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“You're so paradoxical,” Yuchen said to him once, when they were eleven. He had started reading his first classic novel and seemed determined to flaunt his ever-expanding vocabulary.
Zhang Hao expertly dodged a woman's parasol. “I'm not,” he denied, although he had no clue what that word meant. He would rather die than admit that Yuchen knew more than him, even in matters as small as this.
Yuchen saw right through him. Perhaps that was one of those fabled paradoxes of his, well continued into adulthood — his loved ones could read him like an open book, because he was an open book, while those he kept at arm's length only regarded him as an impenetrable man of mystery.
“It just means you contradict yourself a lot,” Yuchen told him. They were outside Zhang Hao's apartment building now. “Kinda like a hypocrite? But not really.”
Zhang Hao frowned. “I'm not a hypocrite.” This, he knew.
“I said not really,” Yuchen stressed. He smiled, then, and the sun struck him at the same time. It made him look quite pretty. It was a thought that Zhang Hao was having more and more often these days. He wondered if Yuchen ever thought the same about him. “Don't take it to heart, Haohao.”
There was an auntie sitting on the bench next to the door, fanning herself in the June heat. She watched them converse with beady eyes, mouth drawn tight. She always looked at Zhang Hao like that. He didn't know why, especially as he and his mom always made a point of greeting her whenever they had their shopping bags in tow.
“Anyway,” Yuchen was saying, “I have a mountain of homework to do, how fun. I'll see you tomorrow.”
“Bye,” Zhang Hao said, and watched him head down the street. He dipped his head at the auntie when he slipped inside.
Two years later, Yuchen had been his first kiss. First kisses are rarely memorable in their own right, but this one was nice enough. Pleasant, like pressing a pack of frozen mantou against one's forehead on a too-hot day. Yuchen had given him a bashful smile, ears red and eyes skittering around the empty classroom they were stationed in, as if it were possible for Zhang Hao to forget that he existed so long as no eye contact was made.
They dated for a short time, in the way that middle schoolers do. A label for the sake of labels, for the sake of bragging rights amongst their envious peers. Zhang Hao saw no point in hiding that part of himself. Three months later, there was a mutual agreement that they worked much better as friends.
Two years after that, Yuchen moved to Shanghai with his family and Zhang Hao quickly fell out of contact with him. At that age, maintaining friendship is supposed to be effortless, convenient. Neither of them saw the value in working to keep something they already had an abundance of.
Not just friendship, but romance too. Not love, that would only ever draw blood from him in another country many years later, but messing around with boys was fun. He began to devote himself to the art of learning what about him drew others in, what trait or characteristic of his received the most attention, how to exalt himself in the eyes of beings much more greedy than him. This was a distraction from life, at least. It got his blood pumping.
Then: studying, hard work, the pride on his mother's face.
He didn't have time for anything less savoury in those days. Determination, the sheer desire to leave behind everyone else in the dust, is what got his blood pumping instead.
Then: music, joy, the red mark on his neck which never leaves.
The violin represented a different form of love to him. It still wasn't quite what he was looking for, but he found solace in it regardless. The mechanics of it, how all he had to do was practice practice practice. Afterwards, he carried a dull ache around with him on his shoulder. But the pain was good; it was a testament to the lengths he was willing to go to to achieve his dreams.
Then, and maybe always: perfection.
“As expected, Zhang Hao,” Yuehua's teachers would remark during their monthly trainee evaluations. Some of them would regard him with an impressed sheen to their eyes. Some of them would say it casually, dismissively, like he had met their expectations and there was nothing more to be added. He would come to resent that later.
“As expected, Zhang Hao,” Gyuvin would say afterwards, draping himself all over Zhang Hao's back. Someone else would mimic the phrase as a sort of mocking form of flattery, but Gyuvin was too genuine for that. He would squeeze Zhang Hao in admiration and Zhang Hao would smile.
“As expected, Zhang Hao,” he would say, the only one who's ever mattered. It didn't matter where or how: in the practice room, forehead shiny with sweat and a bright smile on his face; jokingly, when Zhang Hao would mess up a recipe on some variety show; soft and loving, as soon as they would file off stage; proud and boastful, when Zhang Hao would be the only one to know the answer to their Japanese teacher's question or manage to stump Gunwook in an idle debate. Zhang Hao liked this latter version the most, because it meant that Hanbin saw Zhang Hao's achievements as an extension of his own achievements. Like this, whether he knew it or not, he was sending out a message that they were one and the same. But no matter how he said it, Zhang Hao would always feel his own helpless smile in response.
Then, and definitely always: Sung Hanbin.
“Tell me again,” Zhang Hao demands, poking Hanbin's chest. They're alone in the room, now that Taerae has gone out for the evening, and are taking full advantage of it.
Privately, Zhang Hao thinks Taerae's presence wouldn't have functioned as a deterrent this time around. He's had too long of a week to care about any roommate negotiations. When he needs time with Hanbin then he needs time with Hanbin, period. If he had to wait for this any longer, then he likely would have been snappish and rude to everyone around him — barring Hanbin, of course — until they understood the severity of the problem.
“Again?” Hanbin asks, amused. Zhang Hao listens to his heart beat underneath his ear, strong and steady. “How have you not grown bored of this?”
“I don't get bored of anything to do with you.” Which is more true than Hanbin knows. When that admission stuns Hanbin into startled silence (how have you not grown used to this, Zhang Hao wants to parrot back), Zhang Hao pushes his cold feet against Hanbin's bare shin to make him jolt. “Tell me.”
“Alright, alright,” Hanbin caves, pretending at being put-upon. He sounds far too pleased to lend this act any credence. Zhang Hao wonders how much he could reveal to Hanbin before he truly starts to unsettle him. He wonders if fear would ever come into play. The extreme end of the scale is extreme for a good reason.
“So,” he prompts, tightening his grip around Hanbin until he wheezes. Which he never does, so Zhang Hao always ends up leaving bruises on him. Hanbin never says anything about that either. “The first time you noticed me was…”
“When you walked up on stage, of course,” Hanbin picks up the thread with ease. “And my eyes were immediately drawn to you, even though you just looked like an ant from where I was sitting. But then the camera focused on you.” He's delivered this retelling enough times that all of his inflections are the same, as if he's perfected a script.
Zhang Hao has the words memorised too, but he loves hearing this from Hanbin's own mouth. He settles in for his favourite bedtime story, smiling. Hanbin's heart beats in time with his own.
Another paradox: he's always liked owning people, but he didn't like it when they owned him back. Or tried to, anyway. He never let them succeed. He had once broken things off with a boy who had put a love heart emoji next to Zhang Hao's handle in his Xiaohongshu bio. Too clingy had been the reasoning he had given. Mingfei had cried.
Hanbin escapes this paradox.
Already, on Boys Planet, he knew this would be a problem. He knew that whatever was between them was different, couldn't even be remotely compared to anything in his past.
He had half-jokingly asked Hanbin for his name tag in the artist waiting room, then hadn't blinked an eye when Hanbin pinned it to his shirt for him.
He had allowed Hanbin to get away with wrapping a possessive arm around him whenever he felt like it, which usually was born from a wish to force anyone else outside of Zhang Hao's attention.
Most egregiously, and even more egregious as it was entirely his own decision, they had walked up those stairs hand in hand. Staking their claims on each other.
Then for the other half of the equation.
Zhang Hao had wanted him desperately. Horrifically, really. He's not sure Hanbin would've liked him at all if he could see Zhang Hao's desire for himself. Especially back then, when Hanbin seemed so pure. Don't get him wrong, Zhang Hao still noticed that ambitious edge to him, but he was sweet in a way that seemed too picture-perfect. He had thought, somewhat uncharitably, that Hanbin was merely putting all of that goodness on for the cameras. Then he had learnt shortly afterwards that no, Hanbin really was just like that. He had wanted him even more. He had wanted to defile him, to ruin him, to push him past the point of no return. To teach Hanbin a lesson in wanting, how much one person could engorge themselves on desire until they were sick with it. Hanbin would learn that hoping for that coveted number-one spot was child's play in comparison.
Zhang Hao couldn't stop thinking about it late at night, a fist around himself and the water from the shower pounding his back, what sweet Sung Hanbin would look like on his knees. If he would beg for the chance to touch him, like Zhang Hao hoped he would. If he wouldn't mind if Zhang Hao was a little rough with him, shoving his head down on his cock and keeping him there. If he would cry, maybe, at the combined shock and pleasure of finally being bested. Zhang Hao was beginning to learn that feeling for himself.
What he found funny was how easily his mind drifted to Hanbin during spare moments. It was the first time in his life he had faced a loss of control, let the fates guide him where they wished. And he liked it. He still does. Hanbin is the one area of his life where he allows his emotions to talk for themselves; it's enjoyable to hand over the reins to his heart rather than his mind.
Fundamentally, it's unsurprising. He would always be a goner once faced with the radiance of Sung Hanbin, a person whose brightness rivals the sun. No one like him exists. Zhang Hao would always want to hoard every smile for himself, would always want Hanbin to look at him with the same reverence that he does now. More, even. He wanted to fashion himself into the centre of Hanbin's universe so that Zhang Hao would be all he could see.
And herein lies yet another paradox: he wants Hanbin to continue shining but a small, selfish part of him also wants to grind him down into dust. Have his smiles dim from world-weariness, make it so that Zhang Hao is all he can rely on and everyone else would be shut out. Zhang Hao would give him everything, but only if Hanbin turned his back on the world.
He doesn't let this selfishness guide him no matter how much he wants to, sometimes. He knows he has to ignore it so that's what he does, another secret to lock inside and throw away the key to.
On nights he can't sleep, he stares out of the kitchen window. It's tiny, with a lace curtain and a drooping plant on the windowsill to shield as much as possible from any voyeurs, but Zhang Hao finds solace in these expeditions. While Seoul never truly sleeps, the night muffles both the noise outside and in his own head. It's here that he can disentangle his thoughts from one another, as if separating knotted strands of hair with the tooth of a comb.
“Gege is lost in thought,” Hanbin muses one night, sneaking up behind him. Zhang Hao had heard his footsteps so he doesn't scream in fright, though he's tempted to do so anyway just to see Hanbin flutter around in a panic. Hanbin's palm settles on the small of his back. The touch is unobtrusive enough that it's obvious he's giving Zhang Hao the space to pull away if he wishes.
Zhang Hao doesn't wish. Hanbin takes his lack of movement as the quiet acceptance it is and moves to hug him from behind, chin over Zhang Hao's shoulder. Zhang Hao links their fingers over his stomach. They fall into silence, both of them lost to their own minds.
“Hyung,” Hanbin whispers after a few minutes of this. “This window doesn't even have a good view. Why am I staring into the twenty-four-seven fried chicken place? I don't need to see that ahjussi picking his nose at three in the morning.”
Zhang Hao smiles to himself. “Zero out of ten for introspection, won't be staring out of this window again?”
“Something like that.” Zhang Hao registers turning; he's not sure if the command came from his mind or Hanbin's, but being turned in Hanbin's arms he is. Hanbin's face appears before him, a view prettier than any window could provide. A smile, drooping from fatigue, lines his lips. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Zhang Hao echoes. “Why are you awake?”
“Why are you awake,” Hanbin shoots back immediately, his hands cradling Zhang Hao's face now. “I thought we agreed that we would wake the other up if one of us couldn't sleep.” Zhang Hao shrugs, finding himself without excuse. He did agree to that but he also doesn't want to bother a sleeping Hanbin. Hanbin, realising that he won't get very far with this line of questioning, switches to a different one. “What has you thinking so hard?”
Zhang Hao holds Hanbin's wrist to kiss the centre of his palm. “You, mainly.”
Hanbin points to himself cutely, brow furrowed. “Me? Am I in trouble?”
Zhang Hao laughs, too loudly for this time of night. “No, you're good.” His hand slips down to Hanbin's waist. “I just think about you a lot, you know that.”
Hanbin's cheeks pinken slightly. It's still so easy to fluster him. “I do. But I don't want you not sleeping because of that.” He gives Zhang Hao a stern look. “At least wake me up, okay? You've been tired recently, more tired than usual. Don't think no one notices you spacing out.”
Zhang Hao frowns. Spacing out is the opposite of what he does when he's with Hanbin. If anything, he's too present. “I don’t space out.”
“Not with me,” Hanbin hurries to amend. “But…everyone else.”
“Well,” Zhang Hao says airily, “maybe that's because being with you is the only time I feel like it's worth it to pay attention.”
It's too much honesty. He knows it even before the words have left his mouth. More than that, he can see it in the widening of Hanbin's eyes, the parting of his mouth. To cover it up, he reaches out and smushes Hanbin's cheeks. His lips form a pucker. It makes him look like the Hanbin in Zhang Hao's folder of childhood pictures. His heart gives a pang at the comparison.
Adult Hanbin, who might as well still be a baby in his eyes, bats his hands away. His eyes rove over Zhang Hao's face, a crease in his brow. Zhang Hao blinks back at him.
“That's kinda concerning,” Hanbin says finally. Zhang Hao can't read his tone at all, which makes anxiety twist deep in his stomach. If there's something he can always trust himself to do, it's read Hanbin.
He laughs gratingly. “There's plenty more where that came from.”
“What? Concerning things?”
Hanbin, visibly readying himself for a serious conversation, tugs him to sit down at the kitchen table. That is where they have most of their serious conversations, after all. But Zhang Hao stays put. He doesn’t really want to discuss this, period.
Hanbin looks up at him expectantly from the kitchen stool, eyes wide and judgement-free. “What do you mean?” Zhang Hao opens his mouth but Hanbin beats him to the punch, swiftly interjecting with, “And don’t lie.”
Zhang Hao closes his mouth, then fiddles with the hole in his shirt. “Sometimes I think terrible things about you.” Hanbin blinks at him. “Not about you. In relation to you.”
“Like what?” Hanbin presses. Zhang Hao looks away. Back out the window, where a night bus is now regurgitating its passengers. The ahjussi has disappeared from the fried chicken place.
“Hao,” Hanbin says in his no-nonsense tone. “Like what?”
It's not as simple as Zhang Hao merely speaking what's on his mind. He has to refine these thoughts, sand off the edges, bury the raw desire in them. It's a delicate balancing act. Hanbin has said multiple times that what initially drew him to Zhang Hao was seeing Zhang Hao's tenacity for himself, how he seemed to have no off-switch for what he truly wanted. This includes Hanbin himself, naturally, but Hanbin has yet to see the full extent of it. Zhang Hao's not sure if he ever will. There are some things best left hidden behind a veil.
“Not tonight,” he says evenly. Hanbin's face flickers in irritation so he rushes to add, “I'm not avoiding the question but it's late and we're both tired. Another time, I promise.”
Hanbin considers this for a few moments then nods, pushing himself up. “Another time,” he echoes.
He reaches around Zhang Hao to draw the curtain closed once more.
This, by which he means Hanbin crying in his arms, isn't as frequent as it once was. Most of him is glad for it. Most.
That smaller part carries a sick sense of satisfaction that he's the only one who gets to see him like this. He knows it's wrong but he still revels in it, like a pig rolling around in the mud. A slave to his instincts.
At the start, when Hanbin was much more prone to imploding and Zhang Hao was left to pick up the pieces, he noticed that Hanbin couldn't help fretting over it. He was still operating under the impression that Zhang Hao could be scared off.
“Sorry,” Hanbin sniffed on a disgustingly humid July evening, wiping his eyes. He gave Zhang Hao a watery smile. “You probably think I cry too much, right?”
“No,” he said honestly.
Hanbin looked up at him through his spiky eyelashes hopefully. He always looked at Zhang Hao like that, like Zhang Hao held all the answers to the universe in the palm of his hand. It gave him a rush; he wished that Hanbin never stopped trusting his word above all, that Zhang Hao would always be his strongest pillar. He wanted to be Hanbin's only pillar, if he were being honest with himself.
“Plus you're cute when you cry,” he continued, drawing Hanbin into his arms and kissing his forehead. “My little crybaby. Only cry in my arms, okay?”
Hanbin laughed, shoulders shaking in Zhang Hao's embrace. Zhang Hao understood why. He had framed it as a joke, after all, dragging out his drawl. But he wasn't joking.
Now, he seems to have achieved his goal. Hanbin automatically comes to him for comfort, often only letting the mask crack when it's just the two of them alone. And, by this point, he knows that Zhang Hao can't be scared off.
“It's okay,” he says softly now, lips pressed to Hanbin's temple as he continues to tremble. “It's okay, it's okay. I have you.”
Self-congratulation festers inside him. At last, he's trapped Hanbin in a prison of his own making. Anyone else before or after him will instinctively be compared to Zhang Hao and fail to measure up. In Hanbin's eyes, Zhang Hao will always be the only one that can appease him perfectly. In just this regard for now, but hopefully many others too.
Hanbin curls into him, making himself as small as possible. He loves this too — Hanbin entrusting him with the role of protector because he knows that Zhang Hao will weather any storm for him. Zhang Hao presses a hand over his heart and keeps pressing until Hanbin remembers to breathe.
Afterwards, when Zhang Hao has cleaned Hanbin up and talked him through his options, Hanbin squeezes his hand and knocks their knees together. “Thank you, hyung. I feel like I never say that enough.”
“You don't need to thank me,” Zhang Hao tells him truthfully. “That's what I'm here for, Bin-ah.”
“Still,” Hanbin persists, dragging Zhang Hao's hand into his lap so he can trace over the calluses, “how would you feel about a nice gift basket? One piece of fruit for all the times you've seen me cry?”
Zhang Hao laughs to make him feel better, though it's not particularly funny. “I don't want that. Really.”
Hanbin can be like a dog with a bone sometimes. “So what do you want?”
“You.” The answer comes to him so quickly he breathes the word rather than says it. “All I want is you, Hanbin. The rest is noise.”
Another paradox: he both loves and hates showing Hanbin off to the world. Loves, because Hanbin is born to be shown off and worshipped and adored. Hates, because he doesn't think anyone else in this world deserves to see Hanbin.
It's worse when they're apart from each other. He's full to the brim with a desire to sew them together, the bobbing of a needle closing up the infinitesimal gap between their bodies, so that no one can see Hanbin without seeing Zhang Hao attached to his side. Let them bear witness to their conjoinment and how Zhang Hao will always be the only one to possess all of Hanbin.
He thinks about this while absently watching Hanbin perform solo on the monitor in their dressing room, a self-choreographed dance routine to hype up the crowd before the rest of the group file on stage later. Zhang Hao has already been styled to perfection, so he gets to relax on the couch amidst all the bustle while waiting for their cue. Or he should be relaxing.
A blood vessel in his eye might be throbbing. Hanbin is on his knees now, shirt dipping dangerously low to expose his collarbone tattoo. The fans are screaming so loud that the staff backstage have to raise their voices.
Gunwook interrupts his ruminations. “Hyung, did you take my charger this morning? I swore I put it in my coat pocket but I can’t find it now…”
Zhang Hao pulls himself out of imagining eternity with Hanbin stuck to him, skin bloodied and raw from where he's tried to tear away. “Hm?”
“Don't engage him in conversation,” Taerae stage-whispers in warning. “He's too busy thinking about where the best place to hide a body is. Many bodies, actually.”
Zhang Hao rolls his eyes. “Shut up.” To Gunwook, he says, “No, I didn't take it. Check Yujin's coat, you probably got mixed up.”
A few seconds later, Gunwook unearths his charger with a triumphant noise. Zhang Hao barely hears it; Hanbin is running through his ending poses now. It's selfish, so selfish, that he never wants Hanbin to be on a stage without him, but he latches onto that greed regardless.
“Everyone up!” their manager shouts, propping the door open. Zhang Hao throws one last glance at the monitor before doing as he's told.
“How did I look on stage today?” Hanbin asks him later, vibrating with a desire for praise. He's in a tank top and shorts now, barefaced and hair damp from his shower. Any version of Hanbin is lovely but Zhang Hao prefers him like this.
Zhang Hao schools his fond expression. “Very pretty. Like you always do, Bin-ah.”
Hanbin huffs into his neck as they manoeuvre around the kitchen. “Only pretty?”
He begins to list off, “Gorgeous, beautiful, magnetic, divine, ethereal…”
“Okay,” Hanbin cuts him off, laughing. “I get it. Gege finds me very alluring.”
Zhang Hao smiles and spins around in Hanbin's arms, already missing seeing his face. Their late-night snack can wait. “Of course.” He cups Hanbin's face so he can trace along his dimples. “But seriously, you were incredible. You should be proud of yourself, baby. As proud as I am of you.”
Hanbin still has yet to master the art of receiving praise, so Zhang Hao is soon faced with a darting gaze and a mumbled, “Thank you.” He leads the conversation back onto familiar ground, his hands sliding lower. “So you found me pretty?”
Zhang Hao eagerly takes the bait. “So pretty that I wanted to kill anyone who was lucky enough to see you like that.” A kiss to Hanbin's neck, where he feels him swallow. His fingers hook into the collar of Hanbin's tank top. “So pretty that I wanted to drag you off stage before you could even perform, lock you in one of the storage rooms so no one would be able to appreciate you in that outfit.” He bends to kiss his tattoo, then nips at the star. Hanbin's grip on his ass has grown almost painful now, his breathing shallower. Zhang Hao hopes he forever stays this easy for him. “Because you're mine.” He plants the final kiss on Hanbin's mouth.
It's the closest he's come to confessing his true inclinations.
Hanbin opens for him immediately and Zhang Hao's tongue dips inside, tracing the roof of his mouth. He's missed hearing Hanbin whine for him so he tugs Hanbin's hair, pulling at where the pain is felt most acutely. As he hoped for, Hanbin whines into his mouth beautifully and bunches the back of his shirt in his fist. Greed gives way into desperation into comfort, and soon they're trading sweet kisses instead.
Zhang Hao smooths a palm over his scalp, brushing away any lingering aches. “I didn't want you to be up there without me,” he whispers into the tiny space between them, nudging their noses together. “Just always want to be with you, no matter where it is. Together, always.”
Hanbin's breath audibly catches in his throat, a declaration of truth fed to him which he almost chokes on. Zhang Hao recedes like the sun hiding behind a cloud, wary of inflicting its glare further.
He tweaks Hanbin's nose. “Let's get you fed,” he says fondly, turning back to his previous task. Hanbin stays quiet behind him.
And so it continues.
He knows enough by now that Hanbin likes people too much, and those people like him right back. Also too much. Only Zhang Hao is allowed to like him that much.
His heart rots as he waits for Hanbin in one of the many Mnet studio bathrooms, pacing up and down the linoleum. He's curious about whether the sinew could be blackened at this point. Maybe it was always like that, before he even met Hanbin, but he doubts it.
The door opens and he turns immediately, a relieved smile painting its way onto his face. “So you found me.”
“I did,” Hanbin says, his own sweet smile crawling up his face. Zhang Hao feels something in him quieten at the sight. “Not hard to do when I know this building better than you.”
“But you didn't know this bathroom existed?” Zhang Hao points out, amused. Hanbin ignores him, of course, and kisses him in greeting. Zhang Hao isn't exactly complaining.
His lips are soft and taste of strawberry from his chapstick, likely applied frequently to curb all the anxious lip-biting he's prone to do. Zhang Hao finds it endearing, but what doesn't he find endearing about Hanbin at this point. He thinks Hanbin could be a cave dweller and he would still believe him to be the most perfect being to walk the earth.
Zhang Hao goes to kiss the tip of his nose as well, then remembers he can't afford to mess up Hanbin's makeup. He settles for patting his butt instead. “How's it going? Having fun out there without me?” He tries to keep the annoyance out of his tone and abjectly fails. Watching Hanbin fawn over other idols — and be fawned over in return — has grown old very quickly.
Hanbin sways forward to kiss him again. “Gege is jealous,” he says into Zhang Hao's mouth, voice bright and happy.
“I am.” He slides his hands into Hanbin's back pockets, smiling when Hanbin arches into the touch. “You know I get jealous.”
“I know.” His arms wind tighter around Zhang Hao's neck. He confesses, almost shyly, “I like it.”
Zhang Hao huffs in amusement. “Yeah? You like it when your gege only wants you all to himself?”
In answer, Hanbin pushes his tongue into his mouth. Zhang Hao allows him to have his fill and takes his own in return, mind a blissful sea of blankness. They're so in tune with each other that Zhang Hao doesn't need to worry about how to best tilt his head or how to make it good for Hanbin; his body instinctively knows these things. His hands press press press, drawing Hanbin closer into his orbit until their bodies occupy the same space. He wishes he could leave bruises — not the faint ones hidden underneath shirts from their cuddling sessions, but mottled purple-grey-yellow ones which can’t help but draw eyes.
Hanbin pulls back with a pleased sigh, thumbing at the corner of his mouth so as to not ruin his foundation. It's a gesture Zhang Hao has seen him make several times, usually when he's rising from his knees. He kisses Hanbin's neck to hide his face.
His eyes land on the mirror behind Hanbin, making eye contact with his reflection. Hanbin is encased in his arms, the tips of his ears red. Zhang Hao can only see his back like this but it's an appealing image.
“One day,” he murmurs into Hanbin's neck, “you'll let me fuck you in front of a mirror. Okay?”
Hanbin's throat clicks when he swallows. “Okay.”
Zhang Hao draws up to his full height and taps the tip of his index finger on the inviting seam of Hanbin's mouth, slightly parted. “Open.”
Hanbin's eyes drift to the door in trepidation, a pretty blush already streaking across his cheeks.
“What?” he drawls. “You don't want anyone else seeing you like this?” Hanbin’s silence and aversion to eye contact is answer enough. Zhang Hao tuts. “As if I would let them.” No one ever uses this bathroom. It's why Hanbin, despite working here every week, only found out about its existence when Zhang Hao told him. Zhang Hao himself had stumbled upon it by mere accident, on one of those many uneventful days where he was waiting for Hanbin to finish up so they could go home together. “Just trust me.”
That does it. Hanbin will always, always trust him above all else, follow his lead no matter what. His breath catches at the reminder. He could do so much with all of that trust.
They work up to three fingers, Hanbin's mouth stretched around the intrusion and his long eyelashes fluttering. They seem to both have forgotten about the importance of keeping the makeup untouched; drool slips down his chin. Zhang Hao feels crazed.
“Good,” he says softly, pulling his fingers out of Hanbin’s mouth and wiping them on his jeans. Hanbin stumbles into him, eyes glassy. Zhang Hao snorts and steadies him, before dusting him off completely unnecessarily. His hands linger on Hanbin's shoulders. “You're back on stage soon.”
Hanbin nods to himself, eyes losing that sheen. He wipes the back of his hand over his chin and grimaces. “Oops.” He coughs and prepares to leave, squeezing Zhang Hao's hand. “I'll see you later, hyung.”
Zhang Hao snags his wrist. “Haven't you forgotten something?”
Hanbin frowns for a moment before his expression clears and morphs into something more coy. He bestows a light kiss on Zhang Hao's mouth, over in the time it takes for him to blink.
Zhang Hao raises an eyebrow. “You think that's good enough?”
Hanbin smirks. “Maybe gege should show me how he really wants to be kissed, then.”
So Zhang Hao does.
Time passes; Hanbin has returned to being backed up against the sink when they separate. They'll definitely have to touch up his makeup again.
He gives Hanbin a shorter, sweeter kiss, then trails a hand over his side. “Think of me when you're up there.”
“I always do,” Hanbin replies, completely sincere. Zhang Hao has to fight the urge to drag him into a bathroom stall.
Another paradox: he both treasures and despises Hanbin's kindness.
They differ in this regard — Zhang Hao has lived his entire life expecting the other shoe to drop. He has no patience for keeping untrustworthy figures around him. He's had friends and boyfriends where he was practically waiting for an excuse to cut them out of his life.
Hanbin, on the other hand, gives and gives and gives. Zhang Hao had thought it impossible for someone like him to even exist — he always thought that a person as fundamentally good as Hanbin only existed in dramas. Everyone has a little edge to them. But Hanbin, of course, has destroyed his world view. He's the type of person to come rushing to a stranger's aid, to set himself on fire so everyone else could stay warm. The type of person who’s all too easy to fall in love with. He resents that, sometimes. Not because he ever regrets falling in love with Hanbin — he doesn’t — but because he’s a mere bystander to others being as smitten as Zhang Hao himself is.
He seldom wonders what their relationship would look like if they never made that leap from friendship to romance. Zhang Hao would always love him more than anything, naturally, but what of Hanbin? Zhang Hao can imagine — he doesn't like to, but he can — a world where Hanbin's love is spread too thin, where he only has the capacity to devote himself to his adoring crowd of confidantes, where fragile peace is kept between the two of them. They could make it work, because they can make anything work.
But it would be difficult. Zhang Hao would likely be tempted, as he is now, to sever Hanbin from that crowd. And unlike now, his self-control would crumble. It's already fraying, in fact; each day seems to be worse than the previous. He catches himself thinking it more frequently these days, when he's staring out of that kitchen window but Hanbin is blissfully asleep. How easy it would be to steal him away and make him fully Zhang Hao’s, an item to own and be occasionally displayed to outsiders. It’s an appealing thought, if only because everyone else will finally get a clue that Hanbin isn’t up for grabs. He resents that quite often, the need to appear permanently single and available due to their careers.
Is the complication of Hanbin enough to make Zhang Hao regret being an idol? There are days he does know the answer to that question, although he wishes he didn’t.
Dance practice is enjoyable for a myriad of reasons, but chiefly one. He does adore seeing Hanbin in his element, hands on his hips as he watches them run through the choreography for the fiftieth time. Tank top baring both tattoos, bangs pushed up out of his forehead and stiff with sweat, face set in fierce concentration, cheeks flushed pink. A hint of stubble, if Zhang Hao is especially lucky.
Their staff have gone for a smoke break, so Zhang Hao leaps upon the opportunity presented to him. Draping himself all over Hanbin's back, he nuzzles into his sweaty neck before placing a quick kiss there. Hanbin swallows and discards the tablet which he was using to monitor their practice video. Always so easy to distract, his Hanbin.
“I was watching that,” Zhang Hao complains, resting his chin on Hanbin's shoulder.
“Hyung-ah,” Hanbin says, so sweetly that Zhang Hao's teeth ache with it. He taps out an unsteady rhythm on Zhang Hao's arms where they're circled around his waist. “Don't lie. I know you had no interest in monitoring.”
Zhang Hao feigns ignorance. “Oh? What other possible reason could I have for coming over here, then?”
“I don't know. Maybe gege just likes me that much,” Hanbin offers bravely, turning his head so that Zhang Hao can admire his profile.
He can't resist giving him a peck on the lips. “Only maybe?” he murmurs, then dives his hands underneath Hanbin's tank top to launch his tickle attack.
Hanbin actually squeals — Zhang Hao is staying mute on his reaction to that sound — and squirms out of his grasp, laughing all the while. Zhang Hao's fingers skate along his ribs, digging into the flesh between. He hopes he leaves marks.
Hanbin succeeds in pushing his hands away, slightly out of breath from exertion. But he's grinning so it's a win in Zhang Hao's book. “What was that for?” he asks, a pleased shine to his eyes.
“Just wanted to see you smile,” Zhang Hao says truthfully, and Hanbin blanches exaggeratedly.
“Don't be gross, hyung.” Zhang Hao pointedly looks down at where his thumbs are caressing Zhang Hao's palms and raises an eyebrow. Hanbin follows his gaze and gives him a cheeky smile. “That's different.”
“How so?”
Hanbin leers at him, dropping his hands to grab Zhang Hao's waist and pull him closer instead. Zhang Hao knows where this is going. He suppresses a smile. “Because—”
“Hey!” Matthew's voice rings out over the members shrieking. “You just stretched out my shirt, man! Look at it!”
Hanbin sighs and drops his head. He shifts, as if readying himself to march over to the other side of the room and smooth out any quarrels, but Zhang Hao doesn't want that. Luckily for him, he has a foolproof way of drawing Hanbin's attention back to him.
“Anyway,” he sulks, turning his head away and pouting, “you've offended me now. I don't want to talk to you anymore if you're going to push away your beloved hyung like that.”
Hanbin's eyes light up at this display. Zhang Hao wants to laugh at him, but stones from glass houses and all that.
“I'm sorry,” Hanbin cajoles, rubbing his back and mouth forming into its own pout. “You know I didn't mean it. I'll never do it again.” He kisses Zhang Hao's pout and presses another kiss to his cheek for good measure. His smile has grown even wider. “Better?”
Zhang Hao sniffs. “I suppose,” he says primly. “But you'll have to put in a little more effort in making it up to me. At home.”
Hanbin squeezes his hip. “I look forward to it, baby.”
The other members know by now that he shouldn't be disturbed when he's having his Hanbin time. Unfortunately, this means they disturb Hanbin instead. When Matthew strides over and demands that Hanbin settle a heated debate, Zhang Hao smarts when Hanbin disappears with a smile and a parting squeeze of his hand. He can't take it to heart, because it's not his fault, but his lungs constrict a little too painfully at the sight of Hanbin's back to him.
Seven seconds later, he’s faking a fall to the floor so that Hanbin will rush over to him. Which he does, with a shocked expression and a litany of worried questions falling from his lips. He probes at Zhang Hao’s ankle carefully — it barely hurts but he plays up the pain — before lifting him up into his arms and carrying him over to the bench.
Hanbin stays by his side for the remainder of their break. Victory, he decides, has never tasted so sweet.
Back on Boys Planet, when much of their relationship was still uncharted territory, Hanbin had been all too obvious with how he wanted to be the sole recipient of Zhang Hao's attention. There was almost an element of pigtail-tugging there, like Hanbin needed to tease him as soon as Zhang Hao's attention strayed away from him. Of course, his attention never did stray away from him but Hanbin had been too wound up to see it then. Zhang Hao found great enjoyment in teasing him back before he reached his breaking point. Hanbin, that is. Zhang Hao reached his own breaking point as soon as he first saw him.
“Sorry,” Hanbin apologised halfheartedly, closing the laundry room door behind him. “I know you come here to get some peace and quiet away from everyone else.”
“And yet here you are,” Zhang Hao said, and smiled to take the bite out of it. He didn't mind that Hanbin was here. The opposite, in fact.
Hanbin smiled sheepishly, but stepped forward into his space. “Well, that's because I'm your favourite,” he joked, in that nervous way he did where it seemed like he was testing how much he could prod at the house of cards before it collapsed.
“You are,” Zhang Hao confirmed immediately. Hanbin blushed bright red, as if he wasn't expecting Zhang Hao to actually agree. Zhang Hao's hand, hidden in his pocket, curled into a fist. Sometimes Hanbin was so cute all he wanted to do was throttle him. “Are you really that surprised?”
“Maybe a little.” He smiled again, small and shy. “I can never be sure, with you.”
“You should be,” Zhang Hao said. “Sure, I mean. Don't tell me you haven't worked it out yet.”
Hanbin bit his lip and drifted closer. The pendulum, previously ticking away as soon as Zhang Hao first laid eyes on him, stopped and hung suspended in mid-air. “Worked what out?”
“This,” Zhang Hao said, and reeled him in for a kiss.
Their first kiss. His first kiss; Yuchen, and all the others that came after him, transformed into strangers. They were always strangers to him, even when Zhang Hao knew their mouths and eyes and messy, disgusting hearts. It was never like this: Hanbin's heart pounding against his chest until the rhythm synced up to his, their mouths slotting together perfectly. Because they were made for each other. It sounded whimsical but it was true, he knew this. They were born to find each other. He already knew he loved Hanbin, then, fiercely and without restraint.
Zhang Hao had grown tired of cleaning up the trail of broken hearts after him. Now, he'll never have to do that again. He'll treasure both of their hearts, squeeze both of them into his chest if that's what it will take. He'll ensure that they won't break or collect dust or separate. He's prepared to do anything to keep them safe.
Hanbin wasn't expecting Zhang Hao to be so forward. He stumbled into him slightly before he reoriented himself, their mouths meeting too hard and with too much spit, but it was perfect. It was all Zhang Hao had ever wanted.
He could tell that Hanbin was inexperienced, too, and that only made the flame in him burn hotter. He walked Hanbin backwards, pushing him up against the wall to kiss him deeper. He didn't know why, or how, someone like Hanbin had never even been kissed before but he was inexorably grateful for it. Just thinking about that alternate universe where someone else got their grubby hands all over Hanbin made him shake. He slid his hands underneath Hanbin's shirt, nails digging into his lower back.
Hanbin gasped and arched up against him, pressing their fronts together through the layers. Zhang Hao gripped him tighter, as if he could draw the entirety of Hanbin into his body. He felt delirious, as if he'd just walked into a fever dream.
“You're perfect,” he told him, words quick and thickly-accented. “I've never wanted anyone like I want you, you understand? Never.”
“Hyung,” Hanbin panted in answer, lips glistening with saliva. He grabbed Zhang Hao's ass and rocked him forward, eyes going hazy with want. Hungrily, Zhang Hao tracked how it manifested on his face. He needed to memorise it; the finale wasn't that long away by any measure of time, but he knew that wanting Hanbin this badly would make it feel like an eternity. “Hyung, please, let me—”
“After,” he promised, stepping back and out of Hanbin's hold. He was surprised he could even find the willpower for it. Hanbin clutched at the air before his hands dropped to his sides. “After we both make it. Then we can have each other, I promise.”
“But I want hyung to have me now,” Hanbin replied immediately, pouting. The pout disappeared and was replaced with surprise at his actually saying that aloud. Cute.
“I already do,” Zhang Hao said softly, laying his hand flat against Hanbin's flushed cheek. His palm burned. “I already do have you. We just need to wait a little longer to make it official, that's all.”
Hanbin shuddered a little, cheeks flushing a deeper red. He was so affected, in a way that made Zhang Hao feel flattered but also made him want to coo over how adorable he was. No one else could have him, not now and not ever.
Any worries about seeming overbearing flew away. “You don't look at anyone else. And you don't let anyone else look at you. Okay?”
“Okay,” Hanbin breathed, replying in an instant. He still looked a little dazed. “I won’t. I’m all yours, Hao.”
A very colourful swear word popped into Zhang Hao’s mind at the proclamation. He swallowed and took a step back, then another two to be safe. Hanbin, who had been leaning in to kiss him, looked very disgruntled at his plans being thwarted.
“If I kiss you again then I won’t be able to stop,” Zhang Hao confessed. “You ruin my focus like nothing else, Hanbin-ah.”
Hanbin smiled widely, and Zhang Hao's heart stuttered. “Good,” he said proudly. “And it’s the same for me too, don’t worry.”
Zhang Hao found himself smiling unconsciously, as he was wont to do whenever Hanbin was around. “That's good to know, baby.” He couldn't resist testing out a theory. And, as he imagined, Hanbin sent him a shy but pleased look. Perfect. He made sure to soften his voice when he said, “I think you should get back to your friends for now.” He couldn't have Hanbin overthinking or worrying.
Hanbin nodded before Zhang Hao had finished speaking. “Right, of course.” He stopped right before the door. “Hyung,” he hedged, caution lurking in his eyes, “I have to check. This isn't just sex for you, right?”
Zhang Hao blinked in surprise and drew closer. “No,” he said quietly. “No, Hanbin, it's not just sex. I want all of you.”
“I want all of you too,” Hanbin said, equally quiet. His brow was furrowed in determination, as if he expected Zhang Hao to doubt him.
Zhang Hao didn't doubt him, but he thought his want took on a very different shape to Hanbin's want.
He smiled. His mouth tingled. “Go,” he said, patting Hanbin's hip, and Hanbin did.
Zhang Hao presses his face into Hanbin’s pillow, breathing in the apple and cedar scent that’s interwoven in the cotton. The comfort it brings is second to none; the tension building up within him instinctively recedes. When Hanbin is apart from him, as he should never be, he finds that there’s very little that helps. Especially when he’s all the way in Busan. Zhang Hao resents that the powers that be have the opportunity to cruelly snatch him away like that.
He’s already decided that he'll sleep in Hanbin's bed tonight. Taerae had wandered in and given him a look, then promptly wandered back out once he saw the answering expression on Zhang Hao's face.
As if sensing that Zhang Hao is especially desperate for him, his phone rings with a familiar tone. Zhang Hao answers within one ring.
“Hi, baby,” he greets, eyes closing as he sinks deeper into the bed. “I missed you today.”
Hanbin hums, pleased. “I missed you more.” Which is obviously untrue, but Zhang Hao indulges him.
He shifts, finally beginning to relax now that he has Hanbin's voice in his ear and Hanbin's scent all around him. “How was work? It looked like you were having fun.”
Zhang Hao had sat in the living room motionlessly, refreshing his Twitter timeline over and over again. He follows hundreds of Hanbin fans in order to keep updated and some of them had reposted illegally fantaken photos from today. The photos were from a long distance away, so Zhang Hao had no qualms saving them and zooming in on a laughing Hanbin being sprayed with water. He had ignored the spark of annoyance he felt at seeing anyone other than him making Hanbin laugh in that way.
Hanbin laughs now, short and quiet. “You were keeping tabs on me?”
“Of course,” Zhang Hao says easily. “You know I worry about you when I'm not with you. So tell me, how was it?”
“It was fun, I enjoyed it. Long shoot, though.” Zhang Hao hums in sympathy. Then, in that devastatingly coy way Hanbin nails perfectly: “It would've been more fun if gege was there with me. Our team would've won in that case.”
Zhang Hao smiles, pads of his fingers pressed to his bottom lip. “Oh? Why do you think so?”
He can hear the smile in Hanbin's voice. “Because gege is so smart that with him on board, we would've left the other teams in the dust. I bet he would've gotten all the questions right. Genius Zhang Hao.”
Zhang Hao doesn't kick his feet at the compliment but he comes close to it. Embarrassing, but when is he not embarrassing when it comes to Hanbin?
“Although,” Hanbin continues, voice lilting, “you probably would've found a way to sulk about the heat. And demanded that I fan you.”
“Yah,” he complains as Hanbin breaks out into giggles, “I like the heat. You’re the one that can’t handle it.”
Hanbin hums. “If you say so, hyung,” he teases. “Don’t pout, I can hear it in your voice.” He hears the sheets rustle. “Or at least send me a picture.”
“Creep,” Zhang Hao says fondly, then glances at the closed door. It's unlocked, but he doesn't see a reason why Taerae would come back in here tonight. “Are you alone in that hotel room, baby?”
“Yeah, it's just me in here.” He sounds a lot more alert now. “Why, do you have something in mind?”
“Maybe,” Zhang Hao says, and fumbles to send a videocall request through.
He's always grateful when Taerae ends up spending the night with his boyfriend. He’s all too happy to take the opening gifted to him every time — often, all that entails is simply falling asleep with Hanbin in his bed. The two of them tangled together in a mess of limbs, a head shoved into a neck or chest, their hearts syncing up.
He's awoken by Hanbin gently shaking him by the shoulders, his figure blurry without his contacts in.
“Hao,” he whispers when Zhang Hao stirs. “Baby, I need to go to the bathroom.”
He frowns, confused at why Hanbin has woken him up for such an announcement. "’Kay?”
Hanbin laughs a little and tugs at the iron grip Zhang Hao has around his waist in emphasis. Oh. He loosens his hold with a mumbled apology, to which Hanbin bends to press a quick kiss to his head. He keeps his eyes closed as Hanbin unceremoniously climbs over him.
Despite his body's best efforts to fall back into slumber, he remains awake now that Hanbin is no longer by his side. Time passes sluggishly.
Hanbin's return is heralded by the soft sound of footsteps and the door closing, followed by a strange dithering by the side of the bed. Blindly, Zhang Hao reaches out and makes grabby hands. He whines when the space next to him stays empty.
What he doesn't expect is Hanbin sliding his arms underneath him in preparation of lifting him up. Zhang Hao makes a confused sound and deadens his weight so that Hanbin almost falls on him with a small oof. “What are you doing?”
“I think you should sleep in Taerae's bed,” Hanbin explains regretfully, arms still trapped. “I'm starting to get ill with something.”
He does sound a bit more nasal now that Zhang Hao is listening out for it. In response, he crosses over to where Hanbin was previously sleeping against the wall and tugs Hanbin down next to him. He ignores Hanbin's startled noise of protest and traps him once again, his arm over Hanbin's waist.
“I'm going to get you sick,” Hanbin whispers, though he makes no move to struggle.
“You won't,” he says confidently. Hanbin is intimately familiar with that tone of voice and knows that Zhang Hao can't be persuaded when he sounds like that, so he only sighs. A moment later, he rolls over to face away from him.
Zhang Hao, finally able to sleep now, closes his eyes.
As Hanbin correctly surmised, he wakes up with a blocked nose and flushed cheeks. Zhang Hao is perfectly unaffected, as he knew he would be. Having already made up his mind last night about his next plan of action, he coos over and coddles Hanbin to his heart's desire.
They have a couple of schedules today but luckily nothing public-facing, which is why Zhang Hao is able to get away with putting his foot down.
“And no working for you,” he tells Hanbin as he presses a cool rag to his forehead. “Doctor's orders. Though that should already be obvious, hm, Hanbinie?”
“But—”
“You are not leaving the dorm today,” Zhang Hao says firmly. “Don't even think about it.”
Hanbin groans and tries again. “But—”
"And,” he stresses, “I’m not leaving the dorm either.” He pouts. “So if you complain again, I'm going to be really offended and think you don't want to spend any time with me.”
Hanbin opens his mouth, then closes it again. Zhang Hao can easily spot the warring between his two factions: his leader instincts telling him that it's irresponsible for Zhang Hao to fake sick, and his everything-else instincts overjoyed that Zhang Hao would go to these lengths for him. He doesn't even know the half of it.
“Okay,” he says weakly, evidently giving up on any arguments. “Thank you, hyung.”
Neither Hanbin nor their manager take much convincing. Sulking and huffing come naturally to Zhang Hao; to fake sick all he has to do is add a little sniffling to the mix, and voila. A brief respite from work for the both of them while the other members file out.
Hanbin immediately shuffles back to bed with his thickest winter blanket wrapped around him, so Zhang Hao stalks into the kitchen and surveys the insides of their cupboards. Cooking, on the other hand, does not come naturally to him but he's willing to make an effort. Soup is nourishing for the soul, right? And they have most of the ingredients needed for him to make a nice galbitang.
Thirty minutes later, he concedes that his talents lie elsewhere. Resigned, he unlocks his phone to order some instead.
They sit at the kitchen table, Zhang Hao feeding a reluctant and tired Hanbin. He's clearly out of it despite his hard work in trying to make conversation, so Zhang Hao shepherds him back to bed afterwards.
There, he rests Hanbin's head in his lap and watches as the lines of Hanbin's face smooth out. “Pretty,” he says softly, thumb gliding over the bridge of Hanbin's nose.
Hanbin wrinkles his nose in disagreement. “I'm all gross.”
“And yet you're still the prettiest thing I've ever seen.” He dots kisses along his hairline, uncaring of the sweat beading there. “Pretty Hanbinie.”
“You're prettier,” Hanbin slurs, eyelashes fluttering like he wants to force his eyelids open but can't quite muster up the effort. Zhang Hao appreciates it nonetheless, along with the compliment, so he kisses his forehead again.
They lapse into silence. Zhang Hao uses the time to freely admire him: the moles dotted around his face, the long sweep of his eyelashes, the downturned corners of his mouth. It still blows his mind that they found each other.
“Hao,” he mumbles. Zhang Hao thinks that he's just drifting off to sleep, but then Hanbin says: “Why do we never tell each other that we love each other?”
Zhang Hao blinks. It's not something he's ever really thought about before. Both of them prefer to show rather than tell and, for Zhang Hao, love has a somewhat empty ring to it. It's not the correct word to describe what he feels for Hanbin. Love, at its core, is selfless. He can't say the same.
He brushes a strand of Hanbin's hair away. “We do, baby. Over texts, in our anniversary and birthday letters.”
“But never face to face,” he insists. “I mean, it doesn't bother me. I'm just curious.”
“I love you,” he says. The words are true but they leave a sour taste behind on his tongue. “I do, you know I do. But I also…”
Hanbin is watching him, face upturned and eyes half-lidded. He's devastatingly pretty like this. “Also what?” he whispers.
“It's a lot more than love,” he says, a bit lamely. “That's all. Saying it is just a bit too…quiet for me. So I'd rather let my actions do the talking.” Hanbin hums like this makes perfect sense. “What about you? What's your excuse?” he teases.
“No excuse.” His brow creases. “Or the same as you, I guess.” Zhang Hao holds back the which part? “I don't know. Does it bother you? That I don't say it?”
“Of course not,” Zhang Hao laughs. “Don't you think I would have complained about it by now?”
“I'm not sure, hyung,” Hanbin says around a yawn. “You have a funny habit of making a big deal about the things that don't truly bother you and staying quiet on the things that do.” When that shocks Zhang Hao into silence, Hanbin mutters, “Sorry. Don't know where that came from.”
“Don't apologise,” he manages, when he can speak again. He kisses the notch in between Hanbin's eyebrows. “Sleep now. No more hurting your brain.”
“Yes, gege,” Hanbin says dutifully, and does exactly that. Zhang Hao doesn't know how long he sits there, his legs slowly turning numb as he stares at the plushies on Hanbin's shelf.
“Tell me about the terrible things,” Hanbin whispers to him one night. They've been sitting on the living room couch for hours now, long enough that the sun has sunk beneath the horizon. The moon doesn't shine in, so they're left to slot against each other in the darkness. They could separate from each other to turn one of the lamps on, but Zhang Hao doesn't want to give up Hanbin's body heat for a second. He thinks Hanbin might have a similar reason.
Zhang Hao stalls. “What terrible things?”
Hanbin sighs, his shoulder dropping underneath Zhang Hao's head. “Come on. I've let you get away with it for long enough.”
He stews in the ensuing silence. As he makes some quick calculations he draws Hanbin's hand into his lap and flips it over, gently tracing over the lines on his palm. He can't see them in the darkness but he has them memorised anyway. Two months ago they had gotten their palms read at one a.m. in a night market in Myeongdong, tipsy from beer and happiness. The woman had told them both that they would have a strong, unwavering love.
It's silly, for Zhang Hao to place any stock in the teachings of an obvious con artist, but her insistence on the solidity of their love remains a comfort to him.
“I would've thought that it would be clear by now,” he says finally, speaking in dulcet tones so as not to disrupt the blanket of peace around them, “that I'm not normal about you in the least.”
“I think I've picked up on that.” His voice is perfectly neutral. “But it goes both ways, Hao.”
Zhang Hao shakes his head minutely. “It's different. For me.”
“Why?” And now they're back to the start. “I want you to tell me.”
His words fill the air. A burst of echolocation, one that Zhang Hao's body instinctively follows. There are times he thinks they really could do that, converse with each other like bats whenever they're not near. Winding down the string of microscopic shifts in the air until they reach home.
“Sometimes,” Hanbin admits when the silence stretches on, “it's still surprising to know that I can be wanted this much.” His hands skate down his thighs, a nervous tic of his, and Zhang Hao knows he's thinking of the past.
“I would want you this much no matter what you looked like.” He would be so much worse, probably, if he met when they were younger. Names fly through his mind: Yuchen, Yunxi, Mingfei, Li Zhan, Seungmin. All of them rendered gratifyingly obsolete in his life if he had met Hanbin when he was twelve, thirteen, fourteen. “What draws me to you is—everything. Your Hanbin-ness.”
He snorts. “My Hanbin-ness.”
“I would kill to have you,” he blurts out, horribly transparent for the first time in his life. Hanbin stills next to him. It seems like once he's started, he can't stop. “If you ever left me I would go crazy. I wouldn't let you leave me in the first place. I want to rip the arm off anyone who touches you, even the members. I can tell how you're feeling just from how your breathing sounds. I keep track of everything you eat throughout the day. I go through your phone when you're sleeping. I don't like your college friends because I hate being reminded that there are people who knew you before me. Whenever you smile at someone other than me I want to die. Sometimes I want to cut you open just so I can leave my fingerprints on your organs. Sometimes I—I want to break you down until…”
Hanbin's breathing has accelerated into something fast and shallow. Excited, he realises somewhat numbly. “Until what?”
Zhang Hao swallows. “Until I'm all you have left,” he whispers. This, more than anything, feels like the biggest offence. To remove Hanbin from the rest of the world, from how he blooms from the attentions of so many people, should be unthinkable.
“Hyung,” Hanbin sighs, a lovely thing, then guides Zhang Hao's hand down underneath his waistband. He’s half-hard, he realises with a small jolt. When his fingers fan out, cupping the warmth of him, Hanbin sighs again and rests his head on the back of the couch.
Zhang Hao doesn't want it like this tonight. With a quick ease, he pulls his hand out and arranges Hanbin so that he's lying lengthways with Zhang Hao braced over him. His shock gives way to desperation when Zhang Hao kisses him roughly, fingers digging into his cheeks to coax his mouth open. He aligns their fronts and grinds, measured at first before his rhythm turns into something more helpless. He can never quite control himself when it comes to Hanbin.
Hanbin steers his mouth towards his neck, panting. “Bite,” he urges, so Zhang Hao does. It's not gentle. His teeth break skin and he presses Hanbin harder into the couch, like he can leave a permanent imprint behind on the cushions if he tries.
An odd sound slips out of Hanbin’s mouth, a cross between a whimper and a gurgle. Zhang Hao can taste the sharp tang of blood but he still bites down harder. Hanbin makes another one of those sounds. He should tell him to be quiet, the others are sleeping but he can't bring himself to, not when Hanbin is making these noises for him. It feels like triumph. Nothing makes him feel more like a winner, not the cheers of fans or praises of his parents or whispered awe of his peers, than Hanbin's moans.
Still, he has other business to attend to. His canines trail up, over the jut of Hanbin's jaw, and stop at Hanbin's mouth. His thumb presses against Hanbin's jugular as they kiss, Hanbin's mouth moving sweetly against his in a dazed kind of pliance. Zhang Hao holds him tight as he bites down on his bottom lip and Hanbin moans loudly, rocking up into him like a marionette suddenly jerking to life. Blood trickles into his mouth. It should feel disgusting but Zhang Hao only wants more, wants them to share this too, wants every part of them to be the same down to their marrow. He laves over the cut with his tongue and Hanbin hisses in pain, tensing up underneath him. But he's still hard, which almost makes him smile. Of course Hanbin would be into this too. Zhang Hao's own chin feels sticky when he pulls back.
“Gege, you can't leave me,” Hanbin breathes, clutching at his back. He uses that grip to bear Zhang Hao down against him desperately, the hurried friction of it close to this side of too much. “Not ever, you can't, please don't—”
“Idiot,” he says fondly, shakily. “After everything I just said, you think I still could?”
“And you can't take any of it back,” Hanbin continues, as if not hearing him. His nails scratch Zhang Hao's jaw where one hand is cupping his face. “Don't ever think about taking it back.”
Zhang Hao kisses him again. He hopes Hanbin can taste himself on Zhang Hao's tongue and understand that this is it, that they're tethered to each other primordially. He hopes Hanbin bites down, too, and almost asks for it, until he has the presence of mind to remember that the two of them with split lips would be far too difficult to explain away. He mollifies himself with thinking of the freedom of the future.
It’s probably the most uncoordinated sex they've had, including when Hanbin fucked him for the first time and that time Zhang Hao learnt that going down on someone in a car made him feel intensely claustrophobic, but it's all the more better for it. If the couch were on wheels it would definitely be squeaking across the floor in time with Zhang Hao's thrusts, fucking against Hanbin like he's a teenager humping a pillow.
“Hyung,” Hanbin pleads, his own hips moving sloppily. His speech is slurring now, like it does when he's close. “Hyung, Hao, more—”
Zhang Hao stuffs four fingers into his mouth. Hanbin comes with a dry sob and a whine, teeth scraping Zhang Hao's knuckles as his head tilts back. The back of his shirt is pulled taut in Hanbin's fist, so much so that the collar almost chokes him. Zhang Hao comes as well — whether from that sensation or Hanbin's fucked-out noises or the velvety heat of his mouth around his fingers or Hanbin's limpness against him, he doesn't know.
He gently withdraws his fingers and catches his breath, still arched over Hanbin. It's laughably quiet around them now. His ears heat, a little in embarrassment at how loud they were and a little in smugness. Hanbin clings to him, head buried in the space between his neck and shoulder. Zhang Hao stays unmoving and cards a hand through his hair, although his thighs are beginning to ache. “Have I scared you off?” he wonders, quashing the note of fear in his voice.
“No,” Hanbin says quietly. Then, louder: “No. Not ever.”
“Dangerous promise,” he says lightly, though his heart thumps traitorously.
Hanbin finally draws back, his head coming to rest on the arm of the couch. The switch to the lamp is just over his shoulder but Zhang Hao thinks he prefers it like this, the both of them hidden away in an invisible pocket. He doesn't want the light to intrude here.
Hanbin touches his neck mournfully. “I don't know how I'm gonna explain this to the stylists.”
Zhang Hao snorts. “We'll think of something.” He settles back onto the couch himself, Hanbin's legs to his back, and winces at the wetness in his sweatpants. Absently, as if compelled, he raises a hand to Hanbin's dried blood on his chin. He smiles proudly at the flakes sticking to his skin.
They must look terrible in the light. He allows this thought to marinate, and then loops a hand around Hanbin's wrist to tug him up.
They fuck so rarely that Hanbin usually cries during it, a fact that Zhang Hao finds both adorable and arousing. Hanbin can't truly relax until their privacy is guaranteed, so they have no choice but to wait until they're in fleeting possession of a hotel room.
Tonight, Tokyo welcomes them with open arms. They grabbed room service instead of going out for dinner, not wishing to draw any attention, and have holed up in Hanbin's hotel room since.
It's brought them here: curtains drawn, bedside lamp on, Hanbin split open on his cock. He always looks so dazed when they have sex, as if he can't believe this much pleasure is even available to him. Gasping whimpers fall out of his mouth with every tiny jolt up the mattress, his eyes dark and teary.
“Shh,” Zhang Hao soothes, dragging him back and holding him tighter. He rolls his hips into Hanbin languidly. “I have you, baby. I have you.”
He never gets tired of the sight of Hanbin underneath him. He scrapes his nail over a nipple and greedily drinks in the sight of Hanbin's back arching, both of them moaning as Hanbin takes him deeper. The movement draws attention to his chest and Zhang Hao bends to take a nub into his mouth. Hanbin's hand flies up to grip the back of his head, his voice cracking. He's wonderfully sensitive here, something that suits Zhang Hao's own inclinations perfectly, and it's all too easy for Zhang Hao to lose himself to pleasuring him like this. It's almost meditative, pressing Hanbin down into the mattress and sucking on his nipples until they're flushed dark.
“I'm close,” Hanbin gasps when Zhang Hao pulls away, though he doesn't need to be informed. He can see it in the smearing of precome across his stomach, cock slapping there as Zhang Hao drives into him.
Zhang Hao taps his cheek with his clean hand. “Open,” he instructs, leaning over him. Hanbin opens his mouth as ordered and Zhang Hao spits into it. Some of the drool lands on his philtrum but Hanbin makes a sound between a whine and a pant, tightening around him.
Readjusting them, he begins to jerk Hanbin off while nailing that spot inside which finally makes Hanbin shed all of his inhibitions. A fresh set of tears are rolling down his cheeks now and Zhang Hao groans, feeling himself twitch inside. He looks like a mess. Zhang Hao wouldn't have him any other way.
It doesn't take long for Hanbin to seize up and spill between them, feverish chants of Zhang Hao's name leaving his lips. Zhang Hao, brought to the edge himself at admiring how shaky and overwhelmed Hanbin gets as soon as he's come, only takes a few more thrusts before he pumps Hanbin full.
Hanbin watches him with half-lidded eyes as Zhang Hao pulls out, wary of pushing the boundaries of Hanbin's sensitivity. He only sighs when cum begins to seep out of him, eyes falling shut. There are dried tear tracks streaking down his cheeks.
He loves seeing Hanbin like this, relaxed and sated. The most simple form of happiness where the rest of the world is forgotten. This is how he should always be. If Zhang Hao had his way then Hanbin would never need to do anything but lounge around their apartment, waiting for Zhang Hao to come home. He wishes he could take a picture of how he is now but he'll have to settle for committing the view to his memory.
He sits on the edge of the bed and skims the back of his hand over Hanbin's cheekbone. He kisses Hanbin's damp forehead, then his mouth, before he gently wipes his face with tissues from the box on the table. Hanbin wrinkles his nose a little but makes no move otherwise. “Okay?”
Hanbin snorts. “Better than okay.” He — somewhat uselessly, but Zhang Hao finds him too cute to make fun of — wipes Zhang Hao's sweaty forehead with a bare hand. Zhang Hao gazes down at him and resigns himself to having the world's most smitten expression committed to his face.
He wipes Hanbin's stomach too, then stands and offers a hand to him. “Shower time, baby.”
“Cuddle,” Hanbin whines, looking up at him imploringly with a hand caught around his wrist, and who is Zhang Hao to deny him?
He decides he doesn't care about the patches of lube on the bedspread or how gross and sticky he feels. Pleasing Hanbin is more important, so he settles next to him over the covers. Hanbin shuffles closer, fitting himself into Zhang Hao's arms, and rests a hand over his heart as he blinks up at him.
“My baby,” he finds himself murmuring, thumb sweeping Hanbin's cheek. “My pretty baby.” Then, because he's always too honest after sex, “You know I'd do anything for you, right?”
Hanbin smiles, cheek creasing against Zhang Hao's palm. “I know. And me too.” His gaze drops. “Your heart sped up just because I smiled,” he says, warm and amused.
Zhang Hao isn't embarrassed. “Duh. Have you seen your smile?”
Hanbin leans in. His teeth scrape over Zhang Hao's chest. Lightly, but the implication of it is enough to make his breath quicken. He wishes he really could rip his heart out of his chest and feed it to Hanbin, have him keep it safe.
Hanbin pulls back, contentment softening his face.
“I'd let you eat my heart,” Zhang Hao rushes to say. It's clumsy but Hanbin knows what he means.
Hanbin smiles into the pillow. “I'd let you eat mine too.” Then he yawns, close-mouthed. His eyes close as he mumbles drowsily, “Maybe that's how we should go out. Eating each other's hearts.”
“I'd like that,” Zhang Hao whispers, combing through his hair. Hanbin's breathing evens out, chest rising and falling steadily.
In an hour Zhang Hao will have to wake him up so they can shower and pack. For now, though, he’ll keep vigil by his side. He reaches over to turn the lamp off.