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hanbin thinks the first thing he noticed about zhang hao was his smile. not because it was especially bright, or pretty, or unforgettable (although it was all of those things, along with any other terms netizens use to gush over him) but because it was effortless. while everyone else had smiles too wide, or too tense, zhang hao’s smile had been easy. as though he came to boys planet already knowing he would survive the show.
hanbin remembers standing in that awful room, shoulders tense underneath the outfit his company’s stylist had wanted him to wear. he watched over and over as the other trainees introduced themselves, cameras mere inches from their faces.
he knew that for many of the men around him, this show represented the last chance they were willing to give their dream. under the fluorescent lights, everyone looked terrified in their own ways.
everyone, except hao that is. when he glanced at hao, their eyes met.
and then zhang hao smiled.
small. calm. almost amused in a way.
hanbin lets his gaze linger longer than it should. as he looks at hao, the harsh lightning shifts into something warm surrounding him like a halo hanbin muses to himself.
the distance between them closes slowly, as though some magnetic force is pulling them towards each other.
“hanbin-ah” hao says his name quietly, like something meant only for him.
“hanbin-ah” it’s slightly louder this time, he opens his mouth to respond when suddenly hao’s hand is on his shoulder
“hanbin-ah, we’re already running late, you need to wake up.”
the atmosphere shifts. he is no longer on the boys planet set, instead he is curled awkwardly on the dorm couch. more disappointingly, the voice and hand do not belong to hao; the true owner is a very concerned looking jiwoong standing over him.
“you scared me for a second,” jiwoong mutters, pulling his hand back. “i’ve been calling your name for five minutes.”
hanbin blinks slowly, sleep still clinging heavily to him. the dorm lights almost feel harsher than the ones from his dream.
“what time is it?” he asks quietly.
jiwoong sighs. “2:10. we’re supposed to be live in twenty minutes.”
right.
the lunch live.
hanbin vaguely remembers taerae mentioning it earlier that morning, sometime before hanbin had drifted off on the couch. something about eating together because fans said the dorm felt quieter lately.
jiwoong studies him for a moment before speaking again. “you’ve been sleeping a lot these days.”
the words are casual, but concern slips through anyway.
hanbin forces out a small laugh. “we’re all tired.”
jiwoong doesn’t look convinced.
ever since the yuehuaz moved out three months ago, exhaustion has settled into hanbin’s bones like something permanent.
the dorm is quieter now.
no yujin yelling from across the hallway. no gyuvin barging into rooms without knocking. no ricky cursing gyuvin for said barging in (although his words would always come out softer than seemingly intended)
and no hao.
no hao humming absentmindedly in the kitchen at two in the morning. no hao falling asleep against hanbin’s shoulder during schedules.
no hao at all, except in dreams.
hanbin hates how much he’s started looking forward to sleeping.
“come on,” jiwoong says gently after a moment. “the fans are waiting for us.”
hanbin swallows whatever exhaustion threatens to settle visibly across his face and forces himself up from the couch.
by the time they arrive at the company building, makeup has covered the lingering signs of sleep beneath hanbin’s eyes, and someone has shoved an iced americano into his hands.
the live starts exactly three minutes late.
“hello!” matthew beams toward the camera, waving enthusiastically. “did you wait long?”
comments begin flooding the screen almost instantly.
HANBIN SO CUTE
JIWOONG HI
where’s my mattbin heart pose :(
the dorm is so quiet these days omg
hanbin smiles automatically at the camera while taerae complains beside him about matthew stealing fries before the live had even started.
he’s good at this part by now.
nodding at the right moments. laughing when he’s supposed to. leaning naturally into the members beside him like he doesn’t notice the empty spaces left behind.
eventually, his lack of participation is noticed, matthew nudges hanbin lightly with his shoulder “you should read some of the comments”
hanbin glances down
at first, they’re harmless.
TAERAE STOP STEALING FOOD
jiwoong looks tired omg
matthew is so loud today 😭
then
does hanbin still talk to hao?
haobin mention PLEASE
i miss the yuehuaz :(
it still feels weird without hao
hanbin’s smile freezes for half a second.
not enough for fans to notice. enough for Jiwoong to quietly take the phone from his hands instead. “ah, you guys always ask the same things,” jiwoong laughs easily, steering the conversation elsewhere.
the others follow naturally. years in the industry have made all of them experts at pretending not to notice discomfort.
hanbin nods along while gunwook argues with matthew over side dishes beside him, but the comments linger in the back of his mind long after the live ends.
it still feels weird without hao.
it feels weird for hanbin too.
that night hanbin falls asleep before midnight.
these days, it doesn’t take much. one moment he’s staring blankly at the ceiling of his room, and the next-
bright lights.
screaming.
cameras.
the boys planet finale stage.
for a moment hanbin simply stands there, overwhelmed by the familiarity of it all. the heat of the stage lights against his skin. the thunderous noise of the audience. the trembling anticipation hanging in the air before the final rankings are announced.
and beside him, hao.
real enough that hanbin’s chest aches at the sight of him.
hao’s hand brushes against his briefly, nervous energy disguised beneath practiced composure.
hanbin remembers this.
he remembers how terrified they both were.
“the final first place candidate-”
the audience erupts.
hanbin barely hears it. because hao is here.
close enough to touch. close enough that hanbin can see the slight tension in his smile despite how calm he appears on camera.
when zhang hao’s name is announced, the entire stage dissolves into chaos.
someone behind them screams. matthew is crying. gunwook is yelling loud enough to overpower the music.
but hanbin only looks at hao. he remembers this too.
the way hao had stared forward in complete shock. the way his hands shook. the way he looked almost guilty turning toward hanbin, like he was afraid. afraid hanbin would be disappointed at coming in second after so long at the top.
instead, hanbin had never felt happier.
because hao made it. because they made it. because somehow, impossibly, they would get to stay together after all.
so when hao finally turns toward him in the dream, eyes glassy beneath the stage lights, hanbin smiles exactly the same way he did that night.
and reaches for him.
the stage lights disappear all at once.
hanbin wakes with a sharp inhale, his chest tight enough to hurt.
for a few disorienting seconds, he still expects to hear the deafening cheers from the boys planet finale ringing in his ears. expects to see hao standing beside him beneath the confetti, smiling with watery eyes while clutching hanbin’s hand hard enough to ache.
instead, there’s only silence.
darkness blankets his room, interrupted only by the faint glow of his phone charger across the floor. hanbin stares at the ceiling as reality settles heavily over him.
no finale stage. no hao.
just another dream.
something wet slips down the side of his face before he realizes he’s crying. hanbin lets out a quiet laugh at himself, lifting a hand to wipe quickly beneath his eyes even though nobody is there to see it. his room feels unbearably cold after dreams like this.
without thinking, hanbin reaches toward the empty space beside him before stopping halfway. the spot next to him has been untouched for months now. still, his body hasn’t quite learned that yet.
hanbin squeezes his eyes shut briefly before forcing himself upright. sleep still clings stubbornly to him, wrapping around his limbs like something heavy and suffocating.
his phone lights up immediately when he grabs it.
47 unread messages.
most of them are from the group chat.
matthew has somehow sent fourteen pictures of the food they ate after the live despite everyone being physically present when it happened. taerae is complaining about gunwook stealing his dessert. jiwoong has sent a single message telling everyone to sleep because they have schedules early in the morning.
slowly, hanbin finds himself swiping out of the groupchat, without thinking he opens the ot9 groupchat (familybaseone hanbin can’t help but smile at the name) that has sat mostly untouched recently, aside from a few messages here and there. the yuehuaz have been busy preparing for their debut, while hanbin and the other zerobaseone members have also had packed schedules in relation to their newest comeback.
hanbin scrolls silently until his thumb stills.
hao hyung reacted ❤️ to matthew’s message.
that’s it.
no actual message. just a reaction buried between dozens of notifications.
hanbin stares at it much longer than he should.
eventually, he clicks into hao’s contact anyway. the last conversation between them is painfully normal.
hao asking if hanbin had eaten yet.
hanbin reminding hao not to skip sleep before schedules.
a blurry picture of ricky asleep in the background of a video hao had sent two weeks ago.
nothing dramatic enough to justify how much hanbin misses him.
his thumb hovers over the keyboard.
i dreamed about you again.
the words sit there for several seconds before hanbin deletes them. what exactly is hao supposed to do with that?
instead, hanbin locks his phone and lets it fall beside him onto the bed.
in the dream, hanbin had reached for hao without hesitation. awake, he doesn’t know if he still can.
by noon the next day, hanbin feels like he’s moving underwater.
the company practice room is too warm, the music humming softly through the speakers while gunwook and matthew argue over choreography in the corner. taerae is lying flat on the floor during break, dramatically claiming he’s moments away from death.
normally, hanbin would laugh. today, he can barely keep his eyes open.
“you okay?” jiwoong asks quietly from beside him. hanbin nods automatically before taking another sip of his iced americano. the drink stopped helping hours ago.
he didn’t sleep much after waking from the dream. every time he closed his eyes, he saw hao standing beneath the finale stage lights again, looking at hanbin like he was afraid to be hated.
hanbin thinks that might be the cruelest part of all this. even now, after everything, hao still appears in his dreams exactly as hanbin remembers him: gentle, careful, always worrying more about other people’s feelings than his own.
“don’t fall asleep in here,” matthew says as he passes by, nudging hanbin’s shoulder teasingly. “manager hyung will kill you.”
“i won’t,” hanbin murmurs. he means it. really.
but exhaustion settles heavily against him the moment practice resumes. the music blurs together. the fluorescent lights overhead burn against his already aching eyes.
when they take their next break, hanbin lowers himself against the mirrored wall just for a moment.
just until break ends. across the room, gunwook laughs loudly at something matthew says. the sound stretches strangely in hanbin’s ears.
then everything softens.
warm light replaces harsh fluorescent bulbs.
the distant bass of practice room speakers fades into quiet nighttime silence.
hao is there.
barefoot and half-asleep, standing in the dorm kitchen at two in the morning.
for a moment, hanbin simply stares. this memory again. or dream. these days, the line between them feels thinner than it should.
hao glances up from the kettle in his hands, unsurprised to see him. “you’re awake?” he asks softly.
the sight of him is so painfully familiar that hanbin’s chest aches. oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder. sleep-mussed hair. the tiny crease between his brows that always appeared whenever
he was tired. hanbin remembers this night.
it had happened sometime during their first few months as zerobaseone. schedules had run late, everyone else already asleep by the time they returned to the dorms.
hanbin had wandered into the kitchen unable to sleep. only to find hao there first.
“you should be sleeping,” hao tells him now, voice quieter beneath the dim kitchen lights. hanbin almost laughs at the irony.
instead, he walks closer. in dreams, hao is always within reach
the kitchen is warm in the way dorm kitchens only ever are late at night, filled with the soft hum of the refrigerator and the faint scent of tea leaves hao had insisted on bringing from home.
hanbin stops beside him at the counter.
close enough that their shoulders brush lightly. hao doesn’t pull away.
back then, hanbin had thought very little of touches like this. physical affection between them had already become something easy. natural.
hao leaning against him during long van rides. hanbin fixing hao’s hair before recordings. falling asleep shoulder to shoulder in waiting rooms.
little things. at the time, hanbin had convinced himself they meant nothing.
now, they feel like everything.
“you couldn’t sleep either?” hao asks quietly. hanbin shakes his head.
hao hums softly in understanding before pouring hot water carefully into two mugs. the sound is gentle. domestic. dangerously easy to miss while living through it.
hanbin thinks that’s what hurts most now. not the large moments fans always talked about online. not the finale rankings or viral clips or dramatic declarations.
it’s this. the quiet things. the moments that had slipped past hanbin without him realizing they would one day become the memories he treasured most.
“you’re staring,” hao says suddenly, amusement threading softly through his voice.
hanbin blinks. sure enough, hao is looking at him now with that same small smile from years ago.
easy. effortless.
hanbin feels something in his chest ache painfully. in the original memory, he thinks he laughed this off. said something teasing in response. but dreams are strange things. sometimes they let him say the things he wishes he had back then. the things he wishes he could say in real life.
“i like looking at you,” hanbin admits quietly. the words slip out before he can stop them.
for a moment, hao stills. not uncomfortable, just surprised.
then, slowly, the tips of hao’s ears begin turning pink. “you’re weird at night,” hao murmurs, looking back down at his tea to hide his expression.
hanbin smiles before he can help it. maybe this part never really happened. maybe hanbin simply wishes that it had
hao nudges one of the mugs toward him gently. their fingers brush briefly against each other. hanbin’s chest tightens.
even now, his subconscious recreates hao perfectly. the warmth of his hands. the softness in his voice. the fondness hidden carefully beneath every glance.
hanbin wonders vaguely if this is what grieving someone feels like. to know they still exist somewhere in the world and miss them anyway.
“you look tired,” hao says after a moment.
hanbin nearly laughs again. “i am tired.”
hao studies him quietly over the rim of his mug. “then sleep more.”
hanbin stares at him. if this were real, maybe he would’ve answered normally. maybe he would’ve joked about schedules or exhaustion or matthew snoring too loudly in the dorms.
instead, dream hanbin says the truth. “i only sleep because you’re there.”
the silence that follows feels fragile. hao’s expression softens into something unbearably tender.
and for one impossible moment, hanbin truly believes,
“hanbin?”
the kitchen flickers violently.
hao disappears.
“hanbin!”
the warmth vanishes all at once, ripped away so suddenly it leaves hanbin breathless.
his eyes snap open to the bright practice room lights overhead.
music blasts through the speakers again. someone is shaking his shoulder.
“seriously?” matthew says incredulously once hanbin finally looks up. “you actually fell asleep?”
gunwook bursts into laughter from across the room. “hyung, practice isn’t that boring.” heat rushes to hanbin’s face instantly.
“i was resting my eyes,” he mutters weakly, pushing himself upright against the mirrored wall.
“resting your eyes for fifteen minutes?” taerae asks.
“that’s called sleeping,” matthew informs him helpfully.
normally, hanbin would argue more convincingly. today, exhaustion still clings heavily to him, tangled together with the lingering warmth of hao’s voice in the back of his mind.
i only sleep because you’re there. the words echo unpleasantly in his chest.
hanbin avoids jiwoong’s gaze for the remainder of practice. because even though nobody else knows what he’d been dreaming about, hanbin somehow feels embarrassed anyway.
like they might look at him and immediately realize how pathetic he’s becoming.
by the time practice finally ends hours later, hanbin feels wrung out. the others spill noisily into the hallway around him, arguing over dinner plans while staff members rush everyone toward their next schedule.
hanbin lingers behind under the excuse of tying his shoelaces. really, he just needs a moment to breathe.
the hallway is quiet once the others disappear around the corner.
too quiet.
without thinking, hanbin pulls out his phone. his thumb moves automatically. past unread notifications. past the group chat. straight to hao’s contact.
hanbin stares at the familiar profile picture for a long moment. he tells himself he’s only checking their messages again. nothing more.
the screen flashes abruptly.
calling hao hyung
hanbin’s stomach drops. “oh, shit”
he moves immediately to hang up, panic surging through him too late. the phone barely rings once.
“hanbin-ah?”
hao answers so quickly that hanbin forgets how to breathe. his voice is softer than usual, slightly rough around the edges like he’d been resting. almost exactly like it had sounded in the dream.
hanbin grips the phone tighter instinctively. for a second, he says nothing.
“hanbin?” hao repeats, quieter this time. concerned. “did something happen?”
“no,” hanbin blurts out immediately. too fast. “no, sorry, i didn’t mean to call.”
a small pause. then, unexpectedly, hao laughs softly. the sound wraps around hanbin’s chest painfully. “you accidentally called me?”
embarrassment burns hotter now. “yes.”
“that’s kind of cute.”
hanbin closes his eyes briefly. dreams are one thing. real hao is infinitely worse.
in the background, hanbin can hear muffled voices.
someone complains loudly in mandarin, ricky, hanbin quickly concludes
then gyuvin’s voice cuts through right after, impossible to miss even through the phone speaker. “hao hyung, hurry up!”
something twists sharply in hanbin’s chest at the sound.
the yuehuaz. together.
some distant part of him already knew that, obviously. knew they still lived together, still spent every day with each other.
still, hearing it aloud feels different somehow. too real.
“we just finished filming something,” hao explains absentmindedly. “everyone’s hungry, and of course you know how it is as the leader”
hanbin hums quietly in response. inside, the dull ache that has lived in his heart for months surfaces violently. realistically, hanbin knows there is nothing he could have done. yuehua was always going to take the four boys back. he still feels like a failure of a leader. more than that, he misses them all, each one of the boys having carved out a special place in his heart over the years spent together.
everything feels empty without them. the dorm, the van, the practice room. him.
for a moment, neither of them speaks. the silence isn’t uncomfortable exactly. just something that’s become unfamiliar.
there had been a time when hanbin and hao could sit together for hours without needing to fill the space between them.
now hanbin suddenly doesn’t know what he’s allowed to say anymore. hao breaks the silence first.
“you sound tired,” he says gently.
the words hit harder than they should.
hanbin leans back against the hallway wall slowly, exhaustion settling into his bones all over again.
“i am tired,” he admits quietly. on the other end of the call, hao goes silent for a moment.
“are you sleeping properly these days?”
hanbin’s breath catches. for one terrifying second, he thinks about telling the truth.
no, actually.
i sleep too much now.
i sleep because it’s the only place i still get to have you.
instead, hanbin forces out a soft laugh. “as properly as we ever do.”
hao hums softly, unconvinced. somehow still able to read hanbin too easily even through a phone call. “take care of yourself, okay?” hao says quietly. the fondness in his voice is enough to make hanbin ache.
because hao still cares.
that might honestly be the worst part.
after the call ends, hanbin remains standing in the hallway long after everyone else has left.
the phone screen dims slowly in his hands before going dark altogether.
still, he doesn’t move.
somewhere farther down the building, staff members shout instructions back and forth while music bleeds faintly through practice room walls.
hanbin barely hears any of it.
instead, his thoughts remain hopelessly tangled around hao’s voice.
you sound tired.
take care of yourself, okay?
the concern had sounded so genuine. so familiar.
like no time had passed at all. and maybe that’s the problem.
hanbin doesn’t know how to exist around zhang hao anymore without wanting things he can’t have back.
before he can sink further into the thought, his phone buzzes suddenly against his palm.
a new message.
[hao hyung]
admitting to calling me just because you missed me would’ve been less embarrassing btw
hanbin stares at the words helplessly.
maybe it had been a subconscious thing, accidentally calling zhang hao because of how badly he misses him, how badly he wishes he could reach out.
heat rises immediately to his face despite the empty hallway around him.
then another notification appears.
[hao hyung]
get home safely
something inside hanbin aches painfully.
because there hao is again.
still gentle. still fond in all the quiet ways that matter most. despite all of his new found responsibilities and packed schedule, he’s still looking out for hanbin.
hanbin presses the heel of his hand briefly against his eyes before finally forcing himself toward the elevators.
the entire ride home, he rereads the messages more times than he’ll ever admit aloud.
the dorm is mostly quiet when hanbin returns.
jiwoong glances up briefly from the couch as hanbin walks in. “you made it home,” he says dryly.
“barely.”
jiwoong’s gaze lingers on him for a moment longer than usual, like he wants to say something else. instead, he simply nods toward the hallway. “don’t stay up too late.”
hanbin almost laughs at that. these days, sleep is the one thing he can’t seem to stay away from.
inside his room, hanbin changes quietly before collapsing onto the bed without bothering to turn on the lights.
his phone remains loose in his hand.
the last thing he sees before exhaustion drags him under is hao’s contact still open on the screen.
darkness softens into movement.
the low rumble of a car engine.
warmth against his shoulder.
hanbin opens his eyes slowly.
a van.
right.
one of their old schedule rides.
rain taps softly against the windows outside while streetlights blur gold across the glass. most of the members are asleep already, sprawled awkwardly across seats after an especially exhausting day of promotions.
matthew is snoring faintly somewhere near the back.
gunwook has somehow nearly fallen onto taerae despite there being enough room for everyone.
ricky, who is surprisingly still awake has a soft glint in his eyes despite the annoyance he tries to portray at the sleeping gyuvin pressed into his side
hanbin smiles instinctively at the familiar sight before something shifts lightly against him.
he stills.
hao is asleep on his shoulder.
the realization settles over hanbin quietly despite how many times this exact thing had happened in real life.
hao’s head rests carefully against him, breathing soft and even beneath the steady hum of the van.
close. so unbearably close. hanbin remembers this.
not because anything particularly important had happened that night. no dramatic confession. no life-changing conversation.
just exhaustion. rainfall. shared warmth after a long day.
and hao.
hanbin thinks that’s why this memory stayed with him. because love had slipped up on him quietly.
not during performances or emotional speeches or viral moments fans loved replaying online. it had happened like this instead.
somewhere between sleepless schedules and late-night meals and countless small touches hanbin had stopped noticing until suddenly it was unavoidable
“oh,” hanbin remembers thinking.
the realization had terrified him at the time.
not because loving hao felt wrong. but because it felt permanent. as though hanbin’s entire heart had quietly rearranged itself around someone without asking permission first.
beside him, hao shifts slightly in his sleep, forehead brushing briefly against hanbin’s neck.
hanbin’s chest aches instantly. back then, he had forced himself to stay perfectly still so hao wouldn’t wake up. now, inside the dream, hanbin lets himself lean gently into the warmth instead.
and somewhere in the distance, rain continues falling softly against the windows.
hanbin wakes up slowly. not with a jolt this time. just… drifting.
like something is gently pulling him upward out of water. for a few seconds, he doesn’t open his eyes.
because he can still feel it. warmth pressed against him. the faint weight of someone leaning into his shoulder. the steady rhythm of breathing that wasn’t his own.
hao.
hanbin opens his eyes.
darkness.
his room is quiet in the way empty rooms always are after something has ended too suddenly.
the ceiling is familiar. the air is still. his phone is half-crushed beneath his hand where he must have fallen asleep holding it.
and there’s nothing beside him.
of course there isn’t.
hanbin sits up slowly, rubbing at his face with the heel of his hand.
for a moment, he just stays like that, still half in the dream, half out of it, caught somewhere in between.
“i had a dream,” hao had said.
hanbin exhales quietly.
“that’s kind of normal,” he mutters to the empty room, echoing himself from the dream.
but it doesn’t feel normal.
not anymore.
because something about that one is sticking.
clinging.
like warmth that refuses to leave his skin.
hanbin reaches for his phone.
no new messages.
no missed calls.
just the faint glow of his own reflection in the dark screen.
without thinking, he unlocks it.
his thumb hesitates over the notes app.
then he opens it.
a blank page stares back at him.
for a long moment, hanbin doesn’t type anything.
then, slowly his fingers begin pressing the keys, almost with a mind of their own
van ride
hao said he had a dream about me
smiled like it meant something
i think i said i only sleep because he’s there
i don’t know if i actually said it or not anymore
he pauses. his throat tightens slightly.
then adds one more line.
i don’t want to forget this one.
he stares at it.
long enough that the words start to feel unfamiliar.
like they belong to someone else.
like if he blinks too hard, even this might blur.
hanbin locks his phone.
the room falls dark again.
and for the first time, he realizes something he doesn’t want to name yet,
the dreams are starting to feel more real than the waking world.
morning comes too quickly.
hanbin doesn’t remember falling asleep again after writing the notes.
he just remembers the feeling of closing his eyes “for a moment” and then,
nothing.
now he’s standing in front of the mirror, toothbrush halfway to his mouth, staring at himself like he’s trying to remember where he went.
“you look worse,” jiwoong says from the doorway.
hanbin blinks. “thanks.”
“i’m being serious.”
there’s no teasing in jiwoong’s voice this time.
hanbin looks away first. “i didn’t sleep well.”
jiwoong doesn’t respond immediately.
that’s the problem, hanbin realizes.
it’s not that jiwoong believes him.
it’s that he’s starting not to.
the day passes in fragments.
practice. noise. movement.
hanbin follows it all like he’s slightly out of sync with the rest of them.
he laughs when he’s supposed to.
nods when someone talks to him.
misses half of what’s being said.
twice, he catches himself thinking about lying down on the practice room floor just to “rest his eyes.”
twice, he stops himself.
once, he doesn’t.
it’s only for a few minutes.
just enough for the world to tilt slightly at the edges.
just enough for warmth to start creeping in again.
when jiwoong finds him later, it’s not dramatic.
it’s quieter than that.
hanbin is sitting on the edge of the practice room bench, head tilted back against the wall, eyes closed.
not fully asleep.
not fully awake either.
jiwoong doesn’t call his name right away.
he just stands there for a moment.
watching.
“you’re doing it again,” jiwoong says finally.
hanbin opens his eyes slowly.
“…doing what?”
jiwoong hesitates.
like he’s choosing his words carefully.
“escaping.”
that word lands heavier than anything else today.
hanbin looks down at his hands.
doesn’t answer.
because if he does, he might admit he doesn’t know how to stop.
that night, he tells himself he won’t sleep.
he actually tries this time.
lights on. phone away. sitting upright in bed like that will somehow make a difference.
it doesn’t last long.
because exhaustion doesn’t feel like tiredness anymore.
it feels like being pulled.
softly. inevitably.
like something waiting on the other side of closed eyes.
hanbin’s resistance slips without him noticing.
hanbin doesn’t remember crossing the hallway.
one moment he’s sitting in his room, lights still on, the faint pressure of exhaustion pressing behind his eyes.
the next, there's a warm light.
a familiar scent.
the wooden floor beneath his feet.
the dorm kitchen.
he stops immediately.
because something is different.
not wrong.
just… continued.
like he didn’t leave last time.
the kettle is already steaming softly on the counter.
a mug sits waiting beside it.
and zhang hao is there.
leaning against the kitchen counter like he never moved at all.
like hanbin had simply stepped out of the room for a moment and come back.
hao looks up when he enters.
and smiles.
not surprised.
not distant.
just warm.
“you came back,” hao says softly.
hanbin freezes.
something tightens in his chest immediately.
because that sentence…
it shouldn’t feel like relief.
but it does.
“…yeah,” hanbin manages.
his voice sounds quieter than he remembers.
hao hums, satisfied, as if that answer is exactly what he expected.
“i thought you might.”
he pushes the mug toward hanbin again. still warm. still real.
hanbin walks closer slowly. carefully. like if he moves too fast, the scene will break.
but nothing breaks. that’s the worst part. the world holds.
hao is still there. still looking at him like hanbin belongs in the space beside him.
hanbin sits. the chair scrapes softly against the floor.
neither of them speak for a moment.
not because it’s awkward. because it isn’t. it never is here.
hao finally breaks the silence first.
“you’ve been tired lately,” he says, like he already knows.
hanbin lets out a quiet laugh. “that’s what people keep saying.”
hao tilts his head slightly. “and what do you think?”
hanbin should answer carefully. should think about jiwoong’s face earlier. should think about practice. should think about reality.
instead, he says: “i think i sleep better when i’m here.”
the words land softly between them. hao doesn’t look surprised.
if anything, he looks… gentler. like he’s been waiting for hanbin to admit it.
“that makes sense,” hao says quietly. then, after a pause: “you always used to fall asleep easily here.”
hanbin stills slightly. because that’s true. and because hao remembers.
not just the big things. but this. the small, quiet patterns of him.
hao picks up his mug, taking a slow sip.
then, almost casually: “you don’t have to fight it, you know.”
hanbin looks up at him.
hao’s expression is calm. warm. certain.
effortless.
“this,” he adds softly, gesturing lightly between them. “it’s not going anywhere.”
something in Hanbin’s chest tightens painfully.
because that shouldn’t be comforting. but it is.
and for the first time, he doesn’t correct it. doesn’t question it. doesn’t pull away.
instead, he lets his shoulders relax.
just slightly. just enough.
and outside of the kitchen, somewhere far away
a voice calls his name again.
“hanbin!”
the light flickers.
hao doesn’t disappear this time.
not immediately.
just blurs at the edges.
like he’s waiting.
hanbin’s fingers tighten around the mug.
for the first time, he doesn’t wake up right away.
hanbin comes back to himself slowly.
not all at once.
it’s messy, like surfacing through thick, murky water.
sound first.
a distant voice calling his name.
then light.
then jiwoong, crouched beside his bed with a hand braced against the mattress like he’s been there for a while.
“hanbin.”
a pause.
then, sharper.
“hanbin, look at me.”
hanbin blinks.
his room is too bright.
the air feels unfamiliar, like he left it and forgot how to return.
“…what?” he asks quietly.
jiwoong exhales through his nose, something between frustration and worry.
“You slept late. again.”
hanbin sits up slowly.
his body feels heavy in a way that doesn’t make sense.
“how long?” he asks.
“too long,” jiwoong says. “nearly an hour and a half. we tried waking you up.”
that makes Hanbin pause.
that part doesn’t land right.
he doesn’t remember anyone trying.
he remembers the warm kitchen light, hao sitting at the table.
hao saying you’re late again like it mattered.
hanbin swallows.
“i was just tired,” he says automatically.
jiwoong doesn’t respond immediately.
that’s the problem now.
he’s stopped believing that sentence.
“you keep saying that,” jiwoong says quietly.
hanbin avoids his eyes.
because he doesn’t know what else to say.
jiwoong straightens slightly, running a hand through his hair.
“this isn’t normal anymore,” he adds, softer now. “you’re more punctual than any of us and yet you’re sleeping through alarms. through people talking to you. you don’t respond right away when we wake you.”
silence settles between them.
hanbin’s fingers curl slightly in the blanket. “…i didn’t notice,” he admits.
jiwoong looks at him for a long moment. like he’s trying to decide how much to say. “hanbin,” he says carefully, “are you actually resting when you sleep?”
that question hits differently. not an accusation, a concern. hanbin doesn’t answer right away.
because the truth doesn’t sound like something he should say out loud.
so instead, he forces a small laugh. “i’m sleeping,” he says. “that’s resting.”
jiwoong doesn’t look convinced. but he doesn’t push further either.
just nods once, slow and serious. “okay,” he says. “but you need to get up soon. we still have things to do.”
when he leaves the room quietly, closing the door behind him.
hanbin sits there after he’s gone.
the room feels too empty now that someone has acknowledged what’s happening in it.
his phone lies face up beside him.
no new messages.
just the faint reflection of his own face in the dark screen.
he should get up. he knows that.
but instead, hanbin lies back down.
just for a second. just to rest his eyes. that’s all.
warm light returns. not sudden. not sharp. like it was waiting for him.
the kitchen appears again. same soft glow. same familiar hum. and this time, hao is already sitting at the table.
waiting, like he never left. like hanbin was always expected.
hao looks up when he arrives. and smiles.
easy. effortless.
“you’re late again,” he says gently.
hanbin swallows.
that sentence feels like home.
and that is the most dangerous part.
jiwoong doesn’t bring it up again that night.
but something changes after that.
hanbin notices it in small ways. the way jiwoong watches him longer during meals. the way matthew stops joking when hanbin goes quiet mid-conversation.
the way taerae hesitates before asking if he’s “okay” now instead of teasing him like usual.
no one says the word sleep anymore.
not directly.
but it hangs there anyway.
unspoken.
growing heavier.
the next day, hanbin tries harder.
he really does.
he eats properly. stays upright during practice. laughs at the right moments. keeps both hands busy so he doesn’t accidentally drift off again.
for a while, it works.
until it doesn’t.
during a break, hanbin is sitting on the floor scrolling through his phone when gunwook drops down beside him.
“hyung,” he says carefully, too casually, “you’ve been weird lately.”
hanbin doesn’t look up. “i’m always weird.”
“that’s not what i mean.”
hanbin finally glances at him.
gunwook looks uncertain in a way hanbin isn’t used to seeing from him.
like he’s been told to be gentle, but doesn’t know how.
“you’ve been sleeping too much,” gunwook says finally.
hanbin’s thumb stops moving.
“that’s what jiwoong hyung said too,” he adds quickly. “it’s just… you’re not really there when you fall asleep. it’s like you shut off completely.”
hanbin’s throat tightens slightly.
“i’m fine,” he says automatically.
gunwook doesn’t push back right away. instead, he just studies him.
gunwook takes a breath, contemplating with himself before asking “is it because of hao hyung?”
the question lands too cleanly. too directly.
hanbin finally looks up fully.
for a second, there’s nothing on his face.
then a small, controlled smile.
“no,” he says.
too fast. too sure.
gunwook doesn’t look convinced.
but he nods anyway, like he’s choosing not to argue.
“okay,” he says quietly. “just… if something’s wrong, you can tell us.”
hanbin nods once.
the conversation ends there. but it doesn’t actually end. it just moves somewhere quieter.
that night, hanbin goes to bed earlier than usual.
not because he’s tired.
but because the thought of staying awake feels heavier than sleeping.
he tells himself it’s just rest.
just a short break. nothing more.
he keeps the phone on his chest this time.
still unlocked. just in case.
just in case what, he doesn’t know.
the kitchen appears gently.
like it was always waiting for him to stop resisting.
warm light. soft air. familiar stillness.
hao is already there again. of course he is.
sitting at the table like hanbin never left it.
like he never stopped coming back.
he looks up. smiles. “you’re early today,” he says softly.
hanbin sits down across from him without speaking.
his movements are slower now. more automatic.
hao notices. of course he does. “you look tired,” hao says gently.
hanbin almost laughs. “i always look tired now.”
hao tilts his head slightly. “that’s not new.” then, quieter:
“but it looks different lately.”
hanbin looks at him.
something about that line feels like it should be alarming.
instead, it just feels… true.
hao pushes a mug toward him.
their fingers brush again.
this time, hanbin doesn’t flinch.
doesn’t overthink it.
just lets it happen.
outside the kitchen, somewhere far away, something faintly calls his name again.
but this time, hanbin doesn’t look toward it immediately.
he just stays.
watching hao.
and thinking, distantly:
i can answer later.
hanbin doesn’t notice the first time it happens.
at least, not immediately.
he just knows that the day feels… shorter than it should.
he wakes up to sunlight.
too bright. too warm.
his phone is buzzing against his chest like it’s been going off for a while.
hanbin frowns slightly as he sits up.
there are messages.
too many.
the group chat is active in a way that makes his stomach tighten before he even opens it.
[matthew]
we’re already at filming?? where is hanbin??
[taerae]
did anyone wake him up???
[gunwook]
he’s not in the van
hanbin blinks. slowly.
his throat tightens slightly. he sits up fully now.
the room is empty. too normal. too quiet.
his phone buzzes again.
[jiwoong]
hanbin. answer.
hanbin arrives at the studio twenty minutes later.
staff are visibly relieved. jiwoong is not.
he doesn’t raise his voice. which is worse.
“you didn’t wake up,” jiwoong says simply.
hanbin nods quickly. “my alarm, i didn’t hear it.”
jiwoong studies him for a long moment.
not angry. just concerned in a way that feels heavier than anger.
“that’s not the issue,” he says quietly.
hanbin’s fingers curl slightly in his sleeves.
he doesn’t like the way this is going.
“i was sleeping,” he says again.
like repetition will make it normal.
jiwoong exhales slowly.
“no,” he says. “you were gone.”
that word lands differently. gone. hanbin opens his mouth, then closes it again. because he doesn’t have a response for that.
the rest of the day feels off. people are quieter around him now. not cold. just careful.
like they’re adjusting how they move around something fragile.
hanbin smiles when he needs to. practices when he’s told.
but something keeps catching in his mind.
i didn’t wake up.
he remembers sleep. he remembers hao. but there’s a gap between those two things now.
a missing stretch of time he can’t account for.
that night, hanbin lies in bed longer than usual.
he turns his phone over in his hands.
once. twice. then opens his notes app. there’s already a list. he didn’t remember writing it.
but it’s there.
kitchen again
hao said i was early
i don’t remember waking up
hanbin stares at it. for a long time. then adds slowly
i think i stayed there too long.
he pauses. then, after a moment,
i think i didn’t want to leave.
the words sit on the screen like something that shouldn’t be said out loud.
he locks the phone. sets it down. and closes his eyes anyway.
because even with the missing time. even with jiwoong’s voice still echoing in his head. even with the memory of gunwook’s concerned eyes looking up at him.
even with everything, the idea of going back there is still easier than staying here.
and when the warmth returns this time, it feels closer. like it never left.
hao is already standing when hanbin arrives.
watching him. waiting. like he always knew hanbin would come back.
“you were gone for a while,” hao says softly. not accusing. just observant.
hanbin hesitates.
“…i think i fell asleep.”
hao tilts his head slightly.
“that’s what you usually do.” a pause, “but you didn’t come back right away this time.”
hanbin’s chest tightens slightly. hao steps closer. not invading. just enough to close the distance.
“you’re here now though,” he says gently.
and hanbin nods. “yeah,” he says.
“i’m here.”
hanbin doesn’t open his notes app that night. he tells himself he won’t. he just sits on his bed instead, phone resting face-down beside him, lights off, knees drawn up loosely against his chest.
jiwoong’s words keep looping in the back of his mind.
you’re disappearing when it happens.
hanbin doesn’t like that sentence.
not because it isn’t true. but because it feels like something he can’t control anymore.
he exhales slowly.
his eyes nearly drift until his phone buzzes. once.
hanbin doesn’t move at first. he stares at it like it might stop on its own. it doesn’t.
buzz buzz
he reaches for it slowly. the screen lights up the room just slightly.
[hao hyung]
are you awake?
hanbin freezes. then sits up immediately. hanbin stares at the message. for a moment, he doesn’t breathe properly.
[hao hyung]
jiwoong said you’ve been sleeping a lot
another pause, then a third message appears.
[hao hyung]
can i call you?
hanbin’s thumb hovers.
this feels different. not like the accidental call. not like habit. this is deliberate. this is real.
his throat tightens slightly. he doesn’t trust his fingers to type, so instead he just hits call. it rings once.
“hanbin-ah?” hao’s voice is immediate. warm. present. not softened by memory. not shaped by repetition. just him.
hanbin closes his eyes briefly. “…hey,” he says quietly. then hao exhales, almost like relief.
“you called fast bin-ah.” hanbin lets out a small breath that might be a laugh if he had the energy.
“yeah.” silence for a moment. not uncomfortable. just real.
then hao speaks again, more careful now. “jiwoong told me you’ve been… off lately.”
hanbin’s grip tightens slightly on the phone. of course he did. of course jiwoong would say something.
hao continues gently.
“i wasn’t sure if i should reach out or not, but i kept thinking about it.”
that lands differently. because dream hao doesn’t hesitate. dream hao can only wait. real hao chooses.
“i didn’t want to bother you,” hao adds honestly.
hanbin looks down at his blanket. “you’re not bothering me, you never could” he says before he can overthink it.
a quiet sound on the other end, hao acknowledging that. then softer: “you’ve been sleeping a lot?”
hanbin hesitates. not because he wants to lie. but because the truth is hard to explain without sounding like he’s losing something he can’t name. “…yeah,” he admits. a beat. then, quieter, “i think i’m just tired.”
hao doesn’t argue. doesn’t correct him. just accepts the answer for what it is. but his voice shifts slightly softer. “are you actually resting though?” that question again.
but this time it doesn’t feel like jiwoong’s. it feels like concern without pressure.
hanbin swallows. he almost says yes. almost defaults. but something stops him. something small. something real.
“…i don’t know,” he admits instead.
silence. then hao speaks gently. “okay.”
no judgment. then, after a pause, “then maybe don’t push yourself alone, yeah?”
hanbin closes his eyes again.
that line hits differently than anything dream hao has ever said.
because it isn’t pulling him inward.
it’s reaching outward. “i’m not” hanbin starts.
then stops, because he doesn’t actually know how to finish that sentence.
hao waits again. patient. present. “i just wanted to check on you,” hao says quietly. “that’s all.”
hanbin nods even though hao can’t see him. “…okay.”
a pause. then, softer “thanks hyung”
hao hums lightly. “anytime.”
and then, before the call ends “i’ll call you again tomorrow,” hao adds, like it’s simple. like it’s normal. not a promise. just a decision. “and you know you can always reach out to me, right?”
hanbin’s chest tightens slightly. “…okay,” he says again.
and this time, he means it in a way he doesn’t fully understand yet.
the call ends. the room doesn’t change. no kitchen appears. no warm light arrives. just silence.
hanbin wakes up before his alarm.
for the first time in a long time. not abruptly. just naturally. like his body remembered how.
light filters through the curtains. real light, not warm illusion light.
he sits up. quiet. present. no panic. no confusion. just awareness. his phone buzzes.
[jiwoong]
you’re up?
hanbin stares at it for a second.
then types
yeah, i’m up