Chapter Text
Zhang Hao steps foot into the Los Angeles International Airport for the first time in almost two years, and he is already regretting it.
Something about this airport just doesn’t sit right with him (and hasn’t since the first time he ever flew from here), but it’s worse today, and this nagging feeling sticks with him all the way until he has finished collecting his luggage, gone to the bathroom for a number one (two), almost cried on the phone with his mommy, and finally placed his Uber ride request.
Today just feels extra wrong, Hao thinks, tapping his foot against the cement impatiently as he waits for his ride. It doesn’t help that the airport is busier than Hao has ever seen it, and the warm heat of Southern California that surrounds the airport even in the middle of December isn’t exactly quenching the worries in Hao’s gut either.
It doesn’t take more than ten minutes for Hao to be right.
His Uber driver cancels on him, and Hao hears a noise exploding strangely like a crash coming from a distance. He really hopes the two aren’t related, but Hao’s stomach clenches with worry regardless. He texts his family group chat, hoping someone is available to pick him up, but alas, all hope is lost when he receives a thumbs down from his father, a frowny face from his mother, and a shit emoji from his younger brother, who isn’t even able to drive yet.
Of course, Hao could just simply request another Uber driver, and it probably would’ve been not only fine but also the most efficient plan as the dark map on the app showed hundreds of cars waiting at the airport, but Hao’s gut is never wrong, and right now, it was telling Hao to do anything and everything but step foot into an Uber car.
Hao sighs, but he doesn’t really panic; staying inside the cool air of the Delta terminal on the cushioned benches with outlets until his parents are done with work didn’t sound like a terrible idea either. So, for the next two hours, Hao does the best thing anyone can do in his situation: He takes a nap.
He goes out like a light, making it clear to everyone around him that he very much needs this sleep. At LAX, Hao throws away all dignity and puts trust in the world that no one would steal his luggage and bag.
(In case you were wondering, he dreamed of rainbow unicorns shitting bricks in the center of the stage during a Mahler concert in Carnegie Hall. And, yes, it was based on a true story from Hao’s first year of college, so, really, it was more of a nightmare than a dream.)
He is about to enter his second hour of sleep when he suddenly feels a body violently push right into his shoulder. Hao’s eyes slowly blink open, vision blurry and mouth still wide open and dried from his impromptu nap, not having fully registered what just woke him up.
And when Hao is finally fully awake, he turns to whoever bumped into him on the bench, eyes furious and pointer finger held up, ready to spit fire.
But before a single word can leave his mouth, a hand rushes to cover Hao’s lips. Hao looks up at the figure, even more furious than he was two seconds ago, but all fury dies down when he meets eyes with wide, begging, puppy eyes, filled to the brim with tears.
The man who bumped into Hao is covered from head to toe in black, donning a black cap, a black t-shirt, and dark jeans with black shoes to match. A black mask covers the rest of his face, hiding everything but the wide, worrying eyes, the only reason red blaring lights aren’t ringing in Hao’s head right now.
Sympathy never killed anyone, right?
(Don’t answer that question.)
“Please, pretend like we know each other,” the man whispers, retracting his hand and looking around him. “I’ll owe you my whole life if you just bear with me for the next few minutes.”
His voice is pretty, Hao thinks. Its natural honeyed sweetness rings in the air even through the muffling of the mask. And a little familiar. Hao shakes his thoughts off and nods. He doesn’t ask because he has a self-inflicted policy of not getting involved in things that might get him killed. Or worse, in jail.
He clears his throat. “Um, so, you like the weather today?” Hao asks, like a true gentleman.
The man looks back at him in surprise. “What?”
“We know each other, right?” Hao chuckles nervously. “You vibing with the weather today?”
When the man seemingly leaves his shock behind, he laughs. His eyes laugh with him, and Hao decides he likes seeing those eyes smile at him like that.
“Yeah, but it’s too sunny, don’t you think?” he responds. He shifts a little so he’s facing Hao a little better. “So sunny, I could fall asleep at any time.”
It only clicks as Hao thinks of what else to ask, that this stranger was making fun of him. (Sue him! He was just a tired little boy who needed some recovering from a godawful redeye flight.) His eyes are still smiling, so Hao can only imagine the mischievous smile hiding under the mask.
Hao smacks the man’s shoulder gently, “Haha, very funny. Where’d you fly from?”
The man seems to relax a little more after the question, almost as if he was relieved to hear it. “New York. I was there for a business trip. What about you?”
“Wait, same,” Hao responds excitedly. “Were you on the Delta midnight flight from JFK?”
Hao watches the other man’s eyes widen. “Yes, I was,” he says slowly. A little cautiously.
Being the observant guy he is, Hao immediately brings both hands up and shakes his head in defense. “I promise I wasn’t stalking you. I was just on that flight, so I think it’s cool that we were on the same flight. Haha,” Hao laughs, unsure.
“You–-”
Just then, a very large, loud crowd of what seems like a mix of teenage girls and reporters runs past them, screaming a name Hao can’t fully make out into the air.
“Fuck,” the other man says. At the curse, Hao rips his eyes away from the crowd to look at the guy next to him. He’s looking down, panicked, and his hands are fidgeting with each other, scratching the thin skin of his nailbeds.
Without thinking, Hao reaches out and takes a hand in his. He soothes the scratched skin with his own gentle fingers.
The man looks at him in surprise, and when Hao meets his gaping stare, he immediately lets go.
“Sorry, that was totally uncalled for,” Hao apologizes, scratching the back of his neck.
The covered-in-black man shakes his head, reassuring. “No, it’s fine.” He looks behind him again before immediately turning back and wincing at the sight of the still-ongoing crowd. He cowers forward, as if to make him look a little smaller.
“Could you let me know when they’re all gone?” He asks Hao pleadingly. The wide puppy eyes are back, and who is Hao to let them down like that?
So he nods and directs his gaze back to the crowd. God, it’s never-ending. The crowd continues to move through the airport, screams echoing even as it moves onto Delta’s neighboring terminals.
After what seems like forever, the crowd finally dies down, and Hao waits a few more minutes just to make sure before looking back at the man to tell him it was over.
When he looks, though, the man’s eyes are shut, head drooping up and down. Soft snores echo in the space between them and Hao smirks. Who’s asleep now? He gently nudges the man’s knees to wake him up.
The man startles awake, looking around him urgently. “What’s going on?” He asks into the air as he mindlessly swivels his head around, but Hao takes it as a question for him.
Hao laughs, “The crowd’s pretty much gone.” He gets up and stretches, wincing at the cracks that come from his back, before sighing in relief at the sight of his bags still being there. He checks his phone and smiles at the text sent from his mother five minutes ago. “And I think my ride home is here, so I also have to leave, unfortunately.”
As he gathers his things, he feels a tug on his shirt. Hao looks down at the other man, inquisitive.
“Thanks for today,” he says. His eyes are looking down.
Hao smiles, even though the other man can’t see him. “No problem at all. I would do it for anyone.”
He’s just about ready to leave before he feels another soft tap. He looks back down again.
The man shakes his head, taking off his cap to reveal a head of brown, messy hair. He also reaches up to take off one of his mask’s ear loops and looks back up at Hao with a kind, bright, wide smile stretched wide across his face. “No, really. Thank you so much for everything. I owe you, for real.”
Hao freezes. Holy shit, he is so handsome. What the fuck? Huh? Hao’s mouth drops.
Clearly, Hao doesn’t do well in front of handsome men. Especially as a gay man. And, right now, he is in the middle of a malfunction of a lifetime.
“Your number,” Hao’s mouth blurts. “Can I have your number?”
At his question, the other man’s smile drops, and Hao’s heart sinks.
Hao begins to apologize, “Sorry, I–”
“No, sorry,” The man says, more distant than ever. His eyes are looking away from Hao now. “I don’t give my number out to…” He stops there before shaking his head. He looks…disappointed? No, almost mad?
“Um…okay?” Hao says awkwardly. He’s confused as he walks away, bidding a quiet goodbye and good luck. It isn’t until he’s out of the airport that it clicks: Well, fuck, he thinks. Just because I’m a guy? Really?
Homophobes like him don’t even deserve his number anyway. But he can’t help but feel disappointed, pouting and huffing quietly to himself as he tries to spot his mom, let down that a man that cute might be a bigot.
All thoughts of the man disappear when he sees his sweet, kind, oh so beautiful mother standing in front of their family car, bouncing up and down in excitement when she catches sight of her son. He runs up to her and wraps his arms around her.
“Hi, Ma,” Hao says softly, closing his eyes as he buries his head into her neck. He sniffs, smiling as he gets a waft of his mom’s familiar scent.
She pats him on the back and gently pushes him off. After asking him how his flight was and apologizing for taking forever to pick him up in rapid Mandarin, she forces him into the backseat of the car (he’s still her baby, so, no, she can’t have him sit in the passenger seat), refusing help for putting bags in the trunk.
It isn’t until the middle of their one-hour-long trip back home that everything that just happened in the airport registers, and Hao thinks while staring at the window, What the fuck just happened? And why does he feel so familiar?
Hao was born 20 years ago in Fuzhou, China, before immigrating to Irvine, the city he now calls home, about an hour away from Los Angeles on a normal day, when he was six. It sits about twenty minutes away from the beach (try three beaches), with a rather dominant Asian population and a beautiful spread of Asian restaurants that reminds him of his first home (specifically, Haidilao, Hao’s favorite). All that to say, it becomes clear that Hao missed his hometown when he instinctively begins to smile at the window the second his mother finally drives past the welcome sign planted on the side of the freeway.
By the time they pull into their home’s driveway, the sun is mid-set, painting the sky a vibrant orange and pink. A soft breeze welcomes Hao as he steps out of the car and finds his father waiting in front of their front door, a wide smile on his face, and his younger brother right behind, arms crossed and eyes glued to his phone.
He hugs his dad warmly, just as he did his mother a few hours ago, and forces his protesting brother into an embrace as well, before sauntering up to his bedroom, leaving his bags in the hands of his unwavering parents who refuse his help.
His room looks the same as it did when he left it three years ago, thick stacks of sheet music organized neatly on his desk, his first violin hanging above his bed, and a mix of K-pop and classical music concert posters splattered across the wall. God, he wants to not think about music for the rest of his life, but, alas, he can only pause his career for this single month of winter break. He flops onto his bed, exhausted from his travel day and still reeling from whatever the fuck happened at the airport.
Was he famous? Hao asks himself. He lies flat on his back, looking up at the ceiling as he searches through his mind and thinks of possible celebrities he could know. He runs through the hundreds of K-pop idols he learned during the pandemic five years ago — even though he hasn’t kept up with any lately — and some breakout Asian actors from a few films his friends forced him to watch over the last few years. His pursuit is fruitless, and he comes up with what might as well be jackshit by the time his mom stomps into his room with her hands full of Hao’s clothes and yells at him to shower before going on his bed. Hao pouts at her, but slides off his bed anyway and goes to shower.
He continues to think about possible celebrity matches for the man in the airport (M.I.A., for short) in the shower and when he’s putting on a new sweat-set his mom bought for him while he was gone, but it isn’t until Hao is squeaky clean and in the middle of dinner that he finally finds out.
It starts like this: Hao marches down the stairs, nose drawn by the smell of warm Fujian food and spices coming from the kitchen, shoves his brother (lightly) to the side to get to the rice cooker first, scoops out a mountain of rice, and sits at the dinner table, ready to dig in to real Chinese food for the first time in a while. The meal goes great, at first. His parents update Hao on the latest neighborhood and family gossip, nag at him about his perpetual state of singleness, and add more and more to his bowl until the whole feast is basically in Hao’s hands.
His younger brother, Mark, on the other hand, had his eyes glued to the phone the whole time. Born 7 years after Hao in America, the generational and slight cultural difference between them was obvious at times, and right now, it was almost glaring. Hao would’ve never thought to ignore the guest of honor (ahem, Hao) at a celebration party (ahem, this dinner, which was supposed to celebrate Hao’s coming back) in his youth, which Mark is doing right now, at this very moment.
Which is why, mid-dinner, Hao snatches Mark’s phone and holds it high up in the air with one of his hands. “You freaking screenager,” Hao tsks, wiggling it even further out of reach as Mark scrambles to get it back. “Your poor older brother just came back home after two years, and you won’t even talk to him because of a goddamn phone.”
“I literally saw you in New York for Thanksgiving, assface! Give it back! Mom, Dad, tell him to give it back!”
His mom and dad just glance at each other and continue eating.
“This new generation has no respect,” Hao continues. “Zero respect for their elders. Back in my day, I wasn’t even given a phone until sophomore year of high school, and now, here you are, in middle school, using this thing as if you’ll die without it. What the hell happened?”
“Hao! I’m serious! I was in the middle of–”
“What?” Hao taunts. “What can possibly be more important than your own brother?”
Mark growls at him, clawing at Hao’s shoulder. He still hasn’t hit his growth spurt yet, poor thing, and Hao stands at a towering 5’11’’ over Mark’s sad 5’0’’, so really, Mark has no chance. Hao has no pity, though, because of the blatant disrespect. So, he takes a peek at the phone in his hands, though it unfortunately gives Mark a chance to snatch his phone back, immediately locking back in on his screen.
“Sung Hanbin? Who’s that? Your boyfriend?” Hao teases. The screen was open to Sung Hanbin’s Twitter page, whoever that was, and Hao barely got a look at the profile picture before Mark took the phone.
Mark scowls. “He’s a singer. He’s going on tour soon, and tickets are going on sale tomorrow. I’m trying to check what time so I can see if I have to skip school.”
It’s clear he forgot that their parents are still sitting there, eating, because he immediately clamps his hand over his mouth, looking over at them slowly. Hao also looks over at them, amused.
He’s thoroughly disappointed, however, when they don’t react explosively to Mark’s plan to skip school (they totally would have four years ago when I was in high school, Hao thinks miserably). Instead, their mother looks at her husband, face scrunched up, as if trying to remember something.
“Sung Hanbin?” she asks him. “Isn’t that the famous boy from Ricky’s high school?”
“Ricky? Hao’s best friend, Ricky?” he replies. He puts down his chopsticks and rubs at his chin, thinking. He snaps his fingers after a few seconds of contemplative silence. “You’re right! This is him, right?” He pulls out his phone and scrolls a bit before pulling up a picture on someone’s WeChat Moments (presumably Ricky’s mom’s) and shows it to Hao and the slightly-curious Mark (guess who finally decided to put his phone down).
Hao squints at the screen, leaning in closer. He sees a picture from Ricky’s graduation, Ricky standing in the middle of two other guys, donned in a black cap and gown with his neck decorated with money and flower graduation leis, holding a bouquet. On his left stands Gyuvin Kim, Ricky’s long-term boyfriend, smiling brightly at the camera in casual clothes with his arm wrapped around Ricky’s waist. But what catches Hao’s attention is the man on Ricky’s left. He’s notably handsome, also standing in casual clothes, grinning brightly with sparkles in his dark eyes.
Yes, he’s handsome, but that isn’t why Hao’s mouth drops.
He looks exactly like the man Hao ran into at the airport.
“What the fuck,” Hao says quietly to himself, falling back into his chair.
“What the fuck?” Mark parrots (screeches) as he jumps up from his chair. “Ricky knows Sung Hanbin?!”
Their mom reaches out and slaps Mark’s mouth softly. “No cussing,” she warns.
Mark ignores her as he turns to his older brother, who continues to sit there, stunned and dazed. He rigorously shakes his poor sibling’s shoulders back and forth. “Why didn’t you tell me your own best friend knows the number one K-pop soloist right now? Do you think Ricky can introduce me to him? Or get his autograph? Or free tickets? Or something?”
Hao doesn’t answer Mark, quiet as he thinks back to their interaction in the airport. Does Hanbin being friends with his very clearly out-of-the-closet best friend mean he wasn’t homophobic? Maybe not, if he was standing next to the most insufferable and obvious gay couple of all time, and grinning like he was having the time of his life while he was at it.
Then why did he turn Hao away like that? Was Hao just not his type? But it wasn’t like it was obvious Hao asked him for his number romantically, so maybe Hao was just misunderstanding the other man entirely.
Fuck, Hao hates critical thinking.
Hao leaves the dinner table with his inner turmoil, ignoring his pestering brother following him upstairs, and flops back down on his bed, tired. His brother continues to yap at him, but he couldn’t be bothered.
When Mark finally leaves after a sort-of successful attempt at asking Hao to ask Ricky for a free ticket to Sung Hanbin’s first world tour in L.A., Hao immediately sits up from his bed and digs around in his backpack on the floor for his laptop. He beelines straight towards Google and searches, Sung Hanbin.
Multiple images of Sung Hanbin flash onto Hao’s screen, and he looks stunningly handsome in every one. Hao clicks on Sung Hanbin’s Wikipedia page, and he spends the next hour squinting at the text as the page loads, reading about the man at the airport, clicking on every link embedded on the page. He reads, and reads about Sung Hanbin, the most trending idol in Korea right now despite coming from Los Angeles, Southern California, and how he crawled to the peak of brand reputation charts after he already grasped the first place of a survival show that broke Korean television records three years ago (Hao remembers tuning in at a point). He reads about Sung Hanbin’s rumored relationship with Lee Mina, a veteran actress, his latest brand deal with Dolce & Gabbana, his countless donations to charities, and his enrollment into a top Korean university, and Hao can’t help but wonder how the fuck the universe manifested someone so goddamn perfect.
But, as he reads and reads and reads about Korea’s golden boy, Hao couldn’t help but think back to the wide, desperate, pleading eyes that begged Hao at the airport, whites brimmed in red, tears welling up like a puddle after a monsoon. He couldn’t help but think back to the chewed fingertips, skin flaking, blood threatening to erupt from the leftover, shy, thin layers. The tremor in his glass-like voice, the shaky hands, the tug on his shirt.
Hao sighs, shutting his laptop closed, before he flops backwards onto his pillow. He stares up at his ceiling, suddenly aware of the K-pop idols plastered on his walls and their eyes staring down at him, caked in colored makeup. He jumps back up and rips off a poster of an idol particularly laser-eyed (Sorry, Kim Jongin, I love you, Hao thinks), which spirals him into a night spent ripping off his K-pop posters, a strange guilt and sadness piercing into him as he stares at the dolled up idols he blew his entire middle school savings on, thinking of Sung Hanbin and his pretty, bare face grinning at him like the sun before it crumbled apart.
Hao hates his younger brother.
This is a revelation that comes once every blue moon, when the young boy Hao usually finds cute decides to turn into a monster and does something that makes Hao teeter off his carefully built, tolerant, patient walls. And, today, Mark decides to do just that and crash his hangout with his best friend, Ricky, without any warning at all.
“Get the fuck out,” Hao seethes as Mark reaches to buckle his seatbelt in the passenger seat. Hao is sitting in the driver’s seat, knuckles gripping the wheel tightly, white and angry.
“No,” Mark says defiantly. He crosses his arms, and tilts his chin up. This little shit, Hao thinks miserably. “I want to talk to Ricky.”
And Hao wants to kill himself. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel, ignoring the dull pain that presses against his bone. “Oh my god, why, Mark? I already told you I was going to ask him for the ticket. You don’t need to be there.”
“I want to talk to him,” Mark repeats. Hao turns his head to look at his younger brother, and sighs heavily when he sees the young boy’s head still tilted up, and his arms still crossed in the ultimate middle school stubbornness that comes with adolescence and the disease known as puberty.
“And you can’t meet him any other time?” Hao asks, eyes glaring at Mark. “You just have to crash my hangout with him even though you know this is the first time I’m meeting him at home for the first time in TWO years?”
Bingo, Hao thinks as he sees Mark’s confidence wilt after Hao’s small burst of anger, and he looks down onto his lap, biting his lip. He feels guilty.
Mark glances at his older brother. “I’m sorry. I just– I really want to know more about Sung Hanbin and I wanna hear about him from someone who knows him, like, personally.” A stupid reason. So, so, stupid, really, but his eyes widen pleadingly as they look into Hao’s.
Well, fuck.
Mark knows Hao can’t resist those stupid puppy eyes. Never. Not even when it comes from pleading strangers, friends, and parents, let alone his cute, little, baby brother.
Again, Hao hates his younger brother.
Hao leans back against his seat and sighs. “Fine,” he grumbles, reaching to buckle his own seatbelt. And as Mark cheers in the seat beside him and leans over to hug him, Hao smiles softly.
That smile, however, quickly fades as Mark steals Hao’s phone from the center console while Hao is driving and, thus, reigns complete control over Hao’s Spotify and the aux cord. He picks the most horrendous, egregious K-pop songs Hao has ever heard, and as they continue to play one after the other, Hao grits his teeth and almost loses his shit. (What happened to peak, Hao asks himself sadly, as he reminisces over the beautiful music that came from the K-pop industry back when Hao was a middle schooler.)
When they are only a few minutes away from Haidilao, a ballad, slow and yearning, with a beautiful, honey-like voice that resembles the voice Hao couldn’t get out of his mind since yesterday’s encounter at the airport floods the car.
“Is this Sung Hanbin?” Hao asks, as he stops at a red light, like he didn’t already know the answer.
Mark nods happily besides him. “This is from his latest album,” he introduces excitedly. “It came out a few weeks ago. I really want to watch him perform this live. I think I’ll cry if I do”
Hao hums in response. “Did you find out when tickets go on sale?”
Mark is quiet for a bit and Hao is beginning to think he didn’t hear Hao’s question before he finally replies in a resigned voice, “Yeah.” He frowns, looking back down onto his lap. He begins to pick at his fingertips, and Hao thinks back to Sung Hanbin at the airport. “They already did, like, a month ago, but that was when Mom took my phone away from me because I failed my math test, so I couldn’t keep up with his tour updates, and all the tickets now are, like, a thousand bucks and I know Mom and Dad don’t have the money for that.”
“Oh,” Hao says eloquently. “Well, I can always—”
Mark shakes his head. “I knew you would wanna pay for me and I don’t want you to, which is why I didn’t tell you about the tickets.”
“Oh,” Hao repeats. “I’m sorry.”
Mark sighs. “It’s okay. But that’s why I wanted to crash your hangout. So I can explain to Ricky why I want the ticket, since I don’t want you guys wasting money on me. I don’t have to be there if you don’t want me to be, though. I know it’s your first time back home in a while, and I don’t want to ruin your Haidilao time.”
Oh, he is so cute. When did he grow up so fast? Maybe Hao doesn’t hate his younger brother, after all. He reaches over to ruffle Mark’s hair, before taking his foot off the brake pedal and pressing it onto the gas pedal as the traffic light turns green.
“Let’s get your ticket,” Hao says, smiling softly as he turns into the parking lot of the Haidilao he has yearned for the past two years.
Ricky and Hao first met when Hao was in the eighth grade. They went to the same middle school, though Ricky was a grade younger, were in orchestra together, and Hao absolutely loathed the other on the day they met. Ricky had moved to Irvine only two years ago, while Hao had already lived in the city for seven years. On the first day of middle school, however, Ricky would not leave him alone. The little boy slithered up to Hao’s side right after orchestra and spoke to Hao in rapid Mandarin, something Hao had been trying his best not to do over the past few years in efforts of seeming more American in front of his peers.
Hao had looked at the little boy in confusion, frozen as he wondered why he chose Hao of all Chinese kids in the orchestra to terrorize. The rest of the day carried on like that—Ricky clinging on to Hao every single second of free time despite the older ignoring him, including lunch when he pushed himself into Hao’s friend group and introduced himself in loud, broken English, and after school, when Hao would go to pick his violin up from the instrument storage room and wait outside for his mother to pick him up. Hao had been absolutely miserable the entire day. As Ricky refused to leave his side, memories of his classmates constantly calling him a F.O.B. and the trashtalk he experienced back when he first moved flashed in his head, and he couldn’t bare to relive them. Needless to say, as his mother pulled up to their school’s parking lot, Hao rushed to his car, ignoring Ricky’s goodbye wave, and crawled inside, slamming the door closed.
Later that day, Hao found out Ricky’s mother and Hao’s mother were classmates back in China and Hao’s mother took it upon herself to offer Hao as a friend for the younger boy because Ricky failed to make any friends during his short time in elementary school, and Hao had never felt more guilty in his short thirteen years of life.
The next day, Hao went up to Ricky, ignoring the taunts floating in his head, and asked him to eat lunch with him and his friends again in Mandarin. Ricky stared at Hao for a good few seconds before a bright, wide smile crawled onto his little face and he nodded fervently, throwing his arms around Hao in a hug.
Since then, Hao and Ricky have been glued to each other’s sides, even as they split apart in high school, Ricky getting into the arts school that rejected Hao, and in college, Ricky failing to get into Columbia University, where Hao studies as part of the Columbia-Juilliard program. They call each other almost every week, tell each other everything, and trust and love each other unconditionally. And, when Ricky and Gyuvin are in New York to visit Gyuvin’s extended family, he never fails to stop by and see Hao, knowing just how lonely Hao felt sometimes, stranded in the big, suffocating city, feeling like there was nothing and nobody to love but his violin and his music at times like Thanksgiving, when all his college friends went home and Hao couldn’t.
Which is why, as Hao spots Ricky’s familiar face grinning at him as he steps foot into Haidilao, he melts a little. Mark trails after Hao, fingers fidgeting, as the older brother saunters over and throws his arms over his best friend.
“You’re finally back,” Ricky whispers as they embrace.
Hao lets go of his friend and plops down onto the boothseat in front of Ricky, Mark crawling in right next to him. Hao looks around and notices there is barely anyone around them despite it being a Friday night, likely in courtesy of Haidilao’s soaring prices. He gulps down the glass of water conveniently placed in front of him and burps it out before responding, “Yeah, finally. Thank god I don’t have to stay for a winternship this year. That was such a waste of my time last year.”
Ricky laughs, “You were being so annoying about that. But at least you met that cute finance guy there–” He stops himself as he notices the dark, small presence sitting quietly next to Hao. Ricky glances at the shy, little boy playing with the napkin on the table, before leaning over to whisper in Hao’s ears, “What’s Mark doing here?”
Hao shrugs and nudges his little brother. Mark stays silent, so Hao nudges him a little harder. “Mark,” Hao says.
Still no response. Hao sighs. He has to do everything for this little bug.
“Well,” Hao starts. “Mark here found out you were friends with Sung Hanbin and he’s a huge fan so he wanted to ask you about him.”
Ricky looks a little stunned, clearly not expecting that answer. He runs his hand over his carefully gelled hair before asking, “How’d he know?”
Hao sighs again. “It was on your mom’s WeChat.”
“Of course it was,” Ricky mutters. He glances over again at Mark still playing with the napkin. Ricky sighs, before clapping his hands together once and standing up. “Well! Mark, how about this? I’ll answer whatever you want after I go to the bathroom. Hao, order for me. And get my sauce.”
He stalks off, and Hao is left alone with his brother yet again. Once he’s sure Ricky’s out of sight, he turns to Mark and smacks him on the shoulder. “You’re the one who wanted to come. You can’t make me say everything.”
Mark at least has the decency to look sheepish as he rubs his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whines. “You know how intimidating Ricky is.”
“Ricky?” Hao asks, frowning. “How is Ricky intimidating? He’s, like, the biggest loser I know.”
“He’s just all…you know,” Mark says.
Hao quirks his eyebrow up at him. “No, Mark. I don’t know.”
“Ugh, whatever,” the younger boy grumbles. He slouches, crossing his arms. “Never mind.”
Hao chuckles and ruffles Mark’s hair. For the next few minutes, he orders a few meats and a soup base before getting up to grab sauces for the three of them. As he scoops sesame oil and peanut sauce into a small saucer cup, he hears a shriek that sounds eerily like Mark’s, and he drops the cup, immediately rushing over.
Once he’s back at the booth, he finds Mark gaping, and Hao gets all up into Mark’s face out of concern.
“Mark, are you okay? What happened?” He scans over his little brother’s face to look for any injuries, but Mark is still gaping. He slowly moves his hand up and points at the Haidilao entrance.
“Hao, Hao, Hao, oh my god, look,” Mark stutters out, in a half-whisper.
Hao frowns before turning to where Mark is looking at, and when he sees Ricky chatting with two other Asian guys that are probably just some friends from UC Irvine Ricky ran into, his frown deepens.
“It’s just Ricky,” He says, turning back to his brother, confused. “He probably just ran into some friends from his college–” He’s interrupted by the grubby fingers that grab his chin and forcibly turn him back towards the entrance.
“No,” Mark hisses. “Look. At the guy next to Ricky.”
Hao squints. Ricky is holding hands with one of the Asian guys, and the other one has his hand on Ricky’s back, though his face is turned away from Hao and Mark. They are both wearing old hoodies, the one latched onto Ricky donning a black, holed one and the other dressed in a beige one, a stark contrast to Ricky’s sharp, smooth, thick, clearly expensive trench coat. And, well, if Ricky is holding hands with one of them, they have to be Gyuvin, which means…
Hao gawks as realization slaps him right across the face. As the three head back over to the booth, laughing loudly with each other, the other guy’s handsome face unveils itself to Hao, the bright grin and the smiling, crinkled eyes directed at Ricky and Gyuvin creeping into the light, and Hao is back at LAX, staring into those same, exact, smiling eyes that haven’t left his mind all night.
It’s Sung fucking Hanbin.
Hao, for the millionth time today, wants to kill himself.
Ricky is back, and is still seated directly across from Hao, with Gyuvin squished next to him, and Sung Hanbin is in a chair pulled from another table. Sung fucking Hanbin.
And the worst part? He’s doing everything to avoid glancing at Hao, which means he clearly remembers Hao from yesterday’s little adventure at the airport.
Hao, on the other hand, is looking down at the table, playing with the napkin on the table like Mark was a few minutes ago. He silently apologizes for judging his brother because, in front of intimidating, handsome people like Sung fucking Hanbin, who clearly don’t want you to be here, playing with the napkin and shutting up seems really, really inviting.
Mark, on the other hand, is invigorated. He seems like a whole other person as he sits up, back straight and ass on the edge of his seat, spewing rapid-fire questions at Hanbin and Gyuvin with a wide grin on his face, who both answer them just as invigoratingly and happily.
God, he looks so good, Hao thinks about Hanbin miserably. If only he didn’t hate me for some reason. I would totally tap that.
His miserable, depressing thoughts are cut short by a sharp pain in his shin.
“Ow!” Hao exclaims, and everyone at the table turns to look at him. He blushes furiously and glares at Ricky across from him, who looks back at him with an eyebrow raised. Hao feels a pinch on his side, clearly from Mark as punishment, who goes back to talking with Hanbin.
“Why the fuck did you kick me?” Hao loudly whispers at Ricky, leaning in close so Sung Hanbin doesn’t hear. “And you’re wearing those fuckass boots again. You know those hurt like a bitch.”
Ricky rolls his eyes and whispers back, “You’re being a little depressing right now and there’s a whole ass celebrity right next to us. Who’s exactly your type, mind you. And you’re not making a very good first impression.”
Hao glares at his supposed best friend. “Okay, well, I didn’t ask for him to be here.”
“Yes, you did.”
“When?” Hao’s a little louder when he asks this, and all heads turn back to look at him. Hao murmurs a sorry before glaring again at Ricky and going back to playing with his napkin and the cold pile of meat on his plate.
But, this time, it’s Gyuvin who isn’t letting it slide.
“Haoooo,” Gyuvin whines. “Why are you ignoring me?”
Hao quickly glances over at Hanbin, who’s looking at him with an unreadable expression, and he blushes. He turns back to Gyuvin and shakes his head.
“I’m not ignoring–”
“Yes, you are,” Gyuvin presses. “You haven’t seen me in almost two years and you’re just all quiet and pouting in the corner like I did something wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong—Hey! I literally saw you two weeks ago when you were in New York for Thanksgiving, I know you’re lying right now.”
Gyuvin grins as if he won a fight. “Well, then, why don’t you say hi to Hanbin over here? He also just came from New York, you know?”
Hao shrinks back and looks over at Hanbin, who’s still staring at him with empty eyes, blank and dark, unlike the sparkling, bright eyes that were just flashing at his younger brother. He awkwardly lifts his hand up to wave, and his throat croaks out a weak, “Hi.”
Kill me now, Hao thinks as Ricky snorts.
Hanbin nods in acknowledgement. “Hi.”
“I’m, uh, Hao Zhang. Or Zhang Hao. Either one works. Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, uh, nice to meet you. I’m Sung Hanbin.” Hanbin says, voice a little tight.
They go silent for a bit, and Hao, again, wants to disappear forever. He looks down at Mark, who’s looking at him like he’s an alien, and turns back to Ricky, with a pleading look on his face.
Ricky clears his throat, obviously sensing the awkward tension. “Um! Hao, here, goes to Columbia. And he’s really good at the violin, right, Hao?”
Hao winces as he feels another kick to his shin. Those goddamn boots.
“Yeah, you can say that,” Hao says, voice trailing off at the end.
Ricky sighs. “Okay, what–”
“Why the fuck are you guys so awkward?” Gyuvin interrupts. He’s looking back and forth between Hao and Hanbin with a scrunched up face, confusion written all over. “You guys are, like, the loudest people I know, so why are you, like, radio fucking silence with each other? Weird as fuck.”
They’re quiet again.
“Okay, that’s it,” Ricky says, standing up. He reaches down to pull Gyuvin up with him, and pushes him out of the booth. He looks at Mark, and curls his finger. “Mark, sweetie, let’s leave them alone for a bit because I feel like there’s a negative energy between them that’s failing to relinquish with us here.”
Mark begins to protest, “But I–”
“We’ll get you those tickets, okay? Free of cost, in the VIP section. I promise. Do you want bingsu? I’ll pay,” Ricky offers, and when Mark smiles, clearly satisfied, and starts to get up, Hao pulls at his shirt.
“Markkk,” Hao whines, whispering, hoping to get his brother to stay. Mark looks at his older brother and shrugs, tugging his shirt out of Hao’s grip. “Sorry, Gege, Ricky’s right. And I want some bingsu. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
And, with that, the three traitors are gone, and it’s just Hao and Hanbin left at the Haidilao table.
They sit in silence for a little longer, before Hanbin starts to stand up. “Well, it was really nice to–”
“Wait!” Hao exclaims, unable to hold it in any longer. He looks up at Hanbin, who’s staring back down at him, stunned. He fidgets in his seat.
“Did I, um. Did I do something wrong?” Hao asks, looking anywhere but Hanbin’s eyes.
Hanbin is still just staring, so Hao continues.
“I know you, um, remember me from yesterday. But, like, I feel like maybe there’s a misunderstanding here, and that maybe I did something at the airport to hurt you that I’m unaware of and I’m sorry if you were hurt because of it, because I really didn’t know about it and I really didn’t mean to hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable. And, if you didn’t like that I asked you for your number, I’m so sorry, I just thought you were really cute and I freaked and I just wanted to ask because, I don’t know, just because, but I’m sorry if that made you feel, like, unsafe or something—”
“Whoa, whoa, what?” Hanbin interrupts Hao’s rambling. He’s sitting back down in his seat, eyes widening.
“What?” Hao parrots.
Hanbin sighs, pinching his forehead as he closes his eyes. He looks back up at Hao. “Okay, wait. Did you know who I was yesterday?”
“Um. No?” Hao offers, confused.
“Fuck,” Hanbin whispers to himself. “Okay. Okay. Fuck.”
Hao is so confused right now. Why is he malfunctioning?
They’re quiet for a little longer and Hao is starting to zone out as he waits for Hanbin to continue, when Hanbin finally speaks up.
“I’m so sorry.”
Hao is even more confused. “Huh? Why?”
“Because I was just being a self-conceited idiot and I’m so, so sorry.”
Hao tilts his head to the side and looks right into Hanbin’s eyes, wide and full of regret. He immediately wants to fix that. Take that regret out and crush it so it’s gone forever. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. If anything, it’s me–”
“No, listen. Let me explain. Please,” Hanbin says quietly.
It’s the fucking puppy eyes again. And because everyone on this goddamn planet is aware of how weak Hao is to them, he swallows and nods.
“So, two days ago, I had my last fanmeet of the year in New York,” Hanbin starts. “And, well, the rest of the month and next month are supposed to just be a break for me. My company told me to, like, regain some feng shui or something like that before my tour starts, so they gave me a really, nice, long private break, and I booked a ticket back home in secret. No one was supposed to know about it. It was a really busy month and I was just really tired and all I wanted was to go home quietly and see all my friends and family in peace, you know?”
He glances at Hao to make sure he’s still listening. Hao nods in reassurance as their eyes meet. Hanbin continues, “But when I landed, there was this entire crowd waiting for me at the airport, and they start chasing me down. I don’t know how my flight got leaked but it did, and usually I love my fans, but that really fucked with my mental state yesterday, and then I ran into you.”
Hao bites his lip, nervous for what Hanbin has to say. Hanbin seems to notice and laughs. “Don’t worry. You were, like, the best part of my day. You were just this really sweet guy who helped me get through that really awful moment even though you had no idea what was going on. You made me laugh, even when I was really fucked up, and I was really, really grateful to have run into you.”
Hao can’t help but interrupt. “So, then, why–?”
“I’m getting there,” Hanbin smiles softly, before continuing, “And, I was just like, there’s no way this cute guy knows who I am, so I want to show him my whole face just so he thinks I’m not, like, a creep, and so I can thank him as genuinely as possible. But, then, afterwards, you were all struck and everything and you asked for my number and I was still shaken from the crowd so I thought–”
“You thought I was a sasaeng?”
Hanbin winces, “Yeah. I thought you recognized me and wanted my number so you can leak it or something– Wait, how do you know what that is? Aren’t you Chinese?” Hanbin looks at Hao, a little surprised.
Hao waves that off. “I’m Chinese, yeah, but I was a huge K-pop fan in middle school. A super crazy one, too. I have, like, a million posters at home that I ripped off yesterday after I found out who you were because I just felt really bad for you.”
Hanbin laughs. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Hao nods, a smile creeping onto his face. “Super crazy. So, if you debuted maybe, like, four years earlier, I probably would’ve been in that crowd.”
Hanbin throws his head back, laugh, loud and clear, ringing brightly in the air, and lord, Hao wants it to never end.
“All jokes, by the way. I wasn’t that crazy,” Hao clarifies. “But, yeah, I just thought you were really cute and wanted your number so I could ask you out or something later.”
Hanbin wipes a tear from his eye. “You’re really something, you know that?”
Hao grins. “I know.”
“Your brother‘s very adorable, by the way.”
Hao sighs, leaning back into his seat. “I know. And he knows it too. Maybe too well. He wasn’t even supposed to come today, but yesterday he found out Ricky knew you and this morning, he just climbed right into my car and begged to come with me and he was all cute about it so how could I say no?”
Hanbin laughs again. “Well, I’m glad he came. Ricky called me earlier about a little boy who was a huge fan of mine and demanded I come so he wouldn’t have to answer questions for him.”
“Sounds like Ricky for sure,” Hao smiles. “What about Gyuvin?”
“Gyuvin? Oh, we were just together, and he overheard us on the phone. He just invited himself.”
“Sounds like Gyuvin,” Hao mutters, which Hanbin laughs at again, something he seems to be doing a lot of right now and Hao is inexplicably happy that he was making this gorgeous man laugh like that.
“So, Hanbin- can I call you that, by the way?”
Hanbin nods and grins, amusement shining in his eyes. “What else would you call me?”
“Just wanted to make sure,” Hao says, sheepishly. “Well, I guess I wanted to ask, how do you know Ricky?”
For the next half-hour, Hanbin tells Hao about how he met Ricky in high school through Gyuvin, who was his best friend, hopelessly pining after Ricky. Then, Hao tells Hanbin about how he met Ricky in middle school, and how they are each other’s ride-or-die, and Hanbin tells Hao about the dance department at his high school, his training, his experience on the survival show, his group, which thankfully didn’t disband after the set two years were up and only deviated into a non-exclusive contract, the fake rumors (which included Lee Mina, thank god), and his music. Hao listens and nods and laughs and tells him about violin, his music program, Columbia, his friends at college, and everything in between.
They talk, and talk, and laugh, and laugh, and Hao doesn’t want this moment to end, but alas, as they are in the middle of giggling over how Gyuvin’s stupid cute dog looks strangely like him, Ricky, Gyuvin, and Mark reappear and ruin the moment.
“Well! I’m very happy you guys aren’t weird anymore,” Ricky declares, sliding back into the booth, Gyuvin following right after. Mark slides back into the seat next to Hao and smiles at how happy his older brother looks, how he radiates, and he decides that he loves how happy his brother looks, even as Hao ruffles the younger’s hair.
The rest of the meal goes smoothly, though they’ve been at the Haidilao longer than necessary so, before anyone notices Hanbin, they leave not much later. Gyuvin and Hanbin leave together, and Ricky climbs into Hao’s passenger seat, with Mark sleepily protesting in the back.
As Ricky clicks his seatbelt in, Hao stares at him.
“What are you doing here?” Hao asks.
Ricky eyes him with a look that says, You know the fuck why. “Why were you acting so strange back there with Hanbin?”
Hao sighs and puts the car in reverse, backing out of the parking space. “Nothing. I was just…intimidated by him, I guess.”
“I know you’re not telling me the whole story. You can’t lie to me anymore, you know that, right?”
Hao looks in the rearview mirror to find Mark already fast asleep. He breathes in relief, and opens his mouth, all the events from yesterday and Hanbin’s misunderstanding spilling out in one breath. When he’s done, they are at a red light, about to turn into Ricky’s apartment.
“I knew he would be your type,” Ricky comments, grinning.
Hao smacks him. “That’s all you have to say?”
Ricky shrugs. “Well, yeah. He’s kind of an idiot, but I already knew that.” He pauses a bit before turning to fully look at Hao, eyes inquisitive, asking. “So? Did you get his number?”
Hao pouts. “No. You guys came back before we got there. Also, I don’t even know if he’s into me.” He winces. “What if he’s not even into guys? What if I’m too much of a hassle to date? Wouldn’t he get, like, immediately cancelled in Korea if people find out?”
Ricky looks at him sympathetically. “Yeah. He is into guys, and he’s been out to us for a while now, but it’s really sad that his career can just end if the wrong person finds out.”
Hao is quiet in response. The tear-brimmed, wide, desperate eyes, red and swollen and heartbreaking, from yesterday flash in his head. Ricky notices Hao’s shift in mood, and sighs softly to himself. He stays quiet for the rest of the ride, as Hao turns into the apartment complex and parks.
Before Ricky gets out of the car, he leans in to give Hao a hug. Hao smiles and pats his best friend on the back.
Ricky pulls back a little and says, “I know these past few years have been rough on you, but let yourself be happy, okay?” His face softens. “And Hanbin deserves to be happy, too. Let me know if you ever want his number, and I can give it to you no problem.”
Hao nods, a lump growing in his throat. “Thanks, Ricky.”
Ricky smiles and steps back. “Love you, Ge.”
After Hao says it back, Ricky closes the passenger door and heads inside. Hao stays for a bit, thinking, before heading back home, Mark quietly snoring in the back, oblivious to the world around him and the war that’s ripping Hao’s head apart in pieces.
The moment Hao gets back, he heads into the shower, and immediately flops onto his bed afterwards, exhausted. He thinks about Hanbin, his laugh, his smile, his eyes, and a soft smile is already creeping back onto his face. He thinks about Ricky’s soft plea, asking him to let himself be happy, and he closes his own eyes, the other man’s voice and laugh ringing in his ears before he drifts off to sleep minutes later.
Unknown Number, 1:47 a.m.
Hey! This is Hanbin. I got ur number from Gyuvin, I hope that’s ok.
Just wanted to ask, r u free sometime this week? Would love to take u out ;)
Hao can’t stop fidgeting. He’s currently sitting at the dining table in a superstar’s apartment home in L.A., and he has never felt more out of place in his life.
Said superstar, on the other hand, is oblivious to Hao’s inner struggles as he hums at the stove, cooking up something that smells amazingly like a well-seasoned steak. When he’s done and heads over with two plates in his hand, a thick piece of steak, some green beans, and mashed potatoes on each plate, however, he notices the anxiety all over Hao’s face, and frowns.
“Are you okay? Do you not like steak?” He asks, placing the plates down on the table.
Hao shakes his head. “No, I love steak. Sorry, I’m just…” He purses his lips, “Really nervous.”
Hanbin smiles and sits down across from Hao. He pours Hao a cup of water from the pitcher on the table, before pouring himself a cup.
“Well, you don’t have to be.” He smiles shyly, picking up a fork to pick at his steak before admitting in a soft voice, so soft Hao almost didn’t hear it, “You can probably burn my apartment down, and I would still want to see you again.”
Hao‘s heart slams in his chest. Holy shit. His face feels hot as a blush spreads across his cheeks. What does he even say to something like that? Hao is about to thank him before he stops. Thanks? That feels awfully formal. And awkward. So instead, he opts for, “Your apartment’s too nice to burn down, I think.”
Seriously, Hao? Hao mentally smacks himself. He goes to weakly admit he was just joking before Hanbin laughs loudly.
“Yeah, I would be pretty let down if you did burn my apartment down. I paid a pretty penny for this,” he says, grinning. He cuts himself a bit of his steak and swallows it.
Hao lets out a sigh of relief, and goes to eat some of his own steak, closing his eyes and almost moaning as he gulps it down. God, this tastes like heaven. Then, he remembers where he’s at and who he’s with and immediately opens his eyes again to steal a glance at Hanbin, hoping he didn’t notice Hao’s reaction to the steak.
Thankfully, he’s just happily chomping down his food. He looks so cute, Hao thinks. A million questions about the man fills his head, and before he can stop himself, he asks, “Why’d you choose to live here in L.A. instead of back home?”
Hanbin swallows the food in his mouth before answering, “L.A. just seemed more…I don’t know. More people here won’t even blink if they knew who I am. I love it here, but it’s just so small. I’m always terrified of someone noticing me and caring over there. I figured, in L.A., at least, there’s celebrities everywhere. I feel like most people here would just ignore me.”
Hao nods. “That makes sense.”
They fall back into a comfortable silence, and this time, it’s Hanbin who speaks up. “So, why do you think we’ve never met before?”
Hao swallows the last bit of his steak. “We went to different high schools, and I couldn’t make it to Ricky’s graduation, so I guess our paths just never crossed. Your high school was also in a whole different city.”
Hanbin hums in response. “It’s crazy how we ran into each other at the airport like that, then.”
“Yeah. Must’ve been the universe telling me to see just how crazy you are first-hand so I can continue staying away from you,” Hao jokes.
Hanbin chuckles at that. “Mhm, sure. Or, it was the universe telling me how much of a slacker you are so I could stay away from you, with you snoozing like that in the middle of the airport.”
Hao sputters and pokes his fork in the other man’s direction, “Um, excuse me! I was tired! And you were also sleeping! Don’t act like—”
Hanbin laughs out loud, cutting into Hao’s defensive spew. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” His laughing calms, and he looks at Hao, with a soft look in his eyes that makes Hao’s heart stutter. “In any case, I’m really glad we met. And I’m really, really happy Ricky called me over to Haidilao that day.”
Hao feels so nervous right now, what the hell? His heart is jumping in his throat, slamming against the walls of his chest, but he feels exhilerated. He hasn’t felt like this in a long, long time.
“Same,” he whispers back. They are quiet for a little bit after that, staring at each other’s eyes, before Hao clears his throat and goes to change the topic. “So, Hanbin, what’s your favorite movie?”
Hanbin’s lips quirks up in amusement. A little bit of his teeth flash between his lips, bright. Like the sun, Hao thinks.
Hao realizes he’s no longer nervous as Hanbin answers, thoughtfully, before he asks it back to Hao, and they talk like that for hours, in the intimate, warm space of Hanbin’s apartment home in L.A., asking questions back and forth on the dinner table, smiling and laughing, happiness leaking into the air until all that’s left is a light, effulgent and full of possibility.
They see each other almost everyday after their first date, Hao becoming almost a second resident at Hanbin’s apartment at this point, and when they aren’t with each other, they are texting or calling each other. Hao loves to send Hanbin memes of when he was on the survival show and Hanbin loves to send Hao reels of stupid animals and tell Hao how much he looks and acts like them.
They spend almost every second of their breaks together, glued to each other like magnets, refusing to pull apart.
Their first kiss, however, comes much later, only a week before Hao needed to fly back to New York. They spend the entire day at Disneyland’s California Adventure together, with Hanbin covered up in a mask, sunglasses, and a cap (though it was to no avail, he was stopped for a picture at least six times that day, to all of which he refused very politely and offered an autograph instead) and Hao happily pulling the superstar towards all the hard rides, who complies even as he shakes in his boots in fear before the ride starts.
After the long day, Hao drives them to a nearby beach, dragging Hanbin out into the quiet, peaceful cold of the night, and they sit on a rock, looking out onto the ocean, listening to the waves spill onto the sand in a rhythmic roar.
Hao sighs, pulling his legs up towards his body to shield himself from the cold wind. “I love the beach.”
Hanbin nods in agreement. “Same. There’s really nothing like a California beach.” He turns towards Hao and pokes softly at his shoulder. “I’ve been wondering…why’d you pick Columbia? It’s so far from here, and you love it back home. And I know you love your family.”
“I know,” Hao wraps his arms around his legs, shivering. “Not being able to come home until now was like torture. I had something to do on campus or off campus every break and it drove me fucking crazy. But, I just couldn’t say no to Columbia-Juilliard. I’ve been dreaming about it for my entire high school life, and I love music too much to say no.”
Hao feels a jacket wrap around his curled up body, and smiles as he thanks the other man. Hanbin smiles in response, rubbing a hand over Hao’s back, warm and soothing. “Are you happy there?”
Hao thinks carefully about his answer, looking up into the sky and frowning when he couldn’t find a single star. He replies, softly, honestly. “I am. I feel lonely sometimes, yeah, when the people I love the most are all 3,000 miles away, but I love my friends at school, and I love being able to do what I do. I don’t think I can live without music.” He pouts a little out of habit, something he does when he’s cold, continuing, “And it helps that my family and Ricky and Gyuvin sometimes fly over to visit me.”
He turns to look over at Hanbin, smiling when he sees the other man looking at him intently, with a look on his face that makes Hao’s heart beat loudly, drowning out even the sea’s insistent roars. “What about you? Are you happy in Korea?”
Hanbin sighs, closing his eyes and looking down into his lap. “I don’t know, honestly. I love my group and my fans and I love being able to do music on my own. And I fucking love dancing. I can’t live without it like how you can’t live without your violin. But Korea’s just. So far. And I don’t know if I can ever really be myself over there.
“My family all moved to Korea with me, you know, so coming back here is really just to see my friends and visit all the places I used to love as a kid, but California still feels like home to me. I love it here. I love the people here, the freedom here, everything. And I can love who I want to love. It’s obviously still not the best out here, but there have been so many successful American celebrities that have come out and I just can’t help but hope when I see them. I want to live like them—out and unafraid of losing everything. Korea’s amazing, don’t get me wrong. But it’s just not the same.”
Hao swallows. He doesn’t know how to respond. He had an idea of how hard it must’ve been for Hanbin, but hearing it come from the idol’s mouth filled him with a panging sadness, his heart cracking a little at the sight of the man next to him, Golden Boy of South Korea, legs stretched out off the rock’s edge and palms pressed against the rough stone as he leans back, looking smaller right now as he faces the infinite ocean than he has ever looked.
“When was the last time you came back home?” Hao asks.
Hanbin laughs, a little bitter, maybe. “Last month, for a fan concert. But, I had to leave the next day. The last time I came here on my own accord was maybe three years ago, right after the survival show ended.”
Oh. “That’s a long time ago,” Hao whispers.
“Yeah.”
They sit in silence after that, listening to the waves wash the world back and forth. Hao thinks about Hanbin’s bitter laugh, then thinks about the happy laugh that leaves his throat and sparkles in the air, like the stars hiding underneath the plagueing fog in the sky, when he’s with Ricky, Gyuvin, and now, Hao.
It’s Hao that breaks the silence with his next question.
“Would you ever consider quitting?” He asks.
Hanbin doesn’t answer right away. He bites his lip, eyes looking forward, away from Hao. His voice is quiet, almost inaudible when he replies, “I’ve thought about it. Many times, actually. It’s why my company put me on a break. I had a huge performer’s block in New York, and you can probably find some stuff on it online, but I forgot a shit ton of lyrics and a shit ton of choreo. Afterwards, I just broke down in front of my manager, and he forced me on a break.”
He swallows, before continuing, “The worst part about this is that I was so, so happy when he told me to take a break. I wanted to get away from my job so bad, and come back here more than anything. I never thought like this when I was still promoting with my group, but I think it was building up even back then.”
Hanbin then turns back to Hao, eyes wide, staring right into Hao’s. “But I don’t know how to quit, Hao. I love music. I love dancing. I’ve given up so much to be here, and there are so many people who love me now.” His voice lowers to a whisper, “Letting them down feels worse than anything else in the world.”
Fuck, he’s doing the thing with his eyes again. Hao can’t help but envision the the man back in the airport, pleading at him with the same look. His eyes are wide, so, so wide, and dark, and they look desperate. Scared. Lonely. Before Hao can think about, he wraps his arms around the other man, ignoring the surprise that floods Hanbin’s face.
He whispers into Hanbin’s ears, “If they really do love you, the best thing you can do for them is to let yourself be happy, Hanbin. I promise.”
(So what if he’s plagiarizing Ricky? Desperate times call for desperate measures.)
Hanbin nods and buries his head in the crook of Hao’s neck. They stay like that for a few minutes, Hao’s arms wrapped around Hanbin, and Hanbin’s forehead pressed against Hao’s skin. They are so, so close right now, and Hao’s heart pounds faster and faster as they stay warm, close, skin whispering against skin, even as the wind blows at them and the waves continue to thunder around them.
Hanbin pulls back a little and looks at Hao. His eyes drift down to Hao’s lips, as he wets his own. His voice is soft, deep, a little raspy as he whispers, “Thank you, Hao.”
Hao nods. God, his poor heart. It gets worse when Hanbin continues, in that same soft, deep, raspy voice:
“You’re the best thing to happen to me since I won that show. The cutest thing, too.”
Hao’s heart stills, and he gulps. He laughs weakly as he jokes, “Really? Even cuter than Lee Mina?”
Hanbin chuckles softly and leans his forehead against Hao’s, looking at him right in his eyes. “Yes, Hao. Even cuter than Lee Mina.”
And with that, he closes his eyes, leans in impossibly closer, and presses his lips against Hao’s. It feels like fire, so, so warm, blazing, light in the winter dark, and Hao can’t help but kiss him back, giving in to the inviting, kind, beautiful warmth that is Sung Hanbin.