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Zhang Hao doesn’t realize what day it is. Not until he’s standing in the egg section of a random supermarket in Paris, half-asleep and hungry, with Ricky blabbering about the benefits of eating quail eggs instead of chicken ones.

Phone in hand, Zhang Hao checks Instagram. Kim Gyuvin’s story. A boy with cat ears. A sweet smile Zhang Hao hasn’t seen in years.

Happy birthday to my favorite hyung! the caption reads. Officially part of the elderly awwww… Thirty looks good on you 😚

And Zhang Hao… freezes. 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he murmurs under his breath, unlocking his phone, checking the date.

June thirteen twenty thirty-one.

Habbin’s birthday. He’s turning thirty. 

The promise…

Zhang Hao’s phone pings, bringing him out of his thoughts. Right there, a name, a person, someone he hasn’t stopped thinking about for well over seven years. 

Unexpectedly, Hanbin. 

Hao-hyung? Is this still your number? I changed my phone and lost all my contacts

*picture attached*

In case you don’t know who it is, hehe

Hii! :D

Wait. If you’re not Hao-hyung, please don’t open that picture

Zhang Hao opens the picture. And his soul leaves his body. Sung Hanbin on his knees, in front of a mirror. Cat ears, balloons. Hanbin—flushed and beautiful and grown.

Somewhere in the background, Ricky appears holding a huge cut of Wagyu. 

“Quanrui. Quanrui,” Zhang Hao calls frantically, shoving his phone on Ricky’s face. “Quanrui, look at this. Did Sung Hanbin just send me a thirst trap?”

Ricky squints, zooms in, gasps in disbelief. “He actually did? He looks hot as fuck.”

“Don’t look at him,” Zhang Hao shouts, scandalized, taking his phone away from Ricky’s little undeserving hands. “You perverted homewrecker!”

”I meant it as an observation! Also, there’s no home to wreck. In case you forgot.”

Zhang Hao ignores him in favor of staring at Hanbin’s picture. Again, all while trying not to get a boner, which is incredibly hard. And then, because he has to, he answers:

Hi. Yes, this is Zhang Hao.

Nice picture! The car ears really suit you

And happy birthday, Hanbinnie! I was about to text you but you beat me to it. I hope you had a nice day 🥰

Lame. But in the face of a sexy man, there’s nothing much he can do. His brain turns to mush.

Thank you, Hao-hyung!

I turned thirty, you know.

Hell, like Zhang Hao would forget something so important. But would Hanbin be saying something like that? He can’t possibly mean—

And then the real bomb drops.

You’re thirty, hyung. And I’m thirty. We’re both single. Aren’t we supposed to get married?

Zhang Hao nearly blacks out.

💍✨️💗

Twenty twenty-three. Seoul, South Korea. 

Zhang Hao, Sung Hanbin and Kim Gyuvin’s dorm.

Hanbin has always been too much for any of his low-life suitors. Too beautiful, too talented, too bright, too soft, too kind hearted, too smart. It’s no wonder that he ends-up with his heart broken over, and over, and over again. 

It’s a testament to Zhang Hao’s mental strength (and physical, too, if he’s being completely honest), that he hasn’t enrolled in a gym, bought copious amounts of protein powder, and doubled his size just to beat some guys up. But what his fists can’t do, he makes up for pretty well with his too-sharp tongue.

“Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao coos at the crying boy in his arms, petting his sweaty hair while the neckline of his t-shirt gets soaked with snot. Kim Gyuvin, all long limbs and lamb eyes, is patting Hanbin’s back a bit too roughly from the other side of the kitchen table. “Hanbinnie, baby. Who do we kill now?”

“It’s no one important, really. I’m not crying about him,” Hanbin sniffs. “It’s just that—” A pause. “Why doesn’t he like me back, hyung?” A hiccup. “He keeps pushing me away. What am I supposed to do when he’s so close yet so far away?”

Zhang Hao’s chest twists in pain. Oh, what he’d give to be the one Hanbin likes. He would never, ever make him cry like this.

“Men are trash, All they do is lie,” Gyuvin sighs, dejected. “That’s what Hao-hyung always says.”

It’s true. Men are indeed trash. He’s been trying to convince Hanbin of this, but he just won’t listen. At least Gyvuin is a good disciple. 

Gyuvin, who’s taken his long limbs elsewhere, leaving them both partially alone, with just the kitchen lights as a company.

Hanbin doesn’t cry anymore. It’s always like this. A storm, and then tranquility. Zhang Hao by his side, patting his back, hugging his shoulders while he cries over a faceless person who seems to break his heart time and time again.

A bottle of cheap soju appears out of nowhere. Or well, out of their understocked kitchen cabinet. Soju and ramen, all there is. 

It’s frankly disgusting, and Zhang Hao’s throat stings while his belly burns with every shot, but it’s the only cure to heartbreak he knows so far. They’re just silly boys, after all. They don’t know much of the world, they don’t know the best way to face adversities. They just have each other. 

And their soju, that is.

“Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao repeats, kissing the crown of Hanbin’s head sweetly, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He’s no lightweight, but he’s already a bit drunk. “Hanbin-ah, Hanbin-ah.”

“Hyung,” Hanbin croaks, shiny and teary eyes staring up at him. “Hao-hyung, Hao.”

“What am I going to do with you, my pretty baby?” Zhang Hao murmurs under his breath. 

Or well, tries to murmur. He can hear Gyuvin snorting in the background, but his inebriated mind has decided that it's just him and Hanbin right now, a peaceful bubble surrounding them. A snotty bubble, that is. 

Just him, good-old Zhang Hao, with his battered hands from playing too much violin. Good-old Zhang Hao with his too-soft heart, hidden behind a facade of false bravado and confidence. Good-old Zhang Hao, with a soul scraped raw from loving Sung Hanbin since he was nineteen. 

It’s been four years. Four long years of pinning in silence, of having Hanbin all to himself, but not fully. Not like he’d like to. 

So, sue him if he allows himself just this moment of reprieve. Sue him if he blames the alcohol for threading their fingers together over the table, for letting his thumb run through the apple of Hanbin’s round cheek, warm and flushed under his touch. Sue him for tangling their feet beneath the table, for letting himself get lost in Hanbin’s loving gaze, for imagining—just for a second—that they’re in a completely different world, where they’re allowed to be in love.

Sue him if his eyes get a little misty, if his throat tightens with emotion. Sue him if his heart dares to speak. 

“Hanbin-ah,” he says again, soft and reverent, like he’s about to confide a precious part of his soul. And perhaps, he is. Inhibitions down from the alcohol, from seeing Hanbin hurt over and over. “Do you ever want to get married?”

Hanbin, naturally, ruins the moment. “It’s literally illegal, hyung,” he replies, snorting. 

Zhang Hao whines, sticking his tongue out at the boy sprawled on the tiny table right in front of him, slaps him lightly on the arm. “Party pooper. Annoying brat,” he says with a petulant pout. 

Hanbin doesn’t lose time, dragging his chair right next to him, pressing his face to the crook of Zhang Hao’s neck, hands wrapping around his waist. Zhang Hao’s hand finds its way into Hanbin’s hair, scratching his scalp while the drunk boy all but purrs against his chest.

“You love me regardless,” Hanbin says, teasing glint in his voice. 

From this angle, all Zhang Hao can see is the curve of his nose, scrunching from time to time, the tips of his lashes, resting against the flushed skin of his cheeks, and that stupid, lopsided smile Zhang Hao likes way too much. Beautiful. Too beautiful to handle. 

So, he does what any normal person with a severe case of cuteness aggression would do. He flicks Hanbin on the forehead. 

“Ow! Meanie,” Hanbin complains, nuzzling his head against Zhang Hao’s chin like a kitty.

A lull of silence. Hanbin’s body sags, his eyelids drop, his breathing evening out. He’s fighting to stay awake, though. Zhang Hao rests his head against Hanbin’s, and lets out a long, dragged sigh. “Answer the question.”

Hanbin doesn’t need clarification. He takes his time to think, although Zhang Hao already knows the answer. It’s not hard to, not when Hanbin sniffles a little bit too loudly when the couples in dramas get their happy ending.

“Yeah,” Hanbin admits quietly, lips brushing against Zhang Hao’s neck. “I want to get married.” His admission sends Zhang Hao’s heart into a frenzy. “The thing is, I don’t know if anyone’s ever going to want to get married to me,” Hanbin adds with a self-deprecating laugh. “As far as I know, I’m not really that much of a great catch. Maybe I’m meant to die alone…” 

Zhang Hao sees red, his whole body stills. He grips Hanbin by the shoulders, pulls him upright until they’re face to face, knees knocking. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he hisses, shaking him a bit for good measure. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that again, Sung Hanbin. If you do, I’ll kill you. I swear.”

And then, he headbutts him. Softly. Ish. Just to get his point across. He’s not that drunk. 

Hanbin lets out a surprised laugh, resting his hands over Zhang Hao’s in a placating gesture. But Zhang Hao is relentless. Hanbin must understand that the problem isn’t him—it’s the rest of the world. If they can’t see what a wonderful catch he is, then they’re terribly fucking stupid. 

Soft hands find his cheeks, squeezing, and Zhang Hao’s lips pucker like a duck. Hanbin just laughs, soft and airy, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Okay, I promise I won’t say it again, hyung,” he acquiesces, and Zhang Hao believes him—Hanbin doesn’t make promises in vain. Then, his expression transforms. From amused to something almost wistful, longing. “But I do want to get married someday,” he admits what Zhang Hao already knew. “I’m a romantic at heart, you know? I want all those cheesy-couple things—like drinking cheap soju under candlelight, tangling our feet together under the table, baring our hearts on a random Thursday night, laughing at their bad jokes…” he trails off with a sigh. 

Zhang Hao thinks he can hear Gyuvin snorting from the couch. He’s not sure though; Hanbin’s stealing all his attention.

And then—“Bin-ah, I have an idea,” Zhang Hao declares suddenly. His face is still smushed between Hanbin’s fingers, the words garbled, but Hanbin understands him anyway. 

It’s probably the worst idea he’s ever had in his life. Or the best. Or maybe nothing will come of it at all. The likelihood of them seeing this through is pretty low, but it’s worth a shot. That’s what his inebriated brain tells him, anyway. Better than confess his unyielding, lifelong love for Hanbin. Better than admitting he’s been pining in silence, secretly hexing every ugly guy who’s ever broken Hanbin’s heart—even though he’s never actually met one—but wishing he were in their place nonetheless.

Hanbin nods at his words, his eyes brightening with attention. “Tell me about it, hyung,”

Zhang Hao takes a deep breath. Gyuvin mutters, “Uh-oh, this is bad”, but doesn’t do anything to try to stop them. He’s used to their shenanigans by now. So, Zhang hao chooses to ignore him. It’s not a hard task, honestly. His alcohol-muddled brain can only focus on Hanbin—Hanbin and his rosy cheeks, Hanbin and his rosy chest, his loose shirt sliding down one shoulder. Hanbin and his spit-licked, chapped lips, his too-large and innocent eyes, his warm hands in his, hanging onto every word like it’s gospel.

And it might as well be, just like every word that comes from Sung Hanbin’s lips is sacred in Zhang Hao’s mind. 

Zhang Hao would be cringing at himself, should be . Don’t give a man too much power , is what he always says. But this is Sung Hanbin—not just any man. He would give him all the power in the world. He would give himself fully, even if it meant getting his heart broken in the process. 

That sounds so dramatic, but it’s the full, honest truth. What he will allow himself to admit, at least.

With that in mind, Zhang Hao utters the following words. What he doesn’t know is that they’ll follow him for years to come, until he’s-not-that-old but older, when his hair is starting to show some grays and his skin starts to show barely-there signs of a life happily lived. When Hanbin is not in his life anymore, yet he still is, in everything he does.

“Hanbinnie,” Zhang Hao half-whispers, eyes fixed on him. “If we’re both single at thirty… let’s get married.”

Hanbin gasps. Gyuvin facepalms. Zhang Hao coughs.

And then, Hanbin giggles—breathy, shy—scratching the back of his head. “Hyung… don’t joke about things like that,” he says, and to Zhang Hao’s ears it sounds wet, pitiful. “Please,” Hanbin adds, quieter, almost like an afterthought, so quietly it almost gets lost under the whirring of the battered kitchen light. 

“Hanbinnie.” Zhang Hao’s voice turns commanding. Hanbin’s eyes snap up, snap up from their joined hands. “I’m serious,” he says, trying to keep it casual, trying to smile coyly, but it’s obvious to anyone who knows him that he means this a little too much, a little too deeply. “You’re not going to die alone with a broken rice cooker. Not if I can help it.”

Hanbin smiles that soft sweet thing that says he’s endeared by the silly words that come out of Zhang Hao’s mouth. “And hyung is going to save me from that terrible future? He’s my hero…”

Zhang Hao scowls in faux annoyance. “Brat,” he mutters, pinching Hanbin’s dimpled cheek. “But someone has to. You can’t live only from Greek yogurt.”

And then, Hanbin’s face grows serious. He nods, solemnly. Zhang Hao’s stomach flutters in anticipation. “Okay then,” Hanbin says. “If we’re both single at thirty… let’s get married, Zhang Hao.”

Hanbin extends his pinky, and Zhang Hao hooks it with his own. It’s sealed. A promise. Their future, set in stone.

It’s bittersweet, in a way—a promise made out of drunkenness, out of heartbreak, but not out of what Zhang Hao wishes. 

In another life, he thinks, I’m brave enough to lay my heart bare. In another life we eat Greek yogurt every morning and kiss, the corners of your mouth still painted white, your lips sweet, tasting of honey and blueberries. In another life, we cook rice every night because we can’t cook anything else. In another life, we marry because we want to, not out of fear of loneliness. In another life….

But this is his life. And Zhang Hao knows himself: he’s going to be single by thirty. Perhaps it will be an unconscious effort, always waiting. But the truth is, there’s no one else he wants. And when he loves, he loves hard. Faithfully. Wholeheartedly. 

Also, he’s never been able to move from anything in his life, like ever. Hanbin won’t be the exception.

Gyuvin coughs. Right—he’s here too. Maybe Zhang Hao will convince him to be their best man. After all, he’s been here through everything. He’s basically their child. They have raised him. 

“You guys even gonna remember this tomorrow morning?”

Hanbin falls asleep with his cheek mushed against the kitchen table, right on the oil stain they’ve been trying to scrub for years. 

Zhang Hao pretends to fall asleep as well, but he just stares, stares and stares. 

💍✨️💗

Zhang Hao remembers. Oh, he remembers all too well. Seven years into that promise, and he still remembers. He remembers many things from that period of his life way too clearly. Unfairly clearly.

Some nights—the bad ones, when he’s feeling wistful and nostalgic—he sits in his apartment, just… wondering. Beating himself up. Did he make the right choice in leaving Korea? If he’d just told Hanbin how he felt, would it have changed anything?

Or would they have still fallen apart anyway, under the weight of years and time zones and all the stuff he couldn’t control?

The thing is—he thought his feelings would go away. He thought kilometers and kilometers between them would make his heart grow stonier, harder. But he also thought they’d keep in touch. Back then, Hanbin was his everything. They did everything together. 

It felt almost… surreal to imagine a future where he wouldn’t be eating breakfast with him, where he wouldn’t wake up to soft hands prying his eyes open, to Hanbin giggling sweetly at his sleepiness. A warm pat to his head, a murmured God, you look like a cute puppy, hyung. I want to coddle you forever.  

But he finds himself alone in the middle of Paris. Starting over again. This time though, he’s not lucky enough to have a Hanbin by his side. Someone to help him when everything feels too heavy.

For the first time in four years, he’s alone. And scared out of his mind. With his heart broken, with his hands empty, with his bed cold. The only thing anchoring him to this world is his violin.

His violin, and a drunken promise. 

That’s all he has.

 💍✨️💗

Life changes—as it always does—on a random Thursday afternoon. He had lunch earlier with Hanbin, nothing fancy, just some cheap ramen from the convenience store eaten beneath the shade of a large tree near campus, and then classes. He played the violin until his fingers cramped and his arms ached, until he couldn’t remember where he ended and the instrument began.

All he wants to do when he gets home is to shower and bury himself underneath Hanbin’s blankets—his bed is bigger and more comfortable than his anyway, thank you very much—and sleep until tomorrow. Preferably with Habin by his side, freshly showered, smelling like a mix of his fruity body wash and something that’s just him , arms strong and steady around his waist. He’s greedy, sue him.

But what awaits him isn’t that.

What awaits him is an empty, quiet home, and a white envelope lying haphazardly on the kitchen table, right over the oil stain—the one Hanbin had rested his cheek on not too long ago. His name is written neatly on the front. He doesn’t know what it is, but his body reacts before his brain can catch up, heart rate going up, up, and up, until it’s all he can hear.

His hands shake as he tears the thick paper open. Inside are words in English. It’s hard to focus. His vision blurs as he struggles to decipher, to understand what those foreign words are trying to say.

He slumps into a chair, hand on his chest, trying to catch his breath. The Conservatoire National Supérieur de Musique et de Danse de Paris. He’s in. With a full scholarship for his final year.

Zhang Hao had all but forgotten about this. It’s been so long since he sent his application, so long without a reply, that he assumed it didn’t work out. His classical music professor had been the one to push him to apply, insisting he is meant for bigger, greater things, that his talent deserves to shine in the highest places. But there are so many people out there just as talented—he never thought this would happen. That he’d actually make into one of the greatest music conservatories in the world. 

What the fuck.  

He feels bile rising in his throat, tears threatening to spill. It’s strange, this feeling. He knows he should be happy, elated. He knows he should be jumping around the house, screaming in joy, calling his mom, calling Hanbin to share the good news. But all he feels is… dread. 

What should I do?  

The answer is pretty clear. 

Zhang Hao’s never been one to deny himself the chance to feel. When he feels, he feels wholeheartedly. But right now, he wishes he didn’t. He wishes reason would take over, make choosing easier.

Because, at the end of the day, what really binds him to this place? Seoul was once just as foreign as Paris would be. The only thing, the only one who made this place feel like home was Hanbin. 

What would he do if he were in Zhang Hao’s place? What would Zhang Hao want him to do?

What should I do?

Zhang Hao’s already in Hanbin’s bed by the time he gets home, buried in his fluffy pillow, breathing him in. The door opens—softly, hesitant, as if Hanbin knows there’s someone inside who must not be disturbed. Zhang Hao squeezes his eyes shut, pretending to be asleep. He doesn’t want Hanbin to see him like this.

Hanbin sits on the edge of the bed, and Zhang Hao feels it dip. A hand cardles softly through his hair, fingertips brush over his cheek, barely there. “Hyung must have been so tired,” Hanbin murmurs, hand finally stilling. 

He can’t pretend anymore, opening his eyes slowly, syrupy, as though just waking up. It couldn’t be farther from the truth. His head keeps spinning, thinking. 

Hanbin smiles, and Zhang Hao wants to cry. “I woke you up, sorry.” He looks so beautiful like this, Zhang Hao thinks. Tired, bare-faced, a little red, gentle. “Go back to sleep, okay? I’ll be back in a bit.”

“You promise?” Zhang Hao knows he sounds pathetic, whiny, needy. But Hanbin doesn’t mind. He never minds.

He just smiles again, chapped lips brushing his forehead. “I promise,” Hanbin says as Zhang Hao’s hands fist the soft sheets of his bed.

And Hanbin’s never broken a promise, has he? 

Zhang Hao’s about to finish his ninth count to six when the covers shuffle and the bed dips again. Hanbin lies his head on Zhang Hao’s chest, sighing deeply, breathing him in. His hair is still damp, and Zhang Hao’s shirt grows wetter by the minute. Oddly, that makes him even more teary-eyed.

Come morning Hanbin’s hair will resemble a bird’s nest, sticking out in the most random places. Zhang Hao will look at him and laugh, loud, boisterous, and happy. Hanbin will pout—the same pout he learned from Zhang Hao himself—and hit him on the chest with all the strength he would use to pet a kitty. That is to say, gently, softly, lovingly. 

And then it will be Zhang Hao’s turn to pout. Hanbin will pinch his cheek, or flick his forehead if he’s feeling especially naughty. They’ll have coffee and toast on their old coffee table, feet tangled under—Hanbin’s bare, Zhang Hao’s in socks. And then, they’ll go to class.

But that’s tomorrow. Tonight, Zhang Hao just holds him a little tighter, the knot in his throat growing bigger and bigger. 

He doesn’t know. He really doesn't know.

💍✨️💗

The letter sits on his desk, untouched. A few nights later, so is Zhang Hao, hunched over the faint yellow light of his lamp, just staring at it. He hasn’t opened it again. Hasn’t even opened it since that first time. This decision weighs on him heavily. A battle between duty and want, between brain and heart. 

A sharp knock at the door yanks him out of his thoughts so fast his whole body jumps. It’s not Hanbin. Hanbin always knocks softly, almost melodically, his dancer’s feet silent against the fluffy carpet. Gyuvin, then.

His suspicion is confirmed when a large hand pats the top of his head and a bottle of banana milk appears on his desk, set neatly next to that daunting white envelope. 

“Everything okay, hyung?” Gyuvin asks, worry written plain across his face. 

Zhang Hao’s chest tightens. It wouldn’t just be Hanbin he’d be leaving—it would be Gyuvin too. This boy who has only been their roommate for barely a year, the newest addition to their little world, but someone who’s somehow wormed his way into the deepest folds of Zhang Hao’s heart. 

Of course, he plays dumb. Zhang Hao doesn’t want to worry Gyuvin more than he already is. So, he offers a smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes, and it’s more like a grimace than anything, but it’s all he can manage. “Yeah, Gyuvinnie. Everything is okay. Why do you ask?”

Gyuvin sits cross-legged on the floor, resting his head on Zhang Hao’s thigh. “I don’t know,” he answers after a beat. “Something feels off, I guess. About you. This is not about… the promise, right?”

The promise?  

Confusion must show on his face, since Gyuvin clarifies. “The promise you made with Hanbin-hyung the other night. You remember, right?”

Ah.  

That promise. Zhang Hao remembers. Of course he remembers. 

Hanbin? He isn’t sure. Hanbin hasn’t brought it up, so Zhang Hao hasn’t either. Hanbin hasn't acted any differently, so Zhang Hao hasn’t either. Maybe it’s better if no one remembers.

“What are you talking about?”

Gyuvin huffs, amused. At least one of them is enjoying himself, Zhang Hao thinks bitterly. “Nothing, nothing. Forget about it,” Gyuvin says as he stands, stretching tall enough to almost touch the ceiling with his fingertips. 

His parting words almost bring Zhang Hao to tears—which seems to be all he’s capable of lately. “I hope whatever’s got you feeling like this goes away soon, hyung. And… you know I’m here, okay?.” With a final kiss to the top of Zhang Hao’s head, Gyuvin leaves without another word.

Zhang Hao stays frozen, eyes on the ceiling, blinking too much. Is life supposed to feel this heavy?

At some point, he just dozes off at the desk, the letter crumpling under his cheek.

💍✨️💗

When Zhang Hao wakes up, his lamp has been switched off, and a fluffy blanket thrown over his shoulders. There’s even a warm cup of tea sitting on the desk. He blinks at it for a second, confused. He definitely didn’t make that.

It’s not even late, he discovers by looking at his phone. Barely nine. A text from Hanbin is waiting on the lockscreen. I’m home :) , it reads.

That’s all it takes. He’s on his feet without even thinking, padding quickly towards Hanbin’s room. Except… It's empty. Instead, he finds him on the couch, flat on his back, an art history book sliding off his chest. He looks exhausted, but peaceful too, somehow. Seeing him like that makes something twist in his chest.

Zhang Hao sinks down on the couch, careful not to wake him. Heat radiates through Hanbin’s clothes, and his cheeks look warm. Zhang Hao runs the pad of his thumb over one—soft, plump, a little sticky from moisturizer. His hair is still damp too, sticking messily to his forehead. He always forgets to dry it. Zhang Hao always scolds him for that. 

One of these days you’re gonna catch a cold, and I’m not gonna take care of you , he always threatens, fake-annoyed, arms crossed in a dramatic pout. They both know that’s a lie, but Hanbin never calls him on it. He never does.

He brushes Hanbin’s hair back, scratching gently at his scalp the way Hanbin likes. His eyes flutter open groggy, drowsy, and he all but purrs at the touch. 

“Hao.” His name is sighed out of Hanbin’s mouth before it curves into a smile. 

“Hanbinnie. Your hair is wet, you’re gonna get sick,” Zhang Hao murmurs, giving the strands a little tug. Hanbin tilts his head back, neck exposed, bare and vulnerable. Zhang Hao swallows hard. “I’ll dry it for you,” he blurts. “Let’s go.” 

He bolts to the bathroom before he can say something stupid. Or worse—do something stupid. God forbid. 

Behind him, Hanbin’s voice follows, soft and fond. “Hyung takes good care of me. I’m thankful.”

I’ll tell him, Zhang Hao thinks, heart pounding. He’s been drowning in this quiet longing for too long. That isn’t like him. He’s someone who wants and someone who takes. And he wants Hanbin—all of him. Even though Hanbin already gives him so much, he wants more. He’s greedy like that, no shame in admitting it.

Hanbin sits on the floor cross-legged, back resting against Zhang Hao’s meaty thighs. That stupid, old hairdryer Zhang Hao keeps insisting on changing wheezes between them like it’s on its last breath. Like this, he runs his fingers through Hanbin’s soft, black hair, trying to shape it into something that doesn’t resemble a cute coconut, smiling brightly when it just flops back down. 

Closing his eyes in bliss, Hanbin leans back, leans in. Leans into Zhang Hao’s touch like it’s something he’s done forever, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like it’s always been this way. It has.

And for the first time in forever, Zhang Hao thinks, maybe. Maybe he really has a chance.

I’ll tell him, he thinks, firmer this time. I’ll tell him. And if he says yes, I’ll stay.

💍✨️💗

Zhang Hao will tell him today. 

He’s been gathering courage for days now. It doesn’t come to him easily. It doesn’t come at all, actually, but if there’s one thing he can’t stand is stagnation. He can’t stand the itching under his skin anymore.

Enough, Zhang Hao thinks one morning after having enough of not being able to sleep, of not being able to concentrate in class, of not being able to eat properly.

He doesn’t see Hanbin at all today, which is strange, but maybe for the best. Zhang Hao doubts he’d be able to wait until they were home to confess if Hanbin had so much as scrunched his nose at his bitter, watered-down iced americano, or smiled his soft smile. And how embarrassing would it be to blurt out his feelings right in the middle of a busy café just because Hanbin did something cute? 

So, Zhang Hao goes home early. Well, earlier than usual. Way earlier. So early that the girl practicing next door gives him a confused look when she catches him leaving. A classmate, Zhang Hao realizes. He waves goodbye, violin slung over his shoulder.

He bears the cold of the afternoon alone, no Hanbin to cling to. Usually by now Hanbin’s jacket would be already draped over his shoulders, or his hoodie pulled down his head, warm and smelling faintly of cologne and sweat. Zhang Hao would bury his nose in the fabric and breathe him in, like the weirdo he is.

Now, all he smells is rain. The sky is cloudy, dark. Zhang Hao hurries home.

Zhang Hao can’t stop pacing. The soft carpet under his bare feet burns. Showering after getting home wasn’t enough to calm his nerves, drinking a warm cup of mint tea wasn’t either.

Sneaking into Hanbin’s room, Zhang Hao steals a thick, black hoodie from the mess of his closet. Hanbin favors oversized clothes, so he drowns in it. 

Zhang Hao chose it on purpose. It’s the same hoodie Hanbin wore during the night they drank cheap soju and made stupid promises. He thought that memory would be enough to settle his heart, but it isn’t. At this rate, he’s going to wear a path on the floor. They don’t have money for reparations.

Still, he believes he’ll succeed. He really does, with all his heart. Zhang Hao thinks it will go well, even if this whole situation is kind of a gamble—and Zhang Hao has never, ever been a gambler. He’s never left things up to fate, quite the opposite. He’s a planner at heart, and he always knows what he wants, and how to get it.

But this feels different. This is not a matter of the mind—this is a matter of the heart. It doesn’t matter how much Zhang Hao plans ahead, he doesn't quite know what will happen. He can’t know. He’s about to jump into the unknown, for the first time in his life, no less.

He doesn’t fear failure. Well, he does, but not completely. Worst case scenario, Hanbin lets him down gently, and they stay friends forever. Zhang Hao will go to Paris, put an ocean between them, and his feelings will go away with time. 

Best case scenario, Hanbin accepts his feelings, they kiss and live happily ever after. Zhang Hao won’t accept the scholarship, won’t go to Paris. He’ll finish his studies here, find a quiet job, and they’ll get a small apartment in the heart of Seoul that will leave a huge dent on their bank accounts every month. 

He feels giddy at the prospect.

So yeah, he’ll tell him. All that’s left is for Hanbin to come home.

But Hanbin doesn’t come. At least not at his usual time, which is weird. He always rushes back home after practice, sticky with sweat, uncomfortable and bone tired from the day. But he’s not here yet. The apartment stays empty.

Zhang Hao tries not to panic. He tries to breathe through the bad feeling gathering in his stomach, breathe through the bile rising to his throat, but it’s useless.  

He’s about to call him when his phone buzzes with a new text. He almost doesn’t read it, too keyed up, too afraid. Almost. Zhang Hao should have followed his gut. It has never failed him. But curiosity wins this time.

What Hanbin says breaks his heart. 

I’ll be home late!!! Going out with someone from the dance club lol Don’t wait up ♡

Zhang Hao stares at his screen. Stares for so long that it dims, that it locks. And then, he laughs. Humorless, hollow, foreign to his own ears. 

Figures. That’s the story of Hanbin’s life, isn’t it? The only way to get over heartbreak is to walk right into the next one. Zhang Hao’s friendship isn’t what he needs, isn’t what he’ll ever need. He’ll never— 

Enough. 

His hands shake as he types, but he still manages a curt reply. A date?, he texts back just because, just because Hanbin is expecting it, just because he’ll notice something is wrong if he doesn’t. He already knows the answer. What a joke.

We’ll see!

Weren’t you just crying a few weeks ago over some random guy? When will it be enough, Hanbin? He wants to scream, wants to throw in his face.

But he doesn’t. Because it’s not Hanbin’s fault that Zhang Hao’s in love with him, really. It’s his fault and his only. It’s his fault for mistaking Hanbin’s kindness for love, for the kind of love he longs for. 

So many things don’t mean anything.

When they hold each other at night, it doesn’t mean anything. When Zhang Hao scratches gently at Hanbin’s scalp and Hanbin melts into his touch, purring softly, it doesn’t mean anything. When Hanbin lies on the couch, with his head resting on Zhang Hao’s thigh, it doesn’t mean anything. 

When Hanbin leaves in the morning, dropping a sweet kiss to Zhang Hao’s forehead. When their feet tangle under the table, when his soft fingers linger a little too long on Zhang Hao’s cheek. None of it means anything. It’s all in Zhang Hao’s head.

Hanbin’s like this with all his friends, maybe. Maybe Zhang Hao’s been kidding himself all along.

He doesn’t even feel the tears until one splashes onto his phone screen, hot and blurry. He wipes at his face roughly and manages to type something back:

Make sure to not scare them off with your laugh lol.

The rain beats at the window loudly. Zhang Hao stares blankly at it blankly . He didn’t notice when it started.

He throws his phone to the side. Hanbin’s reply doesn’t matter anymore—and that thought alone is an anomaly, terrifying. His body hits the floor harder than he expects, but Zhang Hao doesn’t feel the pain. He just makes himself as small as possible, knees impossibly close to his chest. 

From this place, he can see his bedroom. Beyond the opened door he sees his desk. The letter. 

The choice is made.

He can’t keep on living like this, can he?

💍✨️💗

Things have been… weird. Zhang Hao has been trying his hardest to act normal, but it’s hard to conceal a broken heart, he’s come to find out. He’s never been the best at pretending.

Gyuvin has noticed—he always does. It’s a bit uncanny, that ability of his to sense when either of his hyungs is going through something. He’s tried prying, God knows he has. But Zhang Hao keeps his lips sealed tight. He won’t budge. Even if he feels more and more pathetic as the days go by, he still has his pride.

The letter still sits on his desk. The days keep slipping by, the clock ticking, and even though he knows what he has to do—what he must do for the sake of his heart—he can’t quite bring himself to do it.

Hanbin has noticed too. How could he not? Just this morning he tried to reach for Zhang Hao’s hand over the table, and he, panicked, fled the room. The silence at breakfast had already been unbearable, heavy, Hanbin’s brows creased deep in worry. As he passed by, rapidly settling his bowl in the sink, Zhang Hao thought he caught a glimpse of hurt on Hanbin’s expression.

That makes two of them, then. Hanbin can find another faceless someone to mend his broken heart, though, while Zhang Hao has no one. And soon, he won’t even have his friends nearby.

That same day, Zhang Hao walks out of the bathroom, towel drying his hair. A pink towel, one Hanbin got for him on discount. 

He finds Hanbin standing next to his desk, frozen, the letter in his hand. His eyes are fixed on the door, on Zhang Hao’s figure, but he’s not seeing him. Unblinking eyes, eerily empty. The hand holding the thin sheet of paper shakes, the other one clenches and unclenches, over and over and over. Zhang Hao wonders if he even realizes.

Hanbin doesn’t move when Zhang Hao drops the towel to the floor, when he quietly pads inside his room, when he sits at the edge of his bed. He knew this would happen. He did it on purpose. This morning, after fleeing breakfast. They’ve never hidden anything from each other—besides well, the obvious—so he knew Hanbin would come looking for answers.

Cruel, perhaps, to let him find out like this, Zhang Hao can admit as much. But he’s been feeling bitter for days. Rotten, really. And somewhere along the way, his broken heart decided Hanbin deserved to pay for it.

He hates himself for it now, though, as Hanbin stands in front of him, looking like he’s about to cry. Because Hanbin might not be in love with him, but… he does love him. That much is obvious. He cares. He always has. 

With a sharp, tired sigh, Zhang Hao gives up the charade. This isn’t rewarding, not as he thought it would be. It just leaves him feeling hollow, right where his heart is supposed to be. And after aching for so long, even that emptiness feels…wrong. Unsettling.

Walking towards Hanbin, he gently pries the letter from his hand, folds it neatly and puts it back into the envelope. Hanbin still doesn’t look at him—just stares at the stain on Zhang Hao’s white fluffy carpet from when Hanbin spilled hot chocolate last winter, at the army of plushies on the bed, some he brought from China, some he stole from Hanbin, some Hanbin got for him on their silly little arcade dat— outings.  

Finally, his eyes lift to Zhang Hao’s desk. 

“You weren’t going to tell me?” he asks quietly, his voice so soft Zhang Hao wouldn’t have heard it if he weren’t so close. He sounds… just like Zhang Hao feels. Hurt, but numb. 

“Yeah, I was,” Zhang Hao admits, and it’s the truth. He just didn’t know how. “I…” Zhang Hao trails off, and there’s a big fat lump on his throat. For someone who claimed to feel hollow just minutes ago, there’s an awful ton of feelings clouding his chest, clouding his mind. “I didn’t even think I’d get in, Hanbin.” His voice cracks, desperation bleeding through. He needs Hanbin to understand what these past few weeks have felt like.

“So, you were planning to leave?” Hanbin asks. This time, his eyes snap up to Zhang Hao’s face. 

Out of all the times they’ve known each other, Zhang Hao’s never seen him like this. Yes, he’s seen Hanbin cry plenty of times, but it’s never felt this grave, this monumental. Not when his mom got sick that one time during freshman year, not when he barely lost that dance competition, not when he was so stressed not a single bite of food could go down his esophagus. 

Now something in him looks broken. 

Zhang Hao chokes on a sob he didn’t even know he was holding in, and decides to be honest. “I was waiting for a reason not to,” he whispers while a tear slips down his cheek, his neck, gets lots into his fluffy pink pajama top. Hanbin has a blue matching one, but doesn’t wear it since he gets too hot. Lord.

He doesn’t sob loudly, even though he feels something inside of him breaking. He doesn’t pout, doesn’t whine. He just sits there, quietly crying. Heartbroken. Homesick. 

Funny thing is, he’s still home.

And then, Hanbin delivers the final blow. “If I asked you to stay… would you?” he asks, his fingers tugging at the hem of Zhang Hao’s sleeve.

Zhang Hao lets out a quiet, breathless laugh—not amused, not really. Just tired. “You would never do that, Hanbin,” he says, bitterness creeping into his tone. “And no, I wouldn’t stay.” 

Hanbin lets out a breathy ah, fingers fidgeting with the soft fabric of Zhang Hao’s clothes. Zhang Hao’s stares at him through his lashes, now that Hanbin’s eyes are trained on the floor. 

He’s beautiful. So beautiful it hurts. 

He’s so beautiful Zhang Hao wishes he could go back in time and force his heart to not fall in love with him. Because Zhang Hao wants to look at Hanbin forever, but not like this. There’s no such thing as having him and not having him at the same time—not when Zhang Hao will always want all of him. The good, the bad, the pretty, the ugly.

A few beats after, Hanbin echoes his words quietly, under his breath, slowly, as if he’s just processing them. “You wouldn’t stay…” 

That’s a lie. If Hanbin looked at his face now, he’d find out. His feelings are written there, plainly, screaming. He’s not seeking to hide anything. If anything, he wants Hanbin to know. He wants Hanbin to realize he would stay for him, just as he’s leaving because of him. He can’t keep chasing a fleeting dream, not when another one is within reach.

The letter. That’s where Hanbin’s gaze drops, his lashes clumped together, wet. That simple envelope containing Zhang Hao’s future. 

“Yeah, I’d never do that,” he concedes. “You’ll be back, right?” Hanbin asks, sounding almost desperate. His hand grabs Zhang Hao’s wrist, tugging, tugging, until they’re nose to nose, eye to eye. “It’s just a year? You promised, hyung. You promised, we promised we would—”

But Hanbin cuts himself off before he can say anything more. Zhang Hao wants to hear the rest. The only promise they’ve made is that one, and surely Hanbin doesn’t remember, or he would have already said something before today. Surely. 

“What did I promise?” Zhang Hao asks, fighting the urge to shake him by the shoulders, fighting the urge to claw the words out of his throat with his bare fingers. But Hanbin doesn’t say a thing. “What did I promise, Hanbin-ah?”

Hanbin only shakes his head. “Nothing hyung. Forget about it.” He takes a deep breath, one that makes his chest grow double in size, and runs his free hand—the one not clutching Zhang Hao’s fingers for dear life—though his hair a few times, tugging hard at the roots.

And then comes a small smile. Zhang Hao wishes he had kept frowning instead, kept looking sad, for this smile is nothing short of heartbreaking. He’s trying his hardest to seem happy, to give Zhang Hao some sort of comfort, but Zhang Hao’s afraid it’s doing the opposite. 

“Just… give me some time, yeah?” Hanbin murmurs.

Zhang Hao sniffles, scrubbing roughly at his eyes to stop the tears from falling. “You’re not angry?” he asks, and it sounds so small, so pitiful. 

“No, I’m just sad,” Hanbin admits with a resigned smile. A paradox. 

Zhang Hao can’t hold back anymore. He throws his arms over Hanbin’s shoulders, squeezing hard, hard enough that any harder would melt them into one. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea, he thinks. Then he wouldn’t have to move to Paris all alone, and Hanbin could stay with him, become a part of him forever. 

Hanbin squeezes back just as fiercely, shrinking himself in Zhang Hao’s hold, his soft breath colliding with Zhang Hao’s sensitive neck.

Right there, with his lips close to Zhang Hao’s skin, Hanbin whispers, “I’m happy for you. Really, really happy hyung. This is huge, something that happens only once, and there’s no one who deserves it more than you do.”

Zhang Hao hums, nods, pats the back of Hanbin’s head, his soft and brown hair. Hanbin seems to shrink even more, to make himself small, smaller in his arms. “But I’m selfish too, you know? I will miss you. I don’t know what it's like to be without you, hyung.”

If Zhang Hao’s heart was broken before, then now it feels irreparably shattered. Once he thought… he thought Hanbin wouldn’t miss him at all. Between bitterness and rejection, he thought that maybe he hadn’t meant as much to Hanbin as Hanbin meant to him. He can see now how unfair that was. How unfair he still is. 

“We’ll keep in touch, Hanbinnie,” Zhang Hao promises, holding back tears. “We’ll talk every day. You won’t even have time to miss me.”

“Impossible,” Hanbin whispers back, lips grazing the sensitive skin of Zhang Hao’s ear. “I already miss you.”

💍✨️💗

It’s late autumn in Paris. Cold, damp, beautiful. The leaves are falling, the trees stripped bare. It’s not what Zhang Hao is used to. He’s used to a pair of hands warming up his, to arms draped lazily around his shoulders, to a cup of steaming tea waiting for him on the kitchen table. This is foreign. 

Zhang Hao walks home from the conservatory with his violin case slung over one shoulder, a thick, soft scarf tucked high under his chin. It’s not his. It’s borrowed. One of the many things that remind him of what he left behind.

Thankfully, he lives near campus, so he doesn’t need to wander around these unfamiliar streets too much. Not that it helps. Everything is unfamiliar. The people, the language, the food, his home. He can’t even call it home, if he’s being honest. Just a place to stay. A place to live, a place to eat, a place to sleep. That’s all.

He walks a lot. It’s something he used to do back…then. He walks past a cute flower shop, past a trendy café, past a cute dog, past a stray cat curled up next to a garbage bin. He walks, but he doesn’t really see much. And people don’t seem to see him back, either. A ghost of sorts. Funny thing to get used to. Back home he used to be seen all the time.

He would laugh at the dramatism of it all, but he’s a broken-hearted boy right in the middle of the city of love. If there’s anyone allowed to mop and whine and complain all he wants, it’s him. If anyone deserves to be pitied and coddled it’s him. If anyone deserves to drown in pits of ice cream and endless bars of chocolate, it’s him. 

He allows himself at least that much.

 💍✨️💗

Home, as he said, is not strictly home. 

It’s spacious—much more than his older apartment, the one he shared with Hanbin and Gyuvin. His room now, unlike before, is big enough to fit more than a tiny bed and a desk. It's clean. It’s bare. There’s nothing here that screams him , there’s nothing here that holds any meaning. The few things he brought from home, from his actual home, are still packed away in a small suitcase. 

There’s something that doesn’t belong, though.

 A hoodie. Thick and black, loose around Zhang Hao’s shoulders. It’s not his. It’s Hanbin’s. Zhang Hao had stolen it—quietly, but without shame—from Hanbin’s laundry pile a few days before he left. Call him dirty, call him disgusting, but he wanted it to smell like him. Not like laundry detergent, not like fabric softener. Like Hanbin. Sweat and cologne, that scent that’s just so him, the one that has always calmed Zhang Hao’s racing heart.

It’s neatly folded on his bed. He hasn’t washed it yet. Hasn’t worn it, either. It’s just.. there. Hanbin’s smell slowly but steadily fading, just as everything else about him.

They haven’t kept their promise.

A sheet of music is spread on Zhang Hao’s desk. Beside sits a half-finished instant ramen, gone cold. His eyes skim over the paper, trying to read, trying to focus, trying to place his fingers on the right place—but it’s to no avail. Even the violin sounds hollow now. Zhang Hao thought it was out of tune earlier, but it wasn’t that. It’s something else entirely.

He sets it down carefully, picks up his phone. Zhang Hao’s never been much of a texter; his friends were always within reach. Only his mom was far away. Now, everyone is.

They tried to keep their promise, though. At first, they spoke every single day without fault. They texted every hour—random selfies, snippets of their days. Zhang Hao sent pictures of the auditorium; Hanbin sent pictures of the practice room. 

Zhang Hao sent photos of his big and spacious kitchen, the one that’s been unused ever since he arrived, and Hanbin, of theirs. Everything was still as it was when he left. Naturally. The kitchen table is right where he left it, with that  same oil stain. That plant on the windowsill—the one that died at least three times yet they somehow kept bringing back to life. Gyuvin right on the corner, stirring something in that battered old pot Hanbin inherited from his mother. He was the best cook of them all, after all.

It’s time to let go , is what Zhang Hao can’t stop thinking. Instead of comfort, those pictures are the remainder of what he can’t have, of what he left behind. 

And it’s not that he regrets it. He truly, truly doesn’t. Zhang Hao knows this was his only chance. But knowing that doesn’t make his heart ache any less. 

So, he slowly pulls back. Stops replying right away. Stops sending pictures every day. And eventually, the silence just… sticks. 

Zhang Hao knows that nothing survives the trial of time and distance. He’s been here before. He’s done this before. He doesn’t keep in touch with anyone from China. Why did he think this time would be any different?

He opens their chat. It’s still pinned to the top of his screen. Habit? Hope? He’s not too sure.

The last message from Hanbin is over a week old.

saw someone playing the violin in the metro. thought of you, hyung.

Zhang Hao’s heart ached so badly the entire afternoon after reading that. His reply is delayed by hours, and Hanbin must have noticed. 

hope they were better than me lol , is what he says in a bad attempt to lighten the mood.

No reply.

A few weeks before that, Hanbin had written, the café near campus finally closed down :( end of an era. And Zhang Hao had answered, they still owe us a free cookie. 

Short. Sparse. Functional. No hearts, no teasing. Nothing like who he was before.

Further up, a picture from Hanbin. Taken from a high angle, making his eyes look all round and shiny, showing his freshly dyed brown hair. Gyuvin helped me dye my hair! The caption reads.

Zhang Hao didn’t know what to say. He was so taken aback by how utterly beautiful Hanbin looked, that he simply… didn’t. Say anything. He just stared and stared, until his eyes burned, until they watered. He just taps the little heart emoji.

So much he wants to say, that he ends up saying nothing at all. That’s easier, for both of them. 

Further up still, and it starts to sound more like them. The them from a few months ago, the them that couldn’t go more than an hour without checking in. 

Miss you, hyung :( Hanbin texts on a random Thursday. And Zhang Hao says, me too :( so much, just like that. It used to be so natural.

I’m eating that gross ramen you like. Yuck! So disgusting

hey! Watch your words, Hanbinnie. That ramen raised us when we had a thousand won and a dream :( dont disrespect her like that 

You’re so ridiculous. I can picture what stupid face you must be making right now ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ )

meanie 😡 dont make me get sad or ill travel all the way back just to strangle you

Zhang Hao sighs. He’d do anything for things to go back to the way they were. But it’s impossible, and he knows that. Not with time and distance. Not when Hanbin’s waking up just as he’s finishing his day. Not with all those feelings still buried deep within Zhang Hao’s chest.

His fingers hover over the screen. How are you? He types. Then deletes it.

Again.

 💍✨️💗

Zhang Hao doesn’t even know what day it is when he gets another life-changing offer. Thursday, probably.

He’s made some friends here. Well. A friend. Singular. Shen Quanrui. Ricky. A rich kid from Shanghai that’s so beautiful and soft-spoken and young, that he can’t help but adopt him. 

Ricky plays piano at the conservatory. A prodigy, really. And also Chinese, which is a plus. Makes life a little less lonely.

Zhang Hao isn’t ashamed to admit that he still talks to Gyuvin regularly because, well, they’re friends. But he’s also his only lifeline to Hanbin. Because Zhang Hao’s too afraid to go to the direct source. 

It’s so stupid, and he knows it. He knows Hanbin will talk to him, will reply if he simply asks how he’s been doing. Of course he would. But fear is funny like that. It’s irrational. It’s paralyzing. The thought of being forgotten, of being tossed aside, of being unwanted freezes him every time.

As with most things in his life, twenty-four-year-old Zhang Hao doesn’t see this coming. 

He’s spent well over seven months in Paris now—growing and learning and learning and learning. Learning a few new languages, learning to live alone, learning to master his craft, learning to let go.

He’s done well. Actually, he’s done more than well. His grades are excellent, his advisor claps him on the back when he passes him in the hallways of the conservatory, and his mother sounds insanely proud every time they call. And yet… something is missing. Someone. 

Whatever. He needs to get over it.

It is surprising though, when Madam Levigne, an old and skilled woman—face marked by a life well lived, fingers bent and used from her journey with the violin—stops him by the door, feather-light hand on his shoulder. 

Zhang Hao had been thinking, which is why he almost doesn’t notice her. Doesn’t notice the small woman trying to catch his attention. He had been thinking about many things, while his cramped and sore fingers packed music sheets. Far away from this still foreign place, lost in his own head.

“Oh—sorry Madam, I didn’t see you,” he says, bowing in apology. It’s not customary here, but old habits die hard. His English is not the best yet, and his French is useless, but he’ll get there one day. He’ll be good. 

Zhang Hao likes her. She’s strict and stern, but also caring and nurturing—a rare balance. He admires that about her. If he were to become a teacher one day, he’d want to be like her. 

The wrinkles around her eyes deepen as she smiles. “Zhang Hao,” she says, accented. “May I speak with you?”

Even though he’s still sweaty and dishevelled from practice, Zhang Hao follows her. He feels out of place in her office—so polished and elegant, smelling of old wood and rosin—while he stands there in a too-big shirt and sweatpants. 

There’s kindness in her eyes, but seriousness too. None of that brings any comfort to Zhang Hao, stomach churning with a sense of fear… almost. His brain already knows this is no light matter.   

She doesn’t beat around the bush, though, and for that he’s thankful. “There’s a spot opening in our master’s program,” she says simply. Zhang Hao’s heart beats into his throat. He knows where this is going. “Full scholarship, sponsored residency with the ensemble. You’re so talented, Zhang Hao, we can’t help but want to keep you here.”

Zhang Hao blinks, breathes through his nose, tries to calm the storm in his chest, since he feels dizzy from it. He can’t bring himself to say anything, not yet. 

Madame Levigne only smiles. “I know this might come as a bit of a shock,” she says, gentler now. “Or perhaps not, considering how well you’ve done. But you can’t miss this opportunity. It’s a once in a lifetime thing, don’t you think?”

That’s all Zhang Hao needs to hear. He nods. He nods, manages to say thank you. Smiles, even, big and bright, even if it feels sort of mechanical.

But when he steps back outside, when the soft clink of the oak door separates him from a reality that feels alternate, his smile fades. The joy doesn’t come, not like he thought it would. 

The countdown in his head resets. He doesn’t have just a few months to go back home anymore. That is, if he still has a home to go back to. Maybe this place is meant to become his home.

You’re meant to shine, someone very important to him said once. No matter what’s happened between them since, his words will always be invaluable. Zhang Hao will always hold them close to his heart. And if he’s meant to shine… this might be the place, he supposes.

He walks along the Seine that afternoon, watching the sun set. Wherever he goes, rivers seem to follow him—back home in China, and then in Seoul. Perhaps he’s meant to live near water, live somewhere he can watch his distorted reflection, someone he barely recognizes staring back at him. 

His hair is red. He dyed it shortly after Hanbin dyed his brown—yet never sent a picture, just like Hanbin had done what, weeks? Or was it months ago? 

He’s thinner these days, since there’s no one to remind him to eat in the mornings, in the afternoons, at night. His eyes look comically large on his sharper face, his lips bitten raw, his under eyes abnormally purple.

Zhang Hao wonders if Hanbin would be proud of him. It’s not hard to get an answer; he doesn’t have to think too deeply about it: Hanbin would. He always claimed to be his biggest fan. 

He wonders if Hanbin would still reach for his hand over cheap ramen, fingers brushing his, whispering, “There’s no one more amazing than you, hyung.” 

But it’s been so long since they’ve spoken properly. Their texts are sparse and curt, a happy birthday here, a I’m glad you did well in the competition there. Zhang Hao relentlessly stalks Hanbin on social media, but even there he’s grown quiet. It’s awful.

Distance was supposed to make everything easier. All it’s done is make the silence louder.

Ricky is at his apartment, waiting, sitting on his sofa, half-dozing. Zhang Hao is almost surprised, until he remembers they were supposed to have dinner together. 

“Why is there a dark cloud right over your head, ge?” Ricky asks instead of hello. 

Zhang Hao laughs, genuinely amused for the first time today. And then, he does the unforgivable: he pats Ricky’s head, messing up his carefully styled blonde hair. Ricky squints his eyes, batting his hands away. 

“You’re a funny kid,” Zhang Hao murmurs, gently setting his violin on the pristine kitchen table, before filling a pot with water. He opens his fridge, winces. Empty. Ricky will just have to forgive him, but they’re having instant ramen. Again.

“I’m not a kid,” Ricky says indignantly. “And don’t change the subject. What’s going on?” 

Zhang Hao sighs. It wouldn’t hurt to tell him, right? 

So, he does. Ricky already knows a little about Hanbin—impossible not to, when he’s seen Zhang Hao staring at old pictures more than once. Or their texts. But this time, he tells him everything. 

Zhang Hao finds it quite easy to let it all out. After all, he’s had some time to think, and to overthink everything that’s happened between them in these past few months.

Ricky hums, listens, and when Zhang Hao’s done, he declares with all the confidence a twenty-year-old has, “I think you’re very, very dumb. Like, just text him? He clearly loves you very deeply. And he might be feeling the same things you’re feeling right now, ge.”

He’s right. Still, Zhang Hao chooses to ignore him.

The next day, Zhang Hao finds Madame Levigne to formally accept her offer. A borrowed hoodie hugs his frame, black and oversized. That familiar smell is gone, replaced by his own laundry detergent. 

The promise he made with Hanbin is nothing but a fleeting thought these days, something he laughs bitterly at sometimes, something he remembers fondly other nights, something he tears up about on drunken nights.

And that’s how he doesn’t leave Paris until he’s thirty.

💍✨️💗

Friday, June thirteen twenty-thirty-one.

When Zhang Hao wakes up, is to a cold, gray, muggy Paris. And it’s supposed to be summer soon. He sighs in annoyance.

He doesn’t realize what day it is—hasn’t bothered to look at the calendar in so, so long. So he just goes about his day. Teaches a few classes at the conservatory, spends some time in his office, way smaller compared to Madam Levine’s, but not less polished and luxurious. 

Even after eight years, he still feels a little out of place. His worn black hoodie feels too little compared to his colleagues crisp, pressed down shirts, but whatever. 

He woke up feeling a little bit too-lonely today, his bones aching in that strange way they do when he’s feeling homesick. Which is funny, because he’s lived here far longer than the home he’s missing. Zhang Hao long gave up trying to understand his heart.

Ricky knocks on his door during lunch-time—impeccably dressed, as always. Hair beautifully styled, draped on a long, black coat. 

Zhang hao thanks his lucky stars, the only time the universe has ever been benevolent with him, that Ricky was also offered a position at the conservatory, or else he would have had to actually make friends among his colleagues instead of sticking himself to the only person he feels safe with, and that would have been bad, very, very bad. Terrifying. 

Almost thirty-one and he still acts like a very shy teenager. 

“Lunch at your place?” Ricky asks with a small smile, the one that only his close friends are allowed to see. That is to say, only Zhang Hao. They’re both pathetic like that.

”We can do that, but I have no food at home…” Zhang Hao replies, trailing off. He doesn’t feel any embarrassment about it, though. Ricky knows how atrocious his cooking is. “There must be a pack of ramen somewhere… I don’t really remember…”

“How you’ve managed to stay alive all these years is a serious mystery to me,” Ricky sighs, stepping inside and grabbing Zhang Hao by the ear.

 Zhang Hao whines, of course.

He’s not picky, just some grilled meat will do. But he lets Ricky wander around the supermarket, picking up all the bougie things he loves, like caviar and quail eggs and imported cheese. 

And it’s right there, right in the egg aisle, that hell breaks loose. 

Well. Hell for Zhang Hao, that is. 

Most likely, he won’t be ever able to set foot in this place ever, ever again.

Bored out of his mind, he scrolls through Instagram. There are a few unread messages from guys trying to shoot their shot, but Zhang Hao couldn’t care less about them. There’s only one reason he hasn’t deactivated the app yet, and that is, to stalk Sung Hanbin. 

He’s gotten a little stingier with his updates over the years, but that’s to be expected, Zhang Hao thinks. All the more reason to treasure those rare little glimpses he gets of his life. Pathetic? Yes, absolutely. But Zhang Hao has never claimed to be anything else.

This time, though, the update doesn’t come from Hanbin himself. It’s Kim Gyuvin’s story—a picture of Sung Hanbin, wearing cute and fluffy cat ears , smiling that sweet smile Zhang Hao hasn’t seen in a long, long time. His whisker dimples are on full display, right there for the whole world to see. There are a few creases around his eyes now but otherwise, he looks the same. Prettier, even, if that’s humanly possible.

Zhang Hao’s about to react with a heart emoji until his eyes catch the text overlay.  

Happy birthday to my favorite hyung! Officially part of the elderly awwww… Thirty looks good on you 😚

Thirty. Birthday. Hanbin. June?!

Holy fuck.

With frantic, shaky fingers, Zhang Hao swipes away from the story to his home screen. His eyes zero in on the date.

June thirteen twenty thirty-one. 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he mutters, locking and unlocking his phone, bouncing between his calendar to Hanbin’s picture, replaying it over, and over, and over, and over. “Oh my God. I’m so stupid. Oh my God.”

If there’s one tradition they’ve kept up throughout their fading friendship, is wishing each other happy birthday. Even if it’s the only time they speak all year, Zhang Hao has never, ever, ever forgotten it. 

But… this time, he hesitates. 

He opens their chat—still pinned at the top, even though it’s been months—and his fingers hover over the keyboard. Zhan Hao doesn’t know what to say. 

Thirty. Hanbin is thirty. They’re both thirty. 

Does he even remember?

“Fuck. Fuck me.”

“No thanks,” Ricky says, suddenly behind him, voice dry. “That would actually be very gross. We’re like gay brothers.” His blonde friend hovers over his shoulder, prying at what’s got him so worked up. “Why are you acting like this? Don’t tell me you left your hair-dryer on again.”

Zhang Hao startles, sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. It hurts, but it’s grounding. “No, fucking worse. Oh God, I’m so stupid. I didn’t even realize it was fucking June already.”

Ricky slaps his arm—hard—and his thick eyebrows knit together in disapproval. There’s a quail egg carton clutched to his chest protectively, almost as if Zhang Hao might slap them away. 

“Stop cursing, we’re in public. Don’t be indecent,” his younger friend scolds. “Now, spill. What did you forget?”

“Hanbin’s birthday,” Zhang Hao whispers under his breath, his eyes fixed on his phone. The only place where Sung Hanbin actually exists. 

It’s kind of sad if he thinks about it too hard. They spent four birthdays together, and Zhang Hao still remembers every single one of them vividly—with fondness and a tiny bit of melancholy. A lot of melancholy, actually. 

His last birthday in Korea was remarkably memorable: a candle-lit dinner cooked by Hanbin. He went all the way back home just to have his mom teach him a few recipes. A good bottle of wine—to this day, Zhang Hao doesn’t know where he got the money to buy it. When he finally looked it up online, he’d felt almost sorry for Hanbin’s wallet. A bouquet of roses, a nice perfume as a gift. When Zhang Hao left Korea, he stopped using it. It reminded him too much of Hanbin. The bottle is still in his room, untouched by time. 

A cuddling session on the couch, Hanbin’s hands in his hair, Zhang Hao drowsing off. He’d wanted to kiss him so badly that night his lips actually tingled. Maybe it was the alcohol, but Zhang Hao is a romantic, so he likes to believe it simply was love.

And while twenty-three had been a dream, twenty-four was a nightmare. Alone, in a too-big apartment, in a foreign city. Alone. Hanbin on his phone, Gyuvin on his phone. Just like they are now.

Zhang hao is pulled from his memories by Ricky’s voice. Is a bit hard to fight to focus, it’s a bit hard to fight against the tight fist squeezing his chest, but he manages it. 

Maybe he should’ve kept ignoring him, though, because Ricky’s next words are ruthless. “Why is that such a big deal? You guys barely talk anymore,” he says, bluntly. And it’s not a lie, but Zhan Hao still feels thoroughly offended.

“You are really mean. Putting salt on the wound…” Zhang Hao manages to sulk for all of thirty seconds before Ricky’s you’re too old for this stare snaps him out of it. He has to school his expression into something less…petulant. “We’ve always wished each other a happy birthday,” Zhang Hao finally says, softer now. “But now… He’s turning thirty.”

Thirty. Wow. Just thinking about the number makes his stomach twist. 

When they made the promise thirty had felt so far—a lifetime away. Zhang Hao never thought the day would come. And now… the years have passed in the blink of an eye.

It’s not like that promise ever left his mind. He kept it close to his heart, hidden from the world and himself. But now… it’s impossible to keep doing that. Perhaps, this is the closure he’s needed for seven years. Perhaps today he can finally stop mourning something he never really had.

Ricky, of course, doesn’t really understand his dramatics. “So what?” he says, flatly and Zhang Hao just stares at him. It’s not like the other boy doesn’t know. He has known for a very long time. Actually, Zhang Hao has talked about this so much over the years there’s no way he’s forgotten. 

“Oh… he’s turning thirty,” Ricky finally says. And there it is. Still, he doesn’t give him the reaction he wants. Just shrugs and says, “Just text him, ge. I don’t think he even remembers.”

Ouch. Zhang Hao wants to hit him. Wants to wail, wants to complain, wants to sob in the middle of the egg aisle. But maybe… maybe Ricky’s right. Maybe Hanbin doesn’t even remember. He’s making this huge scandal for no reason at all. After all, Hanbin turned thirty a few hours ago and he hasn’t said a thing.  

And maybe… maybe he’s not even single. That was the whole point of the promise, wasn’t it? If we’re both single by thirty… Zhang Hao said back then.

Ouch indeed. That though hurts worse than Hanbin forgetting, but it’s what gets him to move too.

He doesn’t think about the cute boy with whisker dimples and cat ears as he opens their chat. He doesn’t think about a promise made over cheap soju seven years ago in a poorly-lit apartment.

Zhang Hao thinks about Hanbin’s hot boyfriend—the one he must have picked up years ago. That’s probably why he doesn’t post much anymore. Zhang Hao gets it, really. If he were Hanbin’s boyfriend, he would hide him from the world too. He wouldn’t want any of those unworthy lowlifes to get a glimpse of his heavenly beauty. 

So yeah. Hanbin must have a boyfriend. A tiny bit taller than him, cherry haired, long, musician fingers, amazing personality, pouty lips, big brown eyes, and—wait. Whatever.

Zhang Hao doesn’t get a chance to text him, though. Doesn’t even get to decide what lame words he’ll write before his phone pings before he can even unlock it. 

And there—right there—is a name he hasn’t stopped thinking about for over a decade. One he wasn’t expecting.

Hanbin.

He almost drops his phone to the floor. Again. For the second time today. God. 

The preview of the message on his lock screen already feels like a punch to the gut. Zhang Hao knows, feels there’s something daunting waiting for him on the other side, something life-changing. 

But curiosity killed the cat. In his case, though, it’s curiosity and fondness, because those texts scream Hanbin , so endearing and shy and awkward. 

Hao-hyung? Is this still your number? I changed my phone and lost all my contacts 

*picture attached*

In case you don’t know who it is, hehe.

Hii! :D

Wait. If you’re not Hao-hyung, please don’t open that picture.

Holy fucking shit. 

He knew something was waiting for him, something dangerous, something horrible (wonderful, amazing, life-changing) but Zhang Hao wasn’t ready for this.

The picture is… 

The picture is a fucking thirst trap.

Sung Hanbin, on his knees in front of a mirror. The lighting is poor, but Zhang Hao can tell it’s his bedroom—the army of plushies in his bed says as much. Cat ears still on his head, holding a balloon with the numbers 30. A bit naked with his arms on full display, bare and flushed, cheeks red from heat or alcohol or both. 

And is that… is that a tail? 

Zhang Hao feels dizzy. He needs help. Someone to catch him before he collapses right here in the egg aisle. But Ricky is nowhere to be found.

Just as he’s about to abandon their cart and flee for his life, Ricky rounds the corner triumphantly holding a huge cut of Wagyu. He looks so happy Zhang Hao would almost coo—that is, if he were feeling normal. This is an emergency.

“Quanrui. Quanrui,” Zhang Hao hisses frantically, shoving his phone right on Ricky’s face. “Quanrui, look at this. Did Sung Hanbin just send me a thirst trap?”

That gets Ricky to go from annoyed to interested. “What? Hanbin? He would never—” Ricky says as he takes Zhang Hao’s phone to inspect the picture. He zooms in. Zooms out. Stares. Blinks repeatedly. Scrubs his eyes. Zooms in again. “Wait a minute. He actually did?” His friend asks in disbelief. 

Zhang Hao gets it. That’s exactly how he feels. He actually can’t peel his eyes away from the sight of Sung Hanbin half-naked, cat-eared, thighs deliciously spread on the floor. 

“I can’t believe he has game,” Ricky mutters finally. “He always gave me the pinning loser vibe… not—this. He looks hot as fuck.” 

Zhang Hao opens his mouth to agree—because, duh —Hanbin does look hot as fuck. But— “Don’t look at him!” he shouts, scandalized, yanking his phone back from Ricky’s dirty little undeserving hands. “You perverted homewrecker!” He makes sure to say it loudly in French, just so everyone in the aisle knows exactly what kind of person Shen Quanrui is. 

Payback for staring at his no-husband with lustful eyes. The old lady buying organic happy chicken eggs gives Ricky a sharp look of disdain. Good. He deserves it.

“I meant it as an observation!” Ricky protests, holding his hands up in surrender. “Also, there’s no home to wreck. In case you forgot.”

Instead of getting offended, Zhan Hao prefers to use his energy in something more rewarding. Like staring at Hanbin’s picture again.

It’s a testament to his mental strength that he doesn’t immediately pack his bags, book a flight and throw himself at Hanbin’s feet. To get a glimpse of his older, more mature face, up close. Of his filled and matured body, his wide shoulders, the curve of his biceps, the thick spread of his thighs, the way he’s right on his knees, his flushed cheeks. 

Lord. Lord. Lord. 

It’s also a testament to Zhang Hao’s mental strength that he doesn’t pop a boner right in the middle of the egg aisle in a random supermarket in the heart of Paris.

Hi. Yes, this is Zhang Hao.

Nice picture! The cat ears really suit you

And happy birthday, Hanbinnie! I was about to text you but you beat me to it. I hope you had a nice day 🥰

It sounds so lame. God, he sounds so lame. But when confronted with the face of a sexy man, all his wits fly straight out the window. Who can blame him? Hanbin looks like such a good boy—and if he zooms in enough Zhang Hao’s pretty sure he can see the outline of his big—heart. Of his big, beautiful heart.

Thank you, Hao-hyung!

I turned thirty, you know.

Yeah, Zhang Hao knows. He’s well aware. Kind of hard to miss when Hanbin’s holding a big balloon that literally spells it out. 

Wait. Why would he be saying something like that? Hanbin can’t possibly mean—

Before Zhang Hao can’t even begin to process his message, his phone pings again. He almost doesn’t want to read it, but his eyes are glued to the screen, unblinking, so it’s impossible to miss. 

You’re thirty, hyung. And I’m thirty. We’re both single, it reads. Aren’t we supposed to get married?

What.

What the hell.

Now what the hell. He has to be joking. Hanbin surely must be joking. There’s no way he means any of that. There’s no way he remembers that stupid promise they made so many years ago—so long ago it feels like another life entirely.

And yet…the text just sits there, staring back at him. Zhang Hao can’t believe it.

If Hanbin hasn’t forgotten, then clearly Zhang Hao hasn’t either. God knows he hasn’t. God knows that every time he sits on through a date with an unworthy low-life, he thinks, Am I cheating on my not-boyfriend but maybe-husband-to-be? Which is crazy and pathetic. But true.

And it says a lot about the state of his love life. Or lack of. It’s not like he doesn’t have suitors—hell, he has too many suitors. With age, his looks have only gotten sharper. His jaw more angular, his cheeks aren’t as round as they used to be. His eyes have lost that innocent shine, and now they are sultry, siren-like. That’s what people say, anyway.

So, Zhang Hao knows he’s gorgeous. But no one—no one—deserves him but Sung Hanbin. Because no one is as gorgeous as him. No couple would be more gorgeous than them together. So gorgeous together that the universe had to sabotage them and throw Zhang Hao across the world. Typical.

Sadly, beauty won’t solve this dilemma. 

It’s been exactly sixty-four seconds since Hanbin sent that text, and Zhang Hao still hasn’t moved. His mind is… mush. Purée. 

Ricky. Shen Quanrui. He’s the only one who can save him now. 

So, Zhang Hao turns, almost robotically, and holds his phone screen right in front of his friend’s face. “Read this. Read it now . Before I start screaming.”

Something in his tone must get through, because Ricky actually stops fussing with his groceries and squints at the screen and reads. And reads. And reads. There’s not much to read, but he keeps staring, reading the words over and over and over and over. And then, he turns to Zhang Hao, with a grin so wide it’s almost...scary. Very scary, to be honest.

“He’s…joking right?” Zhang Hao asks, unsure, voice cracking.

Ricky just laughs. He’s overjoyed. Zhang Hao would slap him if his hands weren’t trembling and if his stomach weren’t currently in knots. 

“Hao. Zhang Hao,” Ricky claps his hands together, absolutely delighted. “He’s obviously not joking! He’s not a mean person, you’ve said so yourself! He’s just a big loser. Just like you. God, this is priceless.”

Zhang Hao gapes at him, bewildered. But Ricky won’t let him wallow. 

He grabs Zhang Hao’s limp arm and shoves the phone back at him. “Ge, it’s been five minutes since he sent that text. Answer him. Poor guy must be shitting his pants.” 

Almost on autopilot, Zhang Hao nods. He’s about to type something  when Ricky’s loud scream almost makes him shit his pants. “But! Don’t be a loser. I know it’s hard for you, but try, okay?”

Right. Sure. Zhang Hao inhales. He’s still gaping at his screen. Between Hanbin’s thirst trap and this text about their promise, his brain has been effectively deep-fried. Which is why he can’t manage to make his next words sound suave. At his core, Zhang Hao will always be a loser, he guesses.

Haha! How did you know I’m single too?

That… is definitely not the tone he was going for. 

Ricky, predictably, peeks over his shoulder, always nosy, and smacks his own forehead in disappointment. Whatever. Zhang Hao ignores him. Because Hanbin is typing, that little bubble appearing and disappearing, and Zhang Hao is already too busy staring at it in anticipation to care.

Gyuvin >.<  is all Hanbin says. 

And then, radio silence.

Zhang Hao turns to Ricky with his big brown, helpless doe eyes—the ones no one can resist. He needs help. Preferably in someone telling him what to say. 

That kind of help would be, well, helpful, but Ricky is being an obtuse evil shit on purpose, so he just rolls his eyes. “Say something. Anything. He already made his move. It’s your turn,” Ricky unhelpfully says, turning around to… inspect the eggs like nothing’s happened. 

Left to his own devices, Zhang Hao lets his instincts take over. And his hopeless crush. Really, he can’t be blamed for what he’s about to type. Because he needs to see Hanbin in the flesh, and perhaps, marry him.

So, Zhang Hao says something. 

I’m going to Korea next week, got the tickets a few months ago ☺️ Should we meet? 

Which is, of course, an absolute lie. His bank account is not going to be happy. The conservatory is not going to be happy. Ricky? Well, maybe Ricky will be happy. Zhang Hao will be happy too, he thinks, as he stares at Hanbin’s mirror selfie again. Zooms in. A little to the left. Down. Down. Yeah. What a nice heart he has.

“Ruirui, I’m going to Korea,” Zhang Hao announces. 

That pulls Ricky away from the eggs. And that’s what finally, finally manages to surprise him. A win for Zhang Hao.

“You’re what? Are you crazy?” Ricky practically screams in his face. “How—what? Wait. You know what? I’m coming with you. You know I can’t pass up an opportunity for a good old-fashioned gay drama. And honestly, ge,” Ricky says as he peeks over Zhang Hao’s shoulder again, peeks at the picture Zhang Hao can’t stop staring at. He’s in a trance, really. Is this what people mean when they say they’re thinking with their dick? 

“I’d pack my bags and hop on a plane instantly to get a piece of that, too,” Ricky concludes solemnly. He’s still ogling Hanbin's picture along Zhang Hao. He can’t be too mad. It’s a damn good picture.

“Ruirui…” Zhang Hao sighs. “What on Earth just happened?”

Why didn’t you tell me before!!!!!! It’s been too long since we last saw each other, Hao-hyung :( I accept your offer ♡ I can’t wait to see you ♡

Zhang Hao’s heart is in shambles.

Dinner plans cancelled. He has a plane to book, and a phone calls to make. 

💍✨️💗

Paris, June fourteenth, twenty thirty-one.

That’s the date Zhang Hao sees when he checks his phone as soon as he wakes up. Saturday, six forty-two a.m. What the hell is he even doing awake at his awful hour? There’s something he’s forgetting, something that has to do with what he was just dreaming about.

What was he dreaming about? 

Zhan Hao tries his hardest to remember. He sits up, feeling a weird fluttering in his chest. For a minute he thinks it might be a heart attack, but that’s not it. Hand to his chest, he feels it beating fast and strong, rhythmically. Not a heart attack then.

And then it hits him. Zhang Hao stares wide-eyed at his ceiling, remembering. 

Sung Hanbin. Seoul. A boy-turned-man with cat ears and blushy cheeks. A promise. Marriage. 

Holy fuck.

Zhang Hao stands up from bed so fast he almost falls right onto his face. Sits on the floor, forehead pressed to his knees, breathing once, twice, thrice. Pretty things only, Zhang Hao. Calm thoughts. Like Hanbin’s smile, or Hanbin’s voice, or Hanbin’s crinkled eyes, or Hanbin’s dimples, or Hanbin’s—fuck. That’s literally not calming. 

His phone lies face down on the nightstand. There’s something incredibly menacing about it, something that screams to Zhang Hao don’t pick me up, leave me alone . But also, do it, you coward. Pick me up. It’s all real. 

It suspiciously sounds like Ricky.

Zhang Hao is a brave boy. Mama didn’t raise a quitter. That doesn’t mean his hands don’t shake as he grabs the scary device and unlocks it, as he scrolls to the one and only text thread that matters.

And there it is. Everything is there, right where he left it last night. For a good ten minutes, Zhang Hao sincerely thought he’d dreamt it all. But no. Hanbin really reached out. Hanbin really did send him that damned picture that’s making Zhang Hao’s breath shorten at seven in the morning. 

He’s never particularly been a morning person—so he’s never really been horny this early, but wow. There’s a first time for everything.

Reading through their conversation brings his head out of the gutter. Right. He promised he’d be in Seoul next week. He lied about having tickets. He needs to figure out how to take some time off from work, book a flight, and make excuses that won’t get him fired. 

Holy fuck. What has his life become? How did he go from zero to one hundred so fast? 

And Hanbin… Hanbin remembered. That might be the wildest part. For seven years, Zhang Hao believed that their promise was something blown away by the wind, by distance. Something said in the heat of the moment, something born from heartbreak and cheap soju. But Hanbin remembered. Still remembers.

Is he serious? Does he… actually want to marry Zhang Hao? 

Zhang Hao knows Hanbin. Knows he isn’t the type of person to joke about something as serious as marriage. He flirts like it’s a full-time job, yes—there’s no denying that. Hell, Zhang Hao has been a recurring victim of it. He also blushes like a schoolgirl, sweetly and enchantingly, there’s no denying that either. 

But Hanbin’s always, always sincere. Almost to a fault. Heart-on-his-sleeve, no-jokes-when-it-truly-matters kind of guy. The kind of guy who keeps promises. The kind of guy who remembers promises made years and years and years ago. 

He should be doing something. Shower. Eat. Breathe. Sleep has already completely left his body. Instead, he stays on the floor like a poor rendition of a tragic, lovesick lead from a cheap romance novel, complete with bloodshot eyes and disheveled hair, last night’s shirt twisted around his body like a straitjacket. 

He checks the message again. Hanbin’s little heart emojis sparkle back at him like two stab wounds. 

♡ I can’t wait to see you ♡

Zhang Hao whines into his knees. “I can’t do this,” he whines to no one but himself. God, perhaps, if he exists. “I can’t do this. I’m going to throw up. I’m going to marry him and I’m going to throw up at the altar.”

Coffee. He needs coffee. Right now.

Scrambling to his feet, Zhang Hao trips over his own blanket in the process, and stumbles into the kitchen with the wild-eyed panic of a man who needs caffeine injected into his bloodstream before he can make any more life-altering decisions. 

His machine is horribly old, and it makes some very loud and nasty noises. No matter. He refuses to change it because it makes really bad coffee, the kind that reminds him of the watered-down ice-cold coffee Hanbin used to make him every morning back home in Korea. 

Zhang Hao paces around his kitchen, trying to focus. He should probably tell someone he’s leaving. Work? Madame Levigne? Yes. That would be a good idea. Also, buy plane tickets, since he… still doesn’t have one. Laptop. Yeah, he needs that. Anything to avoid touching his phone unless strictly necessary.

Naturally, everything is either sold out or horribly expensive, which was to be expected. Yet for a second, for a vile and mean second, Zhang Hao thought a miracle might be possible. He’s wrong, obviously, wincing at the numbers on the screen. 

“Love shouldn’t cost twelve hundred euros,” Zhang Hao mutters bitterly before entering his credit card details.

One ticket. Direct. No return. Five days from now.

His phone buzzes. Zhang Hao almost jumps out of his skin at the thought that it might be Hanbin. 

It’s both disappointing and relieving to see that is, in fact, not Hanbin the one who’s texting him at seven-thirty in the morning, but Ricky.

Ruirui (7:32): Did you buy it? Text me the details so I can buy the same one. 

Zhang Hao almost laughs at the absurdity of it. How much money does this guy have that he can drop twelve hundred euros just to witness some gay drama without a second thought? A little disrespectful, honestly.

Me (7:33): No one said you were coming. You’re a homewrecker. I don’t want you near Hanbin.

Ruirui (7:34): You are crazy and you’re also forgetting I know your email password. Already bought my ticket hehe.

A deep sigh escapes his lips. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it, having Ricky there might…help. If things go south, at least he’ll have him on his side. Gyuvin is there too, but he’s also Hanbin’s friend, and that makes things more complicated. Ricky, on the other hand, is fully on his side, whatever happens.

Ruirui (7:36): Don’t be mad. You need me for moral support. And I already packed those pants that make your ass look fat. You’re welcome.

Before the gravity of the situation fully settles into Zhang Hao’s stomach, he smiles. It’s brief, barely there, but a smile nonetheless. And then, he sighs again—slow, loud, like a balloon deflating through a tiny little hole. The adrenaline is fading off too, he supposes, which is why he’s feeling this way. Like he ran a whole marathon. Even though Zhang Hao doesn’t even run to catch the leaving bus. 

Hands braced on the countertop, head hanging low, Zhang Hao closes his eyes. 

Hanbin remembered. Out of all the things he could have remembered, he remembered it . He chose that. Their promise. The promise Zhang Hao avoided thinking about for seven years. The promise Zhang Hao thought was forgotten.

Hanbin wants to see him. Hanbin might even want to marry him. And he—Zhang Hao—is flying halfway across the world in five days just to find out if that could be true. 

What the hell is he doing? If Hanbin isn’t serious about this—and honestly, the odds aren’t great—how is Zhang Hao supposed to put himself back together again? Will he even be able to do so?

But still… he gets to see Hanbin. His first and only best friend. That has to count for something, Zhang Hao thinks. Even if all goes to shit, even if his heart ends shattered beyond repair, at least he’ll see Hanbin again. One last time, perhaps. Their last chance in this lifetime.

He opens Hanbin’s photo again. Cat ears, sweet smile, shiny eyes, deep blush, balloon in hand. Zhang Hao smiles despite himself, feels the despair and trepidation lifting from his shoulders. His heart—a traitorous little thing—does a little somersault.

“Okay,” he says out loud to the empty kitchen, to Hanbin’s lovely face staring back at him from his phone. “Okay. I’m doing this.”

One last text is sent before he tosses his phone onto the couch and walks away. 

See you soon, Hanbinnie 🩷

💍✨️💗

Zhang Hao is spiraling. Which, to be fair, is not unusual for him. But this time he’s spiraling hard. He doesn’t know how to do this—this being writing an email for his leave request. 

He stares at his laptop, typing and retyping the opening line, thinking of how to address Madame Levigne, how to make it convincing. 

He can’t just say heyyy hehe… i need some time off to chase my teenage love halfway across the world. and maybe get married too. or maybe i’ll come back broken-hearted. i really don't know teheeehe. can i please leave for a month? thanks!!

No.

“Due to personal matters…” Zhang Hao mutters, and then immediately deletes it. “Urgent family business…” he tries again. His head hits the kitchen table in defeat. None of it sounds right.

And he can’t outright lie, can he? What if the universe decides to punish him for being gay and a liar by making all his lies come true? What if he claims someone in his family is sick and they actually get sick? Just the thought alone sends shivers down his spine. Better not to risk it. 

So, he needs to tell the truth, and be as vague about it as he can. If they somehow find the truth and fire him… well, he can always find another job. With a resume like his it wouldn’t really be too hard to do so. 

But he’s a man of habit. He likes his job. It took him a long time to warm up to his coworkers, to his boss, to his students, to this country as a whole. Going through all of that again would be.. inconvenient. 

Zhang Hao is buried so deep in his thoughts he doesn’t realize when Ricky lets himself into his apartment. He doesn’t even remember ever giving him his door code. Whatever. He will let it pass, because the blonde is carrying a bag that smells divine. 

“I sensed all you were in distress from across the city, so I brought food and my wits,” Ricky says instead of hello, quickly getting to work and platting their food. 

Zhang Hao’s mouth waters. He dives in immediately. The flaky texture of the croissant melts in his mouth, and he can’t help but groan at how good it is. 

Ricky stares at him, disgusted. “Don’t make those noises in front of me, pervert. Are you thinking about Hanbin’s croissant or something?”

He would smack him. Ricky truly, truly deserves it. But he’s too busy licking honey from his fingers, and his cheeks are too full of pastry for him to snap back at the annoying pest in his apartment. So, he lets it slide—just this once.

“You’re thinking too much about this, Hao-ge,” Ricky says as he peeks over his shoulder, reading through the half-sentences he’s managed to write. “Let me.” 

Before Zhang Hao can protest, Ricky practically shoves him out of the chair. He’s very desperate, that much is undeniable, but not desperate enough that he can’t throw a light punch at Ricky’s arm. 

And then Ricky starts typing. Zhang Hao keeps his eyes glued to the screen, waiting. Maybe this is a good idea. Ricky is clever, and he always, always knows what to say. Maybe Zhang Hao’s been too mean to him. His friend is only trying to help—

Scrap that.

Dearest Madame Levigne:

Due to my unquenchable desire to chase love across the globe and fulfill a legally questionable marriage pact made under the influence of cheap soju, I will be taking an immediate, indefinite leave of absence from the Conservatoire. I may return either with a husband or a broken heart, but I promise to always carry the values of this institution wherever I go. Even to the altar.

Please consider this not as a resignation, but as a romantic sabbatical in the pursuit of love.

It’s Ricky’s turn to be shoved out of the chair. Zhang Hao makes sure to hit his chest hard this time. Ricky is awfully muscular, and it hurts, but Zhang Hao doesn’t let it show.

His friend cackles as he escapes Zhang Hao’s violent outburst, arms raised in surrender as he backs away. “Why are you hitting me?! Come on, my beautifully crafted email is Pulitzer-worthy! Madame Levigne would cry. I mean, imagine being loved like that.” Zhang Hao just glares, arms crossed over his chest, kicked puppy expression on. “You’re just jealous you didn’t think of such beautiful and poetic words before me,” Ricky adds smugly.

He is feeling frustrated. Really frustrated. So frustrated that he lets out a loud, wounded whine before burying his face in his hands. “What if they fire me, Ruirui? What if they fire me and then they replace me with some child prodigy with millions of followers on Instagram who plays the violin on TikTok in a suit. Oh God, I’m probably ruining my life forever.”

“Well, first of all,” Ricky says, flopping onto Zhang Hao’s baby pink couch, “they’re not going to fire you. Madame Levigne loves you. I’m pretty sure she thinks she gave birth to you or something like that.” Zhang Hao follows him suit, slumping beside his friend. Sulking. 

Okay, fair. He’s somewhat right. Madame Levigne has always… favored him. But in the grand scheme of things, that doesn’t mean much, does it? 

“And if they do fire you,” Ricky continues, mischievous glint in his eye, “just marry Hanbin for real and become a stay-at-home husband.”

Zhang Hao is scandalized. “We are better than this!” he huffs, indignant. He’s not really a fan of the whole trad-wife trend that’s going around. Actually, ever since he was young, his mama taught him to be independent and—

“I’m kidding,” Ricky says, cutting in lazily. “But I could be serious. Have you seen that man’s LinkedIn? He owns a dance studio in the middle of Seoul. He teaches idols how to hip-thrust for a living. He’s loaded, ge. You could stay home and make soup and press your cheek to his pecs while he choreographs for girl groups.”

Zhang Hao chokes on air. It’s not… the worst mental image, actually. 

“Oh, and you wouldn’t even have to cook,” Ricky adds gleefully. “Just order takeout and lie about it. Or don’t lie. From what you’ve told me, he’d praise you regardless. You’re not built for domestic labor.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

They fall into a comfortable silence. Zhang Hao quietly returns to the email, nerves still lingering, his teeth still relentlessly gnawing at his cuticles. It’s a bad habit, one he hasn’t been able to let go. Back then, Hanbin used to oil his cuticles daily. Zhang Hao sighs.

“Dear Madame Levigne, I hope this email finds you well…”

Ricky slouches deeper into the couch, munching on a piece of bread he got from God knows where. “You’re not going to tell her about the soju vow, right?”

The glare Zhang Hao sends him could level armies. “You’re lucky I’m not throwing you out of a window.”

“And yet,” Ricky says with a devilish grin, “you’re still letting me help you pick outfits for meeting your hot, rich, husband to be.”

Zhang Hao groans, loud and dramatic, and lets his head fall against the head of the couch. He has to get his shit together. He’s always been able to do everything, every single thing he’s set his mind to. This should be no different. 

With newfound determination, his fingers rapidly move over his keyboard, drafting a decent enough email. Not his best work, but it’ll have to do. And if it doesn’t… well, that’s a problem for future Zhang Hao to worry about.

He closes his eyes for a second, finger hovering over the send button. It’s weird, how he sees his younger self behind his eyelids, nervous, overwhelmed, twenty-three and carrying a love so big it overflew his lanky body. 

I’m doing this for him, Zhang Hao thinks. Without a second though, he presses send. 

And that’s it.

He'll probably have a spectacular breakdown in a few hours. Whatever. For now, a single thought that clings to his mind. “Five days,” he whispers into the quiet room. “Five days until I potentially ruin my life.”

“Or marry the man you’ve been in love with since you were twenty,” Ricky says with a rare softness. 

It quiets him, tugs at his tender and frail heart. He lifts his head slowly, breathes in, breathes out, puts a hand over his chest, closes his eyes. Hanbin’s sweet smile is all he sees. That twenty-two-year-old Hanbin. Zhang Hao wonders if he’s changed, or if he’s still the same bubbly, lovely boy.

“That’s the terrifying part, Ruirui.”

Ricky doesn’t answer at first. For once, he doesn’t tease or joke, doesn’t mention how hot and handsome and rich Hanbin is. Instead, he just watches Zhang Hao—the way his brows are pinched, the way he’s fidgeting with a loose string on his hoodie, the way his eyes shine a little too much.

“Yeah,” Ricky finally says. “But you’re not twenty anymore, ge. Don’t forget that.” 

Zhang Hao tilts his head at him, questioning. Ricky is serious. It’s not often he behaves like this, but when he does, Zhang Hao listens. He’s a wise boy—his friend. 

“You’ve been through so much. You left home twice, moved to a place you knew no one. You’re older now, braver, ge.” Ricky nudges Zhang Hao’s knee with his own before continuing. “You can handle this. Whether it ends with vows or… therapy. You’re not that scared kid anymore. You’re scared now, yes, but it’s a different kind. Just don’t let that stop you from taking what you want. Don’t let it slip through your fingers again.”

Zhang Hao nods. There’s a tight knot right on his throat, one that doesn’t really let him speak. But he hopes his eyes are able to tell his friend how thankful he is.

That’s all he needed, it seems. A pep talk. There’s fear on his chest, yes—that won’t go away for a while—but there’s also determination. This might be his last chance. He’s not going to waste it. 

“Thank you, Ruirui,” Zhang Hao finally manages to say.

Ricky smiles, that smile thing that makes him look cat-like. “You’re welcome. Now get up and stop moping. You’ve got a suitcase to pack and five days to prepare yourself to see the love of your life again. Also, I ordered bubble tea. You’re paying.”

“What the—”

Ricky holds up a hand, cutting him off. “I just spent twelve hundred euros on a plane ticket so I could hold your hand at Incheon and rub your back when you inevitably vomit from nerves. Let me have this.”

Zhang Hao rolls his eyes, but the warmth from his friends' words lingers. He looks back at his laptop, at the email he just sent a few minutes ago. It’s done. He’s going.

For the first time all morning, the spiraling stops.

Five days.

Hanbin.

And if he’s lucky, maybe this time, the ending will be different.

💍✨️💗

One day. Just one day left before he’s walking down the streets of Seoul—the place he once called, the place he knew like the back of his hand. 

Zhang Hao can’t sleep. He tried, but couldn’t, the relentlessness wouldn't let him. His suitcase is packed, enough to last weeks, maybe even a month. 

It's cold tonight. Paris has always been a nocturnal city, coming alive under the lights of the Eiffel Tower, far away in the distance, but so magnificent in size. Coming alive under the thousand street lamps, coming alive under its people.

It's not quiet, not by a landslide. Zhang Hao walks aimlessly through it, hands in his pockets. He can hear boisterous laughs, foreign languages, and music. Music, music, music. Always music. It’s what brought him here, what kept him here. Someone’s playing the violin in the distance, most likely a busker. But Zhang Hao keeps walking.

He isn’t sure what he’s looking for. Closure, maybe. Courage, most likely. A little bit of peace before the storm that’s surely coming.

But his feet are taking him somewhere. He knows this path by heart, he’s walked it before—first when he was twenty-four, now at thirty. His shoes click against the cobblestones.  They have a little bit of heel. Some time ago, Ricky practically forced him to buy them, saying the extra centimeters would make him look more imposing. Now, they just clink and clink and clink as he walks, trying to get to the Seine.

The river that has become a part of himself for the past seven years. It’s seen him weep and laugh, cry tears of sorrow and joy. It’s heard him play, it’s heard him sing. As always, smelling of damp stone and old trees. Comforting, familiar.

Back then—twenty-three and just a little kid—he didn’t even recognize the boy staring back at him in the water. A foreign boy, hair freshly dyed, heart freshly broken. 

Strangely, or perhaps not, that’s not how he feels right now. Now he sees himself more clearly. 

He looks different, yes. His hair is brown again, after many, many years. His eyes are not as big and round and innocent as they used to be. He’s bare-faced, and tiredness clings to his features. He looks different—but he’s still him. 

Zhang Hao doesn’t know what will happen. It’s both terrifying and exhilarating. The first time he stood here, he was alone. This time, there’s someone waiting on the other side. Someone who remembers. Someone who said I can’t wait to see you.

He stands on the bridge a little longer, watching the water shimmer. Watching himself, as much as he can see under the night. What he sees, and what he remembers. 

A slow exhale leaves his lips. Tired, yes, that’s undeniable, but not dejected, as they often are. “This time,” Zhang Hao whispers to the night, to the trees, to the river, to whoever is listening. To himself too. “This time, I’m not running away. I’m coming home, and I’m seeing things through to the end.”

It’s a promise. One he intends to keep.

💍✨️💗

Incheon National Airport, June nineteenth, twenty thirty-three.

Zhang Hao is here.

It's surreal to be walking down the vast, gleaming halls of Incheon National Airport again. It’s funny—in a very not-funny way—how it makes him feel nineteen, fresh out of an airplane coming from China, all over again. Back then, he was starting over. Only time will tell if this is a new beginning, or the end of something. 

He looks different now. No more ratty t-shirts, no more falling-apart backpack. Paris has refined him: dark coat, clean lines, quiet confidence. On the outside, that is. On the inside, he’s about to set himself on fire. Or puke all over Ricky’s designer coat. Zhang Hao swallows. He doesn’t want to die by the hand of a blonde twink before he sees the love of his life again.

Speaking of the devil. Ricky, that is, not Hanbin. Hanbin is a fallen angel, craved by fairies and made of magic dust. He could never be a devil in Zhang Hao’s eyes, even if he unintentionally ruined him forever. 

So, the devil—Ricky Shen. Shen Quanrui, trailing behind him with too-big luggage, and an even more dramatic flair. Oversized fur-trimmed coat, sunglasses covering half his face, hair perfect, make-up flawless. If Zhang Hao weren't used to it, weren’t used to him, he’d be feeling like shit from the butt. Even if he’s a little bit too dressed up for his liking, Ricky is still outshining everyone on this airport, himself included.

He loves the attention, though. So, while Zhang Hao is about to die from nerves, Ricky squares his shoulders, perks his butt, and thrives. Zhang Hao thinks he spots a few people sneaking pictures of him, even. 

Ricky exhales loudly—performative, obviously. It’s supposed to be annoyed, but Zhang Hao can hear the underlying satisfaction. “They probably think we’re idols, ge. Hm. Maybe in another life. We’re too talented and beautiful for the whole world to see. We must gatekeep ourselves for only those who deserve it. Don’t you think?

Zhang Hao nods on autopilot. And then, he stops walking altogether. 

“Ricky. I think I’m about to die,” he blurts out. His chest is closing very weirdly, and he’s a little bit dizzy. “Or shit my pants. Or puke. Or die and shit my pants and puke.” He freezes. Another horrifying thought hits him. “Oh my God. Ricky. What if he’s not here? What if he realized this was all a mistake? What if he thinks I’m crazy for coming all the way from Paris just because of a silly promise we made drunk? What if—”

His rambling cuts off when Ricky grabs him by both shoulders and shakes him. Literally shakes him. Not gently. “Zhang Hao, you need to breathe.” 

Zhang Hao does. His lungs thank him, as they were literally about to give out. Sweat trickles down his back, and also his armpits are soaked. His make-up is probably melted. He can’t believe he’s about to meet Sung Hanbin jet lagged, panicked and sweaty. God. This is a disaster.

Ricky releases him with a sigh. “I know exactly what you’re thinking. First of all, Hanbin must be here. I know it. My gay senses are tingling, so don’t worry about that.” 

Somehow, that actually manages to make Zhang Hao feel better. Ricky always knows everything, so he must be right. 

“Second of all,” Ricky continues, “you’re hot as fuck, ge. Also, it’s not like Hanbin is literally a Greek God, carved from marble by Michelangelo or something. He’s probably just a regular guy who looks insanely hot in pictures. Like every gay man, he’s probably mastered the art of the thirst trap, but—” 

Ricky stops mid-sentence with a gasp. And not any gasp—a shocked gasp. Like very, very shocked. 

There aren’t many things in this world that can surprise Shen Quanrui. Good food, yes. A nice song, too. And last but certainly not least, a hot guy. That never fails to stop him on his tracks. 

“Holy motherfucking shit,” Ricky whispers under his breath. He isn’t looking at Zhang Hao. When Zhang Hao tries to follow his line of sight, Ricky stops him with a firm hand to his cheek. “Hao-ge. Look to the right. Calmly, and inconspicuously ,” Ricky instructs. 

Zhang Hao obediently turns, but he doesn’t see anything of importance. A few girls with huge cameras, a lady with a fluffy dog, a bored-looking police officer. “The other way, stupid,” Ricky hisses, tightening his grip. “And don’t freak out. I repeat, don’t freak out.”

That does little to alleviate Zhang Hao’s freaking out tendencies. If anything, Zhang Hao freaks out more. He whips his head so fast his neck gets cramped. 

And then, he sees him. Him.

And naturally, he freaks out. 

If it weren’t for Ricky tightly holding him by the shoulders, Zhang Hao would have already dropped his suitcase and sprinted the other way. Instead, he’s frozen in place, staring at Sung Hanbin in the flesh. 

Ricky gives him a shove, forcing him to walk towards Hanbin and Gyuvin. While Zhang Hao knew they’d be here, he didn’t actually expect them to, well, be here . Knowing and being are very different things. 

Luckily, Hanbin still hasn’t noticed them yet, too engrossed in his conversation with Gyuvin. So Zhang Hao lets himself look.

Sung Hanbin is a Greek God. Ricky—for all that he’s right most of the time—is wrong. Even if Zhang Hao’s not wearing glasses and he forgot to put his contacts back on, even if his eyes are blurry from astigmatism and shortsightedness and maybe tears, it’s pretty obvious to anyone passing by.

His hair is a bit longer now, wavy and dark—darker than it used to be. Black, maybe. A black hoodie is half-zipped over a nice shirt, and he still keeps that same boyish aura. He seems taller too, a little bit broader, and just grown into himself in a way that might not scream age, but experience and confidence. Zhang Hao feels his heart stop.

Hanbin laughs at something Gyuvin says, and there they are—his lovely dimples, his lovely smile. And wow, Zhang Hao might actually be tearing up right now. 

There’s a stupid piece of paper clutched tight in Hanbin’s hands, one written with that same ugly, messy, barely legible handwriting of his. Zhang Hao has a hard time deciphering the message. 

Welcome back home Hao-hyung, world’s prettiest violinist ♡

Ah. They’re still the same dorks they used to be, Zhang Hao thinks with a fond smile. It’s good to realize that, despite the passage of time, some things still remain the same.

And then—Hanbin sees him. He freezes mid-sentence, his eyes widening comically, his mouth falling open. As always, so expressive, so lovely. 

It might be a little pathetic to admit, but Zhang Hao feels himself falling in love even deeper. He never tried to understand why his feelings for Hanbin never went away—despite silence and distance—and he doesn’t bother doing it now, either. He just accepts it as it is. Maybe that’s what he was born to do.  Love Hanbin. Love him in silence, his feelings never returned. And maybe that’s okay. As long as he gets to see him.

How depressing.

Zhang Hao doesn't realize he’s stopped moving until Ricky’s hand gently nudges him forward again. Gyuvin notices them, and immediately starts tugging Hanbin’s hoodie off in a panic. Zhang Hao smiles, hides it bashfully under his hand. They’re so silly. But Hanbin looks really handsome on his crisp white button-down, the first two buttons undone, just enough to show his beautifully placed tattoos. 

And his eyes don’t leave Zhang Hao’s nearing frame. 

And then, they’re eye to eye. A few centimeters apart. Zhang Hao can smell him—that warm, woodsy scent that never quite left his memory, mixed with something that just screams Hanbin. The sweatshirt buried on his suitcase lost it years, and years, and years ago, but Zhang Hao’s never forgotten. He never could. 

He can finally see him. Properly see him. Not through a grainy picture, not through a phone screen. He can see Hanbin in the flesh. Not much has changed about him.

His lashes are still long and luscious, his cheeks haven’t lost that sweet, red hue. His lips are dry and cracked, as if he’s been chewing and chewing on them. And his eyes—open and honest.

Nothing has changed, yet everything has. The world around them blurs. It’s just them. The way it always felt like it should be.

Zhang Hao can’t help it anymore. He smiles, small and bashful, but big enough to make the apples of his cheeks round. And Hanbin does too, big enough to make the happy marks around his eyes show.  

And even though Zhang Hao is happy—insanely happy—even though Hanbin mirrors his feelings, he still hesitates. He reaches out, hand hovering Hanbin’s bicep, unsure. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch him anymore, not the way they used to. They used to be so comfortable around each other, yet Zhang Hao doesn’t know where they stand, what has become of them.

But Hanbin doesn’t let him wonder long. He reaches out, grabs Zhang Hao’s hand, and pulls him forward, right into his chest. Zhang Hao exhales, startled, but also relieved. His hands find the small of Hanbin’s back, tentatively clutching the soft fabric of his shirt.

“You—” Hanbin begins, but his voice wavers. He swallows hard, and whispers almost against Zhang Hao’s ear. “You… you’re actually here.” 

“I promised, didn’t I?” Zhang Hao murmurs back. It’s vague on purpose, but he hopes Hanbin understands. And he just stays there, basking in Hanbin’s warmth, breathing in his scent. “You smell the same as you used to,” escapes his lips. But he doesn’t regret it. 

Not when Hanbin pulls back just enough to grin sheepishly, chest and cheeks and ears a burning read. “Thank you? I still use the same perfume as I did back then,” Hanbin admits, scratching the back of his head. “You actually smell… like plane.”

Zhang Hao wants to die. 

It must show on his face as Hanbin starts flailing, his hands moving frantically like he’s trying to take the words back with his palms. 

“Wait! It’s not something bad hyung, I swear! I just said the first thing that came to mind. Oh my God,” Hanbin groans, burying his face in both hands. “I don’t know why I said that. I had a whole speech planned to welcome you back home. God. Please forget about it, hyung. I’m so stupid.” 

He’s so endearing, Zhang Hao actually wants to eat him whole. 

But things get a bit awkward really fast. He doesn’t really know what to say, how to act around him. Seven years of distance do that to a person. Of course things can’t just snap back to how they were. They’re not the same people—the same kids.

“It’s okay, Hanbin,” Zhang Hao reassures him, gently patting his shoulder. It’s more like a tap, really, and he grimaces as he hears Ricky snorting in the background. 

Oh. Right. They’re not alone. Zhang Hao had already forgotten—it's easy to pretend they’re the only people in the world when he’s with Hanbin. Some habits don't die.

Gyuvin is watching them, wide-eyed and misty. He’s tall, taller than Zhang Hao remembers, but his big, child-like eyes are still the same. He looks the same, which is incredibly comforting for Zhang Hao’s heart.

“Hyung. My hyung,” he says before long arms are around Zhang Hao in a crushing hug. It’s not a common occurrence—but he feels small, really small. And young. And he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying. Someone else he left behind, someone else that grew up without him, even though they were supposed to grow up together. “We missed you so much.”

Zhang Hao knows he must look like a wreck—snotty, red-rimmed eyes, smelling like airplane. But it doesn’t matter. He’s home. “Me too, Gyuvinnie. You have no idea.” 

Hanbin is standing off to the side, staring at them. Zhang Hao knows he wants to join. This is something they used to do all the time, but Hanbin hesitates. Not for long, though, as Gyuvin yanks him by the arm, squeezes him right next to Zhang Hao, mashing all of them like a potato purée. 

“My stupid, tiny hyungs,” Gyuvin teases fondly, kissing them on the top of their heads. They share a small smile, cheeks squished against Gyuvin’s shoulder. “I can’t wait to be the man of honor at your wedding. It’s going to be so cool. I can’t wait.”

That effectively kills the mood. Zhang Hao and Hanbin both freeze. Gyuvin doesn’t seem to notice, letting them go with one last hearty pat to their backs. They still stand there, all three of them, a little too close, arms brushing, hearts too full.

But the air feels heavier now that Gyuvin’s dropped that bomb. The silence that follows stretches a little bit too long. Zhang Hao shifts on his feet, awkward. He can hear Ricky quietly snickering behind them. Again. 

Right! Ricky, his savior. His blonde savior, sharp-tongued savior. The one who Gyuvin has been eyeing suspiciously for quite a long time. 

Zhang Hao quickly introduces them. Hanbin doesn’t really speak English or French or Chinese, so the interaction is a bit strange. That, plus Ricky’s very slow, deliberate once-over and his judgmental quirked brow. 

They don’t need to speak the same language for Hanbin to understand Ricky’s message loud and clear, it seems. Zhang Hao shivers. Ricky can be a cute little kitty, but he can also be insanely scary when he puts his mind into it.

Gyuvin, though? Not fazed at all. Actually, he seems delighted at being subjected to Ricky’s mean-girl tendencies. He offers his hand for a handshake, and Ricky takes his time, eyeing it suspiciously, until he finally takes it. 

Gyuvin is practically bouncing on his feet. Interesting. Very, very interesting.

“I will happily be your translator if you let me hold your hand at least once more during your stay, beautiful French man,” Gyuvin says in perfect English. Zhang Hao barks out a laugh, while Hanbin blinks in confusion. “I will be your hero. You may call me Gyuvin.”

“Gyuvin is flirting with him,” Zhang Hao whispers in Hanbin’s ear, his heart hammering in his chest. He doesn’t really know how he got this close without fainting, but here he is. “Very badly.”

Ricky, of course, doesn’t dignify him with an answer. A very Ricky thing to do. 

But Gyuvin is nothing but persistent. “I used to think French people only ate cheese, drank wine, and judged people. I didn’t know they could be this lovely.”

“I’m actually Chinese,” Ricky deadpans. But Zhang Hao knows him. There’s something in his eyes... interest, perhaps? Too soon to find out, but it is out of the ordinary, considering Ricky is as much of a celibate as Zhang Hao is. 

An unattainable man, in his words. No man is worth his time and effort, no man is deserving of his beauty. That’s the mantra he’s lived by for the past five years. And Zhang Hao has followed suit. For different reasons that are not worth naming but are known by everyone. Next question.

“Well, regardless of your birthplace, you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on. You’re a prince, and I will be your loyal servant. You deserve no less.” Gyuvin bows dramatically, grabs Ricky’s fluffy pink suitcase, and struts toward the exit.

Ricky just stands there, speechless—funny thing. He always has something to say, so this it’s a good sign for Gyuvin. He has scored his first goal, it seems.

Zhang Hao is deeply endeared by his friends. If he’d known they would be a good match, he might have introduced them sooner. 

But then… Hanbin. Hanbin and his lovely smile, Hanbin and his lovely eyes. 

When he looks back, Hanbin’s not watching their friends, he's watching Zhang Hao instead. They’re so close Zhang Hao can feel the warmth radiating through his body, all the way down to his fingertips. 

“I’m really, really happy you’re here,” Hanbin murmurs softly, lovingly. And even though Zhang Hao wants to die, wants to tight-wrap himself and hide in his suitcase, he smiles too. 

It is a little bit awkward, though, to be left standing alone without the cushion of their friends. Zhang Hao feels a little self-conscious of how long he’s been smiling, of his wrinkled clothes, of his dry lips. 

Shifting from foot to foot, he bends to grab his suitcase—but Hanbin gets there first. Their hands brush—just the briefest touch—but Zhang Hao startles like he’s been burned. It feels that way, honestly. Because this is the first time their bare skin has touched in seven years.

Hanbin startles too, but he recovers quicker. “Let me,” he says with a sweet smile, eyes curving in two crescent moons as his fingers curl around the handle of Zhang Hao’s suitcase. 

Zhang Hao forgot what it felt like to be spoiled like this. Back then, Hanbin used to do this all the time, used to carry things for him—grocery bags, his backpack full of books, his violin case—even though Zhang Hao was more than capable of doing it himself, even though his biceps used to be bigger than Hanbin’s noodle, dancer arms. Playing the violin did that to his body.

This is an old dance too, reminiscent of the first months of their friendship. Zhang Hao—nineteen years old, fresh off a plane, clumsy tongue mispronouncing words; and Sung Hanbin—eighteen years old, freshly graduated, buttery voice always singing praises in Zhang Hao’s direction. 

Back then, Zhang Hao would try to refuse, just like he’s about to do now. 

“You don’t have to—“ he says in the present, and just like in the past, Hanbin stops him. 

Despite his sunshine and agreeable disposition, he’s always been awfully stubborn. In that way, they’ve always been the same. It caused a few quarrels between them, ones that Zhang Hao remembers fondly now, even if back then they felt like the end of the world. It felt like the end of the world if they went more than five hours without speaking to each other, it felt like the end of the world when Hanbin’s stare was a little bit icier.

“I want to, hyung,” Hanbin says now, quieter, a little shy. “I’m… still really strong, you know. Stronger than I used to be.” 

Zhang Hao feels his lips curving into an involuntary smile. He doesn’t know why, but Hanbin’s words just made him sound so… young. Boyish. Like the twenty-two-year-old he left behind, the one that always wanted to impress his hyung.

So, he lets go. 

The gesture shouldn’t make his heart pound the way it does, but it does anyway. He long gave up trying to understand the machinations of his own heart. 

There’s something so tender about the way Hanbin drags his pink suitcase behind him, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like they’re back seven years in time, nothing broken between them. Like they’ve always done this. They had. 

Could they again? He follows quickly, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Zhang Hao doesn't want to think about it. The promise. The only thing that still binds them, the thin thread that still keeps them together, the one thing that made this reunion possible. But it’s impossible not to. Impossible not to imagine a future where they’re returning from their honeymoon instead, a perfect mirror of this exact same scene.

Since he doesn’t want to go down that rabbit hole, Zhang Hao does what any normal reasonable man in distress would do: he slaps his cheeks, hard. It stings, but the pain helps. An old lady stares at him like he’s lost his mind. Perhaps he has. That’s what love does to you.

Hanbin leads them to his car—a sleek little thing that doesn’t scream I’m rich at all. Zhang Hao notices the hamster charm hanging from the mirror. It’s the same one he gave Hanbin as a little present all those years ago.

“The kids take the back seat,” Hanbin says, unlocking the doors.

Ricky slides in with an exaggerated sigh. “The bridesmaids to the back, I guess.” 

Gyuvin laughs way too loudly. Zhang Hao just rolls his eyes. But as he’s climbing into the passenger seat, he catches Ricky muttering in French under his breath, “I can’t believe you’re marrying before me. Ant to an actual prince. Tsk, so annoying. Fucking bastard.” 

Zhang Hao chokes on a laugh but doesn’t bother correcting him—because, well, Ricky’s right. Hanbin is a prince. Hopefully he’s right about the marriage part, too.

The engine turns to life, the car purring softly. If Zhang Hao weren’t so on edge, it would lull him to sleep. He’s horribly jet-lagged. From the back, Gyuvin is already asking Ricky what kind of dates he likes to go on. Pretty forward, that boy.

But the front seat is a lot quieter. 

Zhang Hao folds his hands in his lap, trying not to fidget, not to steal glances at Hanbin’s side profile. Try being the keyword here. Because, well, he fails miserably. It’s not his fault Hanbin is perfect from every angle. He’s just… a weak man.

Hanbin’s hands on the wheel are something out of a wet dream. Zhang Hao’s wet dream. And he doesn’t have those often. They’re not huge, his fingers are not particularly long, but there’s a delicateness to them that contrasts with his prominent veins, with the sleek black watch on his wrist. The road lights sweep over his face as they drive, making his features impossibly softer. He looks so… composed. Mature. So quietly handsome.

Zhang Hao’s throat itches with the need to say something. Anything. “Thanks for picking me up,” he murmurs at last, voice low.

“Of course, hyung,” Hanbin replies, eyes on the road. His grip on the steering wheel tightens briefly before relaxing again. “I was… I was actually scared you wouldn’t come.”

Zhang Hao doesn’t dare to look at him anymore. His gaze stays on the road ahead, on the blur of high buildings passing by the. But his voice is steady when he says, “Well, I have a promise to fulfill, don’t I?”

And there it is. The ball is in Hanbin’s court. What he’d been too scared to acknowledge ever since he got on that damn plane on Charles de Gaulle, almost sixteen hours ago. What he'd been too scared to acknowledge since Hanbin reached out to him a week ago. 

The silence that follows isn’t daunting in the way he thought it would be. It’s not empty, it’s not heavy—it’s full. Of everything they never said back then. Of the years and kilometers that separated them. Of hope, perhaps, tentative and quiet, but alive.

Hanbin doesn’t say anything for a second. Just exhales softly, like he’s been holding that breath for years. A small smile blooms on his lips when he says, “Yeah, you do.”

Not much happens after that. The car falls into a quiet, charged calm, just Ricky and Gyuvin’s soft snores filling the space. 

When Zhang Hao glances back, an amused smile takes over his features. Ricky is dozing off on Gyuvin’s shoulder. Cute. Kind of impossible not to warm up fast to Gyuvin’s puppy-dog charm, Zhang Hao thinks. Even Ricky—who is notoriously a tough bone to roar. But if there’s someone with canines sharp enough, it’s Gyuvin. 

Zhang Hao is tired. Not just his body—his heart too. Today has been a lot. The past week has been a lot, if he’s honest. 

A sigh slips out his lips, and he closes his eyes, resting his cheek against the cool window. The purr of the engine lulls him to a light sleep. He can still feel Hanbin’s presence—his fingers tapping on the wheel, his warmth, his perfume. Always him.

A gentle tap to his shoulder wakes him. For a second he feels lost, until he hears Gyuvin and Ricky voices outside the car. Zhang Hao blinks, groggily, and finds Hanbin smiling at him. 

“Hi hyung. Falling asleep everywhere as always, huh? Are you cranky? You used to get so cranky when you woke up,” Hanbin teases with a fond laugh. “And your hair’s still a mess after sleeping too.”

Hanbin’s fingers run through Zhang Hao’s strands, and he really, really, really, really has to summon every ounce of self control not to whimper. It’s embarrassing how easily his body reacts to anything Hanbin—but he’s been deprived of him for seven years. It’s only natural. Nothing to be ashamed of. His pulse is quick, hammering. He hopes the car isn’t quiet enough for Hanbin to hear it.

Zhang Hao pouts, jabs his index finger into Hanbin’s chest, accusatory. A very hard chest, he must add. Age is not the only thing that’s grown, apparently. 

“You’re still so mean to me. I just came here to be bullied by you,” Zhang Hao whines, as pitifully as possible. He even rounds his eyes and makes them get all glassy. Hanbin used to be so weak for his puppy eyes back then. “Maybe I should just grab my bags and go back.”

Hanbin is not immune to his old charms. If anything, he’s even more affected by them—a blush blooming on his cheeks, his pupils darkening. “Don’t say that. I’ll tie you to this seat if that’s what it takes for you to not leave me again.”

Leave me, is what he said. Not leave, as in this place, this country, their old apartment. But him. Hanbin.

It makes Zhang Hao’s chest ache. The statement, the fragile vulnerability in Hanbin’s voice, the rawness behind his plea, disguised as a joke. He can’t take it anymore, this tense atmosphere building between them. It’s uncomfortable, and it’s foreign. 

It’s uncomfortable because it’s foreign.

He’s saved by Ricky, wearing his most shit-eating grin. “Are you lovebirds done catching up? We have suitcases to unpack in case you didn’t remember, Zhang Hao. And I’m starving. And sleepy. And you know how I get when I’m starving and sleepy, so chop chop.”

Hanbin grabs Zhang Hao’s suitcase before he can protest—and really, what can a man do but yield in the face of his incredibly handsome teenage love? Zhang Hao keeps his mouth shut. Naturally, he lets himself be spoiled.

At the door, Zhang Hao lingers. Hanbin lingers too. The door is opened, Ricky is inside, and Gyuvin already squished the life out of him in goodbye, making Zhang Hao swear on his life that they'd be seeing each other soon. 

So now it’s just him and Hanbin, but neither of them moves.

Zhang Hao finally manages, softly, “Thank you for today, Hanbinnie. For picking us up, and for… being here.”

Hanbin gives a soft, lopsided smile. One front tooth is slightly chipped, and some are crooked, just as beautiful as it was when he was younger—just more crow’s feet. “Thank you for coming back, hyung.” 

They don’t hug, even though Zhang Hao can feel the need to do it in the air, buzzing like an electric current. The spaces between them hums, thin and stretched, but they leave it unclosed. 

The only thing that bridges the gap is Hanbin’s voice. “Tomorrow…” he begins, hesitantly. “Maybe we can catch up? Just the two of us?”

Zhang Hao nods. “…Okay. Just text me.”

Hanbin hums. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Zhang Hao doesn’t sleep that night. Which means that by morning he's cranky and groggy. But how could he even sleep, when all he saw when he closed his eyes was Hanbin's text? 

Meet me at Ludia tomorrow at noon. Just us♡

Just us. Just us. Just us.  

Is it a date? It’s not like Zhang Hao was expecting their friends to come along, but the way Hanbin emphasized just us makes him feel very nervous. Very on edge. The first time they’ll be alone and together in so long. 

Through the thin walls, he can hear Ricky snoring next door. The curtains are thin too—letting in the morning light as the sky shifts from black to blue to pink, the sun shining straight into his eyes. Zhang Hao sighs in resignation. There’s not much he can do now, is it? Just rise and shine, baby.

When Ricky strolls into the kitchen later, he finds Zhang Hao already there, sipping on a very disgusting cup of instant coffee. He’s never been deterred by Zhang Hao’s disgruntled face, and today is not the exception it seems. 

“Restless night? Did you dream about your wedding already?” Ricky smirks, letting out a scandalized gasp. “Or was it a dirty dream? Ohhh…I wouldn’t blame you, you know. He’s actually waaay hotter in person. Pictures don’t do him justice, and it’s not like he looks bad in pictures, no, no. He looks really good. But the real thing is better, and—”

“Shen Quanrui!” Zhang Hao snaps, slamming his mug down. 

It effectively stuns Ricky into silence. He knows it’s serious when Zhang Hao uses his full name, but he can’t be subjected to his friend—his own flesh and blood—thirsting over his imaginary husband at… nine p.m. Or ever, actually. 

“If you say one more thing about how hot he is, I swear I will kill you,” Zhang Hao says, pointing a finger at him. “He’s mine. Don’t even look at him. Am I being clear?”

The motherfucker has the gall to laugh, bright and loud and annoying. “Hey, hey. I didn’t know you could be so territorial,” he teases. “I like it, ge. I like this new side of you.” 

What Ricky doesn’t know is that this isn’t a new side of him. Back then, Zhang Hao scared off anyone who dared pose their filthy eyes on Hanbin. He can be very scary when he wants to. 

“But I like this attitude. Yes, defend your man. Don’t let anyone look at him. Go and get him, and all that. But you need to hurry or someone else will snatch him away. You should have seen how people were thirsting after him at the airport. It was kinda insane.” 

It’s actually really annoying the burn Zhang Hao feels in his chest, even though they’re not in the airport anymore. He can be retroactively jealous, though. It’s okay. 

“Not me, though,” Ricky adds quickly, sensing Zhang Hao’s aura darkening. Further. “I can appreciate beauty when it’s there, but he’s not really my type. So don’t get all jealous, Hao-ge.” 

Zhang Hao already knew that, but he can’t resist being a little annoying sometimes. Sue him. “Yeah, I know your sights are elsewhere,” he says drawls, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Didn’t know you were into puppy boys, Ruirui.”

Ricky doesn’t deny it—which, frankly, is the most surprising thing that’s happened today. “Me neither,” he sighs dreamily. “That boy…” he trails off, but the look on his face is one of pure lovesickness. 

Gay people and falling in love at the speed of light, Zhang Hao thinks wryly. He knows one of two things about that.

 “Anyway,” Ricky says, clapping his hands, “enough about me. Let’s go pick out an outfit for your date with your husband.”

Naturally, Zhang Hao spends way too long getting dressed. Ricky makes him change outfits five times. And now, walking through the streets of Seoul, he feels overdressed for what is technically just a coffee date. Which makes him feel self-conscious. Which makes him want to turn back, run back to their rented apartment, and maybe drop another twelve hundred euros to flee back to Paris.

He does none of that. Zhang Hao soldiers on, walking the familiar path to Ludia. Seven years have passed, but nothing has changed. It feels like this place has been waiting for him, frozen in time. It feels like he’s twenty-three again, happily skipping his way to a study date with his roommate and best friend, Sung Hanbin.

What are they now? Unknown. 

Who are they to each other? The most nerve-wracking thing is that Zhang Hao is about to find out. 

His phone vibrates in his coat pocket. 

Already here. Waiting for you hyung ♡ Hanbin writes, message accompanied by a picture. 

Zhang Hao closes his eyes in instinct, stops on his tracks. Someone bumps into him from behind, curses him, but Zhang Hao barely notices. That’s the least of his problems. The biggest problem is, once again, on his phone. Different place, same situation. 

His right eye opens—little by little—just until he’s make out the outline of a blurry selfie. Hanbin, looking like a campus sweetheart. 

Zhang Hao can’t take it. He’s blind and in love, so his phone ends up right next to his face so he can inspect every single detail of his only love. Hanbin’s round and shiny eyes, Hanbin’s lower lip jutted out in a pout. His long lashes, his deep cupid’s bow, dusted a rosy coral. His black hair, his strong eyebrows. His tattoo. He looks almost… pleading. Zhang Hao can imagine him on his kne— 

Stop. Stop. Stop. He needs to stop. Deep breaths. Think of Ricky’s grandma underwear. Think about that one French guy who tried to seduce him while smelling like onion soup. Yes, that’s better.

Ludia is the same as it used to be. Small, warm, cozy. Familiar. The drinks haven’t changed, the pastries either. Their corner sear—the one right next to a big window—is still there. It was their little bubble away from the world.

And that’s where Hanbin’s waiting for him. In that place where they used to study, used to gossip, used to spend entire afternoons in silence, just stealing a few glances, feet tangled beneath the table. Hanbin, looking annoyingly gorgeous and calm. 

Zhang Hao is neither. In fact, he’s late. Which is absurd, because he’s never late. He’s the kind of person who arrives ten minutes early just to be safe, who sets three alarms, who triple-checks everything. But this time, he’s late. Blame it on his little meltdown outside. So, essentially, this is Hanbin’s fault.

He bursts through the café doors, flushed cheeks and windswept hair, breathless and frantic. Like really, really frantic. He wasn’t even this frantic during his first solo violin back at the conservatory. 

The bell jingles—obnoxious and a little bit daunting. It doesn’t help in easing Zhang Hao’s nervousness. He actually jumps a little bit at the sharpness of the noise.

Hanbin is already there. Zhang Hao knew. The pleading-eyes-pouty-lips selfie on his phone is proof of it. Sunlight spills across his face like he’s starring in some moody, queer, indie film. Of course. Of course he looks stupidly beautiful at twelve p.m., sipping that disgusting iced americano Zhang Hao has missed so much.

Slowing down, Zhang Hao adjusts his coat, takes a deep breath, walks as slowly and composed as possible, pretending he wasn’t running just a minute ago. 

Hanbin notices him then—and his eyes brighten like two little suns. The smile he gives is dumb, big and lopsided, his chipped tooth on full display.

“Hi,” Zhang Hao blurts out a little too fast, a little too loud. He winces, standing awkwardly next to the table. “Sorry, I—I had an outfit crisis. Ricky is really annoying. There was… screaming.” 

It’s not the truth, but not a lie either. He could have been here earlier if it weren't for Ricky. The real reason behind his tardiness, though, sits right in front of him.

“It’s okay, Hao,” Hanbin says, standing up to help Zhang Hao shrug off his coat. It startles him, because Hao? That one is new. 

Back then, his name used to slip from Hanbin’s lips without the honorific from time to time just to test the waters, to see how far Zhang Hao would let him go, how far he could push him. But it never lingered.

Now, Zhang Hao wishes Hanbin hadn’t called him that, as it makes his heart stutter, his hands sweat, his breath catch. And Hanbin is right there, helping him out of his coat. 

He needs to get his shit together like, right now, before Hanbin realizes there’s something fundamentally wrong with him.

“You’re all set,” Hanbin murmurs, his breath tickling Zhang Hao’s ear. 

Wow. He’s very close. Too close.

From here, he can see the constellation of moles on Hanbin’s face. The ones he memorized years ago.

A hasty bow, a rushed, “Thank you,” and Zhang Hao sits down, knees knocking on the table, elbow catching the edge of the sugar tray, nearly knocking it over. So smooth. He’s doing so well pretending he’s totally fine.

There’s amusement in Hanbin’s eyes. At least one of them finds this whole situation funny. Zhang Hao’s thigh brushes Hanbin’s under the table, and neither of them moves away.

“So…” Zhang Hao begins, fidgeting with the menu even though he already knows what he’s ordering. He’s a creature of habit, and he’s really missing the watered-down abomination they call coffee here. “This is nice,” he blurts out. Great. Now he just sounds dumb. His mouth and his brain are not working together today, it seems. “Really nice. Us. Talking. Existing in the same time zone. It’s nice. Don’t you think it’s nice?”

If asked, Zhang Hao would claim his lack of vocabulary comes from the fact that he hasn’t spoken Korean with anybody in so, so long. His tongue is clumsy and so is his brain. The truth is something else entirely, but he won’t admit it.

Hanbin hums in agreement, watching him a little too closely for comfort, which only makes him squirm. “You look good.”

Zhang Hao almost drops the menu, has to fight the urge to hang his jaw open. “Ha. I—thanks. I tried not to look like shit. I'm jet-lagged, you know? Don’t know if I fully succeeded.”

“You do.”

“Look like shit?” Zhang Hao demands, scandalized. One thing is for him to say it, but hearing it from the beautiful and immaculate man who looks like he definitely got ten hours of sleep—that’s unacceptable. “Well, you’re the one who made me wake up at the crack of dawn! It’s not my fault I look bad, it’s yours,” Zhang Hao whines loudly, pouting his lips just like he used. 

This habit of his, it stopped over time. He thought he’d grown out of it. Apparently, all it took was one Sung Hanbin to revert him to his twenty-three-year-old self. Nice. Will his wrinkles erase too? 

Hanbin cackles—loud and a little shrill, pleasant to the ears. To Zhang Hao’s ears only, it seems. An old lady two tables down glares at them. “It’s twelve p.m., hyung.”

“For me it’s five a.m., Hanbin-ah. You’re so inconsiderate. You don’t care about me anymore,” Zhang Hao sulks, crossing his arms.

But it doesn’t have the effect he desires. Hanbin doesn’t rush to explain himself like he used to, doesn’t scramble to soothe him just for Zhang Hao to pretend to be even angrier, doesn’t rush to pat his head, pinch his cheeks. He just stares at him fondly. Like someone recalling a good memory. 

That’s different about him. Young Hanbin was restless, hated being misunderstood. Zhang Hao used to enjoy riling him up, just to see him blush. But now? There’s a quiet maturity to him, something that wasn’t there before. Calmer, more assured, but still unmistakably him. It’s strange. 

Maybe Zhang Hao just has to work harder to make him blush, to make him stutter. That could be it.

That’s Zhang Hao’s last thought before he is the one blushing and stuttering. “You look pretty, hyung,” Hanbin says softly. If the café weren’t so quiet, Zhang Hao might not have even heard it. “And I do care about you. I’ve always cared about you. And this is nice. Being here with you.”

And there it is. The tension. Thick as honey, stretching between them, almost suffocating. Zhang Hao can’t breathe, struggles to think. 

He blinks. And blinks again. Once, twice. That wasn’t on the menu. Neither was the heat crawling up his neck. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Picks up a napkin. Puts it back down. 

“You—” he tries. And fails, obviously. It comes out all high pitched and just—weird. Awfully weird. So, he tries again. “You can’t just say that. I mean, you can. You just did. But—oh my God. I’m just embarrassing myself. Shutting up now,” Zhang Hao says with finality, making the gesture of zipping his mouth shut. His cheeks are on fire. This is not how he envisioned today going. 

Hanbin just smiles mischievously into his iced americano, clearly enjoying this. Zhang Hao wants to call him a little shit, but his mouth has been sealed for the foreseeable future. He can’t trust himself.

Thankfully, the waitress comes in with another iced americano and an absurdly large assortment of pastries Zhang Hao definitely didn’t order. The only suspect is sitting across from him, suddenly looking bashful. Guilty, then.

“I didn’t order this,” Zhang Hao says to the waitress, just to be a little shit. Two can play this game. 

Hanbin scratches the back of his neck. “Ah… I did, hyung. I didn’t know what you wanted to eat, so I ordered one of everything before you got here. Sorry.” He’s blushing so hard now that they’re even. Hehe.

“Oh,” Zhang Hao teases, feigning surprise. “You’re always so sweet, Hanbinnie. Thank you. I’ll make sure to try everything on this table.” His tone is suggestive enough to make Hanbin’s ears turn bright red. Hehe. Now he’s winning.

The waitress sighs dreamily. “Young love is so cute,” she says. Zhang Hao resists the urge to correct her—not that young—but he’ll take the compliment. “I’ll leave you alone on your date. Enjoy the food!”

A date. Huh. Is that what this is? Is that how people see them? Two blushing idiots playing footsie under the table, sipping their terrible drinks to avoid talking, looking everywhere but at each other. If Zhang Hao were an outsider, he’d find it adorable. But since he’s the protagonist of this situation, he actually wants to crawl out of his skin. This is excruciating.

No one says a thing for a while, until Hanbin does. He mutters under his breath, “This is so fucking ridiculous.” Then, with shaking hands, he pulls something out of his bag. A folder. A thick one.

Zhang Hao tilts his head in confusion. “What is that?”

Hanbin tries to flip it open casually, but his fingers are trembling. Zhang Hao is even more curious now. What on earth could have gotten him so worked up? 

“There’s this venue in Seongbuk-dong,” he starts, words rushing out. “Very charming. I was there for a colleague’s wedding. Outdoor garden, warm lighting. Also, they have a huge piano and the desserts are amazing. I know you like sweet things. I thought we could check it out.”

Zhang Hao just—stares. And stares. And tries to follow Hanbin, who’s speaking at a hundred kilometers per hour, trying to get everything out all at once. But also, he’s strangely calm. Too calm for someone who just detonated a nuclear emotional bomb.

“There’s another one in Mapo-gu. It has a rooftop view, where you can see all the city lights. Bit noisy, but the photographer said the sunsets there are so pretty. I really liked this one.” Hanbin flips a page. “Also, this one is cheaper on weekdays,” he says, pointing to a picture with a lot of green. Grass. Is it a barn? “But you hate weekdays, so I figured—“

Zhang Hao finally speaks. “Hanbin. What the hell.” Nothing more, nothing less. 

Hanbin freezes. Zhang Hao doesn’t think he’s ever been this shocked in his life. Not when he got accepted at the conservatory, or that time Hanbin worked a whole week at the dance studio just to take him to that fancy sushi restaurant for his twenty-second birthday, or that time when Hanbin— Wait. He’s getting sidetracked. 

“Are you talking about… wedding venues?” Zhang Hao finally asks, almost scared of the answer.

“Yeah? You are— I mean, you said— I mean, we promised we would get married. I didn’t make that up, did I? We’re both thirty and single, right?” Hanbin laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his head and staring everywhere but at Zhang Hao’s shocked hamster face. He learned this one from Hanbin. 

“Unless… unless you’re not single? Or maybe you don’t want to anymore? If you don’t want to, that’s totally fine! Or if you’re not single!” Hanbin is truly horrified at the thought, and he makes little to no effort in hiding it. He’s so distressed it would be kind of funny if Zhang Hao weren’t equally distressed about this whole situation. “Oh God. Please forget anything I said, hyung.” Hanbin slaps the folder shut with a loud thwack , and buries his face in his hands. “Forget I said anything.” 

The sound is what breaks Zhang Hao out of his stupor. He literally almost throws himself across the table in his effort to stop Hanbin from slipping the folder back into his brown leather bag. 

“No!” Zhang Hao yelps, louder than intended. The old lady from earlier turns to stare at him. Disapprovingly, he must add. Zhang Hao cowers under the scrutiny… but more so under Hanbin’s, whose eyes are so, so big and round and surprised. 

“I… I just—” Zhang Hao stammers, just to not end up saying anything for a few, painfully long seconds. Nothing at all. 

Because— wow, this is awfully hard. How exactly does one say yesss, I want to marry you right now if that’s okay? Hehe? I’ve been in love with you and dreaming of this day since I was nineteen and still had braces? Hehe? Without sounding like an utter, lovesick, idiot. And a freak. 

Clearly, he does want to marry Hanbin. That much is obvious. It’s just that… he didn’t think Hanbin would actually want to marry him back. He thought it was maybe… a joke? Although Hanbin is definitely not one to joke about things like that. But maybe he was too drunk? Just like the night they made the promise?

God. His brain is a mess. But the way Hanbin’s watching him now—hesitant, vulnerable—tells him this isn’t a joke. Hanbin isn’t dangling an old promise just to mess with him. He’s offering something real. Something Zhang Hao wants too. 

“I’m just… surprised,” Zhang Hao finally says, which is as close to the truth as he can get, even if the words barely scratch the surface of what he’s feeling. “That’s all, Hanbin. It’s not that I don’t want to…” He trails off, unable to say marry you. The m word. That would make this whole thing… real. 

Hanbin sighs, and he looks a bit sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I sprung it out on you like that, hyung. I was going to wait to bring it up later, but you were all flustered and smiling, and the lighting was kind of nice—it really made your skin glow in a really nice way. You looked a bit like a fairy,” Hanbin admits with a dreamy sigh. “And then I just… couldn’t wait. Sorry. You’re so cute sometimes the wires in my brain get all tangled up. Sorry.”

Zhang Hao blinks at him. Okay then. That wasn’t on the menu either. This guy is awfully sweet. Sweeter than the pastry Zhang Hao just stuffed in his mouth just to have something to do. It was a pistachio filled croissant. The pastry chef must have been changed, because this is not as good as he remembers. He’s about to choke.

The cutie pie strawberry cheesecake guy also known as Sung Hanbin doesn’t seem to notice his struggle as he keeps rambling. He’s nervous. Back in the day, he used to do this exact same thing. Like his emotions are too big to hold in and he needs to talk, talk, talk. 

“I didn’t mean it like, let’s get married next week or anything like that. It’s not like I have my vows ready, haha.” His chuckle is awkward, and Zhang Hao chooses to ignore it. “It’s just—the promise. I know it’s been so long, but it’s never left my mind. I could honestly never forget about it, hyung, no matter how much I tried. And, I don’t know. A few weeks ago, I thought, wouldn’t it be funny if we actually got married? And I don’t mean it in a funny, ha-ha-ha way. I mean it in a serious-and-romantic way. I-planned-this-all-along way. God. What am I even saying?”

Across from him, Hanbin is clearly, clearly spiraling. His face is twisted with an almost crazed edge, and he clamps his hands over his mouth, but the words keep spilling. 

“I mean, if you want to, this could totally be a joke. Or maybe, like sixty percent a joke. Well, actually, forty percent a joke. The odds of your actually wanting to marry me are not very high, I guess, and— Yes, we could say this is a joke if you don’t want to marry me—”

“Sung Hanbin,” Zhang Hao cuts in, deadly serious. 

So serious his face hurts from being serious. He wants to coo at Hanbin for being so fucking cute and awkward and flustered, but he must be strong. Wedding first. Priority: getting a husband.

Hanbin freezes instantly, eyes wide in fear. 

They sit there, the silence thick, Zhang Hao watching him closely. Really watching him. Takes his time in doing so from this close, for the very first time in seven years. The faint lines around his eyes, the way his fingers twitch when he’s nervous, the dents on his cheeks. They’ve gotten deeper with time. He has smiled a lot, it seems. All still there. All still his. 

Zhang Hao’s love, his only love.

He doesn’t know how long they sit like that—just his heart hammering in his throat and Hanbin staring back at him. But finally, something inside him settles.

“Open the folder,” Zhang Hao says.

Hanbin blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Nothing comes out. “Wh—What?” he stutters in disbelief. 

Zhang Hao can’t quite believe what he just said either. He swallows, hard, pulse thrumming in his ears. He really wants to run away, but he also wants to leap across the table and kiss Hanbin silly. 

“We made a promise, didn’t we?” he murmurs. Amid the craze and the chaos of everything, that remains. Their word. One broken promise was enough. “Let’s not break promises anymore, yeah?”

The soft pad of Hanbin’s fingers touch the back of his hand, lightly, hesitantly. He doesn’t dare look at Zhang Hao while he does it—just stares where they touch.

Enough , Zhang Hao thinks as he flips his hand over and intertwines their fingers. His—rough from use, from playing the violin relentlessly, from how hard he chews on the skin sometimes, and Hanbin’s, short and a little thick, gentle and smooth. It’s crazy how his next breath feels like the first one in years. 

Hanbin finally looks at him, dazed, breathless. “Yeah, Hao. Let’s not break promises anymore.”

The old lady from a few tables over tsks as she sees them hold hands. 

Zhang Hao mentally shrugs. Whatever. Let her judge. He’s getting married.

💍✨️💗

It's kind of hard not to panic. Especially when Zhang Hao’s apartment is too quiet. 

Ricky is having his afternoon nap—probably dreaming about Gyuvin’s stupid smile—when Zhang Hao gets home from his life-altering date with Hanbin. The jet lag has finally caught up to his friend. Lucky him. Zhang Hao can understand, he’s tired too, but it’s not physical. He feels like a deflated balloon. Hanbin pinched him.

So now, he’s left alone. With his thoughts. On this rental couch that feels foreign and slightly too hard to mop properly. The fluorescent lights hit his eyes in a way that makes them hurt, that makes his head throb. Everything is going wrong today, it seems, which is making his mood plummet to never-seen lows.

His clothes are wrinkled from sitting at that café for too long, uncomfortably clinging to his skin, but doesn’t have the energy to change. His hair is a wreck from running his hands through it every three minutes. His mouth is dry from all the pastries he stuffed down his throat so he wouldn’t have a breakdown in public—in front of Hanbin. 

Maybe this is just a sugar crash. That’s better than the alternative.

The wedding venue folder is on the coffee table, a bomb that could go off at any second. Zhang Hao stares, stares and stares at it. Hanbin had handed it to him with trembling fingers at the very end of their date, almost… afraid. Like he was afraid Zhang Hao might run again. Or throw it on the trash. And Zhang Hao, the idiot in love that he is, had taken it.

Now he just sits here, glaring at the damn thing like it might spout limbs and ask him to sign a marriage certificate. Which he might do, if asked nicely. That stupid brown folder, its edges slightly bent from being carried around. 

How long has Hanbin even had it? How long has he been planning… this?

Zhang Hao hasn’t opened it yet. He can’t. Not without thinking of Hanbin’s hopeful eyes, the way his pale hands shook with nerves, the way he kept stumbling over his words like he was confessing something. 

Heart racing uncomfortably—and worryingly, if he’s being honest—Zhang Hao presses his palms into his eyes until he sees stars, hoping that when he pulls them away, perhaps he might finally have all the answers he seeks for. 

He doesn’t. Instead, he sees Hanbin. Hears his sweet-honey voice, feels the phantom brush of his fingers against his. Still smells the faint musk of his cologne.

This devastating metal breakdown doesn’t allow him to hear Ricky’s door creak open, or his soft footsteps padding toward the living room. But he does feel the couch dip next to him. 

“…You good?” Ricky asks. Casual. Too casual. The kind of casual that says I see you spiraling, but I’m gonna pretend you’re not until you explode and tell me everything about it, because that’s the kind of person you are, Zhang Hao. 

Wow, he can even hear the words in the low cadence of Ricky’s voice. Creepy.

Zhang Hao doesn’t look at his friend right away. He just exhales a laugh that’s too sharp, too bitter for someone who just agreed to marry the love of his life. So, he just hums in affirmation, clearly not fooling anyone, least of all Ricky. 

“Mmmm,” Ricky hums back. Bullshit detected. “Wanna drink about it?” he offers, not waiting for his answer before disappearing into the kitchen.

Zhang Hao half-expects him to come back with some alcohol in hand, maybe that cheap vodka they used to drink when they were just students, crying night after night about finals. And break-ups with no-boyfriends. That was all Zhang Hao could afford, and Ricky has always been a good friend.

 But no. Ricky plops down beside him again with a steaming mug of something herbal and probably overpriced. He sets it on the coffee table, right next to the wedding folder. That damned folder. 

Zhang Hao gives him a look. “Is that tea?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer. Anything to stall the inevitable conversation they’re probably about to have. Scratch that. The conversation they will have in approximately one minute. Ricky is already bouncing his leg in exasperation.

“Yeah,” Ricky says with a solemn nod. “But you’re going to pretend it’s a 2015 Chateau Margaux, because that’s the kind of alcohol this night calls for.”

Zhang Hao blinks, utterly lost. “I have no idea what you just said.” 

“No matter,” Ricky answers with a dismissive wave, taking a sip of his tea. “Just know that it’s expensive and dramatic, just like you.” 

Zhang Hao almost laughs. Almost. But there’s something about Ricky’s expression as he leans back on the couch, blowing on his own mug, that makes him shiver instead.

“Now, you will tell me what you’re moping about. And—” he raises a finger as soon as Zhang Hao opens his mouth to deny the moping allegations. Scary. “Don’t even think about lying.”

Okay. Zhang Hao rolls his eyes in annoyance. This guy. 

“I’m not—“ he starts, but Ricky basically threatens him with a slow and painful death with just his eyes. Honestly, it’s almost second nature for him to deny when things are wrong. He can’t be blamed here. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’m moping. But I’m not moping because things went badly.”

“Oh?” Ricky perks up, clearly intrigued. “Proceed.”

“I’m moping because things went well,” Zhang Hao admits, his voice rising in disbelief, taking on an almost manic edge. “Which is even worse, because now I’m freaking out. It just feels too good to be true. Because Hanbin is—he’s so Hanbin , and he’s sweet and he’s charming and he means everything he says, and I can’t—”

A very painful flick to his forehead makes Zhang Hao return from his Hanbin-induced breakdown. Ouch. Fucking Ricky. 

“Breathe,” the little devil says, raising a hand. “Jesus. Calm down. Don’t die before you’re able to fuck Hanbin, ge.”

Zhang Hao wants to kill him. “Don’t say that! Why would you say that?”

“Because you’re spiraling and someone has to knock the wind back to your lungs.”

“Not with that image!” Zhang Hao wails. The words fucking and Hanbin should really not appear on the same sentence. Especially when he hasn’t felt the loving touch of someone he actually likes ever , and it’s been just him and his hand for so long, and now Hanbin is right here, so handsome and about to be his husband, and—

The second (or third? fourth?) breakdown of the night is interrupted as Ricky leans in, and sniffs Zhang Hao’s shirt. 

“Are you—are you sniffing me?” Zhang Hao asks, recoiling.

Ricky doesn’t say anything. Just closes his eyes thoughtfully. “Mmm. Yeah. Just confirming my theory. You don’t smell of heartbreak.”

“… Weirdo.”

“It’s simple science, Zhang Hao. You reek of panic, maybe some lust, a little bit of confusion, and disaster. But not heartbreak,” Ricky concludes, patting his knee. “So, whatever this is, it’s not the end of the world. You’re just overwhelmed. Things are going to be just fine, ge.”

Zhang Hao doesn’t reply. Ricky’s assessment might be… right, but that doesn’t stop the wave of nausea he gets when his eyes drift to the folder again. “Check this first,” he mutters, passing the offending object to the unsuspecting hands of Ricky.

Riky takes his hands flipping through it, and Zhang Hao closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see. Well, he does, but not here, not tonight. 

“Are these… wedding venues?” Ricky asks, and for the first time today, he actually sounds unsettled. Zhang Hao says nothing, which is enough of an answer. “Holy motherfucking shit. This guy doesn’t play around. Oh my God.”

“Holy motherfucking shit indeed.”

Ricky is gaping. Props to Sung Hanbin—the only person in the world capable of shaking the immovable object that is Shen Quanrui. 

“You’re telling me you went on one date and he’s already asking you to pick a wedding venue? I thought you didn’t even kiss during the first date!”

“It wasn’t even a date,” Zhang Hao says, even though it was totally a date. Ugh.

“Well, tell that to your husband. God…” Ricky trails off, still flipping through the pages. Just how many venues did Hanbin pick?!

Zhang Hao groans again, hiding his face in his hands. “He just—brought it up. Like, actually brought it up. I thought he was joking when he first said it, but he wasn’t, Ricky. God knows how long he’s been researching. He’s just…” A tired exhale leaves Zhang Hao’s lips, but Ricky seems to get it.

His voice loses that sassy edge when he asks, “And what did you do?” soft, softer than he’s been all night. He seems to grasp the severity of the situation. 

“I panicked, obviously. And he panicked too. But also—“ Zhang Hao hesitates, then whispers. “I said yes. Kind of.”

Ricky doesn’t respond at first. Just lifts the mug, sips, and sighs. “Well, fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck indeed.” The quiet of the room really makes him spiral harder. He much prefers when Ricky is talking nonsense instead of sitting in stunned silence. “I can’t do this. Oh God. I can’t do this,” Zhang Hao blurts out, bolting upright like he’s about to flee the country. “We need to go back, Ricky. We need to go back right now—“ 

“Yes, you can,” Ricky cuts in, calmly and surely. The kind of certainty that brings Zhang Hao to a stop. Ricky never says things he doesn’t mean. “You already said yes, basically. And Zhang Hao never goes back on his word. Besides, you’re already picking out flower arrangements in your head. I know you.”

Maybe. Zhang Hao really loves daisies and dandelions. Sue him. 

Still, he won’t say that to Ricky even if he’s got him figured out down to a T. “You’re so annoying,” he mutters, burying his face in a pillow. It smells faintly of dust, and it makes his nose itch.

“Yes, but I’m also right.”

Yeah, he’s also right. And Zhang Hao really, really wants this. That’s the scary part, isn’t it? 

“Do you think he’s serious?” he asks, voice muffled by the fluffy fabric of the pillow.

Ricky doesn’t even let him breathe. “Hao. Be serious. He literally made a folder, spent months researching venues that you would like. This,” he says, and even though Zhang Hao can’t see him, he can practically hear him waving the folder around, “this is more than serious. And this is Hanbin. I might not know him, but I know he’s not the type to throw a wedding proposal into the air for funsies. Now, I don’t know if he’s in love with you. But he cares about you a lot. That much I can see.” 

Zhang Hao peeks at him now. Ricky—the number one man-hater—defending one. Amazing things are happening in South Korea right now. 

But Ricky isn’t done. It’s not often that he’s this soft, which is why his next words land like a punch to the gut. “You want this. Let yourself have it. Even if it’s the craziest fucking thing you’ve ever done in your life. If it all goes to shit, well, at least you tried.”

Which is something I didn’t do before, Zhang Hao thinks, sitting up, rubbing his eyes, slapping his cheeks. 

He can do this. He can get married. He can pick a venue, write his vows, say yes in front of an officiant. And maybe, he’ll also get to hold Hanbin’s hand, kiss him silly, love him wholeheartedly, just as he has for many, many years.

“Okay,” Zhang Hao mutters, patting himself on the back. “Okay. I can do this. I should… thank him. For today.”

“Oh my God,” Ricky gasps. “You’re texting him first? Who are you and what did you do with my dear Zhang Hao?!”

Zhang Hao ignores him. His hands shake as he types and deletes, types and deletes:

hi ♡

thank you for today, i had a really good time, even if it was… surprising, i guess

i’ll see you tomorrow?

He hovers, then hits send. There. Done. Zhang Hao still feels like he can’t breathe, though.

Ricky grins so hard it’s physically painful to look at. If Zhang Hao had any strength left in his body, he’d hit him. 

“You’re soooo getting married.”

The tea Ricky made does taste a little bit like alcohol, Zhang Hao thinks as he sips it. As Ricky says—the mind can convince you of anything. “I’m so going to vomit.”

“You’ll vomit in Gucci, babe,” Ricky replies, standing and patting his shoulder. “Now, go take a shower, brush your damn hair, and get some beauty sleep. You’ve got a date with Prince Charming tomorrow. Your second date and you’re already picking wedding venues, isn’t that exciting?”

Zhang Hao groans again. But this time, he’s smiling. Just a little.

I had a really good time too. I really missed spending time with you, hyung. And… even though it was surprising to you, I want you to know that it wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. I’ve actually… 

Never mind. We’ll talk tomorrow. Good night ♡

💍✨️💗

The sun is shining way too bright for someone on the verge of another mental breakdown—is Zhang Hao’s first thought when Ricky knocks loudly—too loudly—on his door exactly two hours and three minutes before his second date with Hanbin. 

A wedding venue date. Which is insane, considering Zhang Hao is the kind of person who doesn’t kiss until the fifth date.

He’s on autopilot. Ricky is the one who does everything. He’s the one who picks his clothes, the one that puts make-up on his zombie-like features—a fantastic job, to be fair. Zhang Hao’s dark eyebags are nowhere to be seen, and his lips look plump and juicy. His hair is tamed, his shirt is wrinkle-free, and smells like sweet watermelon. Which is ironic, given how sour his mood is. 

Zhang Hao checks his reflection in the hallway mirror for the fifth time, dusts imaginary fluff from his too-fancy shirt, adjusts the collar. He’s sweating a little, even though it’s awfully cold inside their rented apartment. 

He flips the mirror so it’s facing the wall. Enough. 

Staring at himself is only making everything worse. His smile lines look too pronounced today, the lines around his eyes too. His cheeks are too puffy, his t-zone is starting to get oily, his hands are too cold, his spine too rigid, his—

Ricky leans against the kitchen doorway, coffee in hand, staring quietly at Zhang Hao’s frantic frame. “Why are you so nervous? This is just Hanbin. You used to live together. He used to wash your dirty underwear. He used to blow your snot when you were sick.”

“This is different!” Zhang Hao exclaims, stomping his foot. 

Ricky just doesn't get it. Yes, Hanbin has seen him at his worst. But that was years ago. Are they even the same people now? 

“Just think of it as an… outing. Like the ones you guys used to have all the time back in the day.” 

That doesn’t help. Back in the day, their outings used to be quite… romantic. At least to Zhang Hao. 

Let’s study at a coffee shop! Hanbin would say, just for him to end up falling asleep on Zhang Hao’s shoulder. Let’s go to the movies! Hanbin would suggest, just for their hands to end up intertwined halfway through. Let’s go to a party! Hanbin would announce on a random Friday, just for Zhang Hao to end up pulled away from anyone else who dared to talk to him, Hanbin’s arm securely wrapped around his waist. 

Hanbin used to be awfully jealous and possessive. Zhang Hao blushes at the memory. 

Oh, what he wouldn’t give for Hanbin to grab him like that again—hard enough to bruise, dark expression on his face. He used to feel horribly giddy when Hanbin acted that way, and sometimes, he even did it on purpose. Maybe now, that they’re going to be husbands, he could—

Ricky must sense something off. Or perhaps he can smell it in the air. 

“Zhang Hao,” Ricky cuts in, pointing an accusatory finger at him. Zhang Hao pouts. He was daydreaming something very nice! “I forbid you to think about this as a tour of the place where you may or may not pledge eternal love to your young-adulthood best friend turned not-quite-ex turned husband to be. You need to be chill. Or you’ll embarrass yourself, and I raised you better than that!”

Zhang Hao’s head hurts. Those were way too many words for someone in his fragile state of mind. 

“I’m ignoring you. But yes,” he concedes, adjusting his collar for the teeth time, “this is just a venue visit. Nothing more, nothing less.” Maybe if he says it enough, his heart will start believing it. And behaving. “I’m totally not panicking. I’m normal.”

“…Sure,” Ricky says, sipping his coffee. “Just don’t faint in front of Hanbin. Or maybe do. That’d be kind of iconic. Maybe he’d princess-carry you, and you’d get to bury your head on the crook of his shoulder, and then—”

That’s his cue to leave. Zhang Hao tunes Ricky’s blabbering out completely. He doesn’t need any more ammunition to feed the delusions already swirling in his head. 

In his pocket, his phone buzzes. 

I’m outside (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ 

Hanbin. He’s so cute Zhang Hao’s stomach flips.

Ricky, the nosy fucker, peers over his shoulder and snort. “He’s probably the cutest thirty-year-old in the world. You’re so fucked, ge. But I get it.”

Zhang Hao doesn’t answer. Just shoves his phone in his pocket, grabs the cursed wedding folder off the coffee table, and heads for the door.

“Don’t say anything embarrassing!” Ricky calls after him. “Don’t confess, or cry, or ask to adopt children or—“

He closes the door right on his face.

Hanbin is already waiting outside, looking freakishly divine and delicious leaning against his black car, sunglasses on, an iced americano on each hand. 

He really is so handsome Zhang Hao has to be extra careful not to trip on the stairs, since he can’t take his eyes away from the way his simple white t-shirt hugs the curve of his chest, from the way his jeans sit snuggly on his legs. Freakishly divine. No one compares, really.

“You’re early,” Zhang Hao says as a greeting. 

The sun is warm and pleasant on his skin, but Hanbin is warmer, prettier, more enticing. He would love nothing more than to close the distance between them and see for himself if his lips are as soft and sweet as they look, and—

Wow. Not even ten a.m. and he’s already having these thoughts. Be normal. Be normal. Be normal.

“I was three minutes and twenty-four seconds early, hyung,” Hanbin replies with a smirk, raising the iced americano to his face. 

Zhang Hao doesn’t really feel like using his hands—he just leans in, wraps his lips around the straw and drinks straight from Hanbin’s hand. Through the shades, he can’t really see Hanbin well, but he’s pretty sure his eyes widen under his sunglasses, and his cheeks grow warm, warmer than the morning sun. Hehe. 

“Be—be grateful,” the boy stammers, hand trembling slightly. “I was ready to drive here as soon as I woke up.”

So, so cute , Zhang Hao thinks. Cute and handsome and pretty and beautiful. Perfect. He wants to pinch his rosy cheek—hell, his hands ache to do it. But he must be strong. 

“Are you still an awfully early riser?” Zhang Hao asks after swallowing a mouthful of coffee. Bitter. Disgusting. Just how he likes it.

“Yes,” Hanbin says simply. 

Then his hand comes up, and his thumb brushes over the corner of Zhang Hao’s lips. Now it’s his turn to blush, to look down at Hanbin’s shoes. Embarrassing—to be acting like a schoolgirl with a crush at almost thirty-one, but he really, really can’t help it.

“Are you still cranky and sulky in the mornings?”

Zhang Hao’s foot stomps on the floor. Again, embarrassing, but he can’t help it. He also can’t help the way his lips pout, the way he crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ve never been cranky and sulky in the mornings! Stop slandering me!”

“Still cranky and sulky, then,” Hanbin teases, his smile so sweet Zhang Hao feels butterflies in his stomach. Scratch that. He feels butterflies everywhere. “You’re cute when you’re sulky, though,” Hanbin adds, whispers to him as if he were sharing a secret.

Since Zhang Hao can’t find any words, and he’s feeling very shy and off-kilter, he just very maturely flickers Hanbin on the forehead. “You’re not cute.” 

Hanbin just laughs. “Let’s go or we’ll be late to our… appointment,” he says, opening the passenger door for him. Zhang Hao just trudges over, dejected, head down and cheeks on fire. 

But the worst is yet to come. Because Hanbin—crazy as he is—doesn’t even let him fasten his own seatbelt. When Zhang Hao reaches for it, Hanbin stops him with a gentle hand, as if to say No, let me . And what is Zhang Hao but a weak man?

So, Hanbin leans over—his hands grazing Zhang Hao’s sensitive tummy just enough to make him flinch, his perfume overpowering his senses. There’s something so… masculine about his smell, like sandalwood, but fruity, powdery and sweet, like the watermelon body wash they used to share during their college days. 

And it almost feels like Hanbin is lingering, like he’s drawing this out on purpose. It feels like he’s everywhere, like…

Zhang Hao knows that his face betrays everything he’s feeling right now—but for once, he doesn’t care to hide it. That’s the thing about growing up, about maturing. At some point, you just stop giving a shit. 

If it’s written all over his face that he’s madly and irrevocably in love with Sung Hanbin, then so be it. That’s his fate and he must accept it.

There’s a loud click , and suddenly a cold plastic cup is pressed into his hands. Hanbin pinches his cheek, snapping him out of his enamored daze.

“All good, hyung?”

Zhang Hao wants to bash his head against the nearest wall. Or maybe Hanbin’s chest. It looks to be as hard as a wall. But all he can do is hum, clutching the damn wedding folder to his chest. He doesn’t trust his voice.

Hanbin winks at him.

This day is already a mess. 

The drive to the venue is quiet at first. Soft music spills from the speakers—soft enough that Zhang Hao can hear every breath Hanbin takes, every little hum of his voice as he sings alone. 

Zhang Hao’s been a musician since birth, so it’s really no wonder that he’s always been drawn to Hanbin’s airy, raspy tone. Sweet. So sweet. He loves hearing him sing. So he just closes his eyes and enjoys the ride.

“So…” Hanbin says eventually, tapping the steering wheel. The silence was nice—but hearing him speak is even nicer. “Um… did you look through the folder?” he asks, hesitantly. It’s obvious this matters to him.

Naturally, Zhang Hao won’t lie. The old him would have pretended not to care, but the him sitting here is different. He doesn’t want to hurt Hanbin’s feelings. Also… he did go through the entire folder last night—obsessively so.

And Hanbin… God. Hanbin has always been a meticulous planner, someone who likes having everything under control. But this… this must have taken him months. So many venues, so many thoughtful details, and he didn’t even know how Zhang Hao would react.

“Yeah, I did,” is all he says, softly. He doesn’t tell Hanbin that he imagined them walking down the aisle, hand in hand, in each and every single one of the venues he picked. 

He doesn't tell Hanbin that he imagined their mothers hugging each other, crying. He doesn’t say he imagined their friends, weeping, grinning like idiots—Gyuvin and Ricky as their men of honor. He doesn’t tell Hanbin he imagined them exchanging vows, kissing, happiness in their eyes, in their touch.

That would spook him, Zhang Hao thinks. If Hanbin knew how much he wants this, how deeply he longs to be Hanbin’s. And how deeply he longs Hanbin to be his.

But Hanbin seems to take his silence the wrong way. “Ah,” he exclaims, a bit dejected. When Zhang Hao steals a glance at him, he’s blinking rapidly, his lips pressed into a frown. It looks… wrong. “You don’t have to like any of them, hyung. We don’t even have to go, if you don’t want to. I just… wanted us to start somewhere.”

Zhang Hao’s chest aches. If this were a past version of them, he would have reached over, squeezed Hanbin’s thigh in reassurance. But this isn’t the past anymore. 

“Hanbin-ah.” Zhang Hao’s voice is soft, warm, and Hanbin immediately hums, a signal he’s listening. “You know me. I’ve never done anything I don’t want to. A few years between us hasn’t changed that. Yeah?”

“...Yeah,” Hanbin echoes, briefly closing his eyes, drumming his fingers on the wheel.

 Zhang Hao wants—aches to touch him. To wrap his fingers around his forearm, longs to brush the silky hair out of his eyes. But all he does is smile, sweetly, hoping Hanbin can feel his sincerity. 

“Sorry hyung, you know how I get sometimes. I really didn’t sleep last night thinking you’d ditch last minute,” he says, his laugh a little hollow.

“I’m here now, Hanbinnie. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” Zhang Hao confesses, rather boldly for someone like him, someone usually keeps his feelings close to his heart. 

The air suddenly feels a little bit heavy. That is why he tries to be funny and fails spectacularly. 

“It’s not like I can take a plane back to Paris without going bankrupt,” he jokes with an awkward laugh. Zhang Hao doesn’t mention that he already did that once. His bank account can’t take another beating. She’s one foot on the grave. 

It’s left unsaid that Zhang Hao already escaped once—flew halfway across the world to get away from Hanbin. 

Hanbin just hums, and the rest of the drive is silent. 

Zhang Hao doesn’t really know where they’re going first—if they’re visiting every single venue in the folder, or if Hanbin’s chosen just a few. 

Naturally, he’s pleasantly surprised when the car pulls up to a tucked-away glasshouse in the outskirts of Seoul. Zhang Hao can’t help but press his face to the car window, awestruck, staring at all the little details of this beautiful place, while Hanbin chuckles amused next to him.

The venue is all glass and green: high ceilings, hanging plants, creeping ivy, sunlight filtered through towering windows, and roses. So many roses, of every color one could possibly imagine. The entrance is flanked by flower-covered trellises, and a cobblestone path leads them to the entryway, where a wedding planner is most-likely waiting for them. 

Also, birds are chirping. Slightly annoying, considering the dread filling Zhang Hao’s stomach.

He clutches the wedding folder a little too tightly to his chest. Zhang Hao doesn’t even know why he brought it inside, why he didn’t leave it in the car—but now, it makes him feel a little bit safer. His own bulletproof vest made of wedding venues and cardboard. Nice.

Park Gunwook is all gummy smiles and bright sunshine, dressed in a flower-patterned blazer—very ugly, Zhang Hao must add, but at least it’s on theme. He hugs Hanbin as if they’re old friends, patting his back warmly. 

They must be at least acquaintances—Zhang Hao thinks with a pang of jealousy— considering the way they speak to each other. It’s weird not knowing this kid when he  used to know everyone in Hanbin’s life. 

The jealousy quickly turns into irritation, and his hand finds Hanbin’s elbow on instinct. He doesn’t like being left out, and he doesn’t like not knowing things about Hanbin.

Hanbin turns to him immediately, a little startled at the contact, considering how carefully Zhang Hao has avoided touching him so far. Well, whatever. It’s not like he can admit he’s suddenly feeling extremely jealous and felt the burning need to strike a claim over his husband-to-be. That would be unbecoming of someone in complete and absolute control of his emotions like himself.

Park Gunwook remains blissfully ignorant to the storm he’s just caused, bowing politely to Zhang Hao while introducing himself. “I didn’t know Hanbin’s-hyung fiancé was this handsome,” he adds with a sly smirk. 

Zhang Hao kind of stops breathing for a moment. Not at being called pretty—he knows that—but the other part. Fiancé. Holy shit. 

“I’ve been pestering him for years to get a boyfriend and he wouldn’t listen,” Gunwook continues, laughing. “We tried setting  him up on so many blind dates and he refused every time. I understand why now. He was saving himself for his husband. Love always wins.” Park Gunwook finishes with a dreamy sigh. 

Wow. Zhang Hao wants to die. 

It seems like Hanbin wants to die too, as his face is bright red and it looks like he’s choking on air. If Zhang Hao could move, he’d give him first aid. Mouth-to-mouth breathing. But he’s a statue. 

“Gunwook,” Hanbin croaks, voice thin and sharp. Gunwook seems… clueless to the damage he’s made, still smiling. Silly boy. Zhang Hao can’t believe he felt jealous of him. “Let’s not talk anymore for now, yes?”

“Roger that, Hanbin-ssaem,” Park Gunwook replies cheerfully, saluting. 

Ssaem. So he’s a student. A dancer too, probably. Zhang Hao feels a bit dumb for being jealous of him. Turns out, Gunwook might have just given him the best present of his life. 

“Handsome grooms, the loveliest couple my eyes have ever seen, please follow me. Today, you’ll see the most magical place in South Korea.” 

Gunwook leads them inside, talking rapidly about seasonal florals, photo ops and catering options. Zhang Hao doesn’t hear a single word he says. He’s still too focused on the lovely boy perched next to him, still blushing profusely. 

Hanbin tries to pay attention to Gunwook’s words, but under Zhang Hao’s gaze, he seems to crack. He coughs, turning to Zhang Hao and whispering under his breath, “Why are you looking at me like that? Pay attention to the venue! We’re about to get married, hyung. I want you to make an informed decision. That’s why I planned this whole day and why Gunwookie is showing us—”

“You haven’t been with anyone since I left?” Zhang Hao interrupts, curiosity winning. Heat creeps up his spine, but he soldiers on, straightening his shoulders, staring straight at Hanbin. Could it be…?

Hanbin stiffens. A breath catches in his throat before he tries to play off with a laugh—to light, too fast. “Ah hyung, Gunwookie is exaggerating,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s not that I haven’t been with anyone, anyone. I have been on dates. Plenty of them, like a normal person. Haha.” His laugh is awkward, and he seems to shrink under Zhang Hao’s gaze. 

It’s not enough. Zhang Hao can tell he’s not lying—but he’s not telling the whole truth either, and Zhang Hao really, really wants to know. Needs to know. Needs to know if he wasn’t the only one that couldn’t move on, that couldn’t go on dates with random people, that seemingly couldn’t connect with anyone, his heart too hung up on the one he left behind. 

Hanbin’s next words are quieter. “I’ve been on dates,” he says, a little firmer now. “Let’s just say no one was good enough for a second date. I just couldn’t… connect with them.” 

Wow. It’s almost as if he just read Zhang Hao’s mind. Amazing.

Zhang Hao feels compelled to be honest too—never mind the nosy flower-blazer kid watching them with rapt attention. “I’ve been on dates too,” he confesses. Hanbin flinches a little. “Let’s say no one was good enough for a second date, either.”

The blinding smile Sung Hanbin gives him then rivals the sunlight entering through the large glass panels. It’s prettier than any rose in the room. 

“Good. We’re on the same page, then.”

It’s really embarrassing to continue with the tour after their little… stunt. Gunwook can’t quite contain the teasing tilt in his voice, the knowing glances he keeps throwing their way. Zhang Hao thinks he’s being really unprofessional—but forgives him, for the good deed he did earlier.

Inside the glasshouse, everything seems out of a fairy tale. Perhaps too perfect, too polished to be real. A lush, open indoor garden receives them with high glass ceilings, sunlight draping through hanging vines and ferns. There are even butterflies roaming around.

A fountain in the center, wooden chairs arranged, ready for a ceremony, and fairy lights hang across beams. Zhang Hao’s nose tickles from the overwhelming and sweet scent of roses and rosemaries.

Hanbin looks enchanted. He keeps sneaking glances at Zhang Hao every time Gunwook mentions something romantic. 

“A perfect place for the first kiss as husbands!”—it’s not subtle, the way Hanbin whips his head, eyes locking on him. Zhang Hao keeps staring ahead, to the big platform, to the beautiful flower arch made of daisies and peonies. 

He is a coward. He doesn’t want to know what kind of face Hanbin’s making. Also, he’s kind of half-spiraling, half-swooning, overwhelmed by the intimacy of it all—this beautiful, colorful venue, Hanbin’s warm weight on his arm, how pretty and bright he looks against the flowery backdrop. 

It’s strange, in a way. Being here, seeing… everything, allowing himself to imagine it, just a little: walking down the aisle, maybe holding Hanbin’s hand. Saying I do, kissing under the fairy lights. 

It’s horrifying. It’s beautiful. His chest is a battlefield.

Gunwook eventually leaves them in a quieter, more private corner of the glasshouse—a small bench surrounded by roses. Maybe he can feel the tension crackling between them, the way Zhang Hao keeps darting his eyes around the place, the way Hanbin keeps wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans. 

They sit side by side—arm to arm, thighs pressed together, pinkies almost touching, fingers twitching against the bench. Zhang Hao wants to reach out, wants to reach out so badly—to touch, to claim, to memorize again—but he can’t. His hands stay folded in his lap. 

A deep, fragrant breath fills his lungs, and then he blurts the first thing that comes to mind. “Don’t you think… this is a little bit too much?”

In a way, it is. This place is beautiful, straight out of a dream. “I only want the best for my future—” Hanbin starts, but then falters, catching himself. Husband, Zhang Hao’s treacherous mind supplies. “Future self. I mean. In general. I wasn’t going to say husband or anything like that. But yeah… it’s a lot.”

He’s so cute, his little Hanbinnie, Zhang Hao thinks. Maybe even says it out loud—because Hanbin reddens, murmuring a shy, “Thank you, hyung. You’re cute too,” under his breath.

Zhang Hao is a weak man. And today has been exhausting, draining. No one can blame him for leaning in—cozying up to Hanbin’s side, resting his head in the curve of Hanbin’s shoulder and neck. No one can blame him when he melts as Hanbin’s hand hesitantly finds its way around Zhang Hao’s body, slipping around his waist. 

They used to do this all the time, just existing next to each other. Back then, Zhang Hao felt this constant, crippling need to touch Hanbin, always. Feet under tables, heads slumped together, pinkies linked. He’s been touch starved for years, but only for Hanbin’s touch.

There’s a beat of silence before Hanbin casually comments, “You’d look really pretty here. In a suit. Saying yes to me.”

Zhang Hao struggles not to implode. Struggles not to bolt straight back to Paris. Struggles not to take Hanbin’s face in his hands, kiss him stupid. 

“You can’t say things like that before noon. I’m not in the right state of mind, Hanbinnie,” he says with a groan, opting to be a little bit funny to keep his heart intact.

“It’s true!” Hanbin insists. “You’d look so handsome. Gyuvin would be right there in the front row, crying his eyes out.” 

Zhang Hao laughs despite himself. He can see it. It’s not very hard to picture, considering his friend's sensitive heart. “Ricky would be crying in Prada sunglasses.”

The question that’s been gnawing at him finally slips out. Hanbin never does things without purpose—and this feels almost too purposeful. 

“Why did you choose this place?” Zhang Hao asks quietly, watching from the corner of his eye as Hanbin’s long lashes lower, brushing the apples of his cheeks.

“Ah… I don’t think you remember this. It was so long ago,” Hanbin says, a bit sheepishly. “Once, you said you’d like to get married surrounded by plants so it’d feel like being near a forest. Like back home.” 

China, Zhang Hao thinks. He does remember saying something like that offhandedly one night, homesick, and maybe lovesick too. He can’t believe Hanbin remembered.

And he says as much, “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“I remember every single thing you’ve ever said to me, Hao,” Hanbin replies simply. “I could never forget, not even if I tried.”

Gunwook picks the right moment to come back. Immaculate timing, as Zhang Hao is left speechless by Hanbin’s blunt honesty. 

“You look like you’ve already chosen this place,” Gunwook exclaims loudly, scaring Zhang Hao out of his mind. 

He walks them outside, where he pulls Hanbin aside, but Zhang Hao can still hear him. That boy has a loud voice. “Hanbin-hyung, I’ll be waiting for the wedding invite,” he says while Zhang Hao pretends not to be eavesdropping. “I’m glad you’re taking this important step, and that you’ve finally found the one. This is the happiest I’ve seen you in a long time. Maybe ever, hyung.”

“This is the happiest I’ve felt in a long time, Gunwookie.”

Later, as they settle back in the car, Hanbin’s thick jacket over Zhang Hao’s shoulders, his husband-to-be asks, “Did you like it?”

“It was a beautiful place,” Zhang Hao concedes, but doesn’t say more. 

It’s hard to articulate his feelings, to put into words the storm brewing in his heart. It’s not a bad storm, though. He’s feeling unusually warm, butterflies roaming on his stomach.

“It’s not a yes, though,” Hanbin notes gently.

Zhang Hao hums, eyes dropping to the wedding folder resting on his thighs. He runs his thumb over the worn leather. “Not yet,” he says quietly. “But we have all the time in the world, don’t we?” 

Hanbin smiles, but it’s small. Hopeful. “That’s all I need. I’ll take you anywhere you want. Anything you want, Hao.”

💍✨️💗

The second venue is nothing like the first. 

When they step out of the car in front of a quiet, sleek hotel entrance, Zhang Hao is surprised. He was expecting something grand like the glasshouse—but Hanbin seems pretty excited. 

“You’ll like this one, hyung,” he promises, holding the glass door open and letting him in first. 

Zhang Hao follows every one of Hanbin’s movements with rapt attention. Something about him is so enchanting, so alluring. The way he carries himself so confidently, yet visibly nervous. The signs are all there: lips chewed red, palms sweaty, hair slightly out of place. 

Even though Hanbin always seems so put together, so composed, so in control of everything, seeing him just as affected by all this, is… comforting. 

The elevator ride is slow and strangely intimate. It’s silent too, uncomfortably so. They lean against the same wall, shoulder to shoulder. 

Hanbin stares straight ahead at their reflections on the mirror while Zhang Hao just peeks—at Hanbin’s long legs, at their hands almost touching. Both blushing, wholly unbecoming. Unbecoming for two grown men in their thirties to act like this, but it’s also sweet. Zhang Hao’s heart races, his stomach flutters.

They keep up this little game of glances all the way to floor forty-eight. Just before the elevator doors slide open, Hanbin murmurs, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Zhang Hao’s fingers twitch involuntarily by his side. It’s almost second nature, wanting to reach for Hanbin’s hand. “I’m glad to be here too, Hanbinnie.” 

Their eyes lock, and Hanbin’s flicker with something warm, something syrupy heavy. The same thing Zhang Hao is feeling, perhaps. Hopefully.

Hanbin was right. Zhang Hao does like this one. It’s beautiful, breathtaking and simple. 

Golden hues paint the rooftop in afternoon light. The warm wind blows against their cheeks, the skyline spreads before them. There’s a spacious terrace, overlooking straight at the Han River, some ivy adorning the railings, and rows upon rows of chairs and flowers scattered around.

But it’s not the flowers or the chairs or the view that catches Zhang Hao’s attention. It’s the sky. 

He’s always loved the sunset, how everything grows quiet as the sun descends. And from here, he gets a perfect view of the horizon, so rare and elusive in the big city.

Hanbin is watching him closely. Watching the way his hands clench and unclench, trying to be composed, trying not to get onto his knees and ask Hanbin to marry him right here, right now. It would be a perfect place. The perfect place for their first kiss, Zhang Hao thinks.

 A hand presses gently against his lower back. Hanbin’s—warm, thick, grounding. “Let’s go hyung. They’re waiting for us. We’ll have more time to look around later, yeah?”

This time, they’re greeted by a woman. Zhang Hao barely registers her words, too distracted by Hanbin’s arm slipping casually around his waist. Zhang Hao has no choice but to do the same. 

Hanbin, always charming, takes charge of the conversation. 

“Congratulations on the wedding!” the wedding coordinator, Jiyoung—if Zhang Hao remembers right—says. “We’re always happy to host these types of events here, especially with such handsome grooms. How long have you two been together?” she asks, conversationally. 

Small talk, a script she’s used to following but it still throws everything off its axis. Zhang Hao freezes. He grabs a fistful of Hanbin’s dress shirt nervously. 

What are they even supposed to say? They’re not together, they’ve never been. Is she able to see that, that’s why she’s asking? Does she want to catch them on their big, fat lie?

Hanbin tenses too, but he’s always been quicker to recover. “We’ve known each other since we were nineteen.” Not a lie, but not what she asked, either.

“Ah, campus sweethearts, then! That’s the kind of energy you two give off,” she says with a quiet chuckle. Hanbin laughs too, but it sounds all kinds of wrong. “Let’s start the tour. This isn’t a huge space,” Jiyoung begins, moving around. “But, in my opinion, it’s one of the most romantic spots you could find in Seoul.”

Zhang Hao silently agrees. Everything feels straight out of a romance novel. The sun setting, the string of warm, fairy lights, what Jiyoung describes as the perfect kiss spot , while Hanbin keeps glancing at him nervously. Zhang Hao just avoids his gaze, cheeks hot, Jiyoung words from earlier still echoing. 

How long have you been together?

There’s a tasting table set up for them right in the center of the terrace, tiny desserts and bubbly champagne. “This is a small sample of the catering we offer. I’ll leave you two lovebirds for a few minutes so you can taste everything,” Jiyoung explains, leaving with a polite bow.

Everything looks delicious, beautifully made. Any other day, Zhang Hao would be enjoying it, his sweet tooth rejoicing. But now, his appetite is gone. Instead, he plays with the edge of his napkin. 

How long have you been together?

Hanbin notices. Of course he does. Zhang Hao knows he’s playing with his hands under the table, even though he can’t actually see him. “Is everything all right?” he asks gently, when the silence becomes unbearable.

Zhang Hao blinks, caught. “Yeah, it’s just…” he trails off, debating whether to brush the issue aside. He almost does. But if this is real—whatever this is becoming—then honesty has to start somewhere, even if it’s difficult. “The question she asked.”

Hanbin nods, calm, waiting. “Yeah?”

“It caught me off guard. I didn’t know what to say,” Zhang Hao confesses. He doesn’t meet his eyes, picking at his cuticles instead. “I… this isn’t a game to me, Hanbin, or something stupid we promised to each other. This is…” Words fail him, as much as he tries. Even though he wants to spill everything inside his heart, he can’t. “Ah, sorry. I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

“Hyung,” Hanbin says, lying his palm open on the table. An invitation. One Zhang Hao takes hesitantly, barely brushing the pads of their fingers. “I’m scared too,” Hanbin admits, his hand engulfing Zhang Hao’s. 

Ah, so that’s what this is , Zhang Hao thinks. Fear. something so primal, so human.

 “I’m freaking out every second you’re next to me,” he continues, voice low. “I keep having to double-check you’re actually real. That you’re actually… here. That it’s not just my imagination.”

Zhang Hao finally looks up, squeezing Hanbin’s hand. Just once. Not tight, not dramatic, but enough. Enough to say I hear you. Enough to say I’m still here, I’m real.

Hanbin squeezes back. They sit there for a while, just looking at each other, rose-colored light painting their faces, the wind messing their hair, carrying the faint smell of flowers. A car honks, people laugh, the sun dips lower. They’re real.

What are we doing? Zhang Hao wants to ask, but he breaks the silence with something else. “You answered her question so… easily.”

“It wasn’t easy, hyung,” Hanbin exhales, thumb brushing over the back of Zhang Hao’s hand. “But I didn’t want to lie. And I didn’t.” His voice dips into a whisper. “We’ve been together since we were nineteen, have we not?”

Zhang Hao’s heart twists. Sometimes, deep into the night, he wished. He wished there was a way to undo everything, to go back in time. He feels the same way now. And it’s not like he regrets leaving, not at all. But he does regret the silence that followed. Every message left unanswered, every time he could have reached out but didn’t.

Words evade him. So, he just breathes. Lets the cool breeze wash over him, carry away the things he doesn’t allow himself to say, lets Hanbin’s touch ground him to the present. 

“I think,” he finally starts, voice quiet. “I think that scared me more than anything.” Hanbin tilts his head in question, not pushing, just waiting. “How true those words felt. That you and I… we’ve always been together.” 

Even if we’ve never been something, Zhang Hao keeps to himself. 

“And now?” Hanbin asks, fingers intertwining with this. “Are we together?”

The smile on Zhang Hao’s face is soft, a little pained. “We’re here, aren’t we?” is all he says. All his heart can manage. But then, something compels him to add, shyly, “I’m here. With you.”

Hanbin nods, his shoulders sagging with what looks like relief, his tense features softening . “That’s all I need, hyung. That’s all I need.”

They do end up trying the tiny deserts and the bubbly champagne. Well, only Zhang Hao indulges. Hanbin is driving. And he needs it so badly, needs the sweetnes and the burn of alcohol to uncoil the tight bound of nerves resting in his stomach, in his shoulders, in his chest.

Hanbin offers him a few bites, and Zhang Hao willingly lets himself be fed, coddled, watched by Hanbin with adoring eyes. “Is it good?” the blushing man asks, cheeks dented with those lovely dimples.

Zhang Hao just hums, letting the sugar melt in his tongue. It is good—delicious even—more so when he’s being fed by the most handsome person in the world.

“It’s a good option for our wedding, then,” Hanbin teases with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Thank God the cake is soft and moist, or Zhang Hao would already be dead by choking. Evil Sung Hanbin, so evil.

The light dims, and they wander to the railing. It’s pretty from up here, the whole city visible. It’s cold too—way colder than when they arrived—and the breeze is stronger. Zhang Hao hugs his jacket tighter around him, waiting. He knows what comes next. What Hanbin always does.

Sure enough, a thick coat drapes over Zhang Hao’s shoulders without a word. He doesn’t say anything, either, just presses his nose against the soft fabric, smelling Hanbin’s comforting scent.

It’s beautiful from up here, Zhang Hao thinks. Mesmerizing. The sun sinking under the horizon, the pink and orange shades in the sky. The lights coming back to life, tiny dots all over the city.

Zhang Hao says as much. “It’s beautiful,” he murmurs to Hanbin, who’s right next to him, their fingers brushing. He misses the weight of Hanbin’s hand, the warmth of it, but he doesn’t dare close the distance. 

“So are you,” Hanbin says before he can stop himself. 

Zhang Hao whips his head toward him so fast that he’s pretty sure he’s pulled something on his neck. Hanbin, oblivious, is still watching him, cheek resting on the palm of his hand, squishing his cheek cutely. 

It doesn’t take that long for realization to dawn—his eyes widen, his cheeks redden almost in slow motion. The laugh that escapes him is startled, nervous, incredulous. “I meant—this view. Not that you aren’t beautiful too! You totally are! Especially right now, bathed in the sunset—”

“Hanbin,” Zhang Hao cuts in before he can start blabbering. “You are beautiful too. Now stop talking please,” he pleads, cheeks aflame. 

Hanbin hums, the sound carried by the wind, but he still won’t look away from Zhang Hao. He laughs, sweet and melodic, and brushes a stray lock of Zhang Hao’s hair, his brow furrowed in concentration. “You have a cowlick,” he teases.

Zhang Hao swats his hand away. “I don’t have a cowlick. It’s the wind,” he pouts—whiny and petulant, which is kind of embarrassing for a thirty-year-old, but Hanbin doesn’t mind. If anything, he grows even more endeared by him. “You’re always so mean to me. I don’t even know why I put up with you.”

It’s nice though—being here with him, bickering like they used to, taking, laughing, existing. 

A fundamental part of Zhang Hao’s life that had been missing for seven years, he realizes. He hasn’t felt this warm in so, so long, watching as the sun dips lower and lower, as the fairy lights adorning this beautiful place blink to life. 

“Why did you choose this place?” Zhang Hao asks once again, just like he did back at the glasshouse. He wants to know everything behind Hanbin’s reasoning.

Hanbin smiles, wistfully, reminiscing. “Ah, I don’t know if you remember any of this,” he starts, as if Zhang Hao could ever forget the golden years of his life. But he stays quiet. Hanbin’s eyes are distant, and the wind ruffles his dark hair.

“Our apartment back then was really small. Too small, especially after Gyuvin moved in, but we managed. I was happy. Really, really happy, hyung. Probably the happiest years of my life.”

Funny thing—how his thoughts are the same as Zhang Hao’s.

“Our balcony was small, miniature even,” Hanbin adds. “But no one else had one.”

Yes. Hanbin’s memories are true. The balcony—that’s the reason Zhang Hao wanted to live there. He remembers it perfectly, how he fell in love with the view, with the feel of the wind on his cheeks, the sun on his face.

“Sometimes I'd catch you sneaking out before sunrise. And I’d always watch you through the curtain. Maybe it's weird but you always looked so… peaceful.” 

It’s the exact way he feels now, Zhang Hao thinks—warmed to the bone, seated. Happy.

“In the afternoons, the same thing would happen,” Hanbin goes on. “Even when you were elbows deep in your books, your fingers raw from playing violin, as soon as the sun started setting, you’d drop everything and go stand on the balcony. Sometimes I’d join you, remember?” Hanbin asks, turning to Zhang Hao, blinking slowly, his eyes shining amber. “We’d drink a warm cup of tea, and just watch.”

Yes. They used to do that. Hanbin would watch, and Zhang Hao would pretend. He’s always preferred watching Hanbin over everything—even the sunset. He would watch him, sneakily, hoping not to be caught. Young Hanbin, bathed in golden light, the soft slope of his nose, the tips of his lashes blushing his then supple cheeks.

Just like now. Years have passed, but nothing has really changed. 

“It didn’t look as beautiful as this,” Hanbin admits, glancing at the skyline, “with all the tall buildings in the way, but it was ours. And…” Hanbin falters, shy now, “I don’t know. I just thought you might like this.”

Zhang Hao’s throat tightens, his eyes sting. He has to blink, and blink, and blink to keep the tears at bay. Hanbin makes it so hard. It’s so hard not to love him—completely, crazily, foolishly. A battle he lost long ago, without even trying to fight.

Even if it’s brought him more heartbreak than anything else, it has been worth it. Loving him will always be worth it.

With his heart about to burst, Zhang Hao throws himself into Hanbin’s arms. He doesn’t know if Hanbin is saying all of this because of their promise, or because he truly means it. But right now, he can’t bear the distance between them any longer.

Hanbin freezes, stiff with surprise, hands hovering uncertainly over Zhang Hao’s body—but Zhang Hao persists. He buries his face in the crook of Hanbin’s neck, breathing him in, arms around his waist.

“Thank you, Hanbinnie,” he whispers against the thin skin of Hanbin’s neck. Hanbin shivers, slowly melting into Zhang Hao’s embrace, his hands cradling his head, patting soothingly.

On the way out, Hanbin reaches for his hand as they descend the narrow steps. They don’t let go of each other until they’re back in the car.

It’s quiet. Zhang Hao stares out of the window, the wedding folder back on his legs, a grounding weight.

“Did you like it?” Hanbin asks.

“I did,” Zhang Hao answers after a pause. “I liked it a lot.”

The rest of the drive passes in silence. The folder stays on his lap, warm from the sun and somehow heavier than before. 

Hanbin is quiet too—chewing his lips, tapping his fingers, stealing glances at Zhang Hao, sensing something wrong. He doesn’t push, though. Doesn’t ask what’s wrong, doesn’t ask if he’s okay. And that, somehow, feels better than talking.

 Zhang Hao doesn’t feel wrong exactly… just strange. Heavy and tired, but full too. 

When they reach his apartment, Hanbin doesn’t walk him to the door, but he does reach out, brushing his fingers across Zhang Hao’s cheek in goodbye. It’s slow, unbearably slow, as if he wants to stretch the moment forever.

Zhang Hao leans into it—leans into him. It’s instinct, at this point, closing his eyes, memorizing the softness of Hanbin’s palm against his warm face. It’s instinct too, fighting the overwhelming urge to press his lips against the hand holding him so gently.

But not yet.

“Goodnight, Hao,” Hanbin whispers, every single one of Zhang Hao’s senses overwhelmed by him. “See you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. 

💍✨️💗

The sky is dark by the time Zhang Hao climbs the stairs to the apartment he shares with Ricky. His heart feels fluttery and tender, but heavy as well. Outside, everything is black. It reminds him of Hanbin—his midnight hair, his midnight eyes. Beautiful and greater than anything.

He opens the door to find Ricky sitting cross-legged on the couch, a face mask-on, giggling suspiciously to his phone.

 Zhang Hao doesn’t announce himself, just drops the wedding folder on the coffee table with a loud thunk and collapses on the couch next to his friend with a groan. Ricky startles, locking his phone immediately. Interesting. 

Even more interesting is the faint flush Zhang Hao can see creeping over Ricky’s cheeks and neck. He never blushes. Nothing has ever had that power over the blonde boy. Nobody, either. Interesting indeed. But Zhang Hao is too exhausted to pry. There’s always tomorrow.

Ricky fully turns toward him, trying to compose himself. “Good evening, Hao-ge. You’re incredibly rude for announcing yourself like that,” he says, pulling down the corner of his face mask with great drama. “But as always, I forgive you. So, tell me, how did your fake fiancé treat you today?”

Fake fiancé. 

Zhang Hao fights the urge to bash his head against a wall. Perhaps screaming into his pillow would help. Because, at the end of the day, isn’t that what this is? A fake marriage clinging to an old promise. He doesn’t even know if Hanbin likes him like that , for fucks sake.

Ricky hums knowingly. “It went well, then. You wouldn’t be freaking out like this—again, must I add—if Hanbin had been horrible.”

“Hanbin could never be horrible,” Zhang Hao says automatically. 

Even if he tried, Sung Hanbin would still be an angel, a prince, a gentleman, the sweetest and fluffiest marshmallow—Okay. That’s enough. 

Ricky is waiting for an explanation, though, so Zhang Hao tries to give him one. “We went to two different places. Absolutely unreal. You can tell he’s been planning this for so long, Ruirui.” 

He sighs deeply, strawberry scented air wrapping around his lungs, giving him a little bit of courage. Enough to admit his deepest and most obvious secret, that is. “I think I’m in love with him. Like deeply, irrevocably in love with him.”

“You think?” Ricky asks, arching a brow, entirely unsurprised. 

Well, that’s fair. He’s been at Zhang Hao’s side through it all, has watched him pine endlessly over a boy kilometers and kilometers away. Still, Zhang Hao had never said it out loud before. Saying it makes it real. Makes his pathetic seven-year longing real. Lord.

“Okay. I am in love with him,” Zhang Hao amends, crossing his arms, lifting his chin in defiance. He might be a mess, but he’s not going down without a fight. Love won’t defeat him. “I’ve always known, but I was a coward. I don’t want to be a coward anymore, Quanrui.” 

Ricky nods, a small smile tugging at his lips, while he waits for Zhang Hao to continue.

“Today… was a lot. He remembers so much from our time together, inconsequential things, things I just said in passing. I just…couldn’t believe it, I guess. That I mattered that much to him,” Zhang Hao says, his voice faltering just a little bit. “And the way he looked at me—like I was everything. I wanted to kiss him so badly, right there in the middle of that rooftop. I think I’m going insane.”

“Well baby,” Ricky says, patting his shoulder, “that’s called romance. Very inconvenient. Terrible affliction to have. Also, it doesn’t have a cure.”

Zhang Hao groans, letting his head fall against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “He’s serious about this, Ruirui. The whole promise-wedding thing. He’s planning venues, he’s booking appointments, researching and everything. And I really, really want to marry him. For real.”

The smile fades from Ricky’s voice a little. “I know.”

“But I’m so scared, Ruirui,” Zhang Hao admits in a small voice, his chest aching.

“I know that too, Hao-ge.”

“I don’t even know if he’s doing this because of the promise or because he actually lo—” He stops himself, unable to say it. The whir of the ceiling fan above him is a nice distraction, but it’s not enough. 

This is the worst part of it all—the uncertainty. Not knowing.

“He does,” Ricky says quietly, his head dropping onto Zhang Hao’s shoulder, his hand finding Zhang Hao’s on the fluffy pillow and giving it a gentle squeeze. “He does, ge,” he repeats, without saying the word. “I’d stake my skincare routine on it. And you know that’s not something I gamble with lightly.”

A burst out of laughter leaves Zhang Hao’s lips. He doesn’t know what he’d do without Ricky—he’d probably be lying under his bed in fetal position, regretting every single decision that’s led him here. 

To being thirty and lost, but in love. 

Ricky disappears into the kitchen, the sound of slamming cabinets waking Zhang Hao from his thoughts. When he returns, is with a mug of mint tea and a single square of dark chocolate on a napkin.

“You don’t smell of heartbreak tonight,” Ricky remarks, settling back beside him, “so don't pretend this is alcohol.”

“Yeah? What do I smell like, then?”

Leaning in, Ricky sniffs dramatically all around him, and then at the jacket that’s still draped over his shoulders, painfully not his. 

“Like pinning and a very handsome man,” Ricky declares. “A dancer, most likely. Who’s just so gentlemanly, and prince-like, you can’t help but want to marry him.”

Zhang Hao groans, dropping his head against Ricky’s shoulder. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

They sit like that for a while, letting the steam from the tea warm their faces. Eventually, Ricky nudges his side with his very pointy and bony elbow. “So, what are the plans tomorrow?”

Zhang Hao exhales, resigned. “Suit shopping.” 

But Ricky is excited, so excited, he practically bounces on his seat. “This is perfect, Zhang Hao. Try on something that makes you look hot. Like, irresistibly hot. So hot that Sung Hanbin can’t help but get a boner right on the spot. Show off that perky ass, ge. He won’t be able to resist. Make him suffer.”

The gleam in Ricky's eyes is almost manic. Zhang Hao would be alarmed, but he knows his friend—this is just Ricky being Ricky. He loves to make men suffer, loves making them fall at his feet. Whoever falls in love with him… poor soul.

And he makes a good point. Maybe Zhang Hao can have a little fun with this Make Hanbin squirm. Make him blush and stutter. Test him, just as Zhang Hao has been tested too.

So, he hums in agreement. “Something very hot…”

This could be the start of his demise—or perhaps, a new chance. The beginning of something new. 

Zhang Hao’s about to find out.

💍✨️💗

Zhang Hao feels a little bit out of his realm as he enters the tailor shop hanging from Hanbin’s arm. This place is sleek, quiet and smells expensive. Wood and fabric—but good fabric. It reminds Zhang Hao a little bit of how classrooms smell back at the conservatory—minus sweaty teenagers, that is. A strange comparison, but comforting to his tumultuous mind.

Hanbin walks into the place as if he owns it, but Zhang Hao knows better. One of his hands is squeezing Zhang Hao’s upper arm for dear life. No matter how much he tries to appear secure and unaffected, Zhang Hao can practically smell his nervousness. He’s cute, though. And it’s comforting too, to know that he’s not alone in feeling like this.

It’s shocking though—how grand and sophisticated this place is. “Hanbinnie,” Zhang Hao whispers, tugging on Hanbin’s sleeve to get his attention. “Isn’t this place a little bit…expensive?” 

It’s not that he’s broke, exactly, but his bank account has been through a few extreme beatings lately.

“Don’t fret, Hao-hyung,” Hanbin replies with an assured smile that makes Zhang Hao swoon. His Prince Charming. “Only the best for my future husband.”

And oh. Now Zhang Hao wants to die. He almost chokes on his own spit. If it weren’t for Hanbin dragging him inside, he’d probably be frozen in place. 

Future husband. Wow.

Zhang Hao doesn’t pay attention as the tailor greets them with a deep bow, introducing himself as Mr. Kim. He can only focus on Hanbin. On the warmth of his fingers against his wrist, on the sweet cadence of his voice as he makes small talk.

What he does notice is that the tailor looks like a duck, funnily enough. 

Mr. Kim is a loud guy, and he’s very excited. “Even though gay marriage has been legal for a few years, I don’t often get the privilege of dressing gay couples. I hope to provide the best service for your special day, gentlemen.”

Gay couples…  

Zhang Hao’s brain is entirely being rewired today. Even Hanbin seems flustered, bowing one, two, three times in thanks, his ears a blazing red while he stumbles through his words.

They’re led to a private fitting room the size of a small apartment, complete with a velvet couch, full length mirrors on almost every wall, and racks upon racks of suits in every shade and cut imaginable. 

Hanbin sits, legs spread, coat off, the buttons of his shirt clinging desperately to his chest. And the worst of it all—or best, if Zhang Hao’s being completely honest —is that he can see him from every angle thanks to the mirrors. 

If he starts salivating like a rabid dog, well, no one can really blame him. Objectively, Hanbin is hot.

Mr. Kim begins measuring him while Hanbin just watches, unblinking and boldly, chewing his lower lip, sighing from time to time. “I really want to see you in a suit, hyung,” Hanbin murmurs, low and raspy and almost seductive, once Mr. Kim steps away to pick some pieces. 

Zhang Hao doesn’t dignify him with an answer. Just flees behind the curtain. It’s oddly quiet on the other side, and he finds himself breathing heavily.

So much for making Hanbin, squirm, blush and stutter. Ha.

The first suit Zhang Hao tries on is a sleek black three-piece. It’s tailored and sharp, hugging his waist in a way that makes it look impossibly enticing, giving him that lean, clean silhouette he rarely sees on himself. And it also makes his butt look amazing, the fabric hugging it just right to make it look round and perky. 

Ricky was right. It would be wise of him to show his assets. Pun intended. 

Zhang Hao squares his shoulders. Time to put yesterday’s plan into action. Enough of being flustered and speechless. 

He steps out, fidgeting with the buttons, looking a bit unsure, hesitant—all for show, of course.

Hanbin, seated on the velvet couch, glances up—and freezes. He’s halfway through typing something on his phone, but his fingers stall mid-air.

Zhang Hao pouts. “Is it that bad?” he asks, sounding pitiful and dejected. “I don’t know about this, Hanbinnie. I’m not used to such tight clothes. Look, the pants don’t even fit.” 

And then, the final blow. He turns, slowly, so very slowly, watching Hanbin’s every reaction through the mirrors.

He seems… flabbergasted, to say the least. At a loss for words, his mouth hanging open. His wide eyes blatantly trail Zhang Hao’s body—paying extra attention to his waist, to his butt. Bingo.

Zhang Hao finishes his little show, and Hanbin still hasn’t spoken. “Oh,” Zhang Hao says mournfully. “So you do think it’s bad.”

“No,” Hanbin blurts, standing so quickly it startles Zhang Hao. “It’s—God, hyung.”

Hehe. Zhang Hao giggles with glee, but he manages to keep it in. His first win today. 

Hanbin approaches slowly, almost reverently, his eyes roaming all over his figure, like he’s trying to memorize every inch. Zhang Hao does feel a bit exposed, a bit naked. He does feel the need to shy away, to cover himself, to fidget, but he doesn’t. He just lets Hanbin stare all he wants. 

One hand comes up to adjust the lapel of Zhang Hao’s suit, fingers lingering a second too long at Zhang Hao’s collarbones, his knuckles brushing the column of Zhang Hao’s throat. The touch is featherlight, but Zhang Hao feels it down to his knees.

“This one is not bad,” Hanbin murmurs, smoothing his hands down Zhang Hao’s arms. His voice drops lower as his thumb brushes against the inside of his wrist. “But I think…” his voice dips lower, almost a growl, “we can do better.”

Zhang Hao disappears behind the curtain again, heart hammering, struggling to breathe. 

What the hell just happened? He thought he had the upper hand—but Hanbin’s ability to turn him into putty, to turn the tables in his favor is simply unmatched.

It won’t happen again. 

Zhang Hao will come out victorious today.

When he emerges again, he’s wearing a dark red suit—sleek, satiny, perfectly fitted. It clings to his shoulders and waist, opens just enough at the collar to show his throat, the dip of his clavicle.

Hanbin stands immediately. His phone slips from his fingers and lands on the carpeted floor with a soft thud. 

“Oh Hanbinnie,” Zhang Hao says sweetly, eyeing the fallen phone. An idea blooms in his mind—Ricky would be so, so proud. “I’ll get that for you.” 

His voice is innocent. His smile is even more so, as he bends right in front of Hanbin, staring up at him through his lashes, wide-eyed and guileless. 

And he makes a show of it—sticking out his butt until the fabric is pulling tight, the cut of the shirt showing even more of his cleavage. 

Hanbin looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe when Zhang Hao places his phone back in his hand—his very clammy hand. “Here you go,” Zhang Hao says cheerily. “Don’t be so clumsy.”

Hanbin doesn’t respond. He just stares, jaw clenched, eyes dark—darker than Zhang Hao’s ever seen them. It’s pretty obvious what he’s thinking, the effect Zhang Hao has on him. 

Where words fail, the body speaks. That’s something Zhang Hao has learned over time. And he’s not done yet. This is payback for all the times Hanbin’s flustered these past few days. 

“Oh,” Zhang Hao murmurs, cocking his head to the side. “Are you not feeling well, Hanbinnie? You look kind of…flushed.” He presses the back of his hand to Hanbin’s forehead, then to his cheeks—warm, warm, warm.  

No fever, but this is very satisfying.

“I’m fine,” Hanbin croaks, clearly not fine at all. 

But Zhang Hao lets him be, gives him some time to breathe. He’s not a monster, and he doesn’t intend to blue-ball Hanbin to stratospheric levels either.

Moving to the mirror, Zhang Hao turns to admire the cut of the suit. That finally snaps Hanbin out of his lust-induced thoughts, as he follows behind him, gently slipping a hand to the curve of Zhang Hao’s waist. 

The intensity of his gaze, though—it burns through the mirror, through Zhang Hao’s skin.

Zhang Hao turns around slowly, and now they’re chest to chest. Not exactly touching, but close enough. “How do I look?” he asks, all doe eyes and plush lips.

Hanbin doesn’t answer right away. His hand just slides lower and lower, his eyes glassy, his lips parted shiny with spit. 

Finally, his fingers settle on Zhang Hao’s hip, his voice breaking on a quiet plea. “Turn around again, hyung. Please.” The way he says it makes Zhang Hao feel a flutter on his lower stomach, in between his legs.

He can’t say no to such a polite boy, so he does as asked—turning slowly this time, Hanbin’s hand trailing lazily over his hip as he moves. Zhang Hao knows what he’s doing, and Hanbin does as well.

The image in the mirror borders on sinful. Hanbin standing just behind him, unblinking eyes, hot breath ghosting over  Zhang Hao’s neck. The fingers on his hip twitch, as if he wants to grab harder, to dig in, but won’t let himself. 

Zhang Hao’s mouth goes dry. Oh, what he wouldn’t do to get this boy on his knees, staring up at him with wide and pleading eyes, mouth full of—nothing. Mouth full of nothing. 

Not the place to get a raging boner, Zhang Hao reminds himself sternly. Even if Sung Hanbin makes it a monumental effort.

“Do you see yourself, Zhang Hao?” Hanbin voice is low, hot against the shell of his ear. It makes him shiver, his body instinctively pressing into Hanbin’s chest. 

Hanbin’s warm, so warm, the familiar trace of his cologne enveloping Zhang Hao’s senses. His fingers, still at Zhang Hao’s hip, tighten slightly. Not enough to pull him closer, but just enough to make him feel it.

Zhang Hao can’t breathe, can’t find the words to answer Hanbin’s question. All he can do is stare at their reflections. Stare at his own flushed face, at Hanbin's dark eyes. And he lets himself feel. Feel the heat of Hanbin's body, the planes of his chest.

It’s the first time they’ve ever been this close, the first time it’s ever felt this heated. Before, their closeness was always tinged with some teenage shyness, with bashfulness. One of them would always find an excuse to pull away before things were… misunderstood.

Now, there’s nothing to misunderstand. Zhang Hao wants Hanbin, and Hanbin wants him back.

The air grows thick between them, seconds stretching unbearably. Zhang Hao watches in the mirror, watches Hanbin in the mirror, the way his throat bobs as he swallows hard, the way his lips part slightly, like he’s about say something, do something—

And then he does. He grabs Zhang Hao by the shoulders and spins him around, both hands resting on the curve of his spine, his head hidden on the juncture of Zhang Hao’s neck and shoulder, breathing heavily. 

“I’m going crazy,” Hanbin breathes raggedly against his skin. “You’re driving me insane.”

Zhang Hao really wants to smirk, cheer loudly in celebration, throw his arms in the air in victory, but this version of Hanbin in his arms, trembling and breathless, is… pitiful. Sweet. 

So, he just chuckles softly, threading his fingers into Hanbin’s silky hair. “I could say the same thing about you, Hanbin-ah.”

Thankfully, things calm down. Zhang Hao’s pulse stops hammering against his ribs; Hanbin’s breath evens out. If they’d kept going… Well, someone would have ended naked and they’d be banned from the boutique for life, sued for public indecency…

The thought makes Zhang Hao laugh quietly, the kind that bubbles warm and real from his belly. Happiness, so easy to recognize. This is where I’m meant to be, Zhang Hao thinks. In Hanbin’s arms, his soft breath against his neck, their bodies pressed closely together. It’s so, so easy to imagine a life where this closeness is not an accident, it’s not forbidden, it’s not fleeting. 

Hanbin pulls back, though not far. Dark eyes, but softer now, creased deeply at the corners. “In all the years we’ve known each other, you only wore a tux once, hyung,” Hanbin murmurs in the space between them, reminiscing. 

He’s been doing this a lot lately—just falling into old memories. “Your first violin concerto. I was there, first row next to Gyuvin. I thought about it for months. How handsome you looked, how talented you were.” His hand cradle Zhang Hao’s face, his thumb brushing along his jawline. “How talented you are .”

Zhang Hao swallows hard, unsure what to say. It always leaves him breathless to realize that maybe Hanbin has longed for him just as much as he has. That their memories are precious, their feelings tucked away, kept safe from the passage of time. 

“Ah, Hanbinnie,” Zhang Hao breathes out, just to not let the silence linger any longer. “I wasn’t that good. You’re just being dramatic.”

“You’re gorgeous,” Hanbin says simply, sincerely. The air shifts again—Zhang Hao can feel it in his lungs heavier, thicker, reeking of want, of love. Their noses nearly touch, but they don’t dare go beyond that. “You look beautiful in red, hyung.”

“You like this one?” Zhang Hao blurts out, a little too quickly. Hanbin nods, and more than seeing it, Zhang Hao feels it, their foreheads knocking together. “Then I’ll wear it. I want to look good for you.”

Hanbin looks like the air has been punched out of him, exhaling loudly. Both of them glance down at the same time. 

What Zhang Hao sees is this: Hanbin’s lips, red and swollen and raw, like he’s been biting them for hours and hours to no end. Chapped, but glistening with a thin coat of saliva. His cupid’s bow is gorgeous, pointy and pronounced. 

The fingers on his waist tighten, and Zhang Hao’s lips part on instinct. They’re getting closer and closer, pulled by gravity. Sharing the same air.

So close, they’re so close. One breath away.

And then—

“Ahem,” Mr. Kim coughs, clearing his throat, standing a few meters away, eyes fixed literally anywhere else. “Would you… like to try the next style, Mr. Zhang?”

It would be awfully undignified of them to jump apart like two teenagers caught making out (or worse), but that’s exactly what they do. Zhang Hao feels like his mental age has regressed by at least ten years in the last two minutes. 

He feels nineteen and in love for the first time, especially as Hanbin’s hands vanish from his body like they’ve been burned, and Zhang Hao nearly trips over the carpet trying to step back. He wasn’t like this as a teenager, though…

“Yes!” Hanbin squeaks, voice embarrassingly high. “Yes. Of course. The next one. Absolutely. Thank you.” 

Zhang Hao coughs into his hand. Hanbin adjusts his pants very suspiciously. He resists the urge to glance down—at Hanbin, and it himself. His own pants feel way tighter than when he first put them on. 

“I’m going to… um,” Zhang Hao mumbles, vaguely gesturing to the dressing room. “Get changed.”

“Get changed,” Hanbin repeats after him, nodding at the ceiling. “Yes. Good idea.”

Inside the changing room, Zhang Hao presses his forehead against the cool mirror, trying to get his heart back to normal. Deep breaths. In and out. 

But it’s impossible to forget what just happened. The heat. The weight of Hanbin’s face. This is the first time they’ve been so close to… kissing.

Zhang Hao bangs his head against the mirror. Softly. He doesn’t want to break it. And he’s not sure if he wants to scream, laugh, or walk back out there and tear Hanbin’s clothes off, kiss him until every mirror on this boutique is fogged.

Tough day, champion . 

Things end quickly after that, Zhang Hao too keyed up and downright exhausted to keep playing Barbie. Also, he’s disappointed. His original plan… didn’t quite work. Well, maybe it did, just not the way he’d envisioned.

I wanted to give Hanbin a boner, Zhang Hao thinks grimly, brushing the hair out of his forehead in annoyance. And the one who ended up rock hard is me. Fantastic.

Life’s always out to get him. But he supposes his intentions weren’t exactly pure to begin with. Karma and all. He kind of deserves to go home blue-balled.

“Hyung,” Hanbin calls, stopping him as they near the car. 

He sounds unusually nervous—staring everywhere but Zhang Hao’s face—which is impressive, considering everything he put Zhang Hao through and how boldly he was acting earlier. 

“Hey, um. So. Do you want to come over?”

Zhang Hao stops in his tracks. He’s probably imagining things, right? Hanbin can’t be… He surely isn’t…? 

His still softening dick twitches with hope, because of course it does. After all the effort he put into taming it, he’s this easy to rile up. Amazing. And he really, really needs to get his mind out of the gutter, but after today’s events, that’s, well… hard. No pun intended.

“Come over… where?” he asks anyway, even though the answer’s obvious.

“To my place?” Hanbin says, more a question than a statement. He’s blushing fiercely, playing with his fingers, biting his lower lip. “We can have dinner. I’ll cook for you.” Zhang Hao eyes him with suspicion. If he remembers correctly, Hanbin used to be worse than him in the kitchen. 

Hanbin notices the doubt immediately. “Hey! Don’t look at me like that,” he protests, indignant and defensive and a little bit pouty. This thirty-year-old is so cute. “I’ve learned a lot while you were gone! I can cook all kinds of things these days,” Hanbin continues, his voice pitching higher. “We could do a little testing for our wedding menu? You know, I’ve thought a lot about the kind of food we should serve during the wedding.” 

The nervous rambling is back. Zhang Hao would find it adorable, but at the mere mention of the word wedding, his body tenses like a haywire. 

“…I was thinking we could do a mixture of Chinese and Korean cuisine. Or maybe even some French? Mmmm, I actually hadn’t thought about that… A few months ago, I took some classes on French pastries, and I learned how to make some really nice macaroons, but we don’t have the time for that tonight. Yeah, probably not the best option. I could—”

This pretty boy needs to be stopped before Zhang Hao vomits butterflies. Seriously, how can he be so fucking perfect? 

“Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao says, gently cupping his cheek. That makes him shut his mouth instantly. “You could make wood soup and I’d still eat it with a smile on my face. No need to panic.”

“I’m not panicking, hyung!” Hanbin exclaims a little too loudly, jumping a little. His laugh sounds forced, and Zhang Hao is so, so endeared. “Who said I was panicking? You’re so funny!”

Thankfully all of Zhang Hao’s earlier dirty thoughts have dissolved into warm fondness. Now his heart is the one having a boner. 

“Let’s go, yeah?” he says, tugging at the hem of Hanbin’s shirt, leading them towards his car. Hanbin goes willingly, opening the car door for him, helping him settle into the soft leather seat.

Well, fuck it. 

Whatever has to happen will happen, Zhang Hao supposes. Hanbin probably has no… dirty intentions. He just wants to feed him until he explodes. Zhang Hao can live with that.

The car ride is a strange experience. Zhang Hao tries not to lust after Hanbin, but really, who can blame him? Sung Hanbin is sin personified. He looks incredibly delicious with his button down rolled up to his elbows, strong and milky forearms gripping the wheel. 

And he still won’t shut up. Where Zhang Hao has nothing to say—well, he actually has a lot to say but no idea how to say it—Hanbin keeps blabbering away. It’s endearing, like he physically cannot allow the silence to last more than five seconds or he’ll explode. When he finally runs out of things to say, he turns on the radio, humming along to every song even if he doesn’t know it that well. 

Zhang Hao just keeps silently watching him. His rosy lips, his long lashes casting shadows over his supple cheeks, the bob of his throat, the open and inviting spread of his thighs.

This… vibe follows them all the way up to Hanbin’s apartment. 

Zhang Hao isn’t surprised Hanbin is well-off, but seeing where he lives cements it. It makes him proud, strangely. Or maybe not so strangely. 

They’d once lived off cheap ramen and disgusting instant coffee in a cramped apartment, working every single part-time job under the sun just to get by. Seeing all of Hanbin’s effort paid off in the end makes Zhang Hao’s chest ache with pride. 

His hardworking Hanbinnie is still cute and awkward, though—fumbling with the keys of his apartment, searching for them in every pocket. Then fumbling again with his shoes at the entrance of his apartment, before… kneeling in front of Zhang Hao for no apparent reason.

Zhang Hao—who’s trying to peek into Hanbin’s personal heaven—just cocks his head to the side, questioning. Hanbin, with his rounder-than-the-moon eyes, just says, simple as breathing, “Give me your foot, hyung. I’ll help you with your shoes.”

And just like that, his shoes are gone, replaced by a pair of soft, fuzzy pink slippers. They are clearly new—snug and warm against his feet. Hanbin has a twin pair, but in light blue. Funnily, that's what makes Zhang Hao’s eyes sting with tears.

Because back then, as it was customary, Hanbin had gone barefoot everywhere, until Zhang Hao introduced him to the world of slippers. Apparently, he never went back to his old ways.  

He needs a distraction, so Zhang Hao looks around. Hanbin’s apartment is big, spacious, and thoroughly lived-in. It’s no wonder, really. Everything Hanbin touches becomes alive under his gentle hand. 

A fuzzy blanket on the couch, perfectly folded. Probably there for decoration—Hanbin has never been cold a day in his life. A hoodie slung over a chair (black, just like the one Zhang Hao still keeps in his closet back in Paris), a few plushies, (Hanbin’s always been a fan of cute, small things), a half-empty cup on the coffee table, an open book, a few pages left to read, a potted plant, green and lively. 

And a few picture frames. Zhang Hao is there. His eyesight might be shit, and his eyes might be clouding with thin tears, but he knows he’s there. In that one. He knows it because he has the same photo back in Paris. The two of them, a few months before Zhang Hao left. 

It wasn’t a special occasion, not really. They were just walking around the Han River, when Hanbin, turning to him with stars in his eyes, said, “I want a picture.” 

And Zhang Hao has never been able to say no to him, so, with the help of a random teenage girl, they got their picture. Hanbin printed it and framed it, proudly displaying it on their tiny living room. Right before he left, Zhang Hao quietly smuggled it into his suitcase, carrying it across an ocean.

It’s touching. It makes Zhang Hao want to run, flee this place and lock himself inside Ricky’s larger-than-life closet so he can’t be found easily. 

Hanbin is nervously running around his apartment, like a caged hamster spinning it’s wheel. He’s aimlessly tidying up things, but Zhang Hao doesn’t care about any of that. All he needs right now is a breath, a moment to calm his heart.

“Hanbinnie,” Zhang Hao calls, stopping him mid-step. “Would you lend me a shirt? I’m a bit uncomfortable.”

Mostly a lie, but Hanbin doesn’t need to know that. He nods, pointing to a closed door. “That’s my room, hyung. Take whatever you need. I’ll be in the kitchen,” Hanbin says with a shy smile.

Tentatively, Zhang Hao steps into Hanbin’s bedroom. Everything is clean, the bed made, and it smells divine. There’s a neat row of perfumes on the dresser, and more plushies. 

And another frame that stops Zhang Hao cold. Right on Hanbin’s desk—Gyuvinnie with his baby face, all round cheeks and round eyes. Hanbin with his dark hair and dazzling smile, looking so, so young. And himself, slotted between them, his head resting on Hanbin’s shoulder, his eyes closed.

He looks… peaceful. And happy. A lone finger trails over the glass, and a lone tear leaves his right eye. Zhang Hao doesn’t allow himself any more than that.

His hand snatches the first shirt he finds. Thrown over a chair, it’s clearly been worn. That doesn’t stop Zhang Hao—if anything, it only spurs him further, makes him shed his own clothes faster. 

The soft, black cotton drapes over him comfortably, like a second skin. Hanbin’s scent is comforting, like a warm, fluffy blanket, citrus and floral. His heart likes it.

Zhang Hao shuts his eyes, burying his nose in it. It’s stupid, how this shirt makes him feel more at home than anywhere he’s been in the last seven years. How this is a place he could easily fit in, if Hanbin would let him.

Not exactly how I imagined tonight going, Zhang Hao thinks as he stands in fuzzy slippers, in a man’s house full of plushies. The boners are nowhere to be seen and his heart feels heavy, but this also feels right. 

Zhang Hao doesn’t know how long he hides in Hanbin's bedroom, but when he finally pads to the kitchen, the whole house smells amazing, smokey, maybe, but also sweet. 

Hanbin stops in his tracks when he notices Zhang Hao standing quietly by the fridge. The wooden spoon in his hand clatters to the floor, not even the loud clack bringing him out of his reverie. His eyes are hungry, raking all over Zhang Hao’s body. He pays special attention to the silver of collarbone showing, the hem of his borrowed shirt skimming his thighs.

With his mouth watering, Zhang Hao takes notice of the boy in front of him. I’d be a lie if he said that the smell of yummy food is better than Hanbin. A sheen of sweat covers his temples—the heat of the stove, most likely. The first three buttons of his shirt are undone, and Zhang Hao’s finally able to get a good look at his tattoos. He wants to touch, his fingers itch with want. But he doesn’t.

On his hips rests a cute apron, with printed kitties all over. It’s funny how that’s what gets Zhang Hao heated the most, how that’s what makes him want to eat Sung Hanbin alive.

Clearly, they’re both still thinking about what happened back in the fitting room. Zhang Hao can still feel it—feel the faint touch of Hanbin’s fingers against his hips. And Hanbin looks… breathless. Affected.

It’s Zhang Hao the one brave enough to break the silence. He forces himself to sound casual, teasing as he says, “Smells good in here,” with a small smile. “Need any help?”

Hanbin’s still frozen, leaning against the counter and just looking so utterly delicious. Zhang Hao walks toward him, slowly enough not to startle, bending down to pick up the wooden spoon, placing it on Hanbin’s hand. It’s warm and clammy, pulse ricocheting on his wrist.

“Hanbinnie?”

He doesn’t answer, just reaches out, fixing the soft cotton shirt, covering Zhang Hao’s shoulder.

They cook. Well—Hanbin cooks. Zhang Hao doesn’t do much other than washing and peeling a few vegetables, while Hanbin does all the heavy work. At one point he rolls up his sleeves, revealing once again the milky smooth skin of his forearms. Dainty and strong. He’s always been everything.

Something sizzles on the stove. Zhang Hao can feel Hanbin’s gaze burning on his back, burning hotter than the flame. This quiet Hanbin makes Zhang Hao nervous, even more nervous than when he’s being all chatty and awkward, or when he’s being all sly and seductive. Something brews, dangerously close to toppling over.

Zhang Hao sits over the counter just to steady himself, watching as Hanbin works. He chops vegetables a little too hard, a little too fast. Watches the line of his throat shift as he swallows, over and over.

There’s a smudge of sauce right on the corner of his lip, a little dark brown dot. “Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao calls quietly. Hanbin’s head snaps up instantly. “Come here.”

And Hanbin—Hanbin walks to him almost in a daze. Zhang Hao spreads his knees and lets Hanbin settle there, slotting between them, his hands braced on either side of his hips. His thumbs press lightly against his waistband, not enough to burn, but Zhang Hao might as well be naked by how much he feels.

Zhang Hao’s thumb traces the corner of Hanbin’s lips, cleaning him, and Hanbin parts his mouth so beautifully, almost instinctively. Zhang Hao feels tempted to bridge the gap between them and kiss him senseless. 

But he doesn’t do quite that. Instead, he brings his finger to his mouth and licks. The sauce is sweet and smokey—delicious.  

“You were dirty,” Zhang Hao explains. From this close, he can see every detail from Hanbin’s face. 

His chapped lips, the little bit of cakey foundation on the corner of his nose. The faint stubble coming in, already growing after Hanbin’s morning shave. The stain on his light shirt, dark and splotchy. The hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, the reddish tint of his cheeks, born from the heat of the kitchen, from the heat between them.

Tangible. Not idolized, not hidden behind a layer of perfection. Just real. Him. And Zhang Hao loves him.

Rough hands carding through soft hair, Zhang Hao smooths it back, exposing Hanbin’s forehead, his thin eyebrows. Hanbin just sighs, leaning into the touch, closing the space and resting his head on the base of Zhang Hao’s throat. There, he breathes him in, again and again and again.

This—this is the kind of intimacy he’s missed. The kind of softness that makes goodbye unbearable. He doesn’t want to leave. Not now, not ever.

The rice cooker beeps, and the moment is broken.

After that, Hanbin gets chattier, back to normal, even if there’s clear tension humming through the lengths of his body.

He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until Hanbin slides a plate towards him. Duck. Roasted duck. Zhang Hao almost laughs. A very common dish served during Chinese weddings. Fidelity, devotion and loyalty during marriage—that’s what it means.

The table is simple but cozy—a couple of mismatched plates, a lavender-scented candle, two tall glasses of water, a bottle of what Zhang Hao recognizes as expensive wine.

Hanbin sits across from him, face illuminated in warm, golden hues. His back is stiff, and his hands play with the hem of the tablecloth. “So… don’t hate me if it’s undercooked. We didn’t have that much time and this is my first time cooking this.” It’s cute how nervous he is, how much he wants to impress Zhang Hao. 

“I’ll go easy on you, yeah?” Zhang Hao interrupts, threading their feet together under the table. 

It’s so simple, to go back to the way things were. He feels twenty, twenty-two, twenty-three again, eating cheap ramen with Hanbin in their small kitchen, on that same old table with a huge oil stain, that same table where they made that silly promise, dreaming of a future he never dared say out loud. 

One thing is painfully clear, though: Zhang Hao’s always been right to love him. 

With practiced precision, Zhang Hao cuts into the duck slowly. He pops a piece into his mouth, and pauses. Hanbin stares at him in anticipation, not even breathing as he waits for Zhang Hao to chew and swallow. He’s being a little bit mean on purpose too, doing everything almost in slow motion just to see Hanbin squirm.

And squirm he does, leaning in, eyes wide. “Well?” 

It’s frankly delicious—smoky, sweet, and a bit peppery on the finish. The skin is crisped to perfection, and miraculously, it’s not undercooked either. But he won’t play all his cards right away. 

“Hmm,” Zhang Hao hums, pretending to think. Hanbin is adorable, way too adorable, practically vibrating on his seat, his own plate untouched. Zhang Hao can’t contain his endeared smile any longer. “It’s delicious, Hanbin-ah.”

Hanbin stares at him like Zhang Hao just hung the moon in the sky. “Really, hyung? You really think so?” He doesn’t even wait for the reply. “I was so, so nervous while cooking it. I really wanted to impress you because I know the… meaning of this dish, you know. And well, ever since you came back I’ve been meaning to cook for you. I’ll make you anything, hyung. Everything. Whatever you want. Just say it.”

Zhang Hao giggles, soft and sweet. He can’t help reaching across the small table to poke Hanbin right on his cheek, over the cute dimple that appears whenever he’s too happy. 

“I can’t believe this,” Zhang Hao murmurs. “What did you do to my Hanbinnie? You used to even burn rice. Burn rice . And now this?”

Humming in thought, Hanbin’s lips curve into a cheeky smirk. Devilish, even. He’s about to say something that’s going to send his heart into overdrive, Zhang Hao knows it.

“I had a long time to practice on how to be a good husband, hyung.”

Oh . That’s even worse than Zhang Hao imagined. 

But he’s not one to back down without a fight, though. Two can play this game. 

“I think you’re just trying to seduce me through my stomach…” Zhang Hao bats his eyelashes coquettishly, plump lips setting into a deep pout. Hanbin’s eyes immediately drop to his mouth, ears reddening under the warm candlelight.

“Well,” Hanbin breathes, raising an eyebrow, nudging Zhang Hao’s calf under the table, moving up, up, slowly caressing all the way to his knee. “Is it working?”

A little moan threatens to escape Zhang Hao’s lips, one he swallows down quickly before he can humiliate himself in front of the love of his life. Getting this worked up over getting his knee caressed is kind of… embarrassing. He can’t be blamed, though, considering he has been trying to will his boner down for hours. Endless hours.

“Maybe…” Zhang Hao hums, his mouth quirking into a half-smile. 

A little while later, Zhang Hao unceremoniously plops down on the couch, rubbing his too-full belly. Hanbin’s in the kitchen under the excuse of brewing tea, but he’s taking too long, and Zhang Hao’s in a very particular mood tonight. Whiny and desperate and clingy. He doesn’t want to be alone, especially not now that Hanbin’s so close.

That takes him to the kitchen, where Hanbin stands by the counter, furiously typing on his phone. Zhang Hao, naturally, is curious, since Hanbin is so absorbed he doesn’t even turn in his direction, doesn’t even sense he’s here.

Standing on his tippy-toes, Zhang Hao peers over Hanbin’s shoulder. He’s not texting anyone like Zhang Hao thought. Not at all. 

Hanbin is writing about today.

Hao seems to like the duck a lot. His face scrunched up all cutely when he tried the skin. He also kept humming and licking his fingers. Perhaps we could serve it for the wedding menu? We should talk before making any choices. Also, I want to take into consideration everything that’s served during a traditional Chinese wedding…

“Are you… taking notes?” Zhang Hao asks, voice faint. His hand finds its way to his chest, and it aches, aches so deeply, so sharp and sudden. Hanbin…

Hanbin freezes, and then nearly drops his phone, trying to lock it hastily. “No,” he denies, like second nature, standing stiff, defensive. Zhang just stares, and stares, and stares.

It breaks Hanbin a little bit, makes his whole body sag, words spilling out of his mouth. “Actually, yes,” Hanbin admits with a weak laugh, scratching the back of his head, staring right at his feet. “Is it… weird? I’m sorry if it’s weird to you. I’m sorry if it’s making you uncomfortable,” he rushes, words tumbling fast. “I’m sorry. I just want this to be perfect for you, and this is the only way to make it perfect. I want to know if you don’t like something, if you don’t feel comfortable. I’m already basically forcing you to marry me, so obviously I want your input on this whole… situation too. You don’t have to like—”

Zhang Hao stops listening. He just stares at Hanbin, dumbfounded, at the way words keep spilling out of his lips, at the way he keeps getting redder and redder, his hands moving wildly in front of him.

Forcing him? Is that what Hanbin thinks ? Is that… what he’s thought this whole time? 

It’s almost laughable, if it wasn’t utterly heartbreaking. 

“Hanbin,” Zhang Hao interrupts him, grabbing Hanbin by the hem of his soft shirt, getting his full attention. “Forcing me?”

“What?” Hanbin glances at him, confused. 

“You said I’m already basically forcing you to marry me, didn’t you?”

Eyes widening, Hanbin’s expression turns a bit sheepish, but also a bit dejected. “Yes, I did say that,” he admits after a beat, curling his fingers around Zhang Hao’s wrist. 

“What do you mean?” Zhang Hao presses. He needs to know. This moment feels monumental, the first peek inside Hanbin’s silly mind. 

Still, Hanbin tries to wave it off, tries to laugh it away. “Ah, don’t mind me. Forget I said that, hyung.” 

But Zhang Hao won’t let him. He gently insists, tightening his grip on Hanbin’s shirt, not letting him run away. Not like Zhang Hao did all those years ago. 

Hanbin’s never been a coward; Zhang Hao won’t allow him to become one now. “Tell me the truth.” It’s a demand itself, uttered so quietly that it feels almost like a caress.

“I…” Hanbin tries, mouth opening and closing over and over again. He can’t find the right words, but Zhang Hao will give him time. 

This is an anomaly in itself. Hanbin always knows what to say, Hanbin always knows the best words to let those close to him know what’s on his heart. Not this time, though. This time, he looks defeated. 

His forehead drops to  Zhang Hao’s shoulder, and he breathes, deeply, filling his lungs with courage. “Hao. If this is all pretend for you… that’s okay,” Hanbin confesses, voice raw. Zhang Hao’s hand, halfway through burying into Hanbin’s shiny hair, freezes mid-air. “But it’s real for me.”

Pretend? He almost laughs—bitterly, sadly. This is real for him too. It’s always been real. 

For the longest time it felt like he’d lost his chance, like his timing was just… wrong. That he’d have to live with the ache, with the emptiness of loving someone he could never have. His first love. His only love. But now…

“I want—I want you to…” Hanbin tries to say, but the words stay trapped in the deepest confines of his heart. Zhang Hao can feel some dampness against his shirt—against Hanbin’s shirt—and some pitiful sniffling. “Sorry, sorry,” Hanbin apologizes, turning around, his back to Zhang Hao’s front.

It’s hard to know what to do, hard to know what’s the right thing to do. Zhang Hao has always prided himself in being analytical, in being logical—but never when it comes to Hanbin. When it comes to Hanbin, his heart is in charge, as much as he tries to fight it.

Easy, then. For once, he doesn’t overthink. It’s easy to hug Hanbin from behind, to wrap his arms around his soft waist. It’s easy to drop a faint kiss to the shell of his ear, to squish his cheek onto his shoulder. It’s easy to melt into Hanbin’s warmth, to imagine a future just like this.

“Stop apologizing, dummy,” Zhang Hao whispers, his lips grazing Hanbin’s skin. Like this, pressed this close, he can feel the shiver that ripples through him, the short, trembling breaths he takes. “Just talk to me, yeah? I’m still the same Hao from seven years ago, Hanbin-ah. I want to listen. I always want to listen.”

Hanbin doesn’t answer right away. But he exhales, shakily, and leans back just enough to let Zhang Hao hold more of him. His fingers slide over Zhang Hao’s, soft, gentle, anchoring. Accepting.

“I never stopped wanting,” Hanbin admits, voice rough with unshed tears. “Even when I told myself I was done, that I had to move on. Even when you stopped answering. I thought of you every single day.”

Zhang Hao closes his eyes, hands curling into the soft cotton of Hanbin’s shirt—smelling faintly of roasted duck and lavender wax—right over the curve of his belly. 

His voice comes out quieter than intended, quieter than he means it to—but maybe that’s fitting for him. The truth has always been quiet in his life, always buried beneath a thick layer of duty and timing and fear. 

“I did too, Hanbin-ah. I thought I missed my chance. I thought I’d never get another one,” Zhang Hao confesses, swallowing hard, his forehead pressing lightly to Hanbin’s shoulder. “But I’m not pretending. And you’re not forcing me. If anything—” Zhang Hao exhales, shaky but sure. 

This is the first and only chance he’ll get at telling the secrets that have been growing limbs and squeezing his heart dry. “I want this as much as you do. I want to marry you, Sung Hanbin. Not because of a silly promise we made when we were kids, but because this… you… this is where I belong.”

Hanbin turns in his arms. Their faces are suddenly too close—breaths mingling, eyes locked, hearts racing—but they don’t move away.

“Then don’t let go of me, Zhang Hao,” Hanbin whispers.

Zhang Hao doesn’t.

They don’t kiss. It could have been the perfect moment, but they don’t. There’s still something holding Zhang Hao back—and maybe Hanbin too. 

Instead, he’s content with burying his face in the crook of Zhang Hao’s neck, breath warm against his skin. He’s content dropping gentle kisses to Zhang Hao’s forehead, holding him close in his arms. That’s enough.

They sleep together that night. Not the way Zhang Hao imagined, though. Not the kind of night that might leave him sore and limping, nothing like what he’d been longing for all day. But it feels right. His balls will stay blue for the foreseeable future. 

They just sleep, like old times. 

Back then, their beds were so small, barely big enough for one person, but they always made it work. When Zhang Hao was feeling particularly homesick, or when Hanbin was dead on his feet from dance practice, they’d squeeze in together. And when Gyuvin came into their lives, they somehow made room for him too—even when it felt impossible.

But this is different. Hanbin’s bed is huge, massive, too big for one person. They could easily rest without touching, but they don’t even try. Their bodies find each other like magnets, like muscle memory, and Zhang Hao thinks that maybe, it is.

He sleeps deeply, and doesn’t dream. There’s nothing left to dream about when everything he’s ever wanted is right here. 

💍✨️💗

Of course, all good things must come to an end. Not even six days since he arrived, Zhang Hao gets an email. And even before opening it, he already knows what it says. His heart sinks to his feet.

These past few days with Hanbin have been…everything. Everything his younger heart longed for, everything he once dreamed of. Hanbin keeps cooking for him, letting him crawl into his bed at night, cuddling him on the couch during afternoons. 

They keep browsing through Hanbin’s endless venue folder, they keep trying on new suits. They spend time with Ricky and Gyuvin—who, to Zhang Hao’s surprise, seem to have gotten suspiciously closer during his absence. 

The fact that Ricky doesn’t look at Gyuvin with disgust means more than anything he could say, anything he could do. A seed of love, even if it’s just been planted.

Zhang Hao wakes up to the faint smell of lavender, soft and familiar. Hanbin is still asleep, curled beneath the sheets, the sun painting golden stripes across the arch of his naked back. 

Some habits die hard, Zhang Hao thinks. Sleeping naked is one, not closing the curtains is another. Hanbin, always the early riser.

For a moment, everything is still. Still and warm and perfect. Hanbin is nestled right beneath Zhang Hao’s chin, and his hair tickles Zhang Hao’s nose. Midnight black against milky-pale skin. His lashes kiss his cheeks, red from sleep and heat—Zhang Hao’s heat. 

Then, his phone buzzes. Probably Ricky, although he’s not one to be up this early.  Zhang Hao isn’t either, eyes barely open and body begging to go back to its peaceful slumber. But he’s curious, nosy. He won’t be able to sleep again unless he knows Ricky is fine.

He reaches for it lazily, but what awaits him is not a text. Not his blond friend whining over Gyuvin’s antics, not a meme, not a nagging reminder to drink water or to protect his inexistent virginity. 

It’s an email from the conservatoire in Paris.

 Immediate Assistance Requested - Priority Rehearsal Coordination Required. 

Zhang Hao sits up straighter, opens it with dread, with trembling hands, and with a little bit of resignation too.

Dear professor Zhang, we hope your brief leave has been restorative. Due to unforeseen circumstances and unexpected changes in the lineup for the Royal Gala showcase, we require your presence back at the conservatory as soon as possible. All costs of flights and accommodations will be covered, as we understand we’re interfering in your plans. We trust you to understand, also, the importance of your involvement as one of our most important assets…

They need him. Not two weeks from now, as it was his original plan. They need him now. He sits still for a long moment, staring at the dimming screen, fingers trembling.

Zhang Hao hadn't expected this—not so soon. Not when everything is starting to fall into place for the first time in his life. Not when Hanbin is here, with him, snoring softly, sleeping peacefully. Back in Paris, he’s alone.

He could ignore it. He could easily pretend he didn’t see it. Throw his phone out of the window, maybe. Ghost them, start a life in Korea under a new name, marry Hanbin, get a new job. Anything but leave.

Under him, Hanbin stirs. Zhang Hao doesn’t move, just presses his palms over his eyes and breathes deeply. 

He feels twenty-three again. Twenty-three and facing a heartbreaking dilemma—stuck between duty or love. The thing is, he’s always chosen duty. That’s who he trained himself to be. 

What he’s supposed to do, versus what he wants to do. The former has always won.

He thought he had more time.

💍✨️💗

As soon as Hanbin wakes up, he notices something is wrong. Zhang Hao motionless in bed, unblinking, right hand clutching his phone tightly, eyes bloodshot. Still, his mouth remains closed. 

Hanbin’s eyes fill with worry, and yet, he doesn’t say anything. Hanbin’s hands find his face, cradling it gently, and still, he doesn’t say anything. Hanbin kisses his cheeks, rubs his shoulders, and asks, “What’s wrong, hyung?” but he doesn’t say anything.

Shaking his head, Zhang Hao tries to smile. A fake one. He’s always been good at pretending, but now that he’s been as honest as he can be, it’s hard to go back to that. Nonetheless, he tries. That doesn’t mean he succeeds. 

The apartment is quiet in the way only afternoons can be—sunlight pouring through open curtains, the clink of a spoon in a mug as Hanbin makes tea. Mint. 

Zhang Hao’s phone is burning a hole in his pocket, in the pocket of Hanbin’s pants. And it’s not just the email. Ricky has been bombarding him all day too. No doubt he got the same email, Zhang Hao gathers.

A naive part of him thinks that, if he ignores it, it’ll disappear. That it’ll turn into something else, that Madame Levigne will get back to him, say they fixed the problem, say it was all a mistake. 

Naturally, it doesn’t happen.

He curls up on Hanbin’s couch, both legs curved beneath him, fluffy blanket draped over his shoulders, eyes glued to the picture on Hanbin’s shelf. Them, from university. Back before everything fell apart. The picture Hanbin has kept all this time.

“Tea?” Hanbin calls softly from the kitchen. 

Zhang Hao looks up. Hanbin holds two mugs, fingers carefully holding the chipped ceramic. He looks so cute with his freshly washed-hair, unstyled and plastered to his forehead after Zhang Hao dried it for him. Red cheeks, moles on display. The curve of his shoulder is naked, a loose shirt hanging over his frame. And the baby-blue slippers.

He looks just like he did at twenty-two. Just like he did when Zhang Hao left him that first time, when they promised and promised and promised.

The ache in his chest sharpens, a hard rock nestling between his lungs. Zhang Hao nods. “Thanks, Hanbinnie,” he tries to say, forcing normally into his tone, but it comes out strangled.

Hanbin sits next to him, close enough to touch. Familiar. Zhang Hao’s knee pressed to his thigh, their shoulders grazing. Hanbin’s hand finds Zhang Hao’s thigh, and he squeezes. Comforting.

After blowing on his tea, Zhang Hao takes a sip. One, two, and then speaks. It’s time. He can’t avoid it forever, not a kid anymore. “I got an email,” he murmurs. “From the conservatory. They need me back.”

The body next to his stills. Not dramatically, not visible—but Zhang Hao notices. They’re pressed impossibly close. A fraction more tension in his shoulders, a breath that catches halfway. Zhang Hao doesn’t look at him, just stares straight ahead.

“When?” Hanbin asks. It sounds composed on the outside, but Zhang Hao knows better.

“They booked the flight already.” Zhang Hao swallows. “Tomorrow afternoon.”

It’s quiet for a few heartbeats. Hanbin breaks it with a small, “Oh.” No sharpness, no sarcasm, no anger, no biting words. Just… oh.

And that’s somehow worse. It makes Zhang Hao’s breath quicken, a bit frantic. Scared, perhaps. “I didn’t know,” he tries to explain. “I thought I had more time. They said it’s urgent. One of the coordinators had to drop out and the rest of the team needs me—“

The hand on his thigh grips harder, almost painful. It grounds Zhang Hao to the present, to Hanbin’s face. Hanbin’s neutral face. “It’s okay, hyung,” he says too evenly, no inflection. “You don’t have to explain.”

“But I want to, Hanbin,” Zhang Hao blurts out almost desperately. “I want you to know it’s not because—”

He stops. Because what, exactly? Because he doesn’t want to stay? Because he’s running away like a coward again? Because he already has a life that he can’t easily leave behind? 

Hanbin offers a small smile, tight at the corners. It doesn’t light up his eyes, it doesn’t show his beautiful dimples. Something meant to comfort, but it does exactly the opposite. Zhang Hao’s stomach coils tighter. 

“It’s your job, hyung,” Hanbin says. “You’ve always been serious about your work. I know that. And they need you.”

But I need you, Zhang Hao thinks, but doesn't say. Don’t you need me too? Will you let me go just as easily as the first time? I would stay if you asked me…

“I’ll be gone for a few days, Hanbinnie, I swear,” Zhang Hao says, reaching for the hand still resting on his thigh and covering it with his own. Hanbin’s cold, surprisingly. 

Funny this is Zhang Hao can’t actually promise that, and he knows it. What awaits him back in Paris, back home, is unknown. 

Home… the word feels wrong, somehow. Not his home anymore, then. Or maybe ever.

A faint hum leaves Hanbin’s lips, but he still won’t meet Zhang Hao’s eyes. His tea sits untouched, steaming. “Right. Of course.”

And Zhang Hao wishes—God, he wishes with all he has—that Hanbin would get angry, sad, something . Anything. That he would scream at him, beg him to stay. Anything but this soft, detached tone, this understanding act that hurts more than any fight ever could. 

Their tea has gone cold. Zhang Hao still cradles the cup in his hand, staring at the amber liquid. The apartment is too quiet now, too dark, the sun leaving.

Right next to him, Hanbin sits, head resting on Zhang Hao’s shoulder, knees pulled to his chest. Words inside him bubble—Zhang Hao can tell by the way his hands twitch,  by the current of nervous energy running through Hanbin’s body. He hasn’t pulled away, which is good, but… he hasn’t said anything either. 

The clock ticks. It makes Zhang Hao go a little bit crazier with every second, a cruel reminder that in a few more hours, he'll be on a different continent altogether, wake up from the dream he’s been living these past six days.  

His throat burns with the urge to speak. No more quietness, Zhang Hao thinks. Seven years is already enough 

“I’m sorry, Hanbin-ah.” His voice is rough from disuse, cutting through the fake calm between them. “I know… I know this feels like last time. But I promise it won’t be like that again.”

Hanbin’s laugh is soft, tinged with an edge of bitterness. He straightens up, looking at Zhang Hao. Finally, not numbness. Something else.

“Hyung,” Hanbin breathes out, squaring his shoulders. “You probably think I’m being horribly dramatic.” His laugh is self-deprecating. 

Zhang Hao’s about to protest—hell, he feels the same way—but Hanbin is quick to continue, shaking his head. 

“Just let me say this,” Hanbin says with finality. A peek into his heart, Zhang Hao concludes. “For a long time, I used to think it was so easy for you to leave. To leave me. You went to another country, stopped answering my texts. You forgot about me, hyung, but I couldn’t do that. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t.”

His hand finds Hanbin’s over the couch, interlacing their fingers. Hanbin stares at it, forlorn, in a way. Wistful, perhaps. “I always hoped,” he continues, his voice thinner now, “that you didn’t forget our promise. I didn’t reach out to you on a whim, hyung. I wasn’t drunk or lonely. I’d been planning it for months. You’ve seen the folder. I thought—”

Zhang Hao braces himself for the impact of Hanbin’s words, his whole world turning upside down. He never thought Hanbin felt the same way as he did. “I thought, ‘If I plan everything perfectly, then he’ll stay this time.”

This time. He will stay this time. 

“What do you mean?” Zhang Hao blurts out, heart hammering in his chest.

“Hyung, don’t play dumb. We both know why you left.”

Because I was irrevocably in love with you and you weren’t, is what Zhang Hao wants to say. “I wanted…” Zhang Hao swallows thickly. “I wanted to make my dreams come true.” It sounds like a lie even to his own ears, and surely to Hanbin’s too.

“And your dreams never included me, did they?” Hanbin asks. His smile is tight, sharp, and it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You promised you’d come back, but you stayed there forever.”

Zhang Hao wants to shake him by the shoulders, wants to make him see. It’s not usual that his temper flares like this, at least not in the near past. But right now, he’s livid. Livid at being misunderstood like this, at not being able to split his chest open just so Hanbin can see everything that’s been brewing there for the past ten years.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he exclaims harshly, to Hanbin’s surprise, his voice raising with rage and disbelief. Their hands are still joined together, Zhang Hao clutching Hanbin’s desperately. “I was going to stay, Hanbin-ah. Back then. Do you really think I wanted to leave?” 

Hanbin’s eyes widen, just slightly. “Then why did you leave?” 

“If you had asked me to stay, Hanbin,” Zhang Hao breathes, trembling, “I would have.” Hanbin must understand that he… would have done anything for him. Would do anything for him now, if asked.

Hanbin’s lips part, his eyebrows furrow. “But I did, Hao. I tried,” he recalls. “Or have you forgotten? Did you already forget what you said?” 

Zhang Hao hasn’t. He hasn’t forgotten anything about that day. “ You would never do that, Hanbin ,” he echoes, eyes faraway. So far away he feels right there, young and broken, in their old apartment. “ And no, I wouldn't stay. ”

“I tried,” Hanbin says again, as if trying to convince himself. “But you must also know that I would never stand in the way of your dreams, hyung.” 

Yes, he knows as much. Hanbin, his Hanbin, always too gentle, too caring, too selfless for his own good. His heart is not tainted by egoism, by greed. Always doing what’s best, instead of what he wants. And still, he tried. He tried to stop Zhang Hao, but he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t talk, and he wouldn’t listen. The story of his life.

“Well,” Zhang Hao murmurs, tongue feeling too big to fit on his own mouth, “maybe you should have.” He means it. If Hanbin had pushed—just a little, or maybe said one more word—then Zhang Hao would have stayed.

And Hanbin understands, then. Everything Zhang Hao’s been keeping to himself. There’s no need for a grand declaration of love, there’s no need to spell it letter by letter. Hanbin understands, and for a few seconds, Zhang Hao wishes he would have kept him in the dark, as his face morphs into quiet heartbreak. He’s been hiding it too, right beneath a thin layer of warm smiles and silly promises.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Hanbin asks, voice cracking on the last syllable. “Why did you let me believe you didn’t feel the same?”

Oh. So, it hadn’t been just him, then.

There’s no bite in Zhang Hao’s voice when he finally answers. “It felt like you didn’t want me, Hanbin. You kept going on dates with everyone but me. What was I supposed to think?” 

It’s almost funny, in a way, how fresh the wound still feels. Closing around the edges the more time he spends around Hanbin, but still raw underneath. He can picture it so clearly, himself in that tiny apartment, twenty-three and heartbroken, about to start over, alone. 

“I was going to tell you, Hanbin,” he admits. “But—” 

You went out on a date with someone else. I was a coward.

Recognition flashes across Hanbin’s face. Remembrance. “Ah,” he breathes out. “I remember now.” His hands are clammy, his cheeks are flushed. Not vibrant kind that Zhang Hao’s used to seeing on him, though. Just red. “You never gave me a reason to think you—” 

Hanbin doesn’t finish, but Zhang Hao hears him loud and clear. To think you loved me back. 

And Hanbin is right. They’re older now, more mature. It’s easier to look back on their younger selves with less reprimand, with more tenderness instead of anger. They were just kids.

“I—” Hanbin chokes on his words, on his feelings. “Sorry hyung. This is all so stupid.”

Zhang Hao can agree with that. The smile that tugs at his lips is real this time, amused. Because it is stupid. They were stupid. They’re still being stupid, and most probably will be stupid until the end of times. They’re only human, after all.

Pretty Hanbin with his sad and shiny eyes is heartbreakingly honest. “I don’t think I can wait another seven years, Hao.”

Outside, the sun has already dipped below the horizon. 

Zhang Hao leaves. 

He doesn’t say goodbye to Hanbin. Not because he doesn’t want to—hell, Lord knows how long he’s yearned to kiss those soft, pouty lips, to hold him like lovers do—but because he can’t. He has a weak, feeble heart.

Hanbin is asleep, curled into a tight ball on the couch, just like a kitty would. His feet are tucked right beneath Zhang Hao’s thighs. Warmth, just contact, or comfort, Zhang Hao doesn’t know. His chest rises and falls evenly with soft, gentle breaths, mouth parted cutely. He looks beautiful, peaceful, tired. Tired in a way only heartbreak can make you, Zhang Hao thinks with a bitter smile.

He sits there for a long time, just watching him, committing him to memory. Big or small, Zhang Hao sees every detail. He thinks of what Hanbin said a few hours ago. I don’t think I can wait another seven years, Hao. 

Zhang Hao can’t, either. But he won’t make any more empty promises, not after last time.  

He should wake him. He should wake him, say something, anything. Goodbye, maybe. Sorry. I love you. But he can’t. Not yet, at least.

Instead, he moves quietly through Hanbin’s apartment. Washes their cups with careful, loving hands, puts everything back where it belongs. Slips on his shoes, and lingers one last time at the couch. He bends over Hanbin’s sleeping figure, just to watch him some more.

His face, his beautiful face, lit by faint light coming from his kitchen. His long lashes, his eyes moving underneath, his nose scrunching. He looks so young like this. Twenty-two and in love, just like Zhang Hao was.

He knows that now. 

Reaching over the soft blanket draped over the armrest, Zhang Hao tucks it over Hanbin’s body. He probably won’t need it—a walking furnace—but what if he does? What if he wakes up cold, and Zhang Hao isn't there?

His fingers brush through Hanbin’s hair, softly, and he tells himself that this is not goodbye. If he doesn’t say it, then it doesn’t exist. It’s not real. Even if it feels like he’s running again, Zhang Hao swears to himself he isn’t. He won’t. History won’t repeat itself… right?

At the door, he hesitates. The tight knot in his throat, in his chest, doesn’t let him continue. So, he looks back. Opens his mouth, closes it, but words won’t come out.

Zhang Hao leaves, no sound except for the soft click of the door. 

Hanbin is not asleep, though. As soon as Zhang Hao’s gone, his eyes open. And he finds himself alone once again.

💍✨️💗

Incheon Airport is probably something straight out of Zhang Hao’s worst nightmares. It’s awfully crowded—so much that he can barely walk—easy to get lost, and tied to bad memories. The bad memories being well, heartbreak. For the second time in his life, Zhang Hao trudges through the halls with his head down and his chest bruised.

But this time, he’s hopeful. He wants to be hopeful.

It won’t be like last time, is what he repeats to himself, but the hollow feeling in his chest doesn’t go away.

Ricky walks beside him with his stupid hot pink suitcase, dead silent. He doesn’t even crack a joke. Maybe he’s not the only one leaving something freshly blooming behind. They’re early. Too early to be reasonable, but Zhang Hao couldn’t stay in their rented apartment for a second longer. If he had… he wouldn’t be here, that’s for sure. 

They sit at the gate, boarding passes in hand. The iced americano Ricky got for him tastes just as disgusting as Zhang Hao remembers, and funnily enough, that’s what brings him to tears. 

Like a madman, he keeps gulping it down, drinking and drinking until his brain is frozen and numb, until there’s nothing left on the plastic cup. Ricky watches him like he’s grown a second head.

Zhang Hao doesn’t cry. He wants to, but he doesn’t. The drink is bitter enough to dry his hot tears, but he knows he looks like a wreck—hollow-eyed, broken-hearted, relentlessly checking his phone for something new, but nothing. Nothing stares back at him. 

The last message from a few days ago stares back at him, mocking. I’m outside ♡, Hanbin had said. They hadn’t texted since, because it wasn’t necessary.

His mind is a mess, memories replaying on an endless loop. New memories, added to their old ones. Hanbin laughing over coffee just a few mornings ago—coffee he brewed on his newly bought machine, claiming it was even better than the café they loved to frequent as university students. 

The wedding folder, sitting over Hanbin’s table, brown and leather, clearly well-loved, used. The promise, a silly, funny memory that became the bridge that brought them back together. Hanbin asleep on the couch, feet bare, baby-blue slippers on the floor. Hanbin eating breakfast, his chin dirty with leftover greek yogurt.

Zhang Hao should have said something. Maybe then it wouldn’t feel this… awful. Worse than last time.

A female voice, distorted from the airport speakers, pulls him out of his thoughts. Final call for Paris. Gate F5.

Zhang Hao starts to panic, doesn't move from his seat. He can feel Ricky’s concerned eyes on him, but he’s too worried trying to keep the iced americano down on his stomach. 

Hanbin’s words echo in his mind. I don’t think I can wait another seven years, Hao.

Neither can I, Hanbin.

He doesn’t want to leave. He can’t leave. Not this time. He wants to stay, wants to beg Hanbin for forgiveness, wants to be with him, wants to… marry him. Today, tomorrow, it doesn’t matter.

Zhang Hao’s always been a man of reason, but not when it comes to Sung Hanbin. 

So, he stands, slowly, shakily. His legs don’t quite cooperate, but he manages a few steps before turning to Ricky. Ricky—who’s been with him through it all. Ricky, who doesn’t bat an eye at his antics, who never judges. Ricky, who just gets him. Zhang Hao doesn’t doubt this time will be no different. 

He doesn’t have to ask. He just says, “Ricky,” his voice cracking halfway through, but Zhang Hao swallows it. “Ruirui, I can’t… I can’t leave.”

Ricky exhales, relieved, and smiles, taking Zhang Hao’s suitcase from him and pulling him into a tight hug. “Thank fucking God. Seriously, thank fucking God,” he mutters in Korean, half-laughing, half-crying. 

If Zhang Hao’s brain were working properly, he might wonder how the fuck Ricky learned so fast, but right now his brain is just one long chant: Hanbin, Hanbin, Hanbin, Hanbin. 

Ricky grins like he knows this was coming, and maybe, he did. “Gyuvin is waiting for us outside. Let’s go get your man, Zhang fucking Hao!”

If Zhang Hao dies today, it won’t be from heartbreak. It’ll be because Kim Gyuvin drives like absolute shit.

“Do you even have a license?” Zhang Hao hisses, gripping the handle above the car door with both hands. 

Ricky, poor little Ricky, signed his death sentence when he chose to sit on the passenger seat. Zhang Hao can see his reflection from the rear-view mirror—he’s a little bit pale, eyes squeezed shut, and praying in three different languages. Zhang Hao didn’t even know Ricky believed in God.

“Of course I do, hyung,” Gyuvin says with too much confidence for someone who almost ran a red light. “But today is an emergency. We need to hurry in the name of love. I’m trying to make this as dramatic as possible for all of us, then I can tell your children all about it when they’re grown-ups.”

“Man, what the fuck,” Ricky groans, clutching his Prada bag like it’s an airbag. “Kim Gyuvin, if we die today I swear to God I’ll come to haunt you every single day of my afterlife. Actually, scratch that. We can’t die! Hao needs to have his happily ever after, you bastard.”

Unfazed, Gyuvin takes a sharp left turn that slams Zhang Hao into the door. And then, Zhang Hao catches a glimpse of Ricky’s hand clutching Gyuvin’s thigh, squeezing tightly. 

If Zhang Hao weren’t so busy trying not to vomit, he’d say…something. But he doesn't even have time to process that right now. It seems like in his absence, his two friends have gotten pretty close. Hmmm.

“Relax, we’re almost there. God, no one in this car knows how to have fun.”

Zhang Hao doesn't even realize they’ve reached Hanbin’s apartment building until Gyuvin slams the brakes so hard the car jerks, throwing all three of them forward like ragdolls. Honestly, all he’s been thinking is what the fuck he’s about to say to Hanbin. 

It’s not like he can knock on his door and go, Hiii Hanbinnie!!! I realized that i really, really can’t live without you hehe :3 So I missed my flight and came back! I’m probably going to get fired too!!! Will you take me back… pretty please :(? 

What would Hanbin even say? After Zhang Hao literally left without even saying goodbye? Ugh… love is way too hard. God, he’s going to throw up.

“We made it!” Gyuvin announces cheerfully after nearly killing two people. One of them is about to confess their unyielding love to another, mind you. “Now go tell Hanbin-hyung you’re in love with him, that you can’t live without him, that you want to marry him and have three daughters and two dogs or whatever. And—” Gyuvin pauses for dramatism, turning around and pointing at Zhang Hao’s frame with a freakishly long finger. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this when both of you are like my parents,” he mutters under his breath, “but you better not come out of that door unless you’ve gotten—”

“Ahh. I can’t hear you!” Zhang Hao yelps, shoving the door open and escaping whatever it is that Gyuvin was about to say. It most likely involved a small amount of clothes and not-blue balls. 

A warm breeze messes Zhang Hao’s hair as he stands in front of Hanbin’s apartment building, staring. He’s trying to catch his breath, dizzy from adrenaline, shaking for what he’s about to do. 

And he’s scared. Terrified. But also happy. Because for the first time in his life he’s not running away. He’s doing what he wants, what his heart wants. He’s not running away anymore

“Thanks, Gyuvin,” he says breathlessly. “And thank you, Ruirui. For everything.”

“Be happy, ge.” Ricky’s smile is small, but warm. “Do everything I wouldn’t do—like getting him naked as soon as you walk through that door. Also, Gyuvin and I must be your men of honor. Non-negotiable, or we’ll crash your wedding.”

Zhang Hao smiles at his friends. He adjusts his coat, takes a deep breath, and walks up to the building. 

It’s now or never.

Well, easier said than done. 

Zhang Hao finds himself pacing outside Hanbin’s door. He should really, really stop moving, because his armpits are horribly sweaty, his hair sticks up in funny places, and he’s very much out of breath. His fist raises to knock, but every time, the same thing happens—he chickens out at the last second.

And it’s not like he can turn away and leave. Where would he even go? Also, he promised not to be a coward anymore.  But no one said it’d be this… hard. Lord.

What is he even going to say? What if he embarrasses himself even further? Or worse… What if Hanbin sees him through the peephole, and decides not to open the door? 

Well, he knocks anyway. Zhang Hao doesn’t really know how it happens—one second he’s fighting for his life, and the next he’s in front of Hanbin’s door, his hand moving on its own. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until way after, and he stares at his treacherous fist, offended. Maybe he should be thankful.

That's how Hanbin finds him. Eyebrows drawn together, still looking at his right hand. Oh, how many joys it has brought him, especially during lonely, cold nights, nights where he’s only had himself and his dirty thoughts, and lately, Hanbin’s mirror selfie. The one with the cat ears.

“Hao?” Hanbin calls. Wait. Hanbin?

When Zhang Hao looks up, Hanbin’s frozen in place—mouth half-open in sheer surprise. He looks… groggy, maybe? Like he just woke up, faint shadows under his eyes, his hair messy.

Zhang Hao freezes too. Says nothing for a long while. And when his mouth decides to cooperate, what comes out of it is, “I missed my flight,” which is, well, dumb. Very dumb.

Back then, when he was younger, he always thought thirty-year-olds were mature, were supposed to have it together. He now realizes how far from the truth that in. He feels small, smaller than he did at nineteen, freshly arrived in Korea, with no one to lean on. Smaller than when he was twenty-three, running from love.

Hanbin blinks. “I can see that,” he murmurs, stepping aside without saying anything else, letting Zhang Hao in. He counts that as a win. 

The apartment looks exactly as it did yesterday. A small gap on the curtain lets a silver of late-afternoon light illuminate the living-room with what’s left of daylight. Sooner rather than later, the sky will be as dark as Hanbin’s hair, as shiny as his eyes. 

The fluffy blanket he draped over Hanbin’s frame yesterday is folded neatly, placed on a corner of the couch. Zhang Hao’s pink slippers rest on the shoe rack, right next to Hanbin’s light brown sneakers, two mugs rest on the drying rack by the sink. Traces of his presence in Hanbin’s life still linger. Somehow, that makes the tight knot on his chest loosen. 

It’s now or never. 

Now or never, Zhang Hao.

“What are you doing here?” Hanbin asks, trying to keep their distance, back pressed to his front door. 

He’s wearing the same hoodie Zhang Hao borrowed from him just a few nights ago—soft and comfortable, warm to sleep in. He hasn’t washed it, either. It still has some toothpaste stains on the front, the ones Zhang Hao left.

It’s silent for a few seconds. Too quiet. Even if Zhang Hao knows this is probably his last chance at making things right, it’s hard to know what to say. It’s hard to know what’s the right thing to say. 

What if Hanbin hates him now, after he left without saying goodbye? What if Hanbin thinks he wasn’t serious, that this was all a game to him? What if—

“Hyung. Zhang Hao,” Hanbin says, taking a few steps towards him. Zhang Hao can’t see him—his eyes are closed—but he can hear him, soft steps over his fluffy carpet. “Stop panicking. It’s just me.”

Well, fuck it then. He’s right, isn’t he? 

They have been through hell and beyond, and yet, they’re still here. Hanbin is still Hanbin, and Zhang Hao is still Zhang Hao. And that’s who they'll always be—at twenty, at thirty, at forty.

“Hanbin-ah. My Hanbinnie,” Zhang Hao breathes, closing the distance and cupping Hanbin’s face in his hands. “I’m home.” 

Home, here with you. Not in an empty apartment in the heart of Paris, where every corner reeks of loneliness, of longing. I’m home.

Hanbin’s speechless—which is funny, since he always has something to say. But he gets the sentiment, it seems, as his eyes fill with tears anyway. Zhang Hao feels his own throat tightening, his own heart breaking. 

But it feels good, this time. It feels right.

“Let’s get married right now, yeah?” Zhang Hao laughs, half-hoping Hanbin doesn’t think he’s lost his mind. He knows he sounds delirious, but that’s how he’s feeling. 

He’s been waiting since nineteen, for fucks sake. There must be a World Guinness Record for the most pathetic lovesick man on Earth. 

“Just us. No one else. Well, perhaps Gyuvin and Ricky too, or they would kill us.” He smiles, shy and crooked, and keeps going. “In a suit from our closet, a cardigan, sweats. I don’t really care, Hanbin-ah. I just want to be with you. I just want to be yours.”

Nothing leaves Hanbin’s lips, but a tear does escape his eye. Zhang Hao kisses it away before he even thinks about it, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. But he keeps going, finally free. 

“We can eat ramen after, or maybe hotpot. Remember that one place near campus? We could go there,” Zhang Hao muses out loud, his thumbs pressing into Hanbin’s cheeks more and more every time, squishing. He looks cute like this, all pouty and shocked. “I don’t care. Let’s just do it, okay?” Zhang Hao whispers, breathless. “Get married. Eat ramen. Burn the folder if you want. Or we could keep it, I don’t care. I just want to be with you.”

Silence. A pin could drop and Zhang Hao could hear it. He’s pretty sure he hears his own heartbeat. 

Hanbin doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, just…stares.

And suddenly, Zhang Hao feels stupid, so, so stupid. Hanbin surely doesn’t want this, right? That's why he’s not saying anything. Maybe he came back too soon. Maybe he should have waited another seven years. Maybe he shouldn't have come back at all. 

Zhang Hao’s hands fall away from Hanbin’s face, awkwardly. His gaze falls to the carpet, to Hanbin’s fluffy, baby-blue slippers. “Sorry,” he mutters, voice small. He does feel small, too. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He takes a step back. I can still make it to the airport , Zhang Hao thinks. I can get another ticket, even if that’ll practically make me bankrupt. Or maybe I can just walk to Paris. Swim, even. I used to be a good swimmer back in high scho—

Hanbin kisses him. Zero warning. Just grabs Zhang Hao’s face in his hands, and crushes their lips together. 

It’s a terrible angle, forceful, their noses bumping together. Zhang Hao’s eyes fill with tears from the pain, but it melts away the second he feels Hanbin’s lips moving against his. 

Soft and slow at first, featherlight, like a sigh, like coming home. And then deeper, more urgent, like a promise made seven years ago. 

Zhang Hao forgets how to think. For the first time in God knows how long, he just feels. 

Feels Hanbin’s tongue against his, feels the skin of his cheeks, warm and slightly prickly from stubble. Tastes his breath, cool and minty. Feels his hands, sliding down his back, until they settle firmly on Zhang Hao’s waist. Feels his lips, soft and a little cracked. Feels his own lungs, burning, burning, and burning, yet he doesn’t want to let go.

He never wants to let go again.

They’re both panting a few seconds, minutes, kisses later, their foreheads resting together, their eyes locked. Hanbin smiles, sweet and lovely, the corners of his eyes crinkling, his cheeks dimpling. 

“Yes,” he says, and they’re so, so close, their lips brush. “I want to marry you. I’ve always wanted to marry you, Hao.” A quick peck to Zhang Hao’s plump lips, chaste. “I’m yours. I’ve been yours. I’ll always be yours.”

Ah, so this is what happiness really feels like , Zhang Hao thinks with a blinding smile. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you since I was nineteen, Hanbinnie,” he admits, bashful and shy.

Hanbin laughs, a warm puff of air against Zhang Hao’s lips. “Me too. Still, I think…” Hanbin stops, a little bit choked up. “I wouldn't change a thing, baby. I would have waited for you my whole life.”

Me too, Zhang Hao thinks. 

But instead of saying it, they just kiss again, and again, and again. It’s a good way not to cry, too, since he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to cry when he’s feeling so happy, not when there’s surely going to be time for that later. When they finally talk, when their secrets are finally laid out in the open.

Right now, they just kiss. Slow and deep, fast and frenzied. With tongue, without, just lips, just pecks, puffs of breaths, sighs against lips. Languid, more deliberate, like they’re leaning for the first time, carefully committing everything to memory. 

Zhang Hao feels Hanbin’s fingers trace along his jaw, curl into his hair, dragging him closer, closer. Their bodies press together from head to toe, and it feels right. Natural. Like this is something they’re meant to be doing. 

For Zhang Hao, intimacy always came with a sense of unease, of wrongness. There’s none of that now. Now it’s just relief, joy, love, need. Years and years of it, buried just underneath their skin, blooming between their mouths. And Zhang Hao wants. He’s always wanted. Wanted Hanbin in every way, to feel him, to taste him, to lose himself in him.

They kiss like they’re nineteen, drunk on dreams, like they’re twenty-three, terrified, on the brink of heartbreak, and like they’re thirty—finally, finally ready.

When they stumble into Hanbin’s bedroom, laughter mixed with soft, pleased sighs, Zhang Hao thinks he just might just have found a place to belong. No more running. No walking back to Paris, no more empty apartments.

Zhang Hao must admit he’s a bit rusty. He hasn’t kissed anyone in a while. Being thirty means staying at home all the time, not going to clubs like he used to at twenty-something, where he could kiss endlessly with random strangers. Strangers that, strangely, resembled Hanbin. But that’s another can of worms entirely. 

But this… this is good. Too good. Way too good, especially for Zhang Hao, who’s been suffering from a severe case of blue-balls ever since Hanbin sent him that damned cat-ear selfie. 

It is enjoyable for Hanbin too, judging by the soft whimpers he lets out when Zhang Hao’s mouth travels lower, leaving wet and loud kisses all over his jaw, the column of his throat. Fucking hoodie. If it weren’t in the way, Zhang Hao would already be mouthing at Hanbin’s collarbones, no shame at all. 

Next best thing is Hanbin’s ear, where he licks and bites softly, while Hanbin’s hands travel lower, lower, lower, until they’re cupping Zhang Hao’s ass. No shame at all, either. 

They’re both panting in each other’s arms, flushed, trembling. Men are so easy, Zhang Hao thinks, faintly amused. From tears to tongue down your throat in thirty seconds. Not that he’s any better—his boner is already magnanimous, and they have been kissing for what? Five minutes? 

He doesn’t want to think how embarrassingly fast he’ll come when Hanbin gets his hands down his pants. If he does it. Which seems like the more likely outcome, considering how ravenous his hands feel all over Zhang Hao’s body. 

The one one his ass squeezes, kneading the soft flesh over and over and over, and Zhang Hao lets out a strangled moan. “Your ass is so soft, hyung,” Hanbin growls into his ear, tongue lapping at the mole behind it. “I can’t wait to see it.”

Zhang Hao’s brain is so fried he doesn’t know how he ends up with Hanbin straddling his lap, looming over him, thick thighs on display. Both their shirts are gone, their eyes ravenous, taking in the sight of naked skin. 

He doesn’t know what Hanbin thinks, but what Zhang Hao sees is breathtaking—centimeters upon centimeters of milky, smooth skin, broad shoulders, two pesky, rosy-brown buds, delicate collarbones. It’s amazing how every part of him is beautiful, Zhang Hao thinks in a daze.

“You’re gorgeous,” he blurts out before he can stop himself. He can see the way Hanbin’s chest warms, reddens, all the way up to his cheeks, and he places his hand right over Hanbin’s hammering heart. It thumps, thumps, thumps in quick succession, Hanbin hissing when Zhang Hao’s pinky grazes the sensitive skin of his left nipple.

His calloused hand is taken by a soft one, and Hanbin dusts a soft kiss over his palm. “You’re gorgeous too, Hao.”

Layer by layer, their clothes are shed—Zhang Hao’s pants, his socks, his underwear. He’s bare, while Hanbin still hides his painful erection behind a pair of bright red boxer briefs.

Hanbin stares, and Zhang Hao feels shy under his scrutiny. His legs try to close on instinct, but Hanbin stops him. “I want to see you,” he says, and it sounds so earnest, Zhang Hao can’t do anything but comply.

A trail of kisses is left on Zhang Hao’s plump lips, down the column of his throat, his collarbones, his nipples. He shivers when Hanbin’s teeth graze the sensitive, soft skin of his stomach, when Hanbin kisses his hip bone, right down his thighs. 

“Your legs are so pretty.” Hanbin’s voice sounds dazed, drunk. 

He’s right in between Zhang Hao’s parted legs, and the view of him, all round shiny eyes, so close to his cock almost makes him come on the spot. “I could kiss you right here,” Hanbin says, kissing the inside of his upper thigh, right on that meaty, fluffy part, “all day.”

Parting his legs a little bit further, Hanbin lets his hands wander. A single finger softly circles over Zhang Hao’s fluttering rim, and he can’t contain the loud whimper that leaves his lips, high and whiny and surprised. 

He wants more, all Hanbin is willing to give him. One, two, three fingers, his big, leaking cock, still trapped on that pair of annoying red briefs. He wants it all. 

Still, they can’t do this. Not yet. Zhang Hao has plans he intends to see through.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Zhang Hao grabs Hanbin’s naughty hand, guiding it back to his hip. “We can’t have sex.” 

He really, really hopes he sounds stern, but Hanbin just quirks a skeptical eyebrow. Failure. “Why not?” Hanbin asks, naughty finger leaving featherlight strokes all over Zhang Hao’s hipbone, so close to his painfully hard cock. 

It’s so hard to focus, so hard to do something other than beg Hanbin to take him right here, right now. But he’s a strong man. He’s been through a lot. A pretty guy with magical fingers and a quite big dick—from what he can feel—will not be stronger than his brain.

“I’m saving myself for our marriage!” Zhang Hao exclaims petulantly. 

Now that he says it out loud, it does sound rather stupid, and Hanbin’s face says as much. Zhang Hao pouts, slapping his shoulder. It hurts him more than it does Hanbin. 

“Hey, don’t look at me like that. I haven’t had sex in so long I’m practically a virgin again!”

Hanbin tries to hold his laugh in, but it’s to no avail. He buries his face in between Zhang Hao’s legs where warm puffs of air tickle him. It’s almost second nature, the way Zhang Hao’s hand reaches down, buries itself in Hanbin’s midnight locks, scratching his scalp. 

“That's not how it works,” is what Hanbin says, amused, resting his chin on Zhang Hao’s tummy.

“It works however I want it to work,” Zhang Hao insists, indignant. 

They’re face to face again, eye to eye, strong arms holding Hanbin upright. Zhang Hao misses the warmth of his mouth pressed on his thighs, but this he’s breathtaking from up close—not something he’s been lucky to see often enough. 

Dilated pupils, plump, cherry lips bitten raw, hair disheveled, forehead damp. Faint marks—courtesy of Zhang Hao—are already showing on his jaw, on his neck, on his collarbones. 

Heh, he’s mine , Zhang Hao thinks giddy, elated.

With a solemn nod, Hanbin agrees. “Yes, husband,” he murmurs. Zhang Hao barely holds back a squeak. Naughty Sung Hanbin. 

He wishes his brain wasn’t mush right now, so he could wipe the smug expression off Hanbin’s face with some snarky words. Or perhaps, he could do something a little bit dirtier. A kiss, maybe, but that’s too tame. With his coc— 

Enough.

Naughty Sung Hanbin is a mind reader too, it seems, or maybe, Zhang Hao’s just that easy to read. “Ahhh… wait until marriage, hmm? I didn't know my husband was so traditional.” 

He drops a slow, wet, languid kiss to Zhang Hao’s lips, while his fingers travel south, his index making featherlight contact with Zhang Hao’s sensitive cock for the first time. Zhang Hao shivers, letting out a pleased little puff of breath. 

“I wonder,” Hanbin murmurs, teasing, “if his mind is as chaste as his mouth makes it out to be.”

Zhang Hao wants to say I’m not your husband yet— just to be annoying and difficult—but being called that by Hanbin’s low, raspy voice feels even better than the finger circling the head of his dick. Barely, though.

Hanbin’s cock is pressed snug on the junction of his thigh and hip. Zhang Hao hasn’t seen it yet, but God, it feels glorious—big and thick and warm, his underwear damp with pre-cum. 

“Well,” Zhang Hao breathes, a little less convincingly now, “we’ve waited a long time. What’s a few days more?” 

“If I’d been any less of a gentleman, I would’ve taken you on that velvet couch,” Hanbin all but purrs, his whole hand now wrapped around Zhang Hao’s cock, tugging slowly. 

It’s dry and rough, but Zhang Hao likes it. Also, he doesn't need any clarification of which velvet couch Hanbin is talking about. That day is seared in his memory. Wet dream material and all that. 

“Those red pants,” Hanbin murmurs against his neck, lips traveling lower and lower and lower, until they find one of Zhang Hao rosy, sensitive nipples. “I wouldn’t have taken them off. I would’ve let you ride me with them on.”

It’s hard not to choke on his own spit at that. Who knew this sweet, innocent thirty-year-old boy could be so filthy? 

“You need to shut the hell up, Sung Hanbin,” Zhang Hao scolds with a deep pout. He doesn’t sound very convincing, though.

Enough of this . Zhang Hao is strong. He’s not going to let Hanbin keep flustering him into speechlessness.

He pushes Hanbin by the shoulder, and it doesn’t take much for him to understand. He falls back onto the bed with a soft huff of amusement. Zhang Hao doesn’t wait a single second—straddling Hanbin’s lap, right over his hard, leaking cock. Hanbin groans when Zhang Hao shimmies his butt on purpose. 

It really should make him shy—Hanbin’s intense, hungry gaze, his tight grip on his hips—but it only makes the heat simmering in his belly burn even hotter. To be this wanted, to be this desired by someone he loves oh so dearly isn’t something he even dared dream.

Zhang Hao doesn’t waste time. He bends down, kissing his way down to Hanbin’s last layer of clothes. He pays special attention to Hanbin’s collarbones, so flushed and sensitive, to his lovely nipples, lapping and sucking until Hanbin’s a mess beneath him, hand buried in his hair, tugging rough.

“I’ll be quiet, husband. Anything you want,” he breathes out, wanton and sweet as Zhang Hao keeps kissing lower, staring up at Hanbin through his eyelashes—red, wrecked. His soft tummy, the faint trail of hair that leads to treasure—Zhang Hao pays attention to it all. 

And then—underwear off—Hanbin’s cock is free. It’s a wonder that Zhang Hao finds it pretty—he’s never been particularly fond of dicks, the only redeeming quality of them being giving pleasure—but Hanbin is gorgeous down there. Blushy, thick, heavy in his palm. Maybe that’s love talking. Most likely. Ricky will probably make fun of him forever for finding a dick pretty, out of all things.

He stares a little too long. Long enough that Hanbin gets a little shy, fidgeting, legs twitching, wanting to close, but Zhang Hao doesn’t let him. Instead, his hand wraps around the girth, feeling its warm weight. It’s mouthwatering. For someone so reprieved of, well, everything, this feels like heaven. 

Naturally, Zhang Hao has to taste. He bends down, licking a long stripe from base to the tip, collecting a bead of pre-cum on his tongue. Salty. Not that bad, honestly. Again, that must be love speaking. 

Hanbin is a mess. Seeing him so undone is gratifying—realizing that it’s mutual. But still, Hanbin won’t shut up. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s talking. Zhang Hao should suck his dick to shut him up.

“We don’t need to have sex to have a good time, right?” Hanbin asks breathlessly as Zhang Hao wraps his pouty mouth against the head of his cock, sucking lightly, experimentally. Hanbin curses under his breath, tugging on Zhang Hao’s hair to make him let go. “What do you want me to do, baby? Want me to eat you out? Suck you off?”

Zhang Hao gasps, smacking his thigh. “Why are you so crude!?” Not that he’s opposed to it—but this man has no shame. 

“Or maybe we could…” Hanbin trails off, deep in thought. His eyes gleam as an idea forms. “I have an idea. Come here,” he says, pulling Zhang Hao back up so they’re face to face. 

So beautiful, his Hanbinnie. Especially now. Pleasure looks good on him. Seriously, Zhang Hao will never get tired of thinking about it.

“That sounds ominous,” Zhang Hao remarks with a quick peck to Hanbin’s lips. 

Habin’s expression is definitely ominous. Ominously horny, that is, as he kneads Zhang Hao’s thighs, bashful all of a sudden—which is hilarious considering everything he’s already said.

“Since we can’t actually fuck because someone wants to preserve his virginity, I thought—” he starts, coughing mid-sentence. “Maybe I can fuck your thighs?” Hanbin asks in an almost innocent voice. 

It would be laughable if Zhang Hao didn’t feel his cock twitching at the suggestion. “They’re so pretty and soft and strong,” Hanbin continues, finger tracing the back of his thigh, just under his ass. “Will you let me, hyung?”

And how could Zhang Hao say no to such a polite request? To such a cute thirty-year-old boy? Impossible.

So, he nods. But before Hanbin can celebrate, Zhang Hao leans in with a wicked grin. “Wait, your husband has a request,” he whispers right before kissing him slow and dirty, all tongue and spit, then pulling back enough to murmur against Hanbin’s lips, “do you still have those cat ears?” 

Hanbin blinks, once, twice, thrice. “What?” 

Bingo. Hehe.

“The ones from the selfie. From your birthday,” Zhang Hao clarifies sweetly, tracing a finger down Hanbin’s chest, right over his tattoo, circling his nipple. “I want you to wear them. While you fuck me.”

“You—what—Hao,” Hanbin splutters, brain visibly short-circuiting. He opens his mouth, closes it, tries again, but to no avail. 

“Please,” Zhang Hao purrs, saccharine-sweet, lips pouty enough to kill. He knows exactly what he’s doing right now, can feel Hanbin’s cock twitching right against his hip.

“Hyung,” Hanbin groans, burying his face in Zhang Hao’s neck. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Better die pretty, kitty,” Zhang Hao teases, fingers stroking lazily down his back. “Will you do it?”

Hanbin scowls, but gets up anyway. “I swear,” he mutters under his breath, standing up with a huff, “I’ll make you do something worse.”

Still sprawled on the bed, Zhang Hao stretches like a cat, arms above the head, lips glossy, cock flushed—the picture of sin. “Mmm, I don’t think you’re that opposed to the idea, Hanbinnie.”

Hanbin is still grumbling as he rummages through his closet, but Zhang Hao is not paying attention to that. His eyes are glued to Hanbin’s backside, the smooth skin of his milky ass, the strong planes of his dancer legs. 

Perhaps… eating each other out wouldn't be a bad idea. But not today.

When Hanbin emerges with the ridiculous pair of black ears in hand, cheeks visibly red, Zhang Hao bites his bottom lip to stop from giggling. “You’re blushing sooo hard,” he teases, sitting up on his elbows. 

“I am not,” Hanbin lies, ears burning as he slides the headband onto his head. 

Zhang Hao gives him a slow once-over, takes his time admiring the view. Hanbin, flushed and naked except for those damn cat ears, is the hottest thing he’s ever seen. 

“You need to fuck me right now,” Zhang Hao breathes out, shameless.

“You’re unbelievable,” Hanbin groans as he climbs back onto the bed. 

This time, Zhang Hao doesn’t just lie back and take it. He grabs Hanbin’s face between his hands and kisses him, deep and dirty—a reward for being such a good, obedient kitty. 

He’s a bit surprised by how lewd his thoughts can get, but that’s the Sung Hanbin effect, Zhang Hao supposes. It’s never too late to discover what you actually like in bed. And if what he likes this particular guy in cat ears… then so be it. 

Hanbin whines into Zhang Hao’s mouth, grinding down against his thighs. “Will you say meow for me?” Zhang Hao teases, grinning against his lips.

A hand wrapping around his cock cuts his grin short, makes him gasp. Hanbin smirks, smug. “Not so funny now, right, husband?”

Zhang Hao doesn’t bother to answer, just parts his legs in invitation. Hanbin doesn’t need to be told twice, reaching over his nightstand, retrieving a bottle of lube and showing it to Zhang Hao with a sweet smile. He looks so cute with those damn ears—not the absolute menace that he is—and Zhang Hao’s cock weeps sadly at the sight. He really needs to come.

Slow and wet kisses are pressed to Zhang Hao’s inner thighs, so slow it feels like punishment. Hanbin’s tongue joins too, barely lapping at the sensitive skin just above his perineum. 

“Is my husband having a good time?” Hanbin asks, all breath and teeth grazing against Zhang Hao’s skin.

Zhang Hao is too far gone to say anything, especially not when Hanbin slicks himself up, messy and unceremonious. He watches him the whole time, dazed and wanting and aching. 

And then he feels it—Hanbin’s body on top of him, caging him in, cock hot and heavy, perfectly nestled between his thighs, just below his balls. 

“Fuck,” Hanbin exhales, eyes fluttering shut as he trusts experimentally. 

Zhang Hao gasps, clinging to the back of Hanbin’s neck like it’ll save him from coming embarrassingly fast. The slide is so good—wet and perfect. The drag of Hanbin’s cock against his skin, just barely brushing his balls with each thrust, his own cock trapped between their bellies, makes his whole body burn.

The rhythm is slow and languid at first, then sharper, Hanbin gripping Zhang Hao’s hips, pulling him closer and closer, until the sound of their bodies meeting fills the air, filthy and desperate. They try to kiss, but it’s more like they’re breathing into each other’s mouths, all spit and moans and whines.

“You’re—so hot like this,” Hanbin pants, thrusts getting rougher now. He’s so good, Zhang Hao thanks all the Gods above that Hanbin chose to go into dancing. “Soft. Warm. Fuck—your thighs, baby.”

Everything is heat and friction and his own leaking cock, Hanbin’s voice raspy and broken above him. “You like that?” he manages, voice half-gone from the litany of moans he’s let out. “Like fucking your husband’s thighs, my kitty?”

Hanbin groans, head dropping to Zhang Hao’s shoulder. “Don’t—don’t say that or I’m going to come.”

He tries to laugh, he really, really does, but it comes out as a whine when he squeezes his legs tighter, just enough to feel Hanbin—all of him—right against his balls. “Then do it,” Zhang Hao whispers, almost delirious. “Come on my legs. I want it.” 

And Hanbin does. With a stuttering gasp, he shoves in deep, rubbing himself raw between Zhang Hao’s thighs, his cum spilling hot and sticky over his skin. Filthy. Perfect.

He slumps forward, face buried in Zhang Hao’s chest, cat-ears askew, hair damper and clinging to his forehead. But Zhang Hao is still hard, still aching. His cock presses insistently against Hanbin’s stomach, slick and flushed. He shivers when Hanbin shifts just slightly, too sensitive.

“Fuck—Hanbin,” Zhang Hao gasps, desperate and ruined.

“So needy,” Hanbin murmurs, his hand sliding down, wrapping around Zhang Hao’s cock again. “Let me see you, baby.”

Zhang Hao’s head tips back when Hanbin starts stroking—slow and deliberate, wrist twisting just right, thumb teasing the head in gentle circles. His cum-smeared thighs fall open helplessly, his breath stuttering. Hanbin’s eyes don’t leave him for a single second.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” Hanbin whispers, voice wrecked.

That’s all it takes. Zhang Hao comes with a high, lewd moan, hot and sticky over Hanbin’s hand and his own stomach. His thighs tremble, breath catching in his throat, vision going a little blurry. 

Hanbin kisses his shoulder, stroking him through it, then finally lifts his head, cheeks flushed, lips kiss bitten red. “You okay?” he asks softly, thumb sweeping tenderly across Zhang Hao’s cheek. 

Zhang Hao hums, drowsy and boneless. “Mhm. Sticky, though.” 

The mattress dips next to him, and the warmth of Hanbin is gone. Zhang Hao manages to catch the last of him as he pads off to the bathroom, cat ears still perched on his midnight hair. He returns with a warm, damp towel, carefully cleaning him up.

When he’s all done, Hanbin leans in to kiss Zhang Hao’s thigh, his stomach, his lips. “My husband,” he whispers, almost in wonder. Even if they aren’t married, it already feels like that, Zhang Hao thinks. “Mine.”

They end up tangled together under the covers, legs intertwined, skill warm, the scent of sex clinging to the air. Zhang Hao rests his cheek on Hanbin’s chest, listening to the steady thump-thump of his heart. 

“You’re still wearing the ears?” Zhang Hao mumbles sleepily into his soft skin.

Hanbin flicks his forehead. “Shut up. You’re annoying.”

Zhang Hao chuckles, eyes closing, blinks growing syrupy. “They’re cute.”

”You are cute,” Hanbin replies, brushing a hand through his hair. “Even when you’re evil.” A soft kiss lands on his forehead just as Zhang Hao drifts off. “Sleep, hyung. We’ll talk later.”

 💍✨💗

They do talk. They talk, they kiss, they laugh, they cry. And they kiss some more. 

Miraculously, Zhang Hao doesn’t get fired—and neither does Ricky. They go back to Paris to tie some loose ends, and then, well, job hunting in Korea it is. There’s no doubt that an academy will want them, even a university—the options are endless, so Zhang Hao isn’t worried. 

Hanbin isn’t shy of sharing his, ehem, wealth, either. Zhang Hao finds out a few days later that he owns a franchise of dance studios all over Korea. That explains the not working. He’s literally the boss. 

One week later, Zhang Hao finds himself once again in front of a wedding venue. The rooftop one. He’s suspiciously overdressed for a late afternoon snack—which Ricky said is what they would be having—while searching for flower arrangements.

“Shen Quanrui,” Zhang Hao grumbles, glancing down at the white shirt tucked into his tailored slacks. “You said we’d be having cake. Why did you bring me here?”

Behind him, Ricky adjusts his sunglasses, even though the sun is basically non-existent at this time of the day. “I lied. Get over it. Also, you look hot. I styled you, after all. So, stop complaining.”

Gyuvin bounces up the steps behind them, holding two large iced coffees in one hand. The other one finds Ricky’s waist. Zhang Hao has found out during the past week that they’ve been having a pretty strange… arrangement. But he’s not one to judge. 

“What are we doing, guys?” Gyuvin asks. He tries to sound lost, but Zhang Hao knows better. There’s a glint of mischief, of excitement on those large, round eyes of his. 

“We’re planning a wedding,” Zhang Hao replies. Then pauses. He’s not sure anymore. “...I think?”

The elevator is pretty small for such big guys, but they make it do. The ride feels endless, much longer than when he was here for the first time with Hanbin. 

He remembers back then, the tension, how he longed to hold Hanbin’s hand, to pin him against the mirror and kiss him silly. He gets to have that now, Zhang Hao thinks, giggling to himself.

And when the doors open, he knows he’s been played. Again. Everything looks beautiful, but Zhang Hao only sees him. 

Him, at the end of the rooftop, one hand on the railing while facing the city that watched them fall in love, the sunset as his background. Hanbin. Hanbin, who turns instantly when he hears Zhang Hao’s shoes clicking, who smiles when he sees him, soft, nervous, radiant. 

He looks so, so cute.

“Took you long enough,” Hanbin says, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, brushing some imaginary dust from his pants. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.” 

Zhang Hao stares at him, then at the red velvet box in Hanbin’s hand. His heart stops for a minute. “Hanbin-ah. Are—are we doing this?” he breathes, stunned, enamored. 

Hanbin is too. Impossible to miss from the soft expression that holds his face, from his shining eyes. “We promised, my love,” he murmurs, stepping forward, closing the distance between them.

Taking Zhang Hao’s left hand, Hanbin lifts it and presses the faintest kiss to his ring finger. He’s blushing too, profusely, which is very, very cute, and then opens the box. Inside sits two silver bands, sleek and simple.

“It’s not legal, not yet, at least. Just us, like you asked, hyung. And this expensive rooftop booking that I didn’t cancel,” Hanbin says with a bashful laugh. 

Zhang Hao laughs instinctively—shaky, teary, his eyes stinging, his chest tight as he stares at the stupid man he’s loved for so long it’s become part of who he is. The ring is beautiful, and Zhang Hao takes it, rolls it between his fingers.

“You waited for me.”

Hanbin shakes his head, still holding his hand, pressing their foreheads together, brushing their noses. “No,” he whispers. “I didn’t wait for you. We waited for each other, husband.”

A deep exhale leaves Zhang Hao’s lips, overcome with emotion. “Yeah,” he agrees softly, dropping  a soft kiss to the corner of Hanbin’s mouth before pulling back. “Okay. Put it on me, then.”

Hanbin’s fingers tremble as he slides the ring into Zhang Hao’s finger, and Zhang Hao’s shake when he slips the other onto Hanbin’s. They fit perfectly. The silver looks so, so right against the lovely skin of Hanbin’s hand. 

Mine, Zhang Hao thinks. Officially mine. Mine forever.

“Looks pretty on you,” Hanbin whispers, a lovesick fool.

Zhang Hao doesn’t answer—he’s a lovesick fool too. He loves happy endings in movies, he cries when the main leads get their happy ending at the end of dramas. So of course he grabs Hanbin’s face and kisses him, slow and sweet, a little wet from the lone tears sliding down their cheeks.

Behind them, Gyuvin claps and hollers, chanting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” while Ricky, no doubt, smacks him.

“Shut up, you idiot,” the blond hisses under his breath. “I’m trying to get a good video to show their future kids.”

They pull apart to laughter, leaning their foreheads together. “So,” Zhang Hao murmurs, brushing his thumb alongside Hanbin’s upper cheek, right over his dimples. “What now?”

“Now?” Hanbin grins. “We eat lots of cake. We dance. And we make out in front of our friends. We are going to make out so much they have no choice but to leave us alone.” And then, in a much lower tone, “and later… we can consummate our marriage.” 

Zhang Hao hums, smiling cheekily, “I can get behind that,” he says before kissing Hanbin again, as the sun begins to dip beyond the skyline. 

They kept their promise.