek.
Hanbin makes a small noise of surprise at the contact, his hands slackening around Zhang Hao’s. He flushes at the warmth of Hanbin’s skin against his mouth, feeling as though he’s floating somewhere above the stars. When he pulls away, Hanbin’s eyes are closed, lashes fanned against his cheekbones and face tilted upwards like he’s hoping for more, or savoring it. His eyes are glassy when they finally open, eliciting a giggle from Zhang Hao’s throat.
“I like you too,” he grins, “if that didn’t make it clear.”
Hanbin smiles then, so wide that his beautiful whisker dimples indent his cheeks. He pulls Zhang Hao down and on top of him, burying his face into his neck.
“Let me kiss you properly,” he whispers into Zhang Hao’s skin. Zhang Hao separates from him enough to read his expression, eyes widening at the sudden sharpness in his gaze. His eyes flicker between each of Zhang Hao’s, before darting down to his lips and fixating on them.
“Won’t your mouth taste horrible?” Zhang Hao teases, but even as he says it, he’s already leaning in — drawn in by the magnetic pull of finally, finally being able to have what he’s been craving.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Hanbin murmurs against Zhang Hao's lips, the promise hanging between them for just a moment before Hanbin closes the distance entirely.
A thousand firecrackers flare up in Zhang Hao’s body when Hanbin’s mouth meets his. Hanbin’s lips are soft and warm, moving against Zhang Hao’s with a confidence that suggests he’s been thinking about this moment for longer than Zhang Hao had realized. When Hanbin’s tongue slips into his mouth, he gasps at the unexpected sweetness — orange juice, he realizes, but also a taste that is fundamentally Sung Hanbin.
Sparks fly where their skin touches, multiplied by a thousand when Zhang Hao’s hand moves to the back of Hanbin’s neck, tugging lightly on his hair. The soft groan that emits from Hanbin causes a jolt of pleasure to shudder down his spine. The sound is so affecting that Zhang Hao instinctively tugs harder, wanting to hear it again, wanting to catalog every noise Hanbin makes and figure out exactly what causes each one.
Hanbin responds beautifully — he deepens the kiss, one hand cradling Zhang Hao’s cheek while the other presses against his lower back, holding him like he’s trying to get him as physically close as possible.
When Zhang Hao finally pulls away, gasping for air, he's breathless and dizzy and completely starstruck. There's a string of saliva connecting their lips that should probably be gross but instead makes something hot and possessive unfurl in his chest.
"Gross," he lies, but his voice comes out rough with want, and Hanbin's eyes darken in response.
The sight does something to Zhang Hao so intense that he can’t help but give in to his deepest desires, leaning down and slotting his lips right between Hanbin’s collarbones.
“Ah,” Hanbin whimpers as Zhang Hao mouths at the skin like he’s trying to suck the ink straight out of Hanbin’s tattoo.
“Hao,” Hanbin breathes out, and oh, Zhang Hao will never be able to have a normal thought ever again now that he knows how Hanbin sounds saying his name like this — utterly reverent and lost in pleasure. “Hao, come up here, please.”
Zhang Hao forces himself to detach from Hanbin’s chest, unable to hide his pride at the red marks beginning to cluster around the skin, like an accompanying constellation to the inked sun, star, and moon. Hanbin’s grip on his back tightens, fingers skirting underneath Zhang Hao’s shirt and tracing heated circles onto his skin.
“Come here,” Hanbin pleads again, leaning back in for another kiss before it hits Zhang Hao — Hanbin is still sick.
“Hanbin!” He gasps, veering away before he can succumb to his desire. “You’re sick! You have to focus on getting better first.” Zhang Hao tries to inject some rationality into the sentence, ignoring the part of his brain that wants to see Hanbin like that again, that wants to continue until neither of them can remember their own names.
Hanbin pouts, the expression so endearing that Zhang Hao nearly relents. “I’m way better. Stellar, actually.”
“You can kiss me again in two days.” Secretly, Zhang Hao wonders if he’ll actually be able to wait that long now that he knows what kissing Hanbin feels like.
Hanbin’s answering smile is blindingly bright, even though Zhang Hao didn’t say anything particularly funny.
“What is it?” Zhang Hao’s pulse races at how Hanbin looks at him — like he’s made of every precious thing in the world, like he’s a dream made alive.
“I think this might be the happiest day of my life,” Hanbin answers. As he grins at Zhang Hao with the warmth of the entire sun, Zhang Hao realizes the fluttering behind his ribcage was never a new feeling — he was just as enamored with Hanbin when they first met.
Zhang Hao studies Hanbin’s face — the way his eyes crinkle with genuine joy, the smile that seems to contain enough brightness to power the entire café — and realizes how much his own happiness mirrors Hanbin’s. He smiles back, bigger than he’s ever smiled at Hanbin, watching his gaze turn awestruck as a red-hot blush creeps up the younger’s cheeks and ears.
“I think it might be mine too,” Zhang Hao admits, and the words feel like the sweet taste of love he can’t quite believe he’s allowed to have.
Zhang Hao wakes up in his own bed on Monday morning with the disorienting sensation that the world has fundamentally shifted overnight. As if in response to his thoughts, his phone buzzes on the nightstand with a notification.
5:42 AM
Hanbin: Good morning ☀️
Hanbin: How did you sleep?
Hao: not bad
Hao: why are you awake :(
Hao: are you feeling better
Hanbin: Wanted to text you before work
Hanbin: And yes much better
Zhang Hao’s chest flutters at the admission, that Hanbin woke up early just to talk to Zhang Hao before his shift. He watches with a barely contained smile as the text bubble under Hanbin’s contact appears, disappears, and appears again, like he’s hesitating.
Hanbin: Also feeling like I might have dreamed last night
Hanbin: Did we actually kiss or was that the fever?
Zhang Hao: not a fever dream
Zhang Hao: very real
Zhang Hao: very nice
Hanbin: “Nice”???
Zhang Hao: ok fine
Zhang Hao: incredible. life changing. is that what you wanted?
Hanbin: Much better
Zhang Hao: are you coming in today?
Hanbin: Nah Jiwoong gave me the day off
Hanbin: But I could be persuaded to stop by
Hanbin: Depends on whether my boyfriend(?????) is working
Boyfriend. Zhang Hao tests the word in his mind, imagining how it would feel to introduce Hanbin that way, to have that claim on each other, to hold hands and kiss in public. The term sits in Zhang Hao’s chest in a way that he can only describe as right.
He can’t help but smile at Hanbin’s text, at the question marks he’d inserted in his uncertainty. Zhang Hao hurries to type a response.
Zhang Hao: your boyfriend is working until 2
Zhang Hao: but he’d like to see you if you feel up to it
Hanbin: My boyfriend 💕
Hanbin: I like the sound of that
Zhang Hao: <3
Zhang Hao: i should get ready for work
Zhang Hao: see you later?
Hanbin: Definitely
Hanbin: Can’t wait to watch my incredible talented hot boyfriend work
Hanbin: Going to sit in the corner and stare at you lovingly
Zhang Hao: pls don’t make it weird
Zhang Hao: jiwoong already thinks we’re crazy
Hanbin: Pretty sure Jiwoong has been trying to get us together this whole time
Zhang Hao considers this as he gets dressed, thinking about the deliberately scheduled shifts, the way Jiwoong intentionally asked him to check up on Hanbin, his pointed comments about them complementing each other.
The realization that he and Hanbin may have been the last people to see what everyone else already did makes something flutter in Zhang Hao’s chest. But maybe, Zhang Hao thinks, just maybe — the embarrassment is worth it when he’s finally gotten what he’s wanted.
Zhang Hao spots Hanbin outside of the coffee shop window before he’s even entered, and has to physically restrain himself from melting like a lovesick puppy. When Hanbin pushes through the door, his gaze latches onto Zhang Hao behind the bar, and the smile that spreads across his face is so obviously enamored that Zhang Hao is sure anyone watching would immediately know what’s changed between them.
“Hey, stranger,” Hanbin greets as he approaches the counter, his teasing masked by an overwhelming fondness.
“Hey, yourself,” Zhang Hao replies, trying to sound casual and probably failing spectacularly based on how Jiwoong’s eyebrows shoot up from where he’s wiping down tables. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better, thanks to my excellent caretaker,” Hanbin says, leaning against the counter to shorten the distance between them, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Though I think I might need some more … personal attention to make a full recovery.”
There’s a glint in Hanbin’s eyes that sends heat flooding through Zhang Hao’s face, accompanied by the stark memory of how Hanbin had sounded beneath him when Zhang Hao had gotten his lips on his chest.
“Hanbin,” he protests weakly.
“What?” Hanbin blinks up at him, eyes going wide and innocent. “You won’t take responsibility for this?” His lips curl into a faint smirk, and Zhang Hao’s heart pounds furiously as Hanbin tugs at the collar of his shirt, pulling it down to reveal the red bruises marring his tattoo.
“Hanbin!” Zhang Hao hisses, scrambling to lift the shirt back up. Hanbin acquiesces with a laugh, putting a more respectable distance between them at Jiwoong’s warning glance.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Zhang Hao asks, attempting to steer the conversation back to safer territory. “My treat.”
“Surprise me,” Hanbin shrugs, settling onto the table closest to the bar. “Make me something that represents your feelings.”
It’s a ridiculously cheesy request, the kind that should make Zhang Hao roll his eyes and brush it off as a joke. But looking at Hanbin’s earnest expression, the genuine expectancy and interest in whatever Zhang Hao might create, Zhang Hao finds himself considering the challenge.
What would represent his feelings for Hanbin? Zhang Hao’s not sure he can put it into words, but coffee has always been his expertise, his safe zone where he can pour all of his dedication and love.
Zhang Hao begins crafting what is essentially a cortado — espresso and steamed milk, but he knows it needs more. Vanilla syrup goes in without question, a perfect representation of all things Hanbin. And because he's unable to stop himself, Zhang Hao tops off the drink with foam art in the shape of an elaborate heart — because he's apparently become the kind of person who draws hearts in his boyfriend's coffee.
Boyfriend. The word still feels surreal.
As he works, he’s aware of Hanbin watching his every movement, his tracking gaze making Zhang Hao’s skin feel electric. Zhang Hao studies the finished drink carefully, knowing it needs just a little something more. The answer comes to him in a dash of cinnamon, sprinkled over the top with precision — just the right amount of spice to capture them, the push and pull dynamic that encapsulates the perfect balance of sweet and bitter.
“Here,” Zhang Hao says, sliding the completed drink across the counter. “A representation of my feelings.” He tries to inject humor into the statement, but the syllables shake in a way that betrays his nerves instantly.
Hanbin accepts the cup with reverent care, smiling at the heart in the foam before taking his first sip. His eyes flutter closed as he savors it, and his expression transforms into something that borders on blissful.
“Oh,” Hanbin breathes, his eyes saying more than his words need. “Oh, this is …”
“Good?” Zhang Hao asks, fidgeting with his fingers.
“Perfect,” Hanbin sighs, taking another sip. His gaze meets Zhang Hao’s over the rim of the cup, and Zhang Hao wonders if his heart will ever stop racing at the eye contact, like Hanbin is a drug stronger than any caffeine. “Is this really how you see us?”
The question is soft, vulnerable, and Zhang Hao melts.
“Yeah,” Zhang Hao murmurs, his voice rougher than intended. “I think it is.” The words are as close to a love confession as he can get.
Hanbin’s answering smile is breathtaking, so much so that Zhang Hao has to grip the counter to resist kissing it right off him.
Zhang Hao knows they’ll have questions to answer later (courtesy of Jiwoong), and long-lasting competitions to settle — maybe a winner to celebrate.
But for now, he simply watches his boyfriend cradle his heart in ceramic form. Hanbin's fingers curl protectively over the cup, like he knows, and like he's planning to hold onto it forever.