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Restlessness is the spirit of these late, wakeful hours, with energy too frenetic for the day but quiet enough for the night. An agitation that exists only in the dark, between dusk and dawn, as if even the subconscious knows it’s private, too personal to share with the world when it is awake.
Sung Hanbin is tired.
A silly, naïve part of him believed that finishing the show and making it into the debuting group would give him a chance to finally breathe. He is breathing, but it’s in gasps of air as the nine of them - his people for the next two years - start to sprint beyond the finish line.
It’s incredible. It’s awesome. It’s a lot. It’s exhausting.
Hanbin knew he had much to learn to become a well-rounded idol, knows he will have to work for much more than the past few months to get even half-rounded, but he didn’t think it would be like this. There’s dancing and singing, with offers in between of theory and composition, but there’s also media training, PR training, legal counsel and even etiquette classes.
There’s a diet and exercise plan, too. It’s temporary, their managers say, and pretty broad, just a means to manage their health during this stressful time of adjustment and preparations. It’s not unlike the meals they were given during the show, balanced and given to them with routine, but they’re still allowed to eat out with friends and family every once in a while. Hanbin doesn’t mind it, not really - at least, not until he does.
It’s weird. Their busy schedule is grating, he can see it on the faces of his members, especially the younger ones. They’re excited about it, powering through it all with smiles, but when they get back to the new dorm for just the nine of them, Yujin face-plants into the couch and Gunwook face-plants on top of him. The thud of their bodies is heavy, enough to make Hanbin wince internally, but Yujin doesn’t even complain. They’re all tired, wordless and heavy in their limbs, and their dorm has quickly become a safe haven, a place for them to faceplant and relax.
But no one really complains. Even through their own exhaustion, Jiwoong and Zhang Hao are good at making sure the maknaes, Gyuvin and Ricky get to bed at a reasonable hour for the classes they have to worry about on top of everything else, but they’re all still incredibly drained. Taerae will moan melodically about the aches of his muscles after a long day of dance practice, and Matthew will whine about having to rush a meal to get to their next schedule, but that’s the extent of it. They all know how lucky they are to be here. They’re all painfully aware of the people that wished they could be where they are.
It makes Hanbin feel terrible. The dieting is such a non-issue, but it makes Hanbin want to stomp his feet. He’s dieted more restrictively than this, even skipped a shameful amount of meals during the show to squeeze in more practice time, but - it’s something about how managed he suddenly is, how scrutinized they have become that makes him feel wiggly.
“Hanbin-ah.” Jiwoong calls, voice low and gravely, head poking out from his shared bedroom with Matthew. “It’s getting late.” He’s still damp from the shower, a towel wrung around his shoulders, and the sight of his heavy eyelids fills Hanbin with affection. His Jiwoong-hyung is so steady in the wake of all this activity, a pillar that Hanbin can rest against to catch his breath. He doesn’t do it as often as he maybe should, but just knowing it’s an option is enough.
“I’ll finish quickly, hyung.” Hanbin promises with a small smile. His fingers tap at the notes on the table, ones that he has been mindlessly pouring over for the past half-hour.
Jiwoong nods and disappears into his room, door clicking shut behind him. It’s only been a few months, but Hanbin feels sure that the slant of Jiwoong’s mouth means he didn’t quite believe Hanbin. Which is totally fair - Hanbin feels too much right now to even think about sleeping. It’s already half-past one in the morning and everyone else is already tucked into bed, but Hanbin’s exhaustion exists outside of him; he knows it’s there and what shape it takes, but it does not touch him.
He shifts where he’s sitting on the living room floor, banging his knee on the leg of the coffee table. It doesn’t hurt, but it makes him feel even more wiggly, like he’s about to fall out of his skin, and that is a rather unpleasant feeling. It’s another mark of distraction, another thing in his head that keeps him from understanding the paragraph he’s read through at least three times now.
Anxiety is a familiar friend, but it’s not so friendly today. Or this week. Or the last month. Worse is how Hanbin hasn’t had the time to relax, to destress the way he normally would: hours upon hours of dancing in the studio, perfecting choreo he wanted to learn just for fun, to prove to himself that he could be sharper, more fluid, even more enticing. There’s no time for that right now, so Hanbin sits in front of the sofa, the room faintly illuminated by the single lamp beside it, feeling wiggly and stifled all at once.
Footsteps have him looking up again some indeterminable amount of time later. It’s darker outside the windows, the city lights more like stars, and Hanbin’s butt is starting to hurt from the ungiving stone floor. He’s managed to read two more paragraphs as well as the handwritten annotations from their vocal coach, though whether he’ll be able to recall it in the morning is up to a higher power than him.
Zhang Hao appears from the dark hallway opposite the kitchen, barefoot and with headphones over his ears, humming a tune low enough that Hanbin only catches a few notes of it. He doesn’t notice Hanbin, going straight for the fridge instead; the light as he opens it paints him an angelic blue.
Hanbin started Boys Planet with many, many hopes in his heart. Some of them changed through the course of the competition, growing heavier or lighter as he moved forward, but a few remained the same. He wanted to learn and grow, wanted to push himself further than he’d ever done before, and he wanted desperately to win. He never thought to hope for this.
With a bottle of water in hand, Zhang Hao turns and his eyes land immediately on Hanbin, almost as if drawn to him by gravity. The older doesn’t startle, not visibly. He just tilts his head to the side and nudges the fridge door shut with his elbow.
Hanbin smiles. He can’t help it. Zhang Hao is so cute in his mannerisms, so pretty even in the dark. “It’s late, hyung.” He says quietly into the space between them. “Why are you still awake?”
“Why are you?” Zhang Hao returns just as quietly. His feet are silent when they move around the counter division and towards the living area, approaching Hanbin with more discretion for the late hour than before. It would be incredibly considerate if Hanbin wasn’t wide awake.
Gesturing at the papers in front of him, Hanbin winces, “I want to finish this first.” It’s maybe a little silly, but Hanbin is incredibly endeared by the pajama set Zhang Hao is wearing. They’re a light blue with cartoon pandas all over them, a red drawstring at the waistband and buttons that, as Zhang Hao slips into the space to Hanbin’s right, reveal to be shaped like pandas as well.
“Can you even read it like this in the dark?” Zhang Hao asks, his annunciation as precious as ever. It was one of the first things that drew Hanbin to him, the careful way he formed his words and never faltered in asking someone, anyone for clarification.
Hanbin’s never seriously learned another language, but he hopes he has Zhang Hao’s patience and dedication when the time comes. As their leader, the managers say it would be good for him to be able to speak more than just Korean. One of them says it’s enough to have other members that are fluent, but Hanbin’s not sure. They’re a team, sure, formed to lean on each other, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t do his best, does it?
“Hanbin-ah.” Zhang Hao says, and Hanbin jumps a little. A hand lands on his thigh, just above his knee, and squeezes. He looks down at it, at the musician's fingers that warm his skin through his clothes. “Hanbin-ah.” Zhang Hao repeats, voice low and warm. “Are you okay?”
“Mhm.” He nods and Zhang Hao’s hand squeezes around his thigh again. He’s wearing an old pair of sweatpants and a very loose-fitted shirt that got destroyed (softened beyond repair) in the wash. They’re comfortable and worn enough that they do very little to keep the warmth of Zhang Hao’s body from sinking into Hanbin.
“You were quiet today.” Zhang Hao says in polite rebuttal. He’s good at that, gently calling Hanbin out, lips pouted with concern and eyes large and imploring. The room is dark and the lamplight is very soft, meaning that from Hanbin’s spot, it’s barely enough to make out the words on the paper. Zhang Hao sits just beyond the light’s circle of reach. Still, his eyes twinkle as he looks over at Hanbin.
He never hoped for this, but now that he has it, Hanbin doesn’t think he can go without it again. It’s a terrifying thought, one that makes him nauseous if he thinks about it for too long, like he’s a heartbeat away from charging up and exploding into a new galaxy. No one in all his life has ever seen him the way Zhang Hao sees him, so entirely and knowingly, reflecting him back to himself with tenderness, gently. In the closed environment of the Boys Planet dorms, it was a life raft at sea, something - someone - Hanbin could cling to as he pushed himself to every edge he’d known. Zhang Hao had hands that would catch his tears without making him feel smaller, that made him braver, stronger, taller. In those dorms, it was easy to be known by Zhang Hao, and it was easy to know him in turn; they were mirrors.
In this dorm outside of the show, the one they earned as the Top Nine, with the Seoul skyline twinkling just outside, Zhang Hao is now the sea. Hanbin is a good swimmer, and part of him tingles with the anticipation of diving deep, headfirst, into this thing, this body of deep, undiscovered water. But the other part of him, the part that has him stationed in front of these papers trying to internalize the material for tomorrow's busy day of schedule after schedule, is afraid of drowning.
“It’s just a lot.” Hanbin admits after a lengthy pause. Zhang Hao’s hand is a tether even while looking at his shining eyes pushes Hanbin further adrift. “It’s overwhelming.”
Zhang Hao hums, stretching out his legs. They’re bracketed underneath the coffee table just as Hanbin’s are, locking them both into their position at the foot of the sofa. “It is. I can't sleep either. I’ve been going over the choreo.”
His headphones hang from his neck now, gathered around the long, slender line of his throat. Hanbin fails at not letting his eyes rove over it, from jaw to Adam’s apple to the peak of clavicle at his collar.
“Hao-hyung.” Hanbin announces suddenly, feeling so wiggly and breathless that a truth cracks right out of him. “I’m hungry.”
Zhang Hao quirks an eyebrow and Hanbin flushes. It should maybe be a little awkward for them since they haven’t had the time to just sit and talk the way they did during the show, and it even is a little bit, but Hanbin doesn’t care. What matters is that it’s still easy, laughing at the flirting edge there and tilting into Zhang Hao’s space until their shoulders brush.
“I want kimbap. And cup noodles. And ice cream.” Hanbin lists as Zhang Hao groans ravenous agreement, leaning into him, too. Their diet isn’t strict, but it’s been a long while for both of them since they were able to go out for greasy, healing food. Sometimes, stress can only be handled by a comfort meal.
“Should we go?” Zhang Hao jokes, head knocking against Hanbin’s shoulder and staying there for a moment. His hair smells like oranges. “Sneak out for illegal food.”
“Hyung, we’d get in trouble.” Hanbin giggles - giggles. If he ever tried to deny his giant, massive, earth-shaking crush on Zhang Hao then that would have given him away instantly. Giggling, cheeks warm and assumably pink, pressing against the length of the older’s body like a cat seeking warmth - Hanbin should feel embarrassed but he doesn’t.
“You’re right. And it’s late.” Zhang Hao sighs with another squeeze of Hanbin’s thigh. He removes his hand, needing it to crack his bottle of water open, and the rush of cool air to the Zhang Hao-warmed skin leaves Hanbin feeling bereft.
Again, too sudden for his logical brain to catch up, Hanbin makes a decision. “There’s a store on the corner, hyung, remember? Open 24/7. We could walk there in five minutes.”
Zhang Hao pauses, lips wet from the drink he just took. Hanbin’s eyes catch on the glint of them, but he forces himself to keep them moving until he’s looking his hyung in the eye. Zhang Hao is contemplative, the way that drew Hanbin in irrevocably all those months ago. It’s something about how serious he is even behind the playful smile his mouth makes, how deeply he considers things and how carefully he decides. The consciousness that Zhang Hao exudes settles over Hanbin like morning dew, waking him up inside, flickering the flames of longing to life.
A decision is made in the deep brown of Zhang Hao’s eyes, barely visible in the glowing lamplight, but it’s not until Zhang Hao searches Hanbin’s face and finds something that he nods. “We’ll have to be careful.”
Hanbin smiles, warmth blooming in his chest with a little bit of surprise, too. He didn’t really think Zhang Hao would agree, but, as they get to their feet, Zhang Hao standing first and then pulling Hanbin up by their clasped hands, he thinks he shouldn’t be. He needs this, he realizes, a chance to do something without so much thought, just because he wants to, and, somehow, as is becoming more common and more treasured to Hanbin, Zhang Hao just knows.
“Let me change first, Binnie. I’ll be quick.” Zhang Hao says as they shuffle down the hall, slipping through the cracked door of the room he shares with Ricky.
By the front entrance, Hanbin quickly slips on his sneakers and pulls on a light, oversized jacket with a deep hoodie that will help hide his face well. The managers impressed upon them the fact that they were public figures now over and over again, and for Hanbin, it’s been another weird adjustment. He has to consider being photographed anytime he leaves the dorm or the company building. They’re by no means big league celebrities, so Hanbin’s pretty sure they’ll be fine stepping outside for a minute this late at night but -
At the airport, even after being warned by management that there were a lot of fans waiting for them and it might get rough, the experience of it was - difficult. If the world was defined by lines drawn in the sand, that airport mob moved some and erased others entirely. That moment when Hanbin felt Zhang Hao stumble, when he found himself imagining what would happen to him if he fell or got lost in the crowd, panic like iced-lava hardened around his heart. Even after Zhang Hao regained his footing and they got through safely and onto the plane, Hanbin’s fingers trembled for hours.
“Ready?” Zhang Hao’s voice sounds as Hanbin tugs at the hat in his hands. The older has changed into a pair of track pants and a plain black t-shirt, and he grabs a matching athletic jacket from the coat closet. He slips it on as he steps into his shoes, eyes watching Hanbin carefully.
“Yes.” Hanbin says simply, waiting for Zhang Hao to stand steady before placing the bucket hat over his head. It might be Ricky’s since it looks rather expensive, but it fits Zhang Hao well. “For protection.”
“Ah.” Zhang Hao reaches up, hands layering over Hanbin’s as he adjusts the hat to fit better. His hands are warm where Hanbin’s are cold, softer at the palms but calloused at the fingertips; the hands of a violinist.
With a tight, stumbling twirl (the entryway is pretty narrow), Zhang Hao holds his hands out and asks, “Can you tell that I’m Zerobaseone’s shining center, Zhang Hao?”
Hanbin huffs a laugh through his nose. “I can always tell, Hao-hyung.” Zhang Hao looks at him then, blinking his big eyes and parting his full lips. Oh. Flustered by his own loose tongue, Hanbin holds his arms out and wiggles, jacket swishing noiselessly. “Can you tell I’m Zerobaseone’s dedicated and lovely leader, Sung Hanbin?”
Zhang Hao smiles with the grace of a noble prince, sweet and quietly delighted. His cheeks are a little pink, moles seemingly darker on his skin because of it. “I can always tell, too.”
Not for the first time, Hanbin is struck by the tidal desire to kiss him. To lean forward, close his eyes and press his lips to Zhang Hao’s, to feel how much they give under the pressure, to feel the warmth of his blush with his own skin. It’s not something they’ve actually done before, though they’ve had countless moments like this: Hanbin wavering on the precipice and Zhang Hao looking at him so intently, so fixedly, like his gaze is the only thing to mark Hanbin’s existence at all.
“Let’s go.” Hanbin says instead, remembering how deep and unknowable the waters are. He’s not so brave yet. Yet. “Before we chicken out.”
“I won’t chicken out.” Zhang Hao mumbles, following Hanbin out into the hall eagerly. They put their face masks on and tiptoe to the elevator, the illicit nature of what they’re doing making each footfall like a secret they have to keep between them. It’s intoxicating, and Hanbin finds himself pressing his fist into his masked mouth to keep the peals of laughter from slipping through.
It must be the same for Zhang Hao, because the older presses his face into Hanbin’s back, his body shaking, letting out little squeaks of laughter. The hilarity increases, and Hanbin takes the hand that landed on his waist and pulls it forward, wrapping it around his front so Zhang Hao presses fully against his back. Like this, they wobble into the elevator, and no sooner do the doors slide shut than Hanbin’s laughter explodes out of him.
“They’re going to know, hyung.” He gasps, free arm coming up to join in squeezing Zhang Hao to his side. His hyung is laughing, too, trembling with it, and as concealed as they are by their clothes, hats and masks, the mirror of the elevator cannot hide their joyful mirth. It’s bright in Hanbin’s eyes, glimmering, and Zhang Hao’s body thrums with it.
Their eyes connect through the reflection, and they break off to laugh some more, Hanbin in one corner, beating his thigh through gasping giggles. Zhang Hao goes to the other, hands clasped around his face, pressed into the wall. “I’m so hungry,” he laughs, voice muffled, “and so tired. Are we going insane?”
“It’s okay if we are.” Hanbin breathes as the elevator sings and the doors begin to slide open. His side hurts from laughing so hard, but it doesn’t register as pain. It’s a pleasant feeling, like being a little too full after a delicious meal.
Zhang Hao is huffing a little bit as they clasp hands, walking right past the security desk without so much as looking at the person staffing it. The man doesn’t look up at them, which is arguably bad practice, but Hanbin can only be grateful. Their company wouldn’t go as far as to make their dorm’s security keep them from leaving, but the big clock over the waiting area reads 3:29 AM.
“Hyung.” Hanbin gestures to the clock. Zhang Hao glances over, though Hanbin can’t see his expression under the bucket hat, not until Zhang Hao looks back at him with a judgmental slant to his thick brows. As he pushes the front door open, the lock clicking automatically over their heads, he asks, defensive, “What?”
In the dark night, cool despite the summer heat of the day, their voices feel much smaller. Zhang Hao speaks normally but it comes to Hanbin like a whisper in the silence. “Did you not know the time?”
“No.” Hanbin shakes his head. Their hands are still laced between them, but Hanbin isn't going to be the first one to pull away. The streets are empty around them, desolate, safe. There is no one around to see them, just the full moon and the street lights.
“You’ve been working too hard.” Zhang Hao sighs, hand squeezing around Hanbin’s. He doesn’t seem like he wants to let go, either.
Hanbin shakes his head again, a sheepish smile on his face that no one can see. “We’re all working hard. My head is just really loud tonight. I haven’t been able to focus.”
“Binnie. That means you need to rest.” Zhang Hao scolds, eyes narrowed. They’re the only part of his face that Hanbin can see, reflecting the dark as much as they reflect the light. Are eyes supposed to be this attractive?
It’s a short walk to the corner store, but it stretches in the company of Zhang Hao. Hanbin tucks their hands into his pocket, like he’s seen couples do on TV, and those eyes glow at him, crinkled with a smile. His chest wants to tighten with the fear he’s been biting down since the cameras turned off at the end of the finale, but it struggles to take hold. Zhang Hao’s skin is soft and warm, and they’re the only ones out here, like the world is holding its breath for them to have this moment. It makes the threat of fear even smaller, and makes the water that more welcoming.
“I’m thinking about things.” Hanbin confesses, only a little nervous. There’s not much of a breeze tonight, but Hanbin’s eyes still burn a little, tired enough for that.
“Bad things?” Zhang Hao questions gently.
“Not really. They’re just - big things.”
“Ah.” Zhang Hao’s thumb runs over the back of Hanbin’s hand, a motion that Hanbin repays instinctively. “Me too. It’s a lot.”
“It is. I knew it would be, but I guess I didn’t know how.” Hanbin uses his free hand to pull his hood lower over his head and their shoulders press together more firmly for a step.
“It’s scary.” Zhang Hao admits quietly. His head is tilted down, but there’s no other sound to keep Hanbin from hearing it clearly. His throat tightens.
“Scarier than I thought it would be.” He whispers to the night, heart skipping a beat. It’s a truth that bears his heart, and though the context doesn’t imply it explicitly, he knows Zhang Hao will decipher it. He’ll know why Hanbin’s heart is picking up speed, why his hands are growing sweaty. Hanbin never thought to hope for this and he never considered how frightening it would be to face.
With another squeeze, Zhang Hao says easily, “But we’re brave. We have each other and we work hard. No matter what happens, that won’t change.” Zhang Hao hums resolvedly as they finally approach the corner store. It’s brightly lit, stark in contrast to the closed stores and cafes around it. The doorbell clings pleasantly as they enter, no longer tethered together by their hands, Zhang Hao first and Hanbin after. The clerk is on her phone, sparing them a quick, uninterested glance before going back to her seat and pulling out her headphones. It eases him to be dismissed so quickly.
“Noodles?” Zhang Hao leads them through the aisles, towards the back. There’s no one else in the store, which makes Hanbin feel light and unconquerable; brave. The world, at least right now, is theirs. Fear still thrums inside him, but it’s quieter here.
“Hyung.” Hanbin voices as Zhang Hao holds up two options of cup noodles, eyes widened in interest.
“Spicy or not spicy? I think I want spicy.” Zhang Hao puts the other cup back onto the shelf, and then turns to Hanbin. “Hanbin-ah?”
The part of his brain that wanted him to go over those papers and made sure they were covered up from head to toe before leaving the dorm notes that they’re standing in a spot that the clerk can’t see them from. They’re tucked away in this late night, safe between the aisles of cup noodles and bags of chips, and the light is harsh and too bright but Zhang Hao’s eyes outshine it all.
Careful, with hands that almost hesitate but decide not to at the very last, Hanbin reaches out and tugs Zhang Hao’s mask down. Zhang Hao is smiling as the mask reveals him, shooting warmth down Hanbin’s spine, and Hanbin feels a hand on his waist, a solid, warm weight. His hyung’s eyes are deep and dark and shining, and they flutter close the second before Hanbin kisses him.
His lips are soft and generous, giving way to Hanbin’s, parting at the first hint of pressure. It’s chaste at first, still enough to make Hanbin feel electric in his veins, just lips on lips. Then hands slide up to his neck, cupping his jaw and tangling with his face mask, and Zhang Hao uses his grip to tilt Hanbin’s head to the side, and, as one, they open to each other.
It’s slick then, Hanbin shivering as Zhang Hao licks into his mouth, teasing the roof of it with his tongue. His hands have slipped down Zhang Hao’s body, stopping to grip tightly at his sides, pulling him in until their chests are separated only by the clothes they wear. The hums from the refrigerator and the water boiler and the soft music playing overhead are hopefully enough to conceal the wet sound of their mouths meeting over and over again, but Hanbin isn’t too concerned. For once, all his brain can think is Zhang Hao tastes like mint.
As much as he wants to, they can’t stand here and make out until sunrise. With difficulty, Hanbins pulls away, just an inch, just enough for Zhang Hao to stop digging his teeth into Hanbin’s lower lip. It’s a heavy heat in his gut, the way Zhang Hao’s are darker now, absorbing light more than reflecting it, lips swollen and red and wet. He’s staring at Hanbin’s mouth, too, but when their eyes finally dance upwards and meet, his face cracks into a brilliant, beaming smile.
“Hanbin-ah.” Zhang Hao whispers, thumbs rubbing over the line of Hanbin’s jaw. Even calloused, nothing has ever felt so gentle to him.
His face heats more than it was already burning, and Hanbin steps forward to hide his face in the crook of Zhang Hao’s neck with a whine. Those strong arms wind around him easily. “I have been wanting to do that,” he presses into the skin there, “for so long.” A hand pats at his back and then rubs over his spine.
“Me too.” Zhang Hao whispers into Hanbin’s ear, the warmth of his breath mostly absorbed by Hanbin’s hood. “I thought, maybe, we shouldn’t because of everything. But I wanted it a lot.”
That makes Hanbin straighten, and then they’re standing, held loosely in each other’s embrace. Zhang Hao’s looking at him with such an openly tender expression, Hanbin doesn’t have the opportunity to become afraid. Instead, he realizes that, again, they are mirrors of each other. “I’m afraid.”
Zhang Hao nods, eyes knowing. Commiserating. Hanbin continues. “It’s hard to explain. I’m excited, too, but everything feels so big now. Bigger than it used to during the show, and I feel smaller. Like, if I’m not careful, I’ll get lost. In the group and this industry and - and with you, with this. I’ve never felt like this about anyone or anything. Everything is so new and big, hyung.”
Those gentle, calloused fingers trace over his cheek where his smile lines appear, and then Zhang Hao pulls his hoodie lower, obscuring more of his face to press another chaste kiss against his lips. He steps back, far enough that Hanbin’s arms fall back to his sides, and prompts Hanbin to put his face mask back on as he does the same.
Hanbin obeys, teetering on what to do with the heavy things he’s just confessed like the lovestruck fool he is, but then Zhang Hao’s taking him by the hand and leading him deeper into the store. They stop in front of where the kimbap is neatly stacked long enough for Zhang Hao to grab two wraps. He then turns and guides Hanbin towards the front, free arm laden with the noodles and the kimbap and the drinks he pulls from the fridge by the front desk.
“Is that all?” The clerk asks without looking up from her phone.
“Yes.” Zhang Hao says quickly. The clerk sighs and then scans their items with surprising speed. Before Hanbin knows it, Zhang Hao has paid and is guiding them back towards the other end of the store where the water heater and the convenient tables are located.
It warms him the way Zhang Hao gently pushes him into the chair, tugging his mask down just so he can press a kiss to Hanbin’s forehead. He has to move the hoodie out of the way, and when he lets it flop back down, Hanbin is grateful; he can feel the heat of his blush all over his face. It’s a good warmth, because it’s Zhang Hao taking care of him.
Wordlessly, Zhang Hao steps away to prepare their noodles and Hanbin wipes the table down. It doesn’t take long, so Hanbin soon finds himself watching Zhang Hao. They’re still out of sight of the clerk, at least while she’s sitting under the counter, only the very top of her head visible, so Hanbin unashamedly rests his cheek in his hand and watches.
They’re two tall young men, almost matched in height, but the length of Zhang Hao’s body feels brand new in this moment. Maybe it’s the angle that Hanbin is looking at him from, sitting where he is, but Zhang Hao is so imposing as he stirs the packet of sauce into the noodles. Covered as he is, only his sharp eyes visible, Hanbin is sure he would have been struck dumb were they strangers meeting for the first time. It surprises people, but Hanbin doesn’t have a lot of practice in having crushes and them being reciprocated, too busy doing other things and growing in his craft, so he’s never really managed to figure out what his type is. Now, he knows it’s Zhang Hao.
“They’re really hot.” Zhang Hao warns as he plops into the seat beside Hanbin. The cup noodles are still steaming, and Zhang Hao stirs them with the only pair of chopsticks he grabbed from the counter. They’re going to share. It shouldn’t make Hanbin suck in a breath - his tongue was in Zhang Hao’s mouth less than five minutes ago - but it does.
“Thanks, Hao-hyung.” Hanbin says as he slides a triangle kimbap over to Zhang Hao.
“You scare me, too, you know.” Zhang Hao says when he takes the snack. The plastic crinkles as he expertly undoes it, his mask quickly snapped off so that he can take a bite.
“I think I do.” Hanbin admits, taking the offered chopsticks for a turn at the noodles. They are wonderfully spicy and salty, and Hanbin takes a moment to revel in the flavor on his tongue. “Wah, it’s so good.”
Zhang Hao takes a turn, slurping up so much that his cheeks bulge with it. He enjoys food, Hanbin remembers, and the meals they’ve been managing during their tight schedules aren't so flavorful. For good reasons, but that just makes it nicer to have this right now.
“I know we can be good idols.” Zhang Hao’s mouth is slick and red with the spicy broth of the ramyeon, and Hanbin doesn’t bother pretending he’s not looking at them. They quirk into a smile, pleased and teasing. They wait, full and distracting, for Hanbin to look up, to meet his hyung’s eyes again. “Hanbin-ah. I’m being serious.”
“I know, hyung. We can be good idols, I agree.”
“Because we have the determination and the focus.” Zhang Hao continues, sitting straighter with pride. As he sits, the light cannot reach his eyes under his hat, casting his face in shadow and still, Hanbin thinks he glows. “We’re all very capable. It scares me that I want you just as much as I want to debut.”
“Oh.” Hanbin exhales, winded.
Cheeks pink, Zhang Hao looks at the remnants of his kimbap. “I’ve never known someone like this, like I could talk to you forever and never get tired. When I get really tired and frustrated, I imagine taking a nap with you. Just that, just sleeping next to each other. I’ve never felt like that before.”
“Oh.” Hanbin repeats. They really are complete mirrors of each other. He’s known this, but it feels like he knows it more now. Likely because it’s very late and Hanbin is suddenly pointedly aware of how tired he is, and then compounded by the fact that for all that it matters, they are the only two people in the world at this moment, tears spring to his eyes.
“Hyung.” He croaks, blindly reaching for Zhang Hao’s hand. It finds his instantly, and squeezes around him.
“I know.” Zhang Hao whispers. Their backs are to the clerk, so Hanbin doesn’t know if she catches the way Zhang Hao tugs him in for a kiss. This one is more like the first, full of feeling and tasting like the word finally, wet and open and a little desperate.
Zhang Hao pulls away, laughing through his nose when Hanbin follows him. “I know.” He says again. “I want this a lot, even if our dreams make it hard. You’re my soulmate.” He pauses, swallows thickly. “Sung Hanbin, I can’t let you go.”
“Zhang Hao.” Hanbin smiles, tears in his eyes but the sun in the place of his heart. “I can’t let you go either. That scares me way more than anything else.”
“We can do it, right?” Zhang Hao looks at him again, his eyes and the weight of his gaze an assurance to Hanbin, letting him know he’s real and that he’s here. “I know we can. If you kiss me like that, I think I can do anything.”
It’s embarrassing to have that said directly to his face, an emptied bowl of convenience store ramyeon and emptied kimbap wrappers on the table in front of them, a clerk maybe taking a nap at the counter behind them. It’s embarrassing, but Hanbin really doesn’t mind. His brain is quiet for the first time in days, and his chest moves like a band has just been untied from around it, like he can breathe. Something about Zhang Hao looks the same, like the lightness of assurance. His shoulders move freer, his smile wider. It’s a tiny, marginal difference, but Hanbin catalogs it: this is what Zhang Hao looks like when he’s relieved.
“I feel silly.” He confesses as they walk back to their building, hands held in Zhang Hao’s pocket this time. “I couldn’t sleep because I kept thinking about kissing you and then getting scared about how much I wanted to. But now that I have kissed you, I’m still thinking about kissing you.”
“Oh no.” Zhang Hao deadpans. Their masks are back on, so Hanbin can’t exactly see it, but he knows that there’s a pleased blush on his cheeks.
“Seriously, hyung. I think I need to work it out of my system.”
“That’s a good plan.” Zhang Hao laughs, the sound bright and happy, echoing down the empty street. “I can’t say I disagree with it.”
After a few yards of companionable silence, Hanbin clears his throat. “Hao-hyung. What are we now?”
The night is still heavy around them, but something about it has become less oppressive, like dawn is just around the corner. A glance at his phone tells him that’s true; it’s closer to five now than it is to three. Somehow, they’ve been out here for more than an hour.
Zhang Hao’s voice draws his attention. “I think you’re my person. And I think that I’m yours. It feels big like that, right?”
Maybe Hanbin is the morning, actually. Maybe the night feels lesser because he’s too bright with this happiness, this feeling of being known by Zhang Hao, of being his person.
“Yeah.” He agrees breathily. If Zhang Hao wasn’t squeezing rhythmically at his hand, Hanbin thinks he could float away, so unburdened he could be lighter than air. “Yeah.”
“Good.” Zhang Hao’s eyes beam.
“Thank you.” Hanbin finds himself saying quite suddenly, a little too loud. He flushes. “For this. Sneaking out with me for food.”
“I needed it, too, Hanbin-ah.” Zhang Hao says easily. It could be humility, something Zhang Hao has in spades, impeccably balanced with his pride and confidence. Hanbin admires it fiercely, but he wants Zhang Hao to put it to the side here, to acknowledge that he figured Hanbin out so quickly and gave him exactly what he needed, more than even.
“I know. But I would have stayed sitting there all night if you hadn’t come and gotten me.” Hanbin presses softly. They’re already approaching their building, and it aches a little to know that they’ll have to bid this night goodbye.
Zhang Hao looks at him, tugging his mask down. His smile is small and sincere. “Maybe a part of me knew. I wasn’t really thirsty, I just couldn’t stand lying down anymore. At first, I thought I needed to move but now I think I just needed to be with you.”
This isn’t Hanbin’s first romance, but it feels like it with the way he melts, the way he swoons, the way his stomach flips inside out. Unconsciously, he must have been repressing his own reactions to Zhang Hao because this all feels unleashed. “Hao-hyung.” He whines, pulling his hood very low.
“What?” Zhang Hao cocks his head, the complete picture of innocence. He reaches ahead and opens the door to their dorm building, ushering Hanbin inside first. The man at the desk does look at them this time, but only fleetingly. Their hands are still held between them, with no desire to unlace as they walk towards the elevator.
Hanbin doesn’t answer, though he tugs at Zhang Hao’s hand in reprimand. Half-heartedly, of course, because Zhang Hao saying things like that to him doesn’t merit any kind of punishment. His tongue is too tied to say anything close to that yet, but he can imagine a day where he’ll be the one to make Zhang Hao flush red and go speechless.
Fortunately for Hanbin, he’s always been better with actions than words. The second the elevator slides closed on them, Hanbin surges forward, taking Zhang Hao’s face in hand and smashing their lips together. A muffled noise of surprise is swallowed by Hanbin’s open mouth as he crowds Zhang Hao against the wall with the mirror, cushioning the back of his head with his hands.
It’s later than when they had their first kiss, the one that started chaste and then fizzled up, and that’s probably why it feels more than fizzled, closer to a can of soda that’s been shaken up and cracked open. It’s wet and a little messy, a tangle of tongues and passing of breath between their dancing, rhythm-making mouths. When the elevator dings open on their floor, they’re breathless, lips red and shoulders heaving. Hanbin has enough sense with him, though just barely, to smile and pull Zhang Hao out into the hallway.
“I’m sleepy now, hyung.” His voice is a little too hoarse to sell it completely, but it’s Zhang Hao. Hanbin has nothing to hide from him. “Can we sleep together?”
“Hanbin-ah!” Zhang Hao exclaims, loud in the silence of the building. When Hanbin looks back at him, he doesn’t look scandalized or shocked. Rather, his face is pink and embarrassed and not expressing any disagreement.
“To sleep, Hao-hyung. Just to sleep.” Hanbin giggles as he knocks his hood off, safe in this building that is their home for the next few years and whatever they may entail.
“You’re an ass.” Zhang Hao admonishes sternly, eyes twinkling, always twinkling. They spill into the dorm, louder than they should be but too busy giggling at each other to care. The boys sleep deeply as it is, a truth that was put to the ultimate test in the Boys Planet dorms.
Later, after washing up and changing into pajamas, they sneak into Zhang Hao’s room since he has the bigger bed. It’s funny, similar to the way it was funny going into the elevator at the start of their impromptu break out, but it’s weighed down with lethargy. The second he’s under the covers, Hanbin curls into his Hao-hyung’s side, head tucking under the older’s chin.
In a slurred, raspy voice, Zhang Hao says, “You’re relaxed now, Binnie. I’m glad.”
“You too.” Hanbin replies, eyelids heavy. He can feel the truth of it, the way Zhang Hao melts into the mattress, arm loose as it wraps around Hanbin’s waist. This is familiar, too, from their Boys Planet days. They’ve dozed off together many times, curled closer on beds smaller than this one. Hanbin is a morning person regardless of how much sleep he got the night before, but Zhang Hao doesn’t wake up until he’s been awake for at least fifteen minutes. It’s funny and infuriatingly adorable when Zhang Hao is squinting at him, hair mussed to the heavens and face still swollen with sleep.
“Night Binnie.” Zhang Hao mumbles into the top of Hanbin’s head.
“G’night hyung.”
He never hoped for this, but now he can’t imagine not wanting it, not for a long time if at all ever. That fact is less scary than it was when he was sitting by himself in front of the couch. It definitely has to do with the person laying beside him, snoring softly and held to Hanbin’s chest like a teddy bear. It’s the last thing he’s aware of before he drifts off to sleep, heart light yet filled.