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you're the risk (i'm gonna take it)

Chapter 8: epilogue: fall in love every summer time

Notes:

song of the epilogue is "spring into summer" by lizzy mcalpine!

if you would like to access the playlist for risk, including all nine 'song of the chapters' and some bonus ones as well, you can do so here!

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

Chapter Text

Five years into his hiatus, Hanbin Sung sits down for a tell-all interview with Vogue

The video opens on a winding country road, trees lining the two-lane street with their leaves swaying gently in the wind. Though the scenery is incredibly picturesque, the road itself is unidentifiable,  with houses spread far enough apart that the audience can’t discern any of them clearly, and not a single car passes the entire time the reporter films the introduction. Bundled in a patterned scarf and sweater, she still shivers in the chill of late autumn wind as she greets the camera. 

“Since I began working at Vogue, I have pitched this interview every year, only to be rejected each time by Sung’s management. This year, they decided to give me a chance, and as a former fan of the band, I did my best to satisfy the Petals out there who have been waiting eagerly for answers. Though, perhaps after watching this video, you will only be left with more questions. I know I certainly was. This is Cheryl West for Vogue magazine, sitting down after five years with Hanbin Sung.” 

She begins to walk down the road towards a house at the very end of the street, red and orange foliage a contrast to the wooden homes and gravel driveways as she continues her exposition. “A household name like Hanbin doesn’t just exit the industry entirely for any reason, and rumors have been spiraling around the cause of his disappearance since the final leg of his band, the celebrated Rose Horizon’s, 2nd world tour five years ago. To close their performance in Buenos Aires, the 51st and final show of the Eternal Summer tour, the band tearfully bid farewell to their dedicated fans as they entered an indefinite hiatus, which had been announced only forty-eight hours before.”

The video cuts to B-roll clips chronicling the reporter’s journey to reach the town where Hanbin now lives, first flying from the Vogue office in New York, then renting a car, and finally driving to the location seen at the beginning of the video. She narrates through voiceover, “Although I offered to meet Mr. Sung at any public location of his choice, the former singer suggested we meet in his own home, which he described as ‘quite removed’ from the rest of civilization. I quickly realized the extent to which he meant, as even after my flight landed, I put several more miles on the rental car to reach his home. I arrived in the early evening, the autumn foliage just beginning to transform the property. I was asked not to give any more details about the home’s location to protect the privacy of its occupants.” 

The camera pans slowly to the door of the house–  a historic Craftsman, not overly large, but with distinctive wood detailing and a wrap-around porch– it seems like the perfect place to come home to after a long day. In the background, a small lake can be seen butting up to the backyard of the property. Due to its remote location, the property isn’t even fenced, leaving it open to visitors, unlike its owner who had remained hidden in its walls for years. Still, it’s doubtful that anyone would make it out of town this far unless they had a reason to see the home’s owner. 

She knocks on the ornate wooden door. “I’m a bit late,” she confesses, “I hope he doesn’t think I forgot about him.”

The door swings open. No longer sporting a bright hair color that makes him easily discernible even among a crowd, Hanbin wears his hair a natural brown and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses instead of his usual colored contacts. A comfortable yellow flannel rests on his shoulders, and he wears a set of fluffy slippers into the house. There’s a second, matching set by the door. 

Hanbin guides her inside, “Nice to meet you, Cheryl, right?”

She has to avert her face to the side to hide her surprise at hearing Hanbin say her name out loud. Some habits of a fan never died. “That’s right.” 

“You can just call me Hanbin.” 

Once they are inside his home, Hanbin seems more at ease, directing them through the main foyer and giving the cameraman time to film the interior decorations. The interior of the house is cleanly but lived in, the personal touches of its occupants visible in every corner of the place. There are photos strewn around, hung on the walls, perched on a desk in the foyer where a large ceramic bowl also holds a single set of keys. Many of the photographs seem to feature the members of Rose Horizon, and some even appear to be taken at the lake outside of the house. A few remnants of Hanbin’s time as a member of the band are visible, like a trophy from the Billboard Music Awards, which is barely noticeable among the other assorted awards on the mantle whose origin can’t be identified from so far away. A guitar rests on a stand by the fireplace. Hanbin takes the reporter past the living room into the kitchen and offers her a drink. He seems a bit nervous, like he’s still not fully ready for this conversation, but knows that it’s time to have it. 

“Start wherever you feel comfortable,” Cheryl tells him as they sit down on the bar stools at the kitchen counter. There’s so much to cover, it doesn’t seem like there’s one perfect place to start. 

“I thought you were supposed to be the one interviewing me?” Hanbin jokes, leaning his chin against his palm where it rests on the marble countertop. Cheryl doesn’t seem thrown off by Hanbin’s charm. Though she never had the honor of interviewing him when the band was still active, she knew that he was notorious for kindly answering whatever sometimes ill-advised questions that journalists put in front of him. He seemed to have found more of his voice and boundaries in the years since.

“Let’s start with the house then. It’s a beautiful place. When did you move here? Right after Buenos Aires?” She asks, wondering how a boy who grew up in New York could end up so far from the city.

Hanbin shakes his head, but he smiles so it must have been the right question to ask. “I moved here about three years ago, actually. It’s a great neighborhood though, isn’t it?” 

It’s the opposite of what anyone would expect for a celebrity, especially one so young as Hanbin, not even thirty years old yet. The town that Cheryl and the cameraman had driven through was quiet, the kind of place to retire or raise children, not the kind of place anyone would expect that a once world famous singer would choose to settle down. 

“Can I ask why you decided to move so far away from New York, then? Even away from Los Angeles, which you had called a second home at one point.” 

Hanbin laughs, good natured, but drawing a strict boundary in the allowed topics of conversation. 

“Asking the hard-hitting questions a bit too early, I’m afraid. You’ll have to come back to that one later. Can we start with something easier maybe? Like Buenos Aires?” 

If she was less of a professional, it would show in her face how shocked Cheryl was that Hanbin would consider the beginning of his hiatus easier to talk about than why he moved to this small town in the rural midwest. But, to each their own with their secrets, and Hanbin Sung clearly had a lot of them. It was her job to sniff them out. 

“Right, so five years ago. Buenos Aires. The last stop on your tour,” Cheryl prompts.  

“Much to everyone’s disappointment, I know.” Hanbin fiddles with one of several rings on his hand. “But I think it’s fair to say that we were all ready to try new things.” 

The video cuts through a brief montage showing the activities of the three other former members of Rose Horizon over the years. For the most part, the video had been very professional up  to this point, but as the reporter narrates, her unwavering excitement as a fan begins to shine through. Despite their leader’s quiet disappearance, the rest of the members had remained at least partially in the spotlight. The most known being Matthew Seok, who quickly launched an acting career after the announcement of the band’s hiatus, transitioning from voice acting to being in front of the camera himself after a few months. A clip plays of Matthew, and the rest of the ensemble cast of a hit TV show he’d landed a featured role in, accepting a SAG award for their performance earlier this year. 

Yujin Han dabbled as a guest instructor for a prestigious dance studio in Los Angeles, though he had now enrolled in university and only taught part time, much to the disappointment of his regular students. Gyuvin Kim famously attended NYU for one year before dropping out, claiming to have enjoyed the experience, but explaining that he didn’t think he wanted to be tied down to a single place for three more years. His reasoning became much clearer after he confirmed his relationship with rising fashion designer Ricky Shen, who had just graduated from the same university around the same time Kim had dropped out. The pair have been seen at several fashion events over the past few years, notably with Kim walking in Shen’s first runway show at Milan Fashion Week. 

Despite their careers separating the group in notably different directions, it appears the band had stayed in touch, though none of the photos of them together in Hanbin’s home had been released to the public before the interview.

Now, five years later, Hanbin’s story is the last one to be told. 

“As I said that night, it wasn’t an easy decision, and I knew there would be fans who felt let down. But, it’s one I had been thinking about for a while, long before the tour even started. It had been more than a decade since I first started working, and I think I just needed a break.” 

“A break implies you plan to come back?” Cheryl can’t help but ask. It’s the fan in her aching for the tiniest hope that her favorite band from her college days might one day have a reunion. 

Hanbin stops her before she can get any farther. “I’ll get to that later.”

“I knew it was a long shot, but I asked that fans would give me privacy in my new life, to let the knowledge of my past life be a secret just for us.” Hanbin cringes now at his original phrasing. “God, did I sound crazy? I’m sure I sounded crazy.” 

“I mean, I wasn’t one of the 60,000 lucky fans at that concert in Buenos Aires, but I still remember watching it through a grainy livestream in my dorm room,” Cheryl confesses.“It felt real to me then, like if the thousands of us worked together, we could achieve it.” 

“And it kind of worked, I guess? I mean you probably know what happened next, but most people tried really hard to help me stay undercover,” Hanbin shrugs. “I’m really thankful to everyone back then. Not everyone was the best at pretending, but they tried. Even though sometimes they really wanted to laugh when Hanbin Sung knocked over his chemistry equipment in the lab like any other undergraduate at 8 AM.” 

“But people were respectful about it for the most part?” 

“I mean, not all of them, but there’s always going to be people out there that think they’re entitled to your attention or your respect when they haven’t earned it. It helped that I didn’t take too many classes in person when I first enrolled at the university. But when I moved and transferred to a school out here, it got a lot easier. Turns out, people in a tiny college town don’t care half as much about your past as long as you was getting your part of the group assignment done on time. It’s completely different here, compared to LA or even New York.”

Most people had already known the first part of his story. Hanbin Sung enrolled at a university in Los Angeles the very first spring after that fateful November concert, much faster than any of the other members had gotten started with any of their personal projects, though he was rumored to have dropped out after a year. Which, apparently, he hadn’t. He’d just found new classmates that were better at keeping his secret. When asked how long he’d been planning it, he laughed. 

“Only half the summer. They don’t usually take transfers halfway through the year, but I knew if I waited for the next school year I would already be too late.” 

“Too late for what?” 

Hanbin tilts his head with a small smile, and Cheryl knows she’s hit another wall, another forbidden topic. As much as it feels like she’d heard in the last thirty minutes, she felt no closer to understanding Hanbin Sung than when she first started. It annoyed her as a journalist, but she couldn’t help but feel vindicated as a fan. For so long, Hanbin had been at the forefront of media attention in ways beyond his control. Now that he can finally control the narrative, he could be selective with what the public knew about him. 

“Okay, so you went to university. What was that like? You’ve always talked about how you never had a normal education growing up.”

“Honestly,” Hanbin says nonchalantly, and it’s clear this is a topic he’s comfortable with, “it wasn’t as wild as the movies led me to believe. Then again, I was quite a bit older than most of the students in my year.” 

“Was that awkward?”

“Not particularly. I mean, to anyone who’s worried about it, there’s no reason to be. It’s never too late to go back to school, to start over and find something that you love to do more than anything else in the world.” 

“And did you,” Cheryl asks, “find that something?”  

“I did. Which is why you came here, right?” Hanbin gives her a knowing smile, “to interview me about the foundation?” 

Technically, yes. Both Hanbin’s management and the magazine had approved Cheryl to come all the way out to the middle of nowhere to film a piece to promote Sung’s Rose Garden foundation, which funded performing arts programs in low income schools around the country. 

“Of course.” Cheryl agrees, but she knows the story doesn’t end there, and as a journalist it’s her job to keep digging until she finds it. “So, what did you study?” 

Hanbin humors her, answering her question despite his request to recenter the conversation. “I started in health sciences– which explains the chemistry lab way back when. But, I didn’t think that was really right for me. I ended up switching to studying education after moving out here.” 

“Is that where the idea for the foundation came from? What’s the story behind it? How did it get started?” Cheryl taps her pen against her notepad where she’d been jotting notes for later when they eventually edited the footage into the final fifteen minute segment.

“I mean, it didn’t start as a foundation at first. It started with us, well, me, trying to integrate into the community here. There was this old rec center downtown, I’m not sure if you passed it. But they didn’t really have the money to offer classes or anything there, and I was kind of inspired by Yujin– you know how he used to teach dance classes, to try and figure out something like that here too. But, for free. There was actually a surprising amount of interest in it, and I loved teaching the kids. They were so full of joy and excitement, and most of them had no idea who I was. That’s when I got the idea to start the foundation, because art shouldn’t be something restricted by the ability to pay for dance classes or for an instrument— every child that wants to should have the opportunity to explore it.”

With the success of his first local pilot program, Hanbin’s foundation hoped to start offering grants to educators in underfunded school districts to support their performing arts programs as well. The foundation is currently seeking additional sponsors to join their mission. All four Rose Horizon members sit on the foundation’s board as major donors. 

“It’s a noble cause, worth coming out of your five year hiatus to share with us,” Cheryl compliments him. 

Hanbin nods in agreement. “Alright, now that I know that our project is actually going to make it into your video, you can ask me your second question again.” 

She had to flip through her notes to find it.“Why did you move so far away from New York, even from Los Angeles, which you had called a second home at one point?” 

Hanbin breaks into a smile that seems to brighten up his entire face. “Because my husband got a job at a university nearby.” 

Suddenly, a lot more things about the house make sense, though they didn’t necessarily stand out before. The second pair of slippers in the entryway, the bookshelves filled with technical volumes that didn’t seem like they would be of interest to Hanbin, and the two mugs drying by the sink. The trophies Cheryl didn’t recognize and the way the bowl on the desk was too big just for one person’s set of keys.

Hanbin seems to be more impressed with the drama of his reveal than anything, leaning back on his stool with a grin. “That was good, right?” He turns to the cameraman directly, “You were surprised, right?”  

Cheryl doesn’t mention having spotted him fidgeting with his wedding ring at the beginning of the interview either. For the first time since the interview started, Hanbin seems to be having fun. 

“I had to tell you because he’s about to get home. He’s probably going to be annoyed that I took too long doing the interview, but I think he’ll probably have some things he wants to say, too.” 

As if Hanbin has a divine sense for his husband, she hears the sound of keys jangling at the door. At this point, the script of questions Cheryl had prepared and practiced for hours was all but abandoned. In no universe had she prepared for this. Not only was she meeting Hanbin Sung, but also, his husband? 

“Love,” Hanbin greets as soon as the door clicks shut, “We have a guest!” 

“The reporter?” A voice calls back, “Aren’t you supposed to be done by now?”

“We had a lot to talk about.” It becomes obvious just how much Hanbin’s voice softens when he talks to his partner. “Come say hello?” 

A familiar face steps into the kitchen, Hanbin rising to greet him with a soft kiss to his cheek. Hao Zhang easily occupies the bar stool where Hanbin was once sitting as his husband moves to get him a drink. Dressed in a white knit sweater and a comfortable pair of brown slacks, the one-time singer looks like a much more dignified version of his younger self, no longer hidden under layers of sparkly outfits and glitter. A silver band hangs prominently from a chain around his neck. 

“Pleasure to meet you.” Hao shakes Cheryl’s hand politely as Hanbin comes to sit by his husband, pushing their stools together until there’s hardly any space between them. 

If this was who Hanbin had received help from with his disappearance, it’s no wonder he had been so successful. The only person who vanished from the spotlight quicker than Hanbin had been Hao. After his final show in Stockholm, none of his social media platforms were updated, and fans began to wonder if something bad happened to the singer until he finally made a statement requesting fans to respect his privacy as he returned to his life as an ordinary university student. Unfortunately, this only seemed to draw attention to the former opening act’s location, and paparazzi flooded the dorms where Zhang was said to have been living. It was later leaked that by December, the situation had become so unbearable, that Zhang took some time off to be with his family. It was assumed that he returned to university the following spring. 

The very same university at which Hanbin Sung had just enrolled. 

Later in post production, the editor takes the time to put a little gif of Cheryl screaming in the corner of the scream. In a freeze frame that captures her appropriate looks of shock while Hanbin looks over at Hao so fondly that the audience can feel the toothache through the screen, which all her colleagues laughed at her for later, she can be heard in the voiceover proclaiming, “No folks, this is not good journalism. This is a fan with a tin hat jumping up and down and screaming her head off for finally having been right about something for once in her life.” 

 


March, Five Years Ago

It must be a tradition at this point for Hao to be running late on the first day of the quarter. Only, it felt more embarrassing this time given that it was his last first-day-of-the-quarter ever, and now he would never be able to promise himself that the next time he would remember to set his alarm five minutes earlier so he wouldn’t be late. It was bittersweet in a way, but Hao wasn’t sentimental enough to dwell on it, didn’t have the time to when he had to put all his focus on weaving his way through the crowds of students loitering on the grass to get to his seminar. 

He blamed his past self from a month ago, who had been going stir crazy at home with his parents, so isolated from the rest of the world that he forgot how much of a morning person he was (not). The Hao of the past must have forgotten how difficult it was for him to wake up before nine in the morning when he didn’t have the relentless prodding of his mother to demand he get out of bed and help her with chores if he was just going to laze around at home. 

The cold days of winter were finally coming to an end, and the warmth of spring was beginning to peek through the cloudy skies. A stretch of sunlight lit the quad, illuminating the evergreen lawns, which were as picturesque as ever. Though he was loath to admit it, with everything this place had put him through in the autumn still leaving a weight on his heart and an inescapable lingering sense of paranoia that everyone was secretly watching him or judging him behind his back, somehow despite it all, Hao really had missed this place. 

He hadn’t missed the crowds though. It seemed every student is outside today, loitering with their friends and enjoying the early sunshine instead of filtering into their classes, which made Hao’s task of getting to the other side of the quad look bleaker than ever. Without thinking, he pivoted to take a shortcut through the middle of the lawn, where the grass damp with morning dew deterred students from stepping off of the stone pathways. 

With nothing blocking his path, Hao was confident he might actually make it to class on time, patting himself on the back for his ingenuity and checking his phone absentmindedly for the time. Still ten minutes before the start of his seminar? He wouldn’t even have to run to make it by then. 

Until all of a sudden there was something blocking his path, and Hao would have slipped right into the wet lawn if not for the steady arms that caught him by the shoulders, saving Hao from an untimely meeting with the dirt and grass trimmings. Scrambling for purchase on the person’s arm, Hao straightened up, trying to plant his sneakers into the slippery ground. Of all times to go colliding with a stranger, Hao huffed to himself, ready to prepare a concise but appropriate verbal berating of whichever freshman had yet to understand the ‘rules of the road’ of the campus pathways when the person cleared his throat awkwardly. Hao looked up. 

“You should watch where you’re going.” 

Hao scrambled back, recognizing that voice right away and letting go of his arm, which he’d embarrassingly still been clutching onto for balance until that moment. The sudden motion backwards nearly sent Hao toppling over again until Hanbin grabbed back onto him, pulling Hao closer to him this time, both stabilizing him and preventing another attempt at escape. 

“What are you–” Hao spluttered through his question, “Why– You can’t just show up here on a random Monday and expect–” 

Hanbin was dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans, with an unassuming cap pulled over his bangs as a half-hearted disguise, and carried a backpack slung over one shoulder like he was just another student on his way to class. On instinct, Hao looked around for photographers or security guards or just anyone who looked like they might jump out at him with a Gotcha! for Hao’s display of gullibility. What was Hanbin thinking, just showing up here like this? 

“Did you come here looking for me?” Hao accused. “You know, people who aren’t students aren’t technically supposed to be on campus.” 

Not denying it, Hanbin smiled widely, like he wasn’t even ashamed of being caught, “I am–” 

“Are you here to film something?” Hao cut him off, not willing to entertain him if it was all just a cruel prank that he had shown up here on Hao's first day back to class, a reminder of the reason his entire life was thrown off its axis in the first place. He made a second sweep for cameras only to come up empty again. 

“No, actually.” Hanbin released one of Hao’s arms to pull something out of his pocket, producing an ID-shaped piece of plastic, and holding it out to Hao to inspect. 

It was an ID card for the university, a smiling photo of Hanbin staring back at him, that declared the man in front of him to be a first year student. 

Hao looked back at Hanbin, eyes as wide as saucers. “How did you get this?”

Hanbin didn't even seem offended that Hao still would not believe him despite the evidence he’d tried to present. “Well, when you want to attend a university, you fill out an application, and a few months later they send you the results.” 

“You were planning this?” Hao felt like his head was spinning, like his knees might actually give out if Hanbin wasn’t still holding one of his arms in his hand. “I don’t– Is it real? It’s for good? You’re not going to turn around and fly back to New York tomorrow?” 

“It’s forever, just like I promised.” 

Hao kept getting stuck on the words he wanted to say, like he wanted to believe it was true, but it was too perfect to trust right away. Hanbin was dangling that quiet dream, the one Hao had conjured up during the long evenings of the summer tangled together and the sleepless nights in the autumn when he’d laid alone, in front of him like the only left for Hao to do was accept Hanbin into his life instead of trying to fit himself in the other way around. 

“I didn’t think you would actually…” Hao felt floored, like someone had picked up his trampled heart and unfolded it new, revealing the tiniest shred of optimism that remained. 

“One year ago, right here, fate gave me a chance with you.”

For the first time since Hanbin had started talking, he sounded nervous, like even with all the strings he’d pulled, he wasn’t sure it was going to be enough. 

“And I blew it. I didn’t remember, and that will be the single greatest regret of my life. If you let me, I will happily spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

“Hanbin, you really didn’t have to do all this.” Hao wanted to pull them away somewhere out of the public eye, can’t shake the feeling that someone could be watching, ready to post a picture online and send the whole thing up in flames again before it had even begun, even though he knows most college students could care less about anyone that wasn’t themself. 

Still, he knew what this meant to Hanbin, the lengths he’d gone to just to recreate a tiny moment that had been so insignificant to him, but so important to Hao.

Well, maybe that moment was a bit more important to Hanbin than Hao had thought.

“I do. I will,” Hanbin insisted. “I’d write you a hundred songs if that’s what it takes, just give me another chance to try again?” 

At that, Hao couldn’t help but laugh, Hanbin’s suggestion one last middle finger to the fate that had tried so hard to tear them apart after bringing them together.

“I don’t know about one hundred but,” Hao grinned, “I think you do owe me one.” 

The quad had mostly emptied by then, everyone having disappeared into their respective classrooms long ago. Hao chose to ignore the fact that he should have been one of them. 

“I’ll start writing it now, on the way to class– which, by the way, considering you’re the expert on this um, do you know how I'm supposed to get to…” Hanbin fumbled with his phone in one hand, trying to show Hao a photo of his schedule. It would be easier to use two, but he refused to let Hao go, his other hand having migrated down to grasp Hao’s at some point in the conversation. “This place?” 

Hao squinted to read the tiny writing. “You’re on the exact opposite side of campus from here.” 

“I know but,” Hanbin grinned sheepishly. “I needed to find you first.” 

“How long were you waiting for me? You were just out here in the middle of the grass where anyone could have seen you?” Hao asked, incredulous. 

“I mean, no one else knows I'm here besides you," Hanbin quipped. "But, I'll admit, it was longer than I expected. I didn’t think you would be running so late. I had a whole plan, you know.” 

Hao pouted at the insinuation that his perpetual morning lateness almost ruined the timing of their second first meeting. 

“But it’s okay,” Hanbin rushed to continue. “You can just walk me to my next class, and we can take our time.” 

Time used to be a luxury that neither of them could afford. Now, Hao found that he couldn't picture an end. For once he didn’t have to stamp out any runaway thoughts, the kind that imagined what his life might look like next year, in five years, even after ten. The kind of daydream where Hao imagined Hanbin would grow old next to him, and where, apparently, Hanbin imagined himself too. 

Hao directed them across the lawn back towards the stone pathway, their hands swinging back and forth between them, like they were the kind of normal couple that could get away with a little PDA after they’d been hiding for so long. No one knew Hanbin was here, and there wasn't anyone one close enough to get a good look at Hanbin’s face under his cap either. But even if there was, it wasn’t like the world didn’t already have their suspicions about them, and Hao was so happy that he couldn’t even bring himself to care this one time.

He was graduating in three months, and after that, who knows what the world would have to offer? Hao would go anywhere that meant Hanbin could stay by his side. He’d even stay in this cesspool of a city if he had to, enroll in a master’s program and help Hanbin with his studies for the next four years until he graduated. 

For the same reasons he’d used to love Los Angeles, its fast pace and constant motion, Hao thought he might be ready for a change. This city was like an endless summer, eternal sunshine until the constant exposure to light began to reveal the cracks in the city’s perfect facade, exposing the fakeness inside, the ignorance of reality, and the way its residents were so obsessed with being known even if they had to push others down to do so. Maybe they could move somewhere else, someplace quieter where Hao could love Hanbin in every season and find a forever that he believed could be permanent too. The kind of forever that belonged solely to them, with no management to answer to or fans to please. 

“Okay, I’ve brainstormed the main lyrics for the chorus,” Hanbin announced suddenly. “When you smile it’s like the sun, you make my whole heart come undone.” 

He sang the line sincerely, but the ghost of a melody was completely overshadowed by his teasing grin, like he knew it was the kind of outrageous love declaration that Hao claimed to hate but secretly loved. 

“That’s the best you can do?” Two can play at that game, and Hao joked in return, “I thought you were a Grammy-nominated lyricist?” 

“I am!” Hanbin announced indignantly, “You don’t like it? I have a hundred more where it came from. I’m sure there will be one that you love.” 

“Alright, I’m ready. Try again.” 

Hanbin offers another rhyme scheme, this time comparing “his lover’s mouth” with “heavenly clouds.” Hao only shook his head in false disappointment, gesturing for him to go on. Of course, it didn’t matter how cheesy Hanbin’s lines were, quietly, Hao loved them all. Hanbin knew it too, from the way Hao had begun to squeeze his hand just a bit tighter, unwilling to ever let him go again. 

“Come here.” Hao stopped halfway along the empty path, shaded underneath a row of trees whose branches were just starting to blossom with spring flowers. A bit confused, but never one to deny, Hanbin paused right there, in the middle of the pathway. His latest set of lyrics died on his tongue as Hao leaned in, cupping one hand against Hanbin’s jaw just as he used to before, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. 

It was a chaste thing, but Hanbin still sounded breathless when Hao pulled away. 

“What was that for?” 

“I'm fulfilling my promise too. Was it worth the wait?”

“Yes,” Hanbin replied, instantly. Then, he changed his mind. 

“No– I don’t know, actually. Can we try again?” 

 

 

Five Years Later, Hanbin’s home – The Interview Continues

After Cheryl manages to get her wits back about her, she asks if it’s alright to see some of the photos that are displayed all around the house. They make their way into the living room, settling on the couch with enough space for all three of them to sit. 

“They say a picture’s worth a thousand words, and you seem like the kind of couple that documents everything.” She gestures to the dozens of photos she can see hanging on the walls and sitting on the mantle, just in this room alone.

“There’s a lot we didn’t want to forget,” Hao smiles and stands up. “Let me show you some of my favorites.” 

He produces a large photo album from one of the bookshelves, at least three inches thick. When Cheryl asks why they preferred to have so many physical copies of their photos instead of just storing them online, Hanbin explains, “When I was in the band, they always told us to be careful of the photos we took and who we shared them with. We were never really allowed to have physical copies of things. But now that it’s just us, I like to look through them sometimes and remember how far we’ve come.” 

Hao taps his husband gently on the shoulder, and Hanbin slides over on the couch to make room for Hao to sit beside him. Still, they barely take up the space of one person with how close they sit together, uncaring of the camera filming them. 

“Don’t let him downplay it.” Hao flips the book open. “He’s made so many of these over the years. We used to organize them by year, but they fill up way too fast for that now.” 

All of the photographs are not shown in the final video, just a timelapse as the stack of books grows taller and taller on the coffee table. Cheryl points out some of the key photos, little secret moments that the public had never caught onto as Hanbin and Hao disappeared more and more from their view. 

One is a photo of Hanbin, Hao, and Yujin in dressed sports gear for opposing teams outside a football stadium. “Hao insisted I wear blue too, even though I never actually graduated from his alma mater,” Hanbin points at their matching caps and hoodies. “It was a bit of a point of contention that Yujin chose to attend our rival school, but I think Hao is over it now, right?” 

Hao sniffs dramatically, “I let him come around for the holidays eventually.” 

There’s a photo of the whole group at Ricky Shen’s graduation, a bit of cake smeared across his nose in what appears to have doubled as a birthday celebration. 

“We all looked so young then.” Hao points it out fondly. “I remember joking that we should try to get everyone back together, and Hanbin just booked us a flight to New York. I said, ‘Shouldn’t we ask Ricky first?’ but Hanbin just laughed and told me that it was always better to see the look on his face when he was surprised.”

“I was too scared that they would be busy or have flown out of the country or something, so I called Gyuvin to let him know, and Ricky found out like thirty minutes later.” Hao rolls his eyes, like he can’t believe how insufferable a couple can be, completely unconscious of the way Hanbin’s reaction is the first one he seeks out no matter who his words are directed to. 

The fourth photobook pulls a gasp from Cheryl’s lips. “I don’t want to show all of these, but,” Hao holds the page out, blocking some of the photos with one hand. “Our wedding,” he introduces. 

“We had it here about a month after we moved in.” Hanbin points to the water in the background, “There’s the lake, see?” 

Hao flips a few pages later, holding the book to his chest so only Hanbin can see what's on the page. “Oh, this was so funny– Do you think they’ll kill me if I show it?” 

“It’s not even the worst photo here,” Hanbin argues, which seems to be enough approval for Hao to flip the album around, covering three of the four photos, but leaving one visible to the camera. 

Matthew can be seen thrusting the massive wedding bouquet straight at Taerae, who tries to look otherwise unimpressed while the camera flashes. A caption on the video introduces Taerae Kim as a former manager of Rose Horizon, Hao Zhang, and most recently Matthew Seok. 

“So Matthew caught the bouquet, right?” Hao reveals. “We threw it backwards together, with no ulterior motives, of course.” 

“Apparently, it was going straight towards Taerae, who tried to dodge it. But then Matthew came diving in. He scooped the whole thing up and presented it right to him.” 

“Wasn’t this right after Taerae quit working for Matthew the second time?” Hanbin tries to remember.  

“It’s too complicated for me to keep track of it, so I just don’t bother anymore,” Hao shrugs. It’s like they’re having an everyday conversation with each other, with the camera as an uninvited guest that can’t look away for fear of missing something and getting lost in the secret codes that only the couple seem to fully understand. 

“I remember Matthew saying something about how Taerae said he was waiting for a sign. Well, what’s a bigger sign than a wedding bouquet flying straight at your face?” 

Then, without fanfare, Hao flips to the next page. Cheryl has to physically stop herself from reaching over to try and flip the page back. 

“No, wait, that’s it? That can’t be the whole story? What sign was he waiting for?” 

“I’m afraid that part is not my story to tell,” Hao tilts head innocently, like he wasn’t leaving an entire audience on edge and about to launch an avalanche of posts online speculating about the contents of the hidden photos. ‘Haobin Wedding Photobook’ trended online for twenty-four hours after the publication of the video on the Vogue official Youtube channel, with fans combing through every screenshot for more clues about the covered photos. 

Particularly savvy, or perhaps delusional, viewers insisted that one of the photos hidden behind Hao’s hand was a photo of the pair, Matthew Seok and Taerae Kim, kissing with their faces hidden behind the bouquet, arguing that Matthew himself seemed to confirm it, at least indirectly. He’d posted an unsubtle story of himself pointing to a screenshot of the covered photo with the caption, ‘WTF I didn’t know you had this photo?? Stop gatekeeping one of the smoothest moves of my life!! Send it to me now @RoseGardenFoundation,’ tagging Hanbin’s foundation’s Instagram account as the singer still hadn't made a personal account of his own. As one of the two remaining allegedly-single members of Rose Horizon, many fans didn’t expect the former partier and A-list actor to want to settle down any time soon, though his dedication to catching the wedding bouquet could be considered the first suggestion otherwise.  

Also in several pictures, featuring as Hao’s best man, is renowned entertainment contract lawyer, Gunwook Park. A one time self-proclaimed Rose Horizon super fan, Gunwook pledged to fighting for better rights for artists after graduating law school, citing his experience trying to help Hao navigate his life after fame as his major inspiration for wanting to help artists negotiate for better protections from their companies. 

The very last photo book shows pictures from this year, including the re-opening of the rec center that would eventually inspire Hanbin’s Rose Garden Foundation. Yujin Han is pictured teaching the inaugural class at the newly renovated dance studio, along with Jiwoong Kim, Rose Horizon’s one-time manager who’d left his executive position at Awaken Entertainment to launch the New York branch of the foundation. 

“We live the farthest away from everyone,” Hao frowns, “so we don’t get to see everyone as much as I’d like.” 

“Speak for yourself. You didn’t grow up living on top of these guys when we were all still teenagers. Trust me, it’s better this way,” Hanbin remarks. He doesn’t even seem to mind that Hao had taken over his interview for the most part, content to sit on the couch and watch his husband flip through their photos together, one arm wrapped comfortably around his shoulder. 

The last set of photos contain a few of the former band members with their instruments, playing together for what seems like a first time in a while. 

“You’re still playing.” Cheryl tries to remain professional, but the excitement clearly leaks into her voice as she points to the photos. 

Hanbin looks over at Hao. “A little bit. We’ve got a recording studio in one of the upstairs bedrooms.” 

“So you’re telling me, there’s an unreleased demo of yours in this house right now? Like, twenty feet away from me, and I’m just supposed to be chill about it.” 

“Not just one,” Hao teases. “He’s probably got about a hundred up there by now.” 

“It’s not just him,” Cheryl gives up on her professionalism, the fan in her just as desperate as the journalist, “You’ve been in there too.” 

“I’ve written a few as well,” Hao admits, but he says it to Hanbin, like it’s an inside joke between them that they have no intention of revealing to the public. 

“Would you ever consider…”  There’s a waver in Cheryl’s voice like this is the question. The one she’d never thought she’d get to ask, but has to know because the whole world needs to know. She still doesn’t feel confident with everything she’d heard today that she already knows the answer. 

“Would you ever share them with the world? Make a come back to music?” 

“Maybe one day,” Hanbin finally says. “Not for a while, at least.  I know it’s not what you want to hear, but I’m putting everything into the foundation right now, and Hao has his students too.” 

Hanbin pauses for a moment before he continues, “We fell in love with each other through music, so I don’t think we’d ever be able to give it up. At the same time, if you told me today that I had to choose between never writing another song again or my husband, it wouldn’t even be a choice.” 

There’s a kind of reverence in the way that Hanbin says my husband that conveys more in three syllables than any other words in any other combination ever could. At some point during Hanbin’s confession, the arm wrapped around Hao’s shoulder had quietly drifted down to tangle their hands together discretely underneath the photobook, like there wasn't a single second when the pair were in each other’s presence that they couldn't not be connected in some way. If it hadn't been perfectly obvious before, why both had been willing and wanting to disappear for so long, there was nothing that could make it clearer than the precious way that they protected the love for which they’d been willing to risk it all just to keep. 

Notes:

Considering the number of words I wrote for this fic, I don't actually have a lot to say now that it's over. Risk is officially my longest project ever (at 126k words, a word count I can still barely comprehend!). But, to be honest, it was never supposed to be! Actually, when I first came up with the idea, Risk was going to be a long one-shot written for Jebefest, but now I can't even imagine the story ending after what is now the second chapter.

I want to thank everyone so much for sticking with me, even though it took so many months to get here. For the people who even discovered this fic before reveals, thank you for giving it a chance and your trust! I am endlessly grateful for my two betas, Rowan and Andy, who read every single word of this fic and supported me the whole way through. Also, to everyone who commented or sent me a message on rs, especially those who recommended me songs, it really meant so much to me that you connected with this work enough to share them with me!! Really, I'm just so touched, and hope that you all enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

I'll be a bit sad to say goodbye to these characters and this universe, who became so important to me over the past few months. But just like Rose Horizon, eventually, it was time to move on, keeping the best memories with us and making better ones in the future :)

Until the next <33 With love, Rin

Notes:

i would love to hear your thoughts comments yap about zb1 with you, so please come hang out with me on twt or send me an rs message here!