i want both of us to eat well

Two years had seemed intimidatingly long before, but now it seems an entirely too lacking a duration to spend with his other half, the one Hanbin thinks he has been preparing to meet all his life.

For as long as he can remember, Hanbin was born with endless love, enough to spend his weeks, months, years tilling and tending to the land, enough that he has never once felt the desire to leave Maehwa-dong. It’s a good thing that he gave his everything to this village, because Hanbin thinks that in return for his devotion, the land brought Zhang Hao to him.

Notes:

Inspired by Three Meals A Day: Jeongseon Village

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Maehwa-dong is beautiful this time of the year.

With his head propped on his knees, Hanbin breathes in the crisp air, slow and deep, then lets it out, warmed from within. In the tranquility, his gaze drifts over the gleaming gold and fiery auburn that washes over the verdant hillside. As it tends to when he takes the time to absorb the grandeur of his surroundings, his mind quietens. Nothing occupies his mind save for bliss and serenity. It’s early enough that the sun has just barely begun to lighten the morning sky and already, the little lake clearing is filling up with the busy chattering of little critters hidden from Hanbin’s sight. They’re all stirring awake with dawn, the same way Hanbin had.

By his foot, Bori paws at his ankle lightly. She looks vaguely reproachful that he hasn't thought to pick her up for a cuddle yet, so Hanbin soothes her with a pet over her eager little head and tucks her into his light jacket. Satisfied with her request being fulfilled, Bori settles into the crook of his arm. She’s a little hot pack in her own right, and her radiating warmth chases away the tiniest chill that Hanbin hadn't even noticed had travelled down his arms.

When the sky is bright, it’s as good a sign as any that it’s time to return home; the day has begun after all. Wriggly little Bori wanted out of the comfortable confines of his arms so she trots at a nice pace by his side, her small tail wagging merrily as they patiently progress on the small hike back to their home. Fallen leaves crunch under their feet and Hanbin breathes the cool air in, fills his lungs to bursting with it, then lets it back out. The warmth of his breath bursts into the world in a faint cloud and it reminds him of the way smoke would curl over the top of his steaming mug of morning tea.

Bori speeds up when they get on the dirt path that leads up to their yard. She’s a blur of fur as she maneuvers around the familiar faces in black attire already milling around to set up their filming equipment. Muscle memory takes over while Hanbin exchanges morning greetings with each of them and they don’t keep him for long as he continues on his beeline for the pantry. He barely even notices himself setting up the stove or collecting water with a pot from the tap nearby. The tender serenity that Hanbin had stolen from watching the sunrise is leaking away steadily and in its place, the ever-present streams of thoughts overlap noisily in his mind.

Absently, Hanbin fans the fire below the pot. Tomorrow, he needs to catch Taerae at the market to take a look at his produce stall—it’s been leaking rain from a small hole in the roof and they had better fix the water damage before Taerae’s aunt finds out and frets unnecessarily over the repair costs that Hanbin has never once accepted. The pantry is running low on rice and oil too. Hanbin scatters the dried tea leaves into the water and watches on as they unfurl into the embrace of the simmering water. When he has time later, he should check on their produce garden before they run out of time to harvest everything. It would be a terrible waste if their painstakingly cultivated produce withers from the rapidly falling temperatures. In the weekend, Yujin will come back to Jeongseon for a visit too. Hanbin should return to his own home to get his room ready for Yujin’s arrival and—

A heavy weight settles unceremoniously onto his back, startling the breath out of Hanbin for a quick moment. Blinking, Hanbin returns to the yard, significantly noisier than before. The sun, higher in the sky now, brushes his cheeks tenderly and a smile pulls at his lips when the weight squirms slightly. “You don’t care about my wellbeing at all,” comes the muffled complaint mumbled right into Hanbin’s shoulder.

Without turning around fully, Hanbin drops a light kiss onto one of the forearms clinging loosely around his shoulders. Around them, nobody outwardly reacts, though a couple of junior assistants tactfully take their discussion to the wooden platform that Hanbin sometimes basks on when the weather is good out. “Why do you say that?” he croons, well aware of the fondness seeping into his voice. The tea is a nice amber now, and Hanbin takes it off the fire. It perfectly divides into two misshapen mugs, endearingly crude in a handmade manner. In the unpolished nooks on the inside of each mug are thumb prints clumsily left behind from shaping the mugs, and Hanbin presses his fingers into them each time he washes the mugs clean. He holds the hands that left those marks everyday, and he still greedily hoards each touch he can get.

A heavy sigh. “Left me to wake up in our bed cold and alone. You even took Bori away.” Hanbin cannot bear to not look at what must be a petulant pout directed at him, so he tilts his body to encourage his precious burden to dislodge slightly. “I had to come out to find you on my own,” an aggrieved harrumph.

Just as Hanbin pictured in his mind, his love crouches behind him, eyes still half-closed and thin sleeping clothes knocked askew on his lean frame. Swollen from sleep, the roundness of his cheeks transforms his usually intimidating beauty into something achingly soft and dear. The pout on his lips droops heavily, and Hanbin allows himself one more selfish act of unprofessionalism to kiss the plump of Zhang Hao’s lips warmly right in full view of the staff wandering about them. “Good morning,” Hanbin greets. He nudges the pale pink mug into Zhang Hao’s loosely curled hands. Between them, Bori prances eagerly and paws lightly at Zhang Hao’s thigh. “I was planning to wake gege up with warm tea after my walk,” Hanbin explains tenderly. “Bori was a little restless so I thought I’d take her with me. So you can sleep in a little more.”

Zhang Hao huffs into his mug. Over the rim, steam extends little tendrils to Hanbin before they dissipate. “You should have stayed in bed with me,” he says, still clinging onto feigned petulance. By now, Hanbin has become somewhat of an expert in Zhang Hao speak. It’s easy enough to pick out the undercurrent of a smile in his sulkiness. Giggling, Hanbin shifts so that Zhang Hao can fold himself into Hanbin’s lap. It’s a precarious balance with how small the stool Hanbin perches on is, but he’d much rather fall flat on his back than let Zhang Hao squat a second longer.

“It’s been almost two years, gege. How haven't you gotten used to waking up early yet?” Hanbin laughs. To quiet him, Zhang Hao shoves his half-drunken tea into Hanbin’s lips, nevermind that Hanbin has his own cup to tend to. It wouldn't be the first or second time that they’ve shared a cup or eaten from the same plate. Hanbin quite loves it like this—one of their many little ways to meld into one.

Just like this, with Zhang Hao curled up in his lap radiating contentment and the morning sun edging his red-brown hair with filigree gold, Hanbin can barely comprehend how he ever lived without his other half right here in his arms. Thinking about it sends an echoing pang through his chest. To chase it away, Hanbin tilts his face up in a silent request for a kiss, one that Zhang Hao is always eager to fulfill. It must be the lingering memory of emptiness, that disquieting ache that burrows into his core whenever he slips back into memories of a time before he was whole.

Two years had seemed intimidatingly long before, but now if they stretch just a little more, they could very well brush their fingers against the end. Somewhere down the line, two years had become too short for Hanbin’s liking. Barely enough time for two halves of a whole to snap together and learn to settle into completion, entirely too lacking a duration to spend with his other love, the one Hanbin thinks he has been preparing to meet all his life.

For as long as he can remember, Maehwa’s land has been breathing life into his body. Hanbin doesn't know what it’s like to not have his life tied to the sturdy mountains or the glimmering river that winds its lazy paths through the valleys below. He was born with endless love, enough to look after each elder like his own aunts and uncles, enough to spend his weeks, months, years tilling and tending to the soil, enough that he has never once felt the desire to leave Maehwa-dong. It’s a good thing that he gave his everything to this village, because Hanbin thinks that in return for his devotion, the land brought Zhang Hao to him.

That deep into the countryside, they hardly received any visitors. Not even Jeongseon’s residents ventured much into Maehwa-dong’s mountainous lands. In fact, Hanbin knew every single resident living in the village, from the wrinkled kimchi seller at the market whose high schooler grandson helps out at the stall, all the way to little Jieun from the house a small ways down, only barely a month old. In all, it was quite disconcerting to see two large black cars, sparkling and clean, if only slightly dulled by the dust stirred up from their rocky entrance, coming to a gentle stop in front of his yard.

Hanbin had jogged up to meet them—them being the team of six, no, eight very obviously city dwellers going by their outfits—as they spilled out of the cars and gawked all around. Two of them stepped forward in near unison at his cautious approach. “Hello. Is there anything I can help you with?” Hanbin asked politely. It was hard to miss the brief look that passed between the two of them.

The bespectacled one inclined his head slightly at Hanbin. The other one eased a friendly smile on. “Hi, ah,” the man cleared his throat, “by any chance, do you know who the owner of this place is?”

The owner? Hanbin sure knew him.

“Yes, that would be my father. Is there something wrong?” Hanbin asked, feeling his brows pinch yet closer together. The expressions of the two before him cleared up, giving way to a tentative yet palpable excitement that Hanbin could almost smell.

“Ah, nothing's wrong,” the bespectacled one chuckled lightly. “We’re just here to scout the location.”

Scout? Hanbin was sure that his expression fully betrayed his confusion—Gyuvin did say that his feelings were always written clearly all over his face. “We noticed your property listed online for renting, and we’d like to discuss a very, very exciting proposal with your family,” the man grinned. Around them, the small group drifted closer together and several of them directed friendly, reassuring smiles at Hanbin as he scanned all of their faces briefly. “Is your father home?”

Hosting the visitors had taken only a couple of hours but it left Hanbin drained in a way he hadn't felt in a while. It was nothing that an evening with Gyuvin couldn't fix, though Hanbin could barely keep himself from fidgeting as he waited for Gyuvin to lope into his yard. The tire tracks of the fancy cars were still fresh in the front and Gyuvin eyed them in passing as he bounded up to Hanbin with a low squeal of nonsensical noises. “Sung Hanbin!” He cooed, tickling under Hanbin’s chin. Hanbin pretended to gnash his teeth at the fingers wiggling under his face, but then he tugged Gyuvin down when he couldn't wait anymore.

“Gyuvin-ah, sit, sit, I have something cool to tell you,” he insisted.

Gyuvin flopped down and turned his large eyes on Hanbin expectantly. His uncannily long legs stretched out, almost covering the whole width of the front porch. “Yeah? What is it?”

With both hands smushing Gyuvin’s cheeks tightly, Hanbin leaned in close to stage-whisper, “our old property is going to be used for filming a variety show by tvN, and I’m going to sign a contract to be a host for a celebrity.”

Briefly resembling an overstimulated puppy, Gyuvin shook his head free to gasp. “No way, are you serious?” He breathes. “Our Sung Hanbin is going to be on television?” Biting his lip proved futile in holding back his grin as Hanbin nodded his head. They met in a tight handshake of sorts with their clasped hands flailing giddily. Neither of them bothered particularly much to hush their excitable giggles.

“No way!” Gyuvin repeated. “Wait, tell me everything. How did this happen? Who’s the celebrity? What are you gonna do for the show? How long is it?”

Laughing, Hanbin hand flew up to pinch Gyuvin’s cheek lightning-fast. “Slow down,” he said, playful. “Remember how we were figuring out how to list this house on that rental site?”

Gyuvin snorted. It was a laughable thought—who in their right mind would try to rent an old house where most of it was broken or makeshift, much less this far into a remote, mountainous farming village? Gyuvin had said as much, but neither of them protested further under the force of nature that was Hanbin’s mother once an idea took root in her mind. It took them the better part of a humid Saturday afternoon to finally work the website out, but once he saw those city people off, Hanbin could not have been more grateful for his mother’s insistence all those months ago.

“Somehow, these variety show producers found our place and came down to check out the property.”

After Hanbin managed to herd his parents to their old home to meet the production team, the newcomers wandered all over the house, poking around the mismatched tools and photographing old furniture stacked in haphazard piles around the place.

As he lingered by the outdoor kitchen, Hanbin even heard one of the producers murmuring, “imagine him struggling to carry a heavy cauldron to this fireplace all on his own! You know he’d just make the best expressions!”

Her colleague squealed.“You're right, oh my god. He hates doing anything tiring so this place is actually perfect to challenge him,” she agreed. “I can just see the memes of his expressions. I bet he’ll say something like ‘I can't believe I came all the way to Korea to be an idol and now I’m carrying this heavy pot’, right?”

Hanbin had no idea who she was trying to imitate but the way the other producer fell over in uncontrollable peals of laughter convinced him that her impression of this celebrity’s accent—soft, rounded consonants with a child-like petulance—must be spot on.

“They were super interested in the farm land behind the house,” Hanbin said, “They were so happy to hear that the land is still fertile. I think they’re planning to make the celebrity plant crops and harvest them.”

“They're staying that long? Like a full cycle?” Gyuvin gaped.

“Even longer. It’s a long term contract, I think like a couple years,” Hanbin laughed. “They need time to film and the crops need time to grow too, and they want me to show the celebrity the ropes.” Amusement heavy in his voice, he added, “the concept is a city boy learning all about life in the countryside.”

Faux-serious, Gyuvin nudged him. “You’re going to get too busy to see your best friend, huh?”

Hanbin rolled his eyes. “As if you’ll leave me alone long enough,” he countered.

Gyuvin sighed heavily. “When you have a new, shiny friend…” he lamented, “a celebrity with fame who I cannot hope to compare with—”

“Anyway, I’m not allowed to know who the celebrity is yet until I sign the contracts.” Not that it mattered much to Hanbin, really, as long as they weren’t a complete nightmare. He could count the number of celebrities he recognised on his hands with fingers to spare. “They said that they’re finalising some details, then they’ll send for me to sign the papers in Seoul.”

“What if they're some stuck up, entitled little brat? Then you’d be in it for the long haul,” Gyuvin snorted. Hanbin wiggled his fingers in both of Gyuvin’s sides in punishment.

“I’d stick it out for the money.” Hanbin said serenely.

Snickering, Gyuvin shook his head. “Well, you're the one going on TV, so I expect a treat tonight before you get too famous for small Bin,” he teased.

“I’ll convince the producers to invite you on the show and rocket you to fame,” Hanbin shot right back with a grin. “Just you wait.”

For all the impassivity Hanbin had towards celebrities, he still found himself peripherally nervous when it came time to meet the one he would be hosting for the next two years. Obviously they had to be a male celebrity—no way any sane producer would cast a female celebrity to cohabit with a male farmer. He also deduced that the celebrity was likely a foreigner, judging from the conversation about the cauldron that he overheard. That narrowed the list down considerably, but Hanbin’s knowledge of celebrities was still limited to the short roster of middle aged men who regularly appeared on the comedy sketches that his parents favoured. He wasn’t unaware of the existence of shiny idols his age, but he never quite cultivated a fascination for them either, occupied as he was with helping out on his family’s farm land and running little errands for his neighbours in his free time.

For their first meeting, Hanbin really wanted to make a good impression, so much so that he spent an evening agonising over what to wear to meet his future housemate. His appearance wasn’t usually at the forefront of his mind—Hanbin had been working in a worn tank top and a pair of mud-stained shorts when the tvN producers made their unexpected trip to Maehwa-dong and it didn’t bother him at that time. They probably couldn’t think much less of him unless he turned up in his pajamas. Then again, it wasn’t everyday that he would be meeting a celebrity who would spend a significant portion of his time with Hanbin for the next couple of years.

In the end, Gyuvin came to his rescue, as he was prone to on the fashion front. Thrusting one of his denim jackets into Hanbin’s arms, Gyuvin only left after they settled on a casual and handsome outfit pairing the jacket with Hanbin’s newest white shirt and comfortable jeans.

“Doesn’t hurt to dress up a little,” Gyuvin had said sagely. “I hope for your sake that it’s a hot male idol and you finally get a good lay—”

Hanbin’s playful chokehold meant that Gyuvin had to abandon his next words to squeal for forgiveness, because never in a million years would Hanbin have imagined that Gyuvin could have been touched with the gift of foresight. Who just got to meet a glittering idol so easily, much less live with one for two years?

Hanbin did, it seemed.

He could never forget the way his heart leapt into his throat when the love of his life walked through the meeting room doors. Hanbin didn’t even know his name then, but in that moment when their eyes met, a strange sensation swallowed him whole; like the static electricity that buzzed on the edge of a storm, or the pressure of being underwater that muted every sound. Breathless, Hanbin barely managed to remember to introduce himself. He probably stuttered through the whole thing, maybe even botched his own name, but the star before him only nodded eagerly to each word with a patient, attentive smile.

“It’s nice to meet you! My name is Zhang Hao,” his future housemate responded in turn, then folded into a deep bow. “Please look after me,” he added, glancing up at Hanbin through his lashes.

There were some moments in Hanbin’s life that stuck out brightly, like sparkling gems that caught light no matter which way he turned them. One of them was when Hanbin turned around during a game of tag to find a ruddy-cheeked boy named Gyuvin gripping onto his shirt, knowing right then that he’d have to keep Gyuvin in his life forever. Another was when he looked out of the window in the morning he turned 20 and was gifted with the sight of a sunrise so beautiful that his breath caught in his throat. This moment, as Zhang Hao straightened up with a coy smile toying at his lips and his gaze lingering on Hanbin, would become one of those shining memories, catching his attention over, and over again.

After their initial meeting in Seoul, Hanbin played host to even more visitors. Foolishly, each time a shiny black car rolled to a stop outside the house, his heart would leap into his throat, only to settle down sluggishly once the doors slammed shut with no Zhang Hao in sight. Then again, it only made sense that Zhang Hao had no reason to visit until the production team was all done with renovating and rigging the property up with recording equipment.

The construction activity went on as smoothly as he could have hoped for—all Hanbin had to do was be present to supervise as the contractors expertly replaced dangerously-worn beams and constructed false walls. To keep out of the way, he spent those afternoons distracted with thoughts of his new housemate.

Their brief meeting in Seoul provided little by way of opportunities for interaction; they exchanged polite niceties, Hanbin cracked a few genial jokes, Zhang Hao gave as good as he got, but that was it, really. Hanbin had two years to get to know him slowly, and he wasn’t a very impatient man in general, but one two-hour meeting with Zhang Hao turned his head around completely.

Idols, at the end of the day, were also people—that Hanbin knew. Somehow, he still walked into that meeting room expecting to see sparkles winking at him all over his celebrity housemate’s person, or maybe he would have an unbreachable aura that would squarely identify him as a famous person from a completely different world. Maybe he’d be an over-the-top obnoxious diva, like the kind that Gyuvin gleefully speculated about over dinner, but no, Zhang Hao in person was strikingly ordinary, and perfectly likeable. Too likeable, even.

Zhang Hao nearly tipped over his own feet with how low he bowed to Hanbin in greeting, and he nodded his head too much to signal his active listening; Hanbin actually lost count of how many times he stole glances at the mop of fluffy hair bobbing in his peripheral vision throughout the briefing. Every now and then, Zhang Hao suddenly broke out in belly-deep laughs so boisterous that Hanbin startled the first few times it happened. When Zhang Hao thought that no one was looking his way, he made unflattering expressions at his manager to earn a playful smack on his shoulder. Three seats away across the table and a complete stranger, Hanbin watched with an unfamiliar twinge in his chest as they giggled together with well-worn familiarity. Only much later on would he become so intimately accustomed with this feeling—want—that he could put a name to it in hindsight.

Want lined every thought of Zhang Hao that drifted through Hanbin's mind as he imagined sharing inside jokes with Zhang Hao, knowing what to say to make him laugh without restraint, how the weight of his arm would feel resting on Hanbin’s back as they walked side by side, pressed close together. “Zhang Hao,” Hanbin would whisper over and over, trying to shape his mouth just right so that he could pronounce the foreign name perfectly by the next time they met.

At night, he stayed up far too late with only the light from his screen illuminating his room on his twelfth Zhang Hao fancam. The watch spree followed a deep dive into Zhang Hao’s background—a certified music education major, ranked first in his region for CSAT, scouted by a whole battalion of companies before signing with BaseOne and debuting the center of his group, SH1NE. Before he knew it, Hanbin had already finished watching a whole season of SH1NE’s variety content spanning two years. The last episode he had just watched featured the group camping in a rural village and completing activities to win ingredients for the highly-anticipated barbeque dinner. Despite the sparkles lighting up Zhang Hao’s eyes at the mention of premium grilled beef, he was hopelessly bad at every task ranging from weeding to catching fish in the small, calm lake. How is Zhang Hao ever going to survive in Maehwa like that? Hanbin had wondered, amused. There were no two ways about it—Zhang Hao was a city boy through and through. Would he hate it at Maehwa within the first day of filming and demand to be sent home right away?

Selfishly, Hanbin hoped not. If not for the burgeoning one-sided fascination he had been nurturing for Zhang Hao since their first and only meeting, he’d quite like it if Maehwa could be featured prettily on national TV. After all, there was nowhere on this planet more beautiful than Maehwa-dong in Hanbin’s very biased opinion. Perhaps Hanbin could show Zhang Hao the best fishing spots, or where he liked to snack on the sweet, wild berries that sprouted up abundantly near the height of summer. If Zhang Hao liked cycling, they could do that too, race each other on the rough dirt road that connected his little corner of the world to Gyuvin’s house, the market, and beyond.

Was it wrong to hope that someone like Zhang Hao could find himself right at home here too?

Nibbling at his lower lip, Hanbin thought about the small creek nearby, the one that was bracketed by the small vegetation behind their house and the mountain. It was a rather lovely spot to splash around at, one that held many of Hanbin’s happiest childhood memories, and Zhang Hao’s NamuWiki profile had mentioned swimming, alongside eating and dancing under the hobbies section. Maybe he could come to love Hanbin’s home too, if there was something nice for him to ease into.

Calf-deep in the shallow creek, Zhang Hao yelps as his back hits Hanbin’s already waiting arm. Even having foreseen the slip, Hanbin’s heart skips a beat when Zhang Hao flails backwards. “You need to pay more attention to where you’re walking,” he laughs breathlessly as he gently presses Zhang Hao upright. “I can’t always catch you.”

“Ugh,” Zhang Hao grunts, two steps in front of him. He looks painfully adorable picking his way through the creek with pink rubber boots that almost stretch up to his knees. “You always say that, but then you catch me anyway.” Warily, he tests the stone beneath his foot and nods decisively when he doesn’t slip. Hanbin smiles to himself, bemused. The bottom of the gentle creek isn’t exactly rough terrain, but precisely because of that, algae settles well on the smooth surfaces. It isn’t too difficult to cross the creek safely but his gege is notoriously clumsy after all.

And too easily riled up with a well-placed jab.

“Maybe I should just let you fall over the next time you slip. Then you’ll learn,” Hanbin teases. Predictably, Zhang Hao shouts with indignance. He whirls around, Hanbin’s name half out of his mouth when his boot slides on the butter-smooth algae beneath and he lurches forward with a squeal again. Delighted, Hanbin lets his laugh escape as his arms shoot out to stabilize Zhang Hao. The white-knuckled grip on his forearms hurt a little but having a wide-eyed, trusting Zhang Hao clinging to him makes the small ache worth it. “Come on, step where I step.” Once he props Zhang Hao upright again, Hanbin steps ahead with a passing squeeze to his waist. He leaves his hand up behind him expectantly, smiling when Zhang Hao’s cool hand clutches his tightly.

In no time, they make it to the opposite side with no more slips. There is a patch on this side of the creek with large rocks that shade the fishes teeming in the creek. A small movement catches Hanbin’s eye—a small fish darts into a crevice under two rocks. With slow, careful steps, Hanbin wades closer and bends low to see. “Hyung, come here carefully,” he calls. “I see a plump one hiding under this rock.”

Small splashing sounds, and a light pressure settles on Hanbin’s lower back. A pleasant warmth tingles at the base of his spine when Zhang Hao takes his palm away. “Mm… I see it too. The net?”

Being so familiar with fishing at this creek that he could do it in his sleep means that Hanbin can trade his active attention for muscle memory to take him through the motions and spend his time watching Zhang Hao instead. Why wouldn’t he, when Zhang Hao looks so good with a furrow in his brows and the sun casting divots in the lean muscles of his arms? Hanbin’s body remembers how to angle himself to cut off the fishes’ escape route on one side, and the net spreads out, waving lazily in the water as Zhang Hao mirrors him on the other side. “Hanbin-ah, move closer to the rocks. There’s a gap,” he tips his chin sharply at Hanbin’s feet.

Hanbin takes a beat too long to move—adjusting his form to corral the fishes, Zhang Hao’s thighs shift and strain against the hem of his shorts. Hanbin is only a man in love. His gaze snaps up and catches Zhang Hao’s cheeks lifting, a self-satisfied smile toying at his lips.

Around the beginning of their cohabitation, when Hanbin was still far too nervous to meet Zhang Hao’s gaze, he might have collapsed to the ground with the weight of his mortification if he were caught ogling his very famous, out of his league celebrity housemate. These days, Hanbin still flutters between wrongfooted by how freely he is allowed to gorge on his gege, and something akin to wonder that his gege enjoys his intensity; it is a revelation that continues to surprise him this far into their union. Both his trepidation and rapturous joy simmer in his chest near indistinguishably, and so most of the time he simply tries not to look directly into that blinding knot of hunger, joy, and fear. It’s unforgivable—wasting precious, limited time lost in his own head—when he could be devoting himself towards repaying Zhang Hao for the gift of his companionship instead.

Hanbin is content to fall back and let Zhang Hao take the lead at this point; their first fishing experience ended with Hanbin catching the entirety of that afternoon’s haul, but within a week, Zhang Hao was turning to him with excitement sparkling in his eyes and a squirming fish held fast in his hand. Over a year in now, Zhang Hao is more than able to anticipate where the fishes would dart once spooked, or when to sweep them up in the net so that they couldn’t squirm free; Hanbin is just there to support him, a bit like a cheerleader. “Good job, hyung,” Hanbin praises when Zhang Hao snaps the net shut with a loud whoop. The net is fluttering with thrashing fishes when they haul it up for the camera director waiting for a close up shot. “You caught them right away.”

The mischievous glint in Zhang Hao’s eyes promises that he’s up to no good. Hanbin finds himself anticipating what will come out of his mouth next. “Do I get a reward for catching them?” He asks, cheeky.

“What reward do you want?” Hanbin plays into the very obvious bait that Zhang Hao had laid out. He’s no better than one of the fishes who swam knowingly into their net.

Zhang Hao puckers up. “Kiss,” his eyes slip shut, and his cheekbones happily bunch up again. Hanbin’s chest could explode with affection. The water turns slightly choppy around their legs as the camera director hurriedly lurches away from them with an awkward cough.

“Behave yourself,” Hanbin laughs. Zhang Hao’s smile drops into a pout right away, but Hanbin can’t do much about that now with a few crew members watching over them at the other side of the creek and a couple more positioned just a few steps away. Hanbin knows in theory that they’re insufferable around each other when their visions tunnel into each other, but all of his shame is tossed out of the window whenever Zhang Hao even so much as looks his way. Still, they really owe it to the production staff, and especially the editors they’ve never even met, to hold the worst of the flirting off until the mics are off at least. “If hyung can catch a few more fishes, then I’ll do all of the cooking tonight, how about that?”

Zhang Hao squints at him evaluatively. “That’s not a reward,” he grumbles. Gathering the net in for another attempt, he makes a show of sulking. Oh, how Hanbin aches to give him the kiss he wants right away.

“Later,” Hanbin reveals, letting his gaze rake over Zhang Hao’s glistening skin meaningfully. Zhang Hao blinks. Then he jolts in understanding.

“Oh!” he exclaims, eager. “Oh, okay.” Zhang Hao beams, now easily wading off to another untouched cluster of rocks with the net clutched to his chest. Hanbin follows closely, as he always does.

They return home with damp clothes clinging to their bodies and a haul of several small but plump fishes. Zhang Hao had sulked a bit more when Hanbin persuaded him to stop looking for an elusive bigger fish, but reluctantly let it go when Hanbin tangled their fingers together and started back towards the grassy bank. Along the way, the production team handed Zhang Hao a thick towel to drape over his wet body. Hanbin had packed it in advance, knowing that his gege would be shivering from the breeze, but not for himself because he grew up just fine walking home from the creek with wet clothes all throughout his childhood. “Where’s Hanbin’s?” Zhang Hao had questioned the staff, trying to tug the towel over Hanbin’s shoulder too.

“I’m not cold, gege. You keep it.” Hanbin began to nudge his hand away, but gave in without further protest when Zhang Hao growled under his breath. It wasn’t the least bit intimidating because Zhang Hao never managed to sound menacing—much like a puppy learning to guard its toys—but Hanbin obligingly let him have his way every time. The alternative was to make up for not letting Zhang Hao take care of him with kisses, a massage even, if Zhang Hao deemed the offence severe enough, but they had just scarred a poor production assistant who was unlucky enough to be the one to find them shirtless the morning after a particularly intense argument a few days ago.

The fishes are left aside while they change into dry clothes in Zhang Hao’s room. Taking advantage of the fact that this footage cannot be aired, Hanbin finally indulges Zhang Hao with a sweet kiss that Zhang Hao deepens impatiently with a swipe of his tongue. His bare chest presses warmly to Hanbin’s front, and it takes Hanbin a while to realise that his hands are wandering the smooth cords of muscle on Zhang Hao’s back. He only remembers to pull back when Zhang Hao’s soaked hair drips onto his shoulder, startling him. “Get dressed now, don’t catch a cold,” he plucks Zhang Hao’s groping hands off his chest, sweetening the parting with a peck on his lips. “I’ll dry your hair once we’re outside, hmm?”

“But I want to dry your hair,” Zhang Hao protests. Hanbin doesn't feel the need to point out that they always return the favour for each other anyway, no matter who goes first. It feels nice to let Zhang Hao take the reins sometimes, so he nods with an acquiescing smile, leans into the brief, affectionate touch on his cheek.

They settle down on the wooden porch, Hanbin on the staircase a step below Zhang Hao. With his strong, careful fingers rubbing the small towel over Hanbin’s damp hair and the heat of his legs bracketing Hanbin’s body, Hanbin could very well drift off if not because he still has to dry Zhang Hao’s hair in return. It’s one of his favourite things to do; Zhang Hao tends to resemble a fluffy puppy when his hair is soft and unstyled, and Hanbin is endlessly thankful that the styling team rarely has cause to doll Zhang Hao up in Jeongseon.

“All done,” Zhang Hao’s voice nudges him out of his comfortable haze.

Zhang Hao’s eyes are sleepy little slits when they exchange spots; the fishing must have taken a lot out of him. As he gently towels Zhang Hao’s hair dry, Hanbin doesn’t try to engage him in conversation, not even for the cameras and microphones eagerly picking up every moment. The evening of cooking will yield plenty of footage anyway. For now, he claims this moment for his own with their quiet mundane—fingers tangled in Zhang Hao’s damp hair and the heat of his back radiant on Hanbin’s calves.

When the encroaching evening begins to steep the world blue, Hanbin busies himself with preparing the fishes that Zhang Hao caught for them earlier. He had promised to take care of dinner at the creek and that meant that he would have set up the stove and cauldron on his own too. One look at Zhang Hao’s disapproving frown though, and all of Hanbin’s protests dissipated cleanly.

Just a few steps away, Zhang Hao huffs and puffs as he grapples with a cauldron that might just be as heavy as he is. Fish in hand and shimmering scales littered all over his feet, Hanbin twitches towards him with a small, fond smile.

Zhang Hao’s sharp gaze stops him in his tracks. “Don’t you dare.”

Chuckling, Hanbin puts his knife back to the fish and resumes his work as ordered. Apparently satisfied with Hanbin’s obedience, Zhang Hao continues to lug the cauldron to its destination, agonisingly slow but steady. “You’re doing pretty well now for a city boy,” Hanbin can’t help but comment, his mouth quivering with the effort of holding back a smirk. “A year ago you could barely budge that cauldron.”

The cauldron thunks heavily onto the stove. Zhang Hao huffs. “All you do is make fun of me.”

And yet he still comes beside Hanbin to pick up a knife and a fish, knocking the scales off with an inexperienced wariness. It takes Zhang Hao a lot more concentration to clean up the fish, and with his focus comes one of Hanbin’s favourite sights—his lower lip juts out into a pout, his brows slowly but surely furrowing as his clever violinist fingers turn ungainly around a slippery fish. He’s probably not consciously doing it now, but Hanbin has been a victim to Zhang Hao weaponising his pouts one too many times. He gladly allows himself to be baited each time just so that he can see his gege pout more often.

“You know,” Zhang Hao’s voice breaks through the comfortable quiet. “The other day, my mother called to nag at me.” Quirking his brows up, Hanbin waits for him to continue. “She complained that I only ever cook for you, but never for her,” Zhang Hao smiles with that soft, indulgent curve of his lips.

A pleasant warmth seeps through Hanbin’s chest, upwards to his cheeks. “Ah, mama was jealous?” He’s never really met her, not in person at least. By the first Lunar New Year he spent with Zhang Hao, their relationship was plenty serious enough for them to meet each other’s parents, only that Zhang Hao couldn’t take him home to Fujian just yet.

They had to settle for video calls. Hanbin spent the day before nervously repeating the Chinese greetings under his breath to commit them to memory. It had gotten to a point where the poor sound recordist had to politely tell him to stop for the sake of the editors who had to cut out this tidbit of their personal lives that couldn’t make it on air. Hanbin apologised profusely of course, but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel too bad after all when Zhang Hao’s mother’s eyes lit up in surprise and delight once he delivered his carefully enunciated greetings in Chinese.

Being ordered to call her “mama” like his gege did felt like the biggest reward possible, second only to his own mother admonishing Zhang Hao on his first visit for not calling her “eomma” already.

“Mm, she wanted you to visit her soon,” Zhang Hao murmurs. A beat passes in silence as they share a look, intimately aware of the mics wired under their shirts and the camera director over their shoulders unobtrusively filming their hands. Lustrous and pearlescent, the fish scales splinter away and litter the damp earth at their feet.

In a few months, they’d be free to visit Fujian without a contract tying them here. Or tying them together anymore, for that matter. Hanbin frowns. The domestic fuzziness that they had shored up over the day is already fizzling away.

“I should hurry to teach gege to cook some more dishes, then,” is what he settles on replying with. He meets Zhang Hao’s gaze with a smile, warm and reassuring in excess. “Just in time to impress mama.”

Zhang Hao doesn’t respond right away. It’s rather impressive how he manages to make the scales fly aggressively off his fish with each jerky movement of his knife. Once he’s through with his first fish, it joins Hanbin’s pile of cleanly descaled ones, looking worse for wear with angry nicks of flesh missing. “I’m tired of learning,” his gege finally declares, grabbing a second fish to subject to torment. “I’m bringing Hanbinie home to cook for mama instead.”

Oh, Hanbin thinks, blinking rapidly. “Won’t gege get too busy to bring me home?” He dares to ask, still not looking away from his fish.

A scoff. “I’ll threaten my company for time off if I have to. It’s a non-negotiable to me.”

It takes Hanbin a while longer to make sure that his voice wouldn’t be paper thin when he says, “Hao-ge’s mother would like this dish, I think.” A safe diversion from something they should talk about again off camera.

Mercifully, Zhang Hao lets it go for now. “Yes, she loves spicy stews. It doesn’t seem too difficult either—oh!” He gasps. Alarmed, Hanbin finds that Zhang Hao’s knife had slipped on the scales, the blade stopping just shy of slicing into his hand.

Dropping his own fish, Hanbin takes Zhang Hao’s half-descaled fish out of his hand firmly. “Gege should help me to prepare the vegetables. Then we can finish cooking earlier,” he suggests. He plucks the offending knife out of Zhang Hao’s white-knuckled grip and puts that aside safely too.

“Yes!” A producer jumps in from behind. “We can get footage of Hao harvesting the veggies for this meal and the scene will be more interesting.” Another camera director inches forward, Zhang Hao’s manager peering anxiously from behind his back.

Outnumbered, Zhang Hao sighs. “Okay then,” he grumbles. The effect is softened by the fact that his words come out round and blurred together, and it does wonders to slow down the rabid pounding of Hanbin’s heart. At least harvesting the vegetable ingredients will be a safe task. Not even his gege can find a way to get hurt pulling carrots from the soil.

With Zhang Hao away from his side, Hanbin works much faster. He slows down every time he does something with Zhang Hao, moreso because he wants to savor every moment they share together than anything else. Now, he lets himself sink into the repetitive motion of cleaning the fish so that he has no room to spiral. Manual labour has always been a reprieve from emotions that welled up and threatened to eat him whole at the worst of times, and preparing fishes is no exception.

On the other side of the house, Zhang Hao must be crouching low and shuffling through their little produce garden. It’s a modest plot left aside for them to have quick access to fresh fruits and vegetables, just enough for a house of two (and twenty something more invisible production crew behind the cameras). Their mushrooms were growing in again well; the half-log they had inoculated some months ago is already well-covered with fleshy, rust-brown mushrooms. They would taste delicious grilled—Hanbin already knows just the recipe for a side dish that Zhang Hao would love.

By the time Zhang Hao is back with a basketful of vegetables, Hanbin has already cut up the fishes neatly. “Thank you, gege,” he says warmly. “You should rest. I’ll take care of dinner.” He makes to wash the produce, but Zhang Hao snags him by the wrist before he can take another step away.

“We’ll talk later, right?” Zhang Hao questions, soft. When he talks in this woolen voice, it feels like the world dissolves away to just the two of them, small and intimate enough for the muscles in Hanbin’s shoulders to loosen a fraction. Hanbin nods, breathing in the comfort of the moment before Zhang Hao lets him go with a reassuring curve to his lips and a squeeze of his hand.

[enter-talk] Zhang Hao’s practically a country boy now (Three Meals a Day: Jeongseon Village)

No matter how I look at it, Zhang Hao has adapted so well to the country life ㅋㅋㅋ what happened to our princess who couldn’t even untangle a fishing net?

[+257, -88]

There’s nothing that Zhang Hao can’t do ㅋ if I was a fish, I would have swum towards him too

↳ [+54, -2]

ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ Rosins, let’s become fishes in our next lives

[+127, -13]

It’s hard to believe that Sung Hanbin is a non-celebrity ㅎㅎ his visual is wasted on the countryside

↳ [+249, -16]

Like you said, he’s a non-celebrity so leave him out of these discussions lol ^^

↳ [+84, -68]

He looks so attractive prepping those fishes ㅎㅎ If only all men could cook like Hanbin-nim…

[+40, 0]

To be honest, I really like watching Hao in the countryside ㅠㅠ I’ll be so sad when the series ends……

↳ [+31, -9]

Bori will probably wonder why her appa hasn’t come to see her for so long ㅠㅠㅠㅠ

↳ [+10, 0]

Don’t worry, SHB will keep raising Bori with overflowing love even after the show ends

They were slated to begin filming in March, once the earth roused itself from its deep winter sleep and the coldest edge of winter had passed just enough for them to brave the outdoors. The land wasn’t anywhere near ready for intense farming yet, but there was much to do around the house to get it comfortable for living in. With nothing but the barest bones of a house to work with, Hanbin was sure that the producers would be nudging Zhang Hao into some simple carpentry and the sorts. In the meeting, they did mention rearing chickens, ducks, goats even. Now and then, Hanbin tried to picture it in his head; what would his childhood home look like once Zhang Hao added his own touch to it?

His anticipation, or maybe it was unease, must have been palpable on the first day of filming. Jang PD’s large palm clapped his back firmly as he ambled up close while Hanbin stood stock still for the sound recordist to adjust his mic pack. “Loosen up, kid,” he said. “We’ll take care of you.”

Hanbin offered him a smile, too aware of how stretched it felt and how his fingers twitched with zaps of restlessness. “It’s a little intimidating,” he confessed, and swept a hand through the air quickly at the hive of activity just a few steps from them. “I’ve never had so many people in our home before.” Neither had he ever been in front of such big cameras or fussed over, but he left that out of the small talk—Hanbin would hate to sound like a nervous, unreliable kid who couldn’t take care of their star and ensure his comfort in Maehwa.

Jang PD smiled and squeezed Hanbin’s shoulder. “Plenty of time to get used to it,” he said, matter-of-fact.

Right. Two years in front of a host of cameras and microphones recording his every move. No pressure, Hanbin thought, wry.

“Besides, Zhang Hao is a natural at variety,” Jang PD pointed out. “He gets along with just about anyone, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

Hanbin hummed, a faint and almost absentminded breath of acknowledgement as he braced himself to ask, “do you think Zhang Hao would like it here?”

Jang PD narrowed his eyes, his roving gaze unabashedly probing for something in Hanbin’s expression. They hadn’t known each other for a very long time, but Jang PD struck Hanbin as someone who had an uncanny way of piercing through all of his (perhaps flimsy) brave fronts. If the cameras weren’t intimidating enough, working with such a perceptive man certainly would do it for him, but that intimate awareness of how people ticked, Hanbin supposed, was probably why Jang PD was entrusted with pioneering a variety series like this.

“Zhang Hao is…” Jang PD began thoughtfully. “Surely you know by now that he’s not some rugged man who’s ready to take the countryside by storm.” A look passed between them and Hanbin looked at the ground briefly as a smile tugged at his lips. Jang PD chuckled again. “No, he’s going to be unprepared for this whole experience. He might whine a lot, I think.” When Hanbin looked up again, his response slipped away from him as the sky caught his attention.

The first light of the day bled across the sky in rich gold tones, patiently and persistently pushing out the vivid blue of the night with its warmth. Morning dew glistened on the leaves of the little weeds climbing out of cracks between the bricks, and birds trilled not too far away hidden in the treetops above them. For as far as Hanbin could see, Maehwa was wholly embraced by the rising sun. It was the most lovely sort of welcome that his home was offering to their newest guest.

“But I’m certain that he’ll quickly come to love it here.” Jang PD’s voice broke through. He directed his smile at the sky appreciatively as he continued, “there’s no one we trust more than Hanbin to show him the ropes, hm?”

Evidently, Zhang Hao himself had some reservations on that matter.

“Are you… sure there’s no other way? We can’t walk?”

Eyes wide and uncertain, Zhang Hao peered at him from a safe distance away. His hands clutched onto the helmet like it was a talisman.

Hanbin laughed, throwing his head back with the force of it. Zhang Hao truly was a natural at variety content. “I’m afraid not. It’s quite a distance, especially since you’re not used to the country yet.” When Zhang Hao dragged his feet creeping closer, Hanbin tried again, “I promise I’m a safe rider!”

The bike tipped a little as Zhang Hao clambered on clumsily, but Hanbin held it as steady as he could. “You can hug my waist if it makes you feel more comfortable, but I won’t let you fall off,” Hanbin said, deliberately casual. No one would ever find out that it was a self-indulgent suggestion if he didn’t seem too eager about it.

Behind him, Zhang Hao scoffed, or tried to. “If you do, my fans will come after you,” he muttered. His palms landed on Hanbin’s shoulders gingerly, and the heat of them was almost shocking through the thin shirt he wore.

“Is your helmet on?” Hanbin asked, finally allowing himself to twist around to do a once over, only to nearly rear back from how close Zhang Hao’s face was. He quietly hoped that his expression betrayed nothing.

A staff member hurried forward with the helmet, apparently relegated to her when Zhang Hao climbed on. “Let me,” Hanbin murmured, having recovered his voice. He lowered the helmet over Zhang Hao’s head with more care than he spared a young and terrified Gyuvin learning to ride for the first time. Tucking the wisps of Zhang Hao’s bangs away with light fingers, Hanbin kept his gaze firmly on Zhang Hao’s hair, not trusting himself to look into Zhang Hao’s eyes without making a fool of himself.

The straps cradled Zhang Hao’s delicate face and clasped loosely under his chin, so Hanbin adjusted them for him until there wasn’t much space left for his finger to slide between the strap and Zhang Hao’s face. “Is this okay? Not too tight?”

Zhang Hao’s cheeks had taken on a pretty pink flush. “Yes,” he mumbled. For a brief, brilliant moment, Hanbin allowed himself to imagine that Zhang Hao was just as affected by their proximity as he was.

Wishful thinking, he mentally chided himself, whipping around to face the front. “Right, um, let’s set off then.” Zhang Hao’s hold came back then, this time settling tentatively around Hanbin’s waist. It almost made Hanbin want to seek out the bumps in the dirt road just so that Zhang Hao might tighten his hold.

Because he didn't want to scare Zhang Hao off motorbikes forever on his first ride (Hanbin wasn’t lying earlier—there really were plenty of places that were intraversable without a motorbike), they set off as gently and smoothly as Hanbin could manage on a bike. Even so, Zhang Hao’s timid hold instantly tightened into a clinging hug that plastered him to Hanbin’s back. “Is Hao-ssi okay? Should we stop?” Hanbin called, biting back a grin lest the drone flying beside captured the happiness on his face from a simple back hug. Gyuvin never would have let him live it down.

“Yeah… O-okay!” Zhang Hao raised his trembling voice over the rumble. “Just be careful please,” he begged. Hanbin couldn't help the grin then.

“Enjoy the view! Don’t think about anything scary,” he laughed. All around them, the mountains stretched tall into the bright, blue sky. Tiny and tentative green buds unfurled from the barren-looking branches of the trees they pass by, a sweet yawn that shook off the last vestiges of winter slumber. New green growth was sprouting from the warming ground and through the aged woods, almost as if Maehwa was eager to welcome Zhang Hao into its midst. In a few weeks, there would be vibrant red poppies dotting the grassy green fields as they rode home, and Hanbin wouldn’t mind stopping along the way if Zhang Hao wanted to pluck a few stalks for the empty vase on their dining table.

They slowed to a stop at the market on a busy Sunday noon, when venturing in guaranteed knocking shoulders in the narrow walkways and a din of conversations flowing overhead. It wasn't an ideal day to ease Zhang Hao into the village, but they needed the ingredients to get cooking, what with the pantry pathetically empty and a cooking show to film.

Zhang Hao’s eyes were back to huge, marble-like rounds as he took in the market and the teeming activity all over it. It wasn’t hard to pick up the trepidation wafting off him. Maybe that’s what I looked like to Jang PD, Hanbin mused.

“It’s not as scary as it seems, Hao-ssi,” Hanbin smiled. He hoped that it came across as reassuring instead of pressuring. “I know this market well. We can be in and out quickly!” With a crease between his brows, Zhang Hao hesitantly nodded his acquiescence.

“Follow me,” Hanbin encouraged, and Zhang Hao fell into step beside him. Together, they entered the market, flanked ahead and behind by a camera director each. “This stall has the best mangoes when they’re in season,” Hanbin pointed out. At another stall, he leaned in to say, sotto voiced, “I used to help out at the Yoon farm, so he always gives me a bit more meat for free.”

“Hanbin-ah!” A voice cried as they passed by. Normally, Hanbin would have stopped to chat, but with Zhang Hao and the production team in tow, he didn’t want to inconvenience them.

“Sajangnim, hello! Please keep some ribs for me next week,” Hanbin called back, smiling wide. The old man waved him on, already returning to clamouring customers, and Zhang Hao turned to Hanbin, the question plain to see in the raise of his thick set brows. “Let’s not cook with meat for your very first day,” Hanbin laughed. “We can progress there after you’re more settled in.”

It was quickly becoming clear that Zhang Hao had a highly expressive face; relief washed over his softening features at Hanbin’s suggestion. “Thank you,” he sighed. “I think it would have been difficult for me.”

Hanbin never got to respond to that, because a harried figure pushed past Zhang Hao hard enough to knock him off his feet. He stumbled to the side with a small gasp, but Hanbin was quicker to tug Zhang Hao close with a tight hand around his forearm, his heart rate rocketing to the sky immediately. “Are you okay?” Hanbin asked, urgent. Other than shock, there didn’t seem to be anything close to pain in Zhang Hao’s face, but he couldn't be too sure.

Zhang Hao’s fingers were curled just as tightly over Hanbin’s steadying arm until he righted himself. Hanbin wouldn’t have minded if he held on for a while longer. “Thank you, Hanbin-ssi. I’m fine,” he assured. “I just have poor balance.”

The idea of Zhang Hao stumbling over his feet or slipping on the wet floor, even injuring himself, disagreed completely with Hanbin. “Hao-ssi should stick closer to me then. You can hold onto me if you need.”

“You can just call me hyung,” Zhang Hao offered. “We don’t have to be so formal.” His gaze was expectant; standing right smack in the middle of the busy market, Zhang Hao patiently waited for Hanbin to take just one step closer.

Licking his lips, Hanbin tried, “Hao hyung.” The shy, yet satisfied smile that lit up Zhang Hao’s face was nothing short of precious. Hanbin wanted nothing more than to keep seeing Zhang Hao smile at him like that. “I’ll keep hyung from falling,” he added.

You don't have to be so formal. Bravely, Hanbin draped his arm over Zhang Hao’s back, resting his hand on the ball of Zhang Hao’s shoulder to keep them tucked close together as they walked. With Zhang Hao’s body pressed into his side, Hanbin became aware of everything. The way Zhang Hao was almost exactly his height, and so his hand rested just perfectly over Zhang Hao’s shoulder, the smallest distance between their faces and if Hanbin leaned in, he might have been able to guess at the notes in Zhang Hao’s decadent coconut perfume, and how Zhang Hao was relaxed under his touch, not a hint of tension or discomfort in his curious gaze and loose body as they ventured into the heart of the crowded market.

For the uninitiated, Jeongseon’s biggest market could have been rather intimidating to navigate; Hanbin wouldn't have faulted Zhang Hao for letting him handle the shopping on their first visit, but here, he learnt another new fact about Zhang Hao.

Zhang Hao was a chronic overachiever.

Once he got over his initial nerves, he seemed determined to charm the entire population of the market. Wherever Hanbin led him to, no one was immune to Zhang Hao’s charms, it seemed.

“I like to think that my company sent me here on a vacation,” Hanbin overheard him say very seriously to the mushroom-selling Mrs Park. “Where else am I going to see such beautiful views and kind people like sajangnim?”

“Oh, the sweet mouth on you,” Mrs Park gushed. Her busy hand stuffed a handful more pine mushrooms into Zhang Hao’s open bag. “That’s right! Show the nation how beautiful our Jeongseon is, huh?”

At the dried goods stall, Zhang Hao found a fan in Mr Kim. “You’re saying you’re from China?” The man gasped. “Oh, but you speak Korean so well! You’re one of us, aren’t you?”

“You’re too kind, sajangnim. I’m still working hard on getting rid of my accent,” Zhang Hao demurred with a pleased smile.

Mr Kim tutted. “What are you talking about? That’s your charm.” He limped around Hanbin, patting his shoulder familiarly as he went. Rock sugar retrieved, he pressed it into Zhang Hao’s politely awaiting hands. “Huh, it’s still fascinating that we have a foreigner who speaks so well here in our village.”

Even young Seongmin at the rice cakes stall crept out from behind his mother’s skirt as she packaged Zhang Hao’s indulgent order including several kinds of rice cakes. Peering from behind the counter, he regarded Zhang Hao with a mix of curiosity and shyness that Hanbin had never once seen on this extroverted kid before. “Eomma said that you’re a celebrity,” he blurted. Sneaking a look at Zhang Hao’s face, Hanbin found the sweetest smile directed at the child. “Are you… are you friends with Hanbin hyung?”

Zhang Hao’s warm, open gaze caught Hanbin’s in the brief moment before his lips parted. “Yes, I am,” he answered, sending a small, tentative smile to Hanbin as he did.

Just two hours in, and they were friends already, Hanbin marveled. Right. He could definitely work with that.

Hanbin liked to think that he knew every inch of Maehwa’s lush land, and by extension of that, every inhabitant that made Maehwa-dong their home. Some of them he grew up with, skipping through grass almost as tall as he was, pulling each other up from the pebbled dirt with scraps on their elbows and knees. Sometimes he ate meals at the elders’ houses and helped them to weed their soil or repair their loose shingles. Years passed just like that, with the same people he’d known for his whole life.

The rough roads trodden into Maehwa’s unpaved dirt deterred change and tourism. Everyone here was family, and hardly anyone ever moved to Maehwa-dong to stay—maybe just three or five new residents in Hanbin’s entire life here. There weren’t so many inhabitants that Hanbin often had the chance to get to know a stranger. Perhaps that was why he found himself so intrigued by every small, new quirk he noticed in living with Zhang Hao.

For example, Zhang Hao lived life with a burning determination to master everything in his way, but he could also be exceptionally lazy when it came to physical labour.

Even without prior knowledge of Zhang Hao’s personality or lifestyle, Hanbin just couldn’t imagine Zhang Hao being a farmer boy born a couple of houses down, growing up tilling the soil, trapping fishes, and winnowing wheat. He just seemed so suited for a life of ease and pampering that Hanbin only reluctantly allowed him to try chopping firewood on his own at the behest of the production team. After all, Hanbin figured, he would only be a few steps away, ready to take over at a second’s notice. The pouting was a heavy-handed psychological hit that had Hanbin clenching his fists, grasping for anything normal to say as he prepared to spare Zhang Hao from the strenuous task, but the crew must have become immune from constant exposure, because they were firm in their rejection.

“See here?” Hanbin explained, lining the axe up with the log. “There’s already a crack, so you just have to take advantage of it and—” with a swing, he brought the blade down firmly on the wood. The log gave easily, splitting cleanly into two halves at his feet. “Easy right?” As he rested the axe on the ground, he glanced up.

Zhang Hao’s gaze bore into him, the weight of it so heavy on his skin that Hanbin nearabout flinched. “I’m not sure…” he drawled. “Could Hanbinie do it one more time?”

“Of course!” The first demonstration must have been too quick, Hanbin supposed as he set a new log before him. Resolving to go slower, he checked to see if Zhang Hao was watching. The same unreadable gaze was fixed on him, and it sent a small trilling rush down Hanbin’s back. “This one doesn’t have a crack, but hyung should still line the axe up to aim for it.” He swung the axe down just as he did before. There, easy. “Was that better for hyung?”

If it was possible, Zhang Hao looked distracted. Unfocused. Maybe he was zoning out because of the chill. Was he hungry? “Hyung,” Hanbin murmured. “Are you feeling okay?” His fingers lingered lightly in the crook of Zhang Hao’s arm.

Zhang Hao’s gaze snapped up to meet Hanbin’s, and he nodded, inexplicably sheepish. “Mm, I think I caught everything.”

They swapped positions—Hanbin stood to the side and Zhang Hao cocked his head at the axe in his hand. “Hold it comfortably, hyung. Not so high up, you can’t get a good swing like that,” Hanbin couldn’t help but butt in as Zhang Hao experimentally waved the axe around.

Just as Hanbin had instructed, Zhang Hao touched the axe to the wood bracingly like a golfer would their club to the ball. His first attempt buried the axe into the wood, and immediately, Zhang Hao turned his panicked gaze on Hanbin. “Help,” he pleaded, emphatic. The axe was relinquished to Hanbin all too eagerly, and the rasp of Zhang Hao’s sneakers on the dirt told Hanbin that he had escaped back to his safe spot to watch Hanbin finish the job.

The second, third, fourth attempts even, yielded similar results. Shooting the production team a look, Hanbin nudged Zhang Hao towards the trolley awaiting split logs. “Hyung can help me to move the wood to the side of the house with the trolley,” he suggested. “I’ll be done with the logs in a bit, then we can have some tea.”

Zhang Hao, in the midst of stacking the split wood onto the trolley, whined. “You’re saying I have to push heavy firewood all the way there on my own?”

Fighting back a smile, Hanbin picked the axe up. “Unless hyung wants to trade with me and split the logs instead?”

Sufficiently cowed, Zhang Hao bent down to load the firewood onto their trolley. A couple of cameramen drifted to him as Hanbin turned back to his pile of logs, ready to make quick work of this task. He couldn’t hear what Zhang Hao was huffing under his breath as he made his first trip to the wall where chopped firewood was piled against, but the grumbling brought a smile to his face anyway.

“Can’t we just get coal to light fires instead of chopping wood,” Zhang Hao’s voice floated over on his second trip to pick up more wood. Hanbin snorted.

“Where would the fun be then? Isn’t it kind of romantic to tend to a wood fire?” Hanbin commented.

Zhang Hao shot him a considering look over his shoulder. “Does Hanbin tend to a lot of romantic wood fires with girls?”

Hanbin couldn’t help but laugh outright. “If by girls you mean the elderly women, then sure. Most of the time though, it’s just Gyuvinie and Yujinie, or some of the other kids around.”

“Wow, Hanbinie is so popular,” Zhang Hao deadpanned. Crack, and the log split under Hanbin’s axe again. Doing so much work made Hanbin grow warm under the thick flannel, so he shrugged it off and tied it around his waist. The cool air instantly made his skin feel chilly, but it was more comfortable than sweating through his clothes. Another swing, and he kicked more wood aside for Zhang Hao to collect, though it seemed like Zhang Hao had lost the motivation to pick them up, comfortable as he was sitting on the trolley and spectating Hanbin at work with keen interest in his gaze.

Amused, Hanbin shook his head. “Hardly, hyung,” he demurred. “We’re like family. We only have each other around here.”

For a moment, only the cicadas hidden around them sang, little bright chirps that filled up the silence only broken by the sound of cracking wood. “Well, now you have me too,” Zhang Hao finally said.

The last of the logs were finally split, and Hanbin let the axe fall away with a satisfied sigh. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Hao hyung is here to stay, right?”

Zhang Hao returned his smile with a gentle tilt of his head. “As long as Hanbinie continues to treat me well.”

It was a completely redundant request, Hanbin mused. As much as Zhang Hao liked to whine and pretend to be terribly put upon by just about any activity that required him to leave the comforts of his toasty bedroom, he was exceedingly easy to take care of. It was like second nature to set Zhang Hao’s shoes out at the doorstep in the morning when he could barely keep his eyes open, or to give him a steadying hand when they walked through trickier paths fraught with winding roots that tended to trip Zhang Hao. If Hanbin could have seen to it that Zhang Hao wouldn’t be hurt by splattering oil or strain his back from carrying heavy building materials, then he gladly took over in Zhang Hao’s stead every time. Attention, Hanbin had come to think of it, was the beginning of devotion, and there was nothing more befitting beautiful, wonderful Zhang Hao who deserved the world and more.

There was a time when everything was new and tentative, when they would politely not interfere with each other’s tasks. If Hanbin was doing anything from chopping vegetables to mending a fence, Zhang Hao would have stood aside with bated breath and hoped that he wasn’t getting in the way. Nowadays, Hanbin can’t even cook a dinner he promised to take charge of without Zhang Hao attempting to help.

“I feel like you’re missing the point of a reward,” Hanbin remarks as a familiar line of warmth clings onto his back again. Zhang Hao pretends to not hear him.

“Smells good, Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao praises. A spoon dips into the pot and disappears again in a flash. Hanbin represses a sigh, fond as it is. “I think it just needs some vinegar.”

That’s where Hanbin draws the line. “Absolutely not,” he puts his foot down. “Go and play with Bori please, gege.” Behind him, Zhang Hao scoffs.

“Nobody ever trusts my suggestions. It’s so lonely out here.” How Zhang Hao manages to make his shuffling footsteps sound dejected is an art form that Hanbin unfortunately has yet to master, but all in good time, he’s sure.

Stew successfully protected from rogue condiments, Hanbin proudly serves it up to the camera director for close up shots. Zhang Hao has found his way back to Hanbin by then, and squeezes his hand happily when the steam wafts over, bringing the aroma of the fish stew with it.

They tuck into the spicy fish stew with rice—a multigrain kind that Zhang Hao has been fixated on recently—and a neat spread of side dishes. There was a batch of kimchi that they had fermented on their own for one of the episodes, some marinated perilla leaves that Hanbin obligingly separates for Zhang Hao each time they eat it, some zucchini from their garden tossed in chili flakes courtesy of the Sung family’s surpluses, and Yujin’s favourite bean sprouts drenched in sesame oil that they stashed there for his recent visit.

The production team doesn’t usually give them a lot of directions—restrictions go against the essence of the show and Zhang Hao’s spirit—but tonight, they are to steer the dinnertime conversation towards the future. An opening for a second season without Zhang Hao should he not return to the series. A future where Hanbin would welcome another celebrity into his house. It’s about the right time along the series to soft launch the start of the end.

Neither of them look up from the food. Hanbin scoops up a spoonful of stew, then tips it back into the bowl in favour of chewing on the bean sprouts. He swallows to talk, then stuffs another bite of fish in. Its tender flesh breaks apart on his tongue without resistance, so he fumbles for something else to buy time. The dishes are spaced apart nicely, but surely they could use some small, fidgety adjustments.

It’s safe to say that the conversation doesn’t come easily, especially under the unsubtle gesturing that their assistant directors are doing off camera. Talk, they mouth with exaggerated lip movements. The hastily scrawled prompter reads “future + new season”.

Zhang Hao’s gaze finds him with equal reluctance. “Do you ever think about the future, Hanbin-ah?” He asks, so soft that if Hanbin wasn’t waiting for it, he might have had to lean in close.

Conjuring a small, pleasant smile up, Hanbin tilts his head. “Of course, hyung. Why?”

“I dreamt of our house. In a few years,” Zhang Hao says. It catches Hanbin off guard; he knows Zhang Hao intimately, knows his every tone, every tell, and he doesn't sound like he’s lying for the sake of generating content.

“You did?” Hanbin asks airlessly. “What did it look like?”

For a moment, Zhang Hao doesn’t seem to be there with them. He’s looking into the mountain, but his eyes seem to drift. Only the muted crackles of the small wood fire they’d lit earlier and the whispering rustle of the leaves overhead fill the air.

“Loved,” he finally answers, and his gaze falls back on Hanbin. Helplessly, like fondness pulls at his lips, Zhang Hao melts into a smile as he keeps watching Hanbin. “Even more knick knacks. Bori has a sibling. The garden expanded,” his arm sweeps out to gesture at their produce garden. “We’ll have pumpkins.”

It’s easy to fall in love with, the simple sweetness of their future life. Hanbin bites his lip to avoid appearing too lovestruck. “And hyung is there, of course.”

He’s not sure if Zhang Hao is lost in the moment or just wilfully ignoring the big gestures from the production team like Hanbin is, but he gets a sweet, soft-cheeked smile for his troubles. “Where else would I be?” He says; it reaches Hanbin as a declaration wrapped in a question, a statement that stands sure and certain. It’s almost grounding if not for the fact that Hanbin can feel how precarious their idyllic life here is.

This time next year, he’ll still be here, tending to their fields, catching fishes in their creek, chopping logs to throw into the fire so he can absently admire the way the wood catches fire and splinters and sparks. This time next year, will Zhang Hao be thinking of Maehwa, of the life he once lived with Hanbin?

INSTIZ: [Blind Item] A non-celebrity is receiving love calls from variety PDs

As early as last year, this non-celebrity has been noticed by multiple variety PDs for captivating viewers with their personality and visuals. Although they are playing a supporting role to a popular idol in their current show, they are being eyed to star in their own spin-off series.

The non-celebrity still has yet to accept any offers because they previously had never considered a career in entertainment and media.

- This is the first blind item that I’m 100% sure I know who it’s about ㅎㅎ

↳ They might as well have just named SHB outright ㅋ

↳ No but can this even be called a blind item ㅋㅋ who else could this be about ㅋㅋㅋㅋ

↳ Exactly ㅋㅋ Sung Hanbin came to mind instantly

- I’m not related to OP but I have a friend who works on that show, and they say that this non-celebrity is closer with the idol than any of us can imagine ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

↳ F*ck they’re really doing this right in front of us ㅋㅋㅋ

↳ Tell your friend to get on this forum too ㅋㅋㅋㅋ they’re sitting on a goldmine of info

- Somehow this is more heart-fluttering than dramas ㅎㅎ I can’t believe this is happening

- Ah please we cannot lose a gem like Sung Hanbin to obscurity… Please do another series Hanbin-ah ㅠㅠㅠㅠ

As the weeks marched on steadily, Hanbin and Zhang Hao’s modest home began to spill over with life.

The small square of the yard that Hanbin had cordoned off for them to grow produce eagerly nourished the tiny seeds that Zhang Hao sowed into the rich soil. Hanbin had taught him how to measure the depth of each hole carefully, how to push the seeds in securely, and how to check if the soil was sufficiently moist each morning. Of the hundreds of seeds they had sown, not all had sprouted into the fragile seedlings that unfurled their green leaves shyly under the warmth of the sun and their care, but that made the ones that did all the more precious.

They welcomed visitors of all manners to their home; even as a child, Hanbin had adored the little birds that rested in the large tree generously casting a cool shade over their yard. Zhang Hao, too, came to love laying on the little deck to admire the sweet, trilling bird songs and the colourful flashes of their small wings. A handful of nuts and seeds, some grains here and there, and they managed to lure the birds close enough to watch quietly. Lazy mornings came and went like this with balmy breezes to whisk away some heat, and dots of fluffy clouds drifting overhead. The moist sweetness of the lush grass became a pleasant fragrance that perfumed the air about them. For a small, blissful stretch, it was just them and the budding life of the home they were shaping into theirs.

It must have been just over a couple of months into filming when Hanbin had the pleasure of introducing Zhang Hao to the force of nature that was Kim Gyuvin. They had talked about Gyuvin visiting extensively before he was given the green light to meet Zhang Hao.

(“He’s harmless, really,” Hanbin reassured. “He’s quite shy around strangers actually.”

“You make him sound like your pet puppy,” Zhang Hao said, dubious. Hanbin didn’t bother to choke back his laugh.

“He actually hates being called that, but he really is quite like a puppy,” he shook his head fondly. “You’ll see.”

Zhang Hao gaze seemed to have snagged on Bori preening herself by a puddle in the yard, fruitlessly attempting to lick down a tuft of fur she didn’t quite have the range of motion to reach. “Do you think he’ll like me?”

Hanbin reached over to untangle Zhang Hao’s hands from picking his cuticles to shreds. “I don’t think Gyuvinie could find a single thing to dislike about you,” he said warmly. “Not when I like hyung this much.”)

On their first day off, with the house devoid of all filming personnel, Gyuvin loped into the yard just after dawn.

Perched on their porch, Hanbin shifted slightly with a low hum. A small noise escaped Zhang Hao and the weight of his head disappeared from Hanbin’s shoulder. With a gentle squeeze to Zhang Hao’s hand, Hanbin regretfully moved away from their warm huddle just in time for Gyuvin to collide into him. Hanbin laughed into the crushing grip, giving in as his feet briefly left the ground before Gyuvin put him back down. “Ssong Hambim!” Gyuvin cooed.

Adoration crashed over Hanbin so incandescently he could scarcely breathe through it. It had really been far too long since he last saw Gyuvin. “You brat,” he muttered fondly into Gyuvin’s hair, forcibly tucked under his chin. “C’mon, greet Zhang Hao.”

With a strong grip, Hanbin tugged Gyuvin over to where Zhang Hao lingered off to the side in tentative welcome. As they drew closer, Zhang Hao straightened up and a small, but charming smile appeared on his lips. “Gyuvin-ah, this is Zhang Hao,” Hanbin introduced. Beside him, Gyuvin folded into a bow. “Hao-hyung, this is Kim Gyuvin, the brat I’ve been telling you about,” Hanbin smiled, serenely ignoring the outraged sound Gyuvin made beside him with practised ease. Zhang Hao flicked a softer smile at him before meeting Gyuvin’s gaze with his own small bow.

“It’s nice to meet you, Gyuvin-ah,” Zhang Hao had said warmly. “I’ve heard so much about you from Hanbinie.”

Under Hanbin’s arm, Gyuvin’s tense shoulders loosened a fraction, and his shy smile widened into something more genuine. “I could say the same about how Hanbin hyung couldn’t shut—mmf!” Whatever he had been about to say was soundly cut off by Hanbin’s palm jammed urgently over his mouth. Too little too late; Zhang Hao’s expectant expression told Hanbin that he would be revisiting this the second that Gyuvin left their home.

“Bad puppy,” Hanbin grunted, mussing Gyuvin’s hair and yelping when Gyuvin started squeezing at his face in retaliation. Behind them, Zhang Hao broke into a laugh as Gyuvin halted their tussle by simply hoisting Hanbin into the air on his side.

There was a deep satisfaction that bloomed throughout Hanbin’s bones as he watched Gyuvin come to love teasing Zhang Hao, the same way his parents folded Zhang Hao readily into their family, or when people stopped Hanbin to ask where Hao-ya was each time he came to the market without Zhang Hao when he had to return to Seoul for his other schedules. Like one of the seeds they patted into the ground of their produce garden, Zhang Hao had dug himself into Maehwa’s soil and put his own roots down in the very land that nurtured and raised Hanbin too. For two years at least, Zhang Hao would also be one of Maehwa’s very own, another precious person for Hanbin to devote himself to. It was what Hanbin did best, when he felt the most at home in his own skin.

The truth was that Hanbin liked it too. Intrinsically, he simply enjoyed taking care of someone who liked being doted on. Gyuvin never let him, and Yujin had gotten to that precocious age where teens liked toughing it out on their own. Giving, helping, doting were all he knew, but even he knew that this side of himself had the tendency to smother his friends at his most overbearing.

Zhang Hao, however, soaked it all up like a sponge and bloomed beautifully under the attention. His frequent faux-misery, cute as it was, vanished under Hanbin’s care and transformed into sweet, grateful smiles, mischief sparkling in his eyes at times, or even the occasional darling blush when he was particularly flustered. When they were still reserved about each other, Hanbin never knew how Zhang Hao was going to react, and that only made him want to discover every possible way Zhang Hao would receive his care. In that way, they were similar, he supposed. Everything that Zhang Hao offered, he absorbed greedily and indiscriminately. Maybe it was a bit pathetic to orient his self-fulfilment around doting on someone whose career was based on inspiring that sort of one-sided devotion in the masses, but once the crushing adoration closed over Hanbin’s head and saturated him from inside out, that was it for him. Turns out, one month was all he needed to turn his life on its head.

One month into living with Zhang Hao, and they were already headed in a direction that Hanbin largely preferred not to think about—at least if he didn’t acknowledge this burgeoning thing weighing on his mind, it remained nebulous, as easily denied and banished as it could gain shape and tangibility. The only problem was that from the very moment they met, Zhang Hao had promptly taken over his every thought. Not a day went by without Hanbin imagining what their cohabitation would look like, and then once they actually lived together, his affliction only worsened. Zhang Hao occupied his focus around the clock and even followed him into his dreams. Flashes of his plump lips and the smattering of moles on bare skin haunted Hanbin’s sleep, and he jolted awake covered in sweat even in his chillier room more often than not. All those nights, Zhang Hao was merely one room away, blissfully asleep and unaware of Hanbin’s wayward dreams.

In many ways, Zhang Hao was his first—first idol, first guest, first crush, oh god, that was out there. Hanbin would always be thankful that he managed to hold himself together through his pounding heart and sweaty palms the day they went on a walk to see the cherry blossoms together, but since Zhang Hao loved that clumsy, nervous Hanbin anyway, a win was a win.

It was the first time they had been apart since Zhang Hao came to live with him. There were schedules back in Seoul, some photo shoots that couldn’t be avoided, or so Zhang Hao complained as he packed his essentials away into a duffel bag. In the week that Hanbin spent back at his own home with his parents, he had never been lonelier. It was like having a friend sleepover at his place for weeks and spending all their waking moments bonding, then suddenly leaving, except that the friend was a nationally beloved idol who was probably only good-naturedly entertaining Hanbin’s puppy crush on him out of pity. If it wasn’t so, surely Zhang Hao would have said something already, right?

Sure, Zhang Hao sent him the occasional texts when he found time to between his schedules and even said that he couldn’t believe he was missing Maehwa-dong, but that was it. Nothing deeper than craving a return to his respite from the oppressive city, no mention of missing the person he lived with. Sighing, Hanbin tossed his phone aside and pressed his face into his pillow, the comfortable one he hadn’t been sleeping on for a good month since he moved into the old house with Zhang Hao. No one was present to judge him for the long, pitiable whine he let out in the privacy of his bedroom.

jjangjjang

Hanbin-ah I’m sad

Why hyung??

jjangjjang

Whenever I’m on my way to work, I see cherry blossoms everywhere

But I don’t have time to walk around and see them up close ㅜㅜ

It’s a good thing that when hyung comes back to Maehwa, you will be just in time to see our cherry blossoms :)

Cheer up hyung!

[sticker]

jjangjjang

Really?? I’ll get to see them up close?

Will there be a lot of flowers?

There will be a lot of flowers~

None as pretty as hyung though ㅎㅎ

jjangjjang

[sticker]

Hanbinie is making fun of me again ㅠ

When the large car slowed to a stop outside of their house, Hanbin was already crossing the yard with quick, impatient steps. The door jumped open to release Zhang Hao, eyes sparkling and lips parted in delight. “Hanbin-ah!” He called. Hanbin had never been happier to hear his name. “It’s beautiful! The cherry blossoms!”

“Hyung!” Hanbin grinned. “Welcome home.”

Living in their house without Zhang Hao just felt wrong. It was too quiet at night without Zhang Hao’s snoring, and too cold to bear knowing that he wasn’t soaking up the warmth of the ondol. Hanbin’s mother had sent him with several containers of side dishes to sneak into the old home so that Zhang Hao wouldn’t be short of kimchi to go with their meals, and he stayed the night just to make sure everything was in order for Zhang Hao’s return. He ended up having one of his more fitful sleeps in recent memory.

Zhang Hao must have been in extra good spirits because of the cherry blossoms, or maybe he was just feeling energetic enough to skip the rest of the way to Hanbin. “Shall we take a walk?”

“Now?” Hanbin asked, casting a wide-eyed look at the staff members.

Zhang Hao shrugged. “I’ve been behaving at my schedules all week so they can spare us half an hour to go on a little walk, right?” As he glanced at his manager, his eyes narrowed. Caught literally in between the silent battle of wills, Hanbin nearly forgot to breathe until Zhang Hao’s manager sighed and nodded his approval. Like a switch was flipped, Zhang Hao turned back to Hanbin with a beam. “Lead the way!”

If Hanbin wasn’t so familiar with the sight of cherry blossoms in full bloom, he might have been as fascinated as Zhang Hao was. He had always been more partial to the brilliant pinks of the plum blossoms that Maehwa-dong was named after, but Zhang Hao’s excitement was contagious. “Look,” he murmured, swiping on his screen. Tiny, delicate blossoms filled Zhang Hao’s camera roll, blotted out the powder blue skies behind, and enveloped Zhang Hao in the last few selfies. How could Hanbin not fall in love with Maehwa-dong all over again, having seen it through Zhang Hao’s eyes?

“I’m glad that I’m viewing the cherry blossoms with hyung this time,” Hanbin smiled. Zhang Hao’s gaze landed on him, then darted away. A warm pink climbed up his ears.

“You’re not sick of spending time with me yet?” He scoffed, still not looking over at Hanbin.

Hanbin could laugh. “I want to be even closer with hyung, actually,” he confessed. Between them, their hands swung lightly as they walked, occasionally brushing, but never intertwining. Hanbin wished so dearly to close that scant distance.

Zhang Hao was quiet for long enough that Hanbin’s heart had sunken all the way to his stomach by the time he finally spoke up again. “You want to be even closer,” he echoed. His voice was silken threads, so easy to unravel into nothing, nearly floating away in the bracing breeze that sent a shower of blossoms fluttering over them. At Hanbin’s nod, he met Hanbin’s gaze through his lashes.

Hardly daring to breathe, Hanbin murmured, “yes. I like hyung so much.”

Coy, Zhang Hao’s gaze flicked to some point farther ahead. “Then Hanbin should call me ‘gege’ instead.”

“Gege?” Hanbin tested. It sounded odd on his tongue, but he was sure that he would nail it soon. Gege. The air around them scented sweet and light.

“It’s like hyung, but more intimate.” The curves of Zhang Hao’s cheeks rose as Hanbin took a sharp inhale. He was doing it on purpose, flustering Hanbin for fun.

There was still one more thing Hanbin needed to know. He caught Zhang Hao’s wrist on its next swing into his orbit. “Do other people call you gege too?” They kept walking, wrist in hand, almost where Hanbin wanted to be.

“Not yet,” Zhang Hao trailed off. There was a test to be passed here, and Hanbin knew just what to do.

“Gege shouldn’t let anyone else call you that, then,” he slipped his hand into Zhang Hao’s, revelling in the softness, the warmth, the sense of rightness as Zhang Hao’s fingers curled over his. Zhang Hao’s glowing face tilted towards Hanbin, his smile sweeter than honey.

“No one else,” Zhang Hao agreed. “So Hanbinie should treasure the privilege.” His thumb stroked over the back of Hanbin’s.

For as far as the eye could see, there was no one but them. Blanketed in falling petals and listening to nothing but the intimate, hushed sounds of their breaths, Hanbin kissed Zhang Hao for the very first time.

Zhang Hao finds him easily, half-hidden by the shadow that engulfs their empty goat pen as he is. Hanbin doesn’t question how; he only flinches when a familiar weight winds around his waist and warm lips land on his cheek. His face is wet, chilled by tracks of tears that start flowing again each time he thinks he’s done crying.

Not to look too pathetic—it’s not even the first time he’s cried in front of Zhang Hao but it’ll surely be his ugliest crying to date if the tightness in his chest is anything to go by—Hanbin drags his sleeves over his eyes and nose as Zhang Hao settles down behind him, burrowing his face into Hanbin’s nape, his arms clinging around Hanbin’s waist. “Gege,” Hanbin whispers; his throat is raw and there’s no need for anyone to overhear. “What are you doing? Go back inside.”

“And freeze inside without you?” Zhang Hao grumbles.

“It’s colder out here,” Hanbin argues. “I got the ondol going earlier.”

Zhang Hao scoffs into his neck. “It’s the warmest wherever Hanbinie is.”

So much for getting a lid on his emotions. Hanbin’s lips wobble in protest, and not a second later, hot streams of tears cascade freely down his cheeks again. He sniffles, and Zhang Hao’s sleeve-covered hand comes up to dab at his face this time. Thoroughly resigned, Hanbin lets himself sink back into the welcoming cradle of Zhang Hao’s hold.

Silence is usually comfortable between them, but tonight it aches at his joints and gnaws at his heart. There is so much welling up in Hanbin—and in Zhang Hao too, he would bet—that he cannot put the right words to, nor decide if he should even give voice to. The weight on his chest is getting so heavy that it might be easier to just sink into the ground and never move again.

“It’s not the end you know,” Zhang Hao says gently. Light, careful fingers glide through Hanbin’s hair. “We don’t have to give us up.”

Hanbin leans into his touch, too weary to pretend at strength. “I can follow gege back to Seoul,” he says. “If you want.”

A cool touch on Hanbin’s cheek tilts his head enough to meet Zhang Hao’s gaze. “What about what you want?” Zhang Hao asks softly. “Do you even want to leave Maehwa?”

Hanbin twists around to stare at his gege mutely, helplessly, as wave after wave of want and despair lap at his chest in turn. I don't think I could bear it if you leave me behind, Hanbin wants to confess, but where is my place in Seoul?

The truth of the matter is that his life in Maehwa is all that Hanbin knows. So what if he follows Zhang Hao back to Seoul—where would Hanbin fit in the picture?

Gentle fingers tap at his temple. “I cannot see everything that goes on in your head,” Zhang Hao reminds.

“I don’t want you to,” Hanbin grumbles. If he had it his way, time would stop until he could manage to pry his fingers open and let Zhang Hao go with nothing but genuine well-wishes.

“This concerns both of us, Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao sighs. Hanbin looks away from the crease between his gege’s brows. “You can’t just clam up and not tell me what you’re thinking. Or deciding. You’re not letting me be a part of our future,” Zhang Hao says, brittle.

Hanbin opens his mouth to refute it and comes up short. In trying to not strangulate their future with his crushing grip, he still couldn’t avoid taking something from Zhang Hao.

“I…” his throat aches around a lump of shame, but Hanbin forces himself to keep talking, “wish I could keep gege here with me.” Zhang Hao must draw some sort of sweet, lovely implication from Hanbin’s admission, because his frown dissolves into a soft smile. It only makes Hanbin feel even worse.

“Gege should be shining on stage, doing his activities well, and I want the best for gege.” It tumbles out of him in a rush, another self-serving act—with this foreword, Hanbin might seem closer to the selfless persona that Zhang Hao knows and loves him for. He only wishes that he could stop talking to keep Zhang Hao’s tender gaze intact; now that he’s begun his confession, it’s like he physically cannot stop. “I don’t want gege to give up anything, but I can’t bear to let gege out of my life,” Hanbin forces out. “I wish I could keep you by my side and I feel so guilty for even considering… wanting a life where gege isn’t continuing his career.”

His confession leaves a gaping emptiness inside his chest, and Hanbin gulps in so much air to fill the space that his head feels too light, breaths coming in quick, shallow pants. He presses his hands tightly to his tear-streaked face. Looking at Zhang Hao now would shatter him, he’s sure of it. Whether it’s repulsion, anger, or even worse—pity, Hanbin would rather this moment slow into singularity just so that he won’t have to look up into the face of the man who holds Hanbin’s beating heart in the palm of his hand.

When Zhang Hao’s hands pull, he goes sedately; he will take anything Zhang Hao metes out.

When Zhang Hao’s head only burrows into the crook of his neck, Hanbin holds his breath, stunned. Even his tears abate in uncertainty. Left in that strange grey, Hanbin only blinks, arms limp by his side.

“Are you going to leave me hanging?” Zhang Hao demands, albeit muffled by Hanbin’s body. Because his body remembers its devotion to Zhang Hao better than his bewildered mind, his arms fly up to wrap clumsily around Zhang Hao’s back before he can form a coherent thought in his head. Acquiesced, Zhang Hao’s cheek grazes the bare skin of Hanbin’s jaw.

Curled together like this, they do nothing but breathe for a long moment. Hanbin is torn between instinctively relaxing into his gege’s embrace and pulling away in shame. His body curves stiffly into Zhang Hao’s, yearning to bridge the space between them but too afraid to take anymore than he already has in his presumption.

When Zhang Hao begins to speak, his voice is shockingly close to Hanbin’s ear. He has no choice but to listen—there is nowhere to hide from his shame in his gege’s arms. “I’d be more upset if you could let me go without a struggle,” Zhang Hao murmurs.

“But what I want will only restrict gege,” Hanbin reasons. There is no satisfactory scenario in which they can keep walking down this same path without either one of them yielding.

Zhang Hao hums, thoughtful. He draws back enough that Hanbin can meet his gaze. “If we continue as we always have, yes,” he says slowly, “but things are changing, Hanbin-ah.”

“Changing?” Hanbin echoes.

“Changing,” Zhang Hao confirms with a nod. There’s that odd, distant look in his eyes again. When Hanbin’s gaze habitually falls to his lips, he sees it too—there is a faint smile pulling at the corners of his gege’s lips.

“I’m reaching a turning point in my career,” Zhang Hao’s upturned lips say. “It’s my, what, tenth year now? There are new idols appearing every month now, and I have to strategise for this new phase of my life.”

“No rookie can compare to gege,” Hanbin says, still unsure where Zhang Hao is going with this.

Zhang Hao laughs, and just the sound of it eases Hanbin’s shoulders down a fraction. “There’s no competition,” Zhang Hao agrees, “because I want to do something different from now on.” His hand slips over Hanbin’s and squeezes.

Not for the first time, Hanbin realises again that he’s not the only one terrified of what is to come. Zhang Hao’s delicate fingers tremble over his hand, but he plows on all the same.

“I’ve been thinking of branching out to do variety content,” he says, “opening my own Youtube channel. I want to visit different places and keep learning about cooking. And farming, and Korean culture. Anything will be fun as long as I’m with Hanbinie.” When his gaze flicks back up, Hanbin finally realises that the peculiar brightness in Zhang Hao’s eyes is hope.

Hope for their shared future, hope for Hanbin’s agreement.

“But why?” Before he says the ‘yes’ on the tip of his tongue already, Hanbin needs to know this. “Being an idol means so much to you.”

“It does,” Zhang Hao says bluntly, though not without gentleness. “I’m not going to stop singing and dancing, being an idol. But I want even more now. I want a life together with you too.”

Hanbin’s breath stutters and he closes his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed. I want even more now. So does Hanbin, and yet he had never considered paving a different, wider path for the two of them to continue together side by side the way Zhang Hao must have been planning.

“That’s why I was happy to hear that Hanbinie wants me so much too,” Zhang Hao is saying. “If we both want this so much, won’t we go all in to create a possibility for ourselves?” Hanbin flips his hand over to squeeze Zhang Hao’s hand while he takes in a deep, grounding breath.

“Of course, I’d never dream of anything less with gege,” Hanbin smiles. Hot tears blur his vision and his nose stings as every nerve in his body lights up in elation. It’s almost too much joy for one person to bear. “I’ll work hard to never hold gege’s career back.”

Zhang Hao’s answering smile is just as watery and even more brilliant. “More like I’ll have to work even harder to make Hanbinie’s decision to follow me around the country worthwhile.”

“Gege will regret it once the producers plan another kimjang episode,” Hanbin laughs, light now that the boulder has slid off his shoulders and landed squarely in the dust behind them. “Remember how much your back hurt after a whole day of seasoning cabbages?” Zhang Hao’s answering groan barely even sounds despairing with how much his cheeks are lifted in a wide grin. The mood is contagious, the way their happiness cycles and giddy relief loops between them.

Leaving the shaded goat pen behind, they take a walk together as they always do, watched over by the gentle light of the moon. Hanbin sweeps his gaze over the rises and dips of the mountains he’s known and loved for his entire life. Every inch of what he can see pulsates with comfort and safety, and he can barely fathom what his future will look like outside of these lands. It’s exhilarating, how the world seems to open up once familiarity falls away from beneath his feet to make way for something new. Hanbin feels light, like he’s floating away from the land that has held his roots down safely, lovingly.

A squeeze; Zhang Hao’s fingers, tangled with his, draws Hanbin’s attention back into his self. He glances to his right, and there his gege is, shoulder to shoulder, eye to eye, with a matching smile to Hanbin’s own. The path they’re taking is unfamiliar, but Hanbin won’t find himself lost and unmoored for long. He’s not alone anymore, after all.

Notes:

This is my final love letter to Haobin who have inspired me and shaped my young adulthood so positively in the short 3 years we've spent together so far. I wish them the absolute best in their futures, both joint or separate, whatever it may be :)

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