Chapter Text
When Zhang Hao had moved to Korea, all those years ago, the first thing he had noticed as he left the airport was how cold the air was. It was an insidious kind of cold, curling around his exposed legs and seeping down to his bones. A kind of cold that managed to reach his heart despite how tight he held onto his mother, a kind of cold that prevented him from sleeping despite the many layers on his new bed. Hao had spent those first few weeks frozen, incapable of practicing what little Korean he knew or preparing for the start of high school. Waiting for the world to get warmer, like it had been in Fujian all his life.
And this warmth came to him during his first day of school, personified as Sung Hanbin.
It hadn’t taken Hao long at all to melt under his classmate’s smile, his insistence at helping at every opportunity, his dedication to communicating despite the language barrier. A week later, Hanbin had asked their Chinese teacher for extra assignments to learn the basics he had given up on since elementary school, all so they could talk more comfortably. Hao had cried, the ice under his skin shattered so easily. They had become best friends, spent years together, and Hao had basked in Hanbin’s endless warmth every second of it.
Except at some point, Hanbin wasn’t just warm anymore.
He started to burn.
Burning touches, burning stares, burning words. A hug was enough to set Hao on fire for the day, turning his brain to ashes. He knew what it was. He also knew that if Hanbin felt the same way, he would act on it, blindly pursue Hao, give it his all and confess as soon as he knew he had a chance.
But Hanbin hadn’t, and so Hao didn’t, either. It had been a slow resignation during their last two years of high school. It did hurt, but Hanbin always gave him so much love that it felt more bittersweet than anything. Hao’s feelings for him were only a little piece of the puzzle forming their relationship, and he would have to be a fool to not value every other precious type of love Hanbin showered him in. Both the pain and the hope had dulled, and most of the time, Hao didn’t think about it too hard.
Except right now, it wasn’t most of the time, and Hanbin’s head was resting limply on Hao’s shoulder, rolling a little with each bounce of the bus they were in. The AC was broken, so the air was suffocating, even with the open windows near the ceiling. It was a surprise Hanbin had managed to sleep at all with how uncomfortable he had been the whole trip, fanning himself and drying his face with his discarded yellow tartan flannel. Now Hanbin’s bleached hair was sticking to his face, a drop of sweat was running down his temple, and his thick, long eyelashes fluttered over his red cheeks, disturbed by a dream.
It was hard to ignore the way Hao’s instincts told him to lean down and kiss, to reach for the abandoned hand on his thigh, to sneak an arm over his relaxed shoulders. Yes, it was hard to ignore the way Hanbin burned, but he was used to this fight. What he wasn’t used to was them being alone, so far away, for so long. It felt like an adventure, like something strangely forbidden despite how casual it all seemed.
When Hanbin had invited him to spend their last high school summer break at his grandparents’ place, Hao had been ecstatic. Then Hanbin had mentioned how the elderly couple had planned to go on a cruise, so they would be truly alone, and for a second, Hao had considered declining his offer out of sheer panic. It felt dangerous, having so much of Hanbin, unfiltered, without any eyes on them to pull them out of their bubble. He had known it then; sooner or later, he would slip up during the trip. But Hanbin had smiled so bright, and his eyes held so many stars they were blinding, and Hao could only nod, sealing his fate.
And so here they were, in an empty, overheating bus, suitcases resting on the seats in front of them, leading them to the secluded village Hanbin’s family came from. Hao had been there once, during his second year, to celebrate Hanbin’s birthday with his family. It had felt special, the way he had been the only friend Hanbin had invited for it, the way his mother had treated Hao as a son, the way they had played in the river and Hanbin had held him so tight when he was scared to fall into it.
Hao didn’t remember the first time he looked at his friend and felt his heart beating faster, but that moment by the river was the first time he understood. It was only a bud, then. And it did hurt, but Hao wouldn’t trade this beautiful blooming flower for anything. Hanbin deserved all the love he could ever give, after all. It was fine if the thorns scraped Hao from time to time.
Hanbin muttered something, pulling him out of his daydream. Sometimes he talked during his sleep, when he felt restless, and Hao loved those strange conversations he could have with him.
“What did you say?” he asked, bending his neck so he could get his ear closer.
“You gotta take the fries,” Hanbin insisted, upset. “There’s gonna be too much fries!”
“Okay, okay,” Hao chuckled, endeared. “I’m taking the fries now.”
“But you nhnknow where the cat is.”
“It’s okay, I’ll manage. Don’t worry about it.”
Hanbin grumbled some gibberish and nodded with a frown, then sniffled with a small pout and calmed down again. Hao wanted to squeeze him until his bones broke. How could one be born so adorable? Hanbin would be the death of him.
By some miracle, Hao managed to hold on and not crush Hanbin to death until they reached their stop. His friend was dazed and confused after being gently awoken, but trusted Hao that they had reached their destination. Together, they trudged out of the vehicle, and even though they felt a short-lived relief at the fresh air, the bus moved, and the sun immediately started grilling them. Hao sighed, pulling up the handle of his suitcase.
“It was in this direction, right?”
“Give me that,” Hanbin immediately stopped him, grabbing his luggage.
“Ah, come on, you don’t need to–”
“Your shoulder must be so sore after I slept on it!” he frowned, shutting down his protest. “Let’s go, I need some shade.”
Their fingers overlapped for a second, and this was enough to weaken Hao’s grip so that his belongings got snatched. Hanbin walked decidedly up the street with both suitcases rolling behind him. The road wasn’t even asphalt, just a wide dirt path that might have been a stone road long ago judging from the flat, dull black pebbles sometimes peeking through. It slithered up the small mountain, and even through the dense vegetation, they could already see the first houses making up the hamlet they were about to stay in. Old, mossy, decayed but with signs of repair. The small village nested in a lush valley between mountains was just like Hao remembered.
He hadn’t seen much of it then, in the back seat of Hanbin’s mother’s car. But still, as he had climbed off of it, it had felt like being transported into the past. Everything was ancient, and everyone was too. It was so extreme that Hao had been shocked to notice Hanbin’s grandfather use a smartphone, even though it had been clumsily. The bright screen with too-big characters seemed so out of place in the traditional home, it felt like catching an extra with a starbucks cup while watching a period drama. Thankfully, having both running water and electricity meant that their stay would be more comfortable than the people that first built this house who knew how many centuries ago.
The thought of the phone incident made Hao pull out his own. Just like Hanbin had warned him, only one small connection bar was lit up, and as if to mock him, it flatlined right away into no connection at all. They had planned to go together to the one spot with reliable reception to let their parents know they had safely arrived, but there would be no scrolling to pass the time for the month they’d be spending there.
It was okay. When they were together, they always forgot about their phones anyway.
On their way to the house, a handful of old people recognized Hanbin, welcoming him as “the Sung kid finally coming back”. Hanbin laughed and greeted them back, while Hao awkwardly waved. The community was so tightly knit, and so peaceful, surely a foreigner staying alone for a month with their lovely Sung kid would become the talk of the town, gossip and speculation inevitable if he was to believe Hanbin’s stories of every local trying to set him up with their granddaughters. Hao wondered if they would take issue with him staying with Hanbin, whether it be because of his origin or his gender or both. Mostly, he wondered if Hanbin cared about their opinion on the matter.
It wasn't real anxiety, though. Because Hao knew no matter how much Hanbin cared, he cared about his best friend’s happiness more. And so, like the lone cloud drifting away in the sky, the thoughts passed him by. This trip was a new opportunity to enjoy themselves away from the pressure of daily life, after all, and Hao wouldn’t let things like those get in the way.
“Sorry for falling asleep on you in the bus,” Hanbin apologized as they got onto another, smaller path. “You should’ve woken me up.”
Hao looked at his red cheeks, and for a second, he could imagine that it was because of his embarrassment instead of the heat.
“You were sending me memes at four this morning, I think you really needed the sleep,” Hao laughed.
Hanbin whined, a cute little sound that tried to seem upset.
“I was too excited! You were up late too!”
“And if I slept on the bus, you’d have decided to wake me up? Wow. Some friend you are.”
“Aw, don’t be sulky,” Hanbin grinned. “You know I always let you sleep.”
“But you complain when I do the same? I can never win with you.”
“Okay, I’ll wake you up early every day then!”
“That’s not what I asked?!”
Hanbin burst out laughing at his reaction, and Hao couldn’t help but laugh, too. Hanbin had the most beautiful laughter, after all, high and airy and sweet. Hao was ashamed of it, but he once saved a voice message of his friend having a laughing fit just to listen to it when he felt down. Hao just had to close his eyes and picture Hanbin, with his eyelids pressed shut and his whisker dimples creasing his cheeks, and everything was right in the world again. But of course, nothing could beat the real thing, making Hanbin laugh in real time, see his blush spread and the way he bent down and shook his head every time in a slightly different way.
Hao was so lovesick it was embarrassing even to himself.
Finally, they left the car-sized road to follow a path sneaking through tall weeds and fern that tickled their exposed calves. Trees were back to offer them a partial shelter from the sun as they trailed up the hill, birds chirping as if to welcome them.
The house was just like Hao remembered. It was a long and thin building, made of wooden beams, a low brick wall surrounding the white walls, and black tiles coming out of a high ridge beam. Very old, but still looking sturdy, as if it had always been there and always would be. Behind it was the garden, and even further away, down the hill, was the river they had played in. There was something peaceful about this place, like a promise of simple days and a happy life.
Stepping in the shade of the porch was a welcome reprieve from the seething heat. Hanbin fumbled with the lock after fetching the key from under the welcome mat, and then they were stepping inside, the air stale and smelling of lavender.
Hanbin dragged their luggage through the entrance, kicked his shoes off and ran deeper into the house for some reason. Hao took his time taking off his own shoes, glancing around to get familiar with the place. He had been living in Korea for years, but he could never get used to their barefoot ways. Keeping his socks on would have to be enough. The floor was clean, soft-looking wood polished by the decades of inhabitants walking on it. The white walls showed some small cracks, and next to the wooden beam marking the corner of the hallway, Hao could see lines and markings. Records of the height of the children that grew up there throughout time.
He heard Hanbin before he saw him, running back and almost slipping on the wooden floor. Hao raised his arms to catch him by reflex, but Hanbin managed to slow down before crashing into him. He was beaming.
“I found them!”
And with that, Hanbin put a pair of slippers in front of his friend, an old, ugly, pink fuzzy thing a size too small. Even though Hao had silently resigned himself to going barefoot, Hanbin had immediately taken care of his silent needs, like it was natural, like he was always thinking about anything Hao might want. It was so sweet, so loving, that Hao’s chest started to burn, his own love for the boy swelling and menacing to overflow.
Oh, no. It was way too soon into the vacation to have a breakdown over how perfect Hanbin was.
“Thanks,” he choked out, staring down at the slippers he was putting on so that his hair would hide his misty eyes.
“Let’s unload everything first, and then go buy some groceries,” Hanbin decided. “I’ll show you around! It’s been so long, you probably don’t remember.”
Hao did remember, because he remembered everything when it came to Hanbin, but he refrained from saying so. Instead he let himself be guided, rediscovering the house. The hallway split the building in two, the door to the right leading to the main hall, with its crosswise floorboard and sliding panels hiding the garden behind. There was an old cathode-ray television off to the side, a small low table, frayed cushions whose prints didn’t match, as well as an antique fan reaching up to Hao’s thigh. There was no modern cooling system, so this would be their only hope this summer.
It was different from Hao’s memories. Empty of the Sung family, it felt larger, filled instead with potential. This is where they would spend most of their time, after all. Hao imagined them, spread on the floor, eating on the table, watching a late night movie, sitting on the porch he knew to be behind the panels. This would be their home, even if for a short while. It made him excited and nervous, too full of energy in the stuffy room. Hanbin, besides him, was listing a few movies they still had on VHS, and he could see in his smile that at least some of his excitement was shared.
Beyond this room was the kitchen, narrow and cramped, with a gas stove above an old oven and next to a sink. The cupboards, the tiny fridge and the freezer were almost empty, only a few shelf-stable ingredients left behind by the elderly couple.
“We should make a list,” Hao suggested. “This way we’ll be sure we won’t be missing ingredients when we cook.”
“Yeah, good idea,” he agreed as he grabbed a stack of sticky notes and a pen abandoned on top of the fridge. “So we’ll need… tofu, lots of meat, hum… eggs… do you want something special?”
“We need to have cold food to cool down. Let’s buy some stuff to make some naengmyeon… Lots of ice cream, too!”
“Alright, alright… what else… we already have noodles…”
Hanbin frowned, biting his pen, and maybe it was all this time in the sun, but Hao felt himself drifting for a second. He slipped into a sort of daydream, a vision of a future where this was their daily life. One where they had to go get groceries for their home, where they lived together and cooked their own meals every day. The blissful domesticity they would have, made of hugs and warm touches as they discussed casual, carefree matters, was dazzling. Then Hao blinked, and the dream dissipated. They were just friends, doing this as a novelty, for a very limited time before going back to their actual lives.
Hao should enjoy what he could get, and try not to dwell on what he couldn’t.
After making their list, Hanbin led them to the other side of the house. There was the bathroom, a small space made of a toilet, a sink, and a surprisingly big bathtub. Hao had always used showers, and considered baths a kind of luxury he couldn’t afford, so this was an exciting prospect. Then, finally, they reached the bedroom, a big futon in the middle of it and panels lining the wall to hide the closet, nothing else.
One single bed in the whole house.
Hao’s heart started beating faster, and his hand twitched. They hadn’t discussed their sleeping arrangement. He knew there were extra futons stored somewhere, because Hanbin used to spend his summers here, but the extra bedding wasn’t out yet. And maybe it wouldn’t be out at all. Maybe… they could share this one. Hao swallowed nervously. Did Hanbin assume they would sleep together? What should Hao say to casually suggest he’d like it?
“Do you want me to set up another bed?” Hanbin asked suddenly.
“What, and have you sneak in to talk before bed only to fall asleep here? Don’t bother, it’s simpler this way,” Hao laughed, subtly fanning himself by flapping the hem of this shirt.
“You’re right, I just wanted to be sure,” Hanbin smiled back, and maybe it was still too hot for him, because his cheeks were turning pink again. “I’ll bring our stuff so we can unpack.”
“And I’ll open the windows to get some air flowing!”
He couldn’t let poor Hanbin die of a heat stroke when they’d just arrived. Hao slid the bedroom window open, using a bit of force when it got stuck midway. Curious, he leaned his head outside. It was the back of the house, with the porch looking over the garden. There were rows and rows of vegetables, green leaves and sprouts covering the ground and surrounded by well-maintained trees, some of them bearing fruits. And then, after a low fence, there was the forest, with the small trail leading down to the river he could almost hear already. It smelled of earth and greenery, something sweet floating in the air with the flowers blooming here and there.
Hao was a city boy through and through, but as long as he didn’t have to care for the garden and acknowledge it was filled with insects and worms, it looked a lot like paradise.
The bathroom gave a direct view of the road they had taken to arrive here, but thankfully, there was enough vegetation to cover any other house. Hao would’ve felt exposed otherwise, taking a bath at night only to make direct eye contact with an elderly neighbor. Terrifying.
Then Hao went to the main hall, and unlocked the sliding panels. They were heavier than he expected, scraping and creaking in a way that indicated they hadn’t been fully opened in a while. But finally, he managed to get the full bay opened, and stepped up on the porch while a gentle breeze flowed through the house. The wooden patio extended far outside, half shaded by the rooftop and wide enough to lay down on. There were gardening tools stacked to the side, wooden logs for the winter, and a small staircase that would only be used by those too old to clear the knee-high gap between the wooden planks and the ground.
Hao took a step out, his lungs filling up despite the heat, feeling like he was walking into another world, one so far away from the rigidity of school, the surveillance of parents, the rules of daily life.
Freedom.
“Do you want me to unpack your stuff too?” Hanbin asked from the bedroom window.
“Ah, I’m coming!”
Filling up the closet and the bathroom with their belongings made it feel more like home. Hanbin’s shirts beside his, Hanbin’s blue toothbrush next to his pink one. The more Hao looked at it, the more the strange daze that took a hold of him earlier came back, blurring his senses. He had to be careful, keep his thoughts in check so that in a moment of weakness he wouldn’t take his dreams for reality. Of course, Hanbin would forgive him for any misstep, but it would be so awkward for the both of them. It was no one but Hao’s responsibility to make sure his friend wasn’t made uncomfortable.
He knew what he had to do, just as well as he knew that it was going to be impossible with the way that Hanbin lightly grabbed his wrist to lead him back outside. The burning fingers grazing the thin skin there, the bewitching smile making Hao return it like a mirror. Yes, he knew that he would break soon.
But a small, selfish part of him hoped he would get more of Hanbin’s touches before he messed things up.
The town was so small, it only took five minutes walking under the sun to get to the only store, a cramped repurposed modern building. “Modern” as in “built during the last century”. The doors weren’t even automatic, Hanbin pushing it open to get inside and holding it for Hao. For the first time since they left their respective homes this morning, they were hit with a wave of fresh air.
“Well if it isn’t the Sung kid!” The store owner exclaimed from behind the counter with a smile that crumpled his face marked by time. “Your old man told me you’d come by!”
“Hi! Yes, we’re here for the summer break!” Hanbin beamed. “It’s great to see you again, sir!”
“And who’s that with you?”
Suddenly targeted, Hao took a step closer to his friend and grabbed his arm in a silent plea for help, feeling shy.
“Oh, he’s my best friend! His name is Zhang Hao. Please be patient with him, he’s a foreigner and he still struggles with dialects…”
“Hello,” he politely bowed.
“So that’s the boy you’ve been talking about! Jjang Hao!”
Hanbin had an embarrassed laugh, his cheeks still red from the heat outside despite the AC. A drop of sweat ran down the side of his cheek, and Hao patted it dry with his wrist without thinking.
“We’re here to buy some food so we can eat until the market opens for fresh produce. It’s tomorrow, right?”
“Every sunday, as usual,” the old man confirmed.
“We’ll see you there then!”
They browsed the small store with Hanbin making small talk with the owner. They walked up the two cramped aisles, stuck to the hip like they always were, turned towards each other even if Hanbin was talking to someone else. Hao didn’t need to talk to him to know what he thought of his suggestions; a single glance from Hanbin and his opinions were clear as day. They loaded Hanbin’s bag with a few industrial goods; instant ramyeon, snacks, zero cola, and, of course, a big helping of ice cream. Different kinds and tastes, precisely enough to each eat one a day until the end of the trip. Hao paid for it all with the bills and coins he had in his pocket, as the assigned treasurer of this vacation.
They jogged back to the house in an effort to salvage the ice cream, without jostling the soda too hard. Back in their home, they put everything they needed to in the fridge and freezer, and finally collapsed on the floor, exhausted and overheated.
“Go take a bath,” Hanbin suggested, spread like a starfish. “I’m done for today. Let’s stay inside.”
“You go first. If you don’t cool down soon, I think you’re going to pass out.”
“Alright, I’ll go quickly then…”
With a grunt, Hanbin got up, disappearing in the hallway. After a few seconds alone, Hao pulled out his phone and sent a quick message to his mother assuring her that he made it safely. It’s only when the little checkmark didn’t appear that he remembered his situation. He got back onto his feet, holding his phone at arm’s length to try to find any miracle spot in the main hall, but no luck. Hao sighed, pocketing his phone again. They would need to get out again despite Hanbin’s wishes.
By the time Hanbin came back, Hao had figured out how to turn on the fan and had fully cooled down, daydreaming sitting on the floor. It was for the best, because Hanbin stepping in bare chested with his hair dripping wet made him feverish. A drop fell from his fringe, rolled down the swell of his chest, slid over his soft stomach, and got absorbed into his shorts’ fabric. Hao swallowed.
“Your turn,” Hanbin simply said as he sat down next to him, like he wasn’t raising the room’s temperature by several degrees by his mere presence.
“We need to send a message to our moms, I tried but it didn’t go through,” Hao said, getting up.
“Ah, right… I’ll go while you wash up. Can I take your phone too?”
“Sure, thanks.”
Hao closed the bathroom door behind him, and finally breathed again. Did he stare too much? He hoped it was only the normal amount of looking. It was very hard to gauge when every glance could be qualified as leering. It wasn’t Hao’s fault that Hanbin was hot. Others were just realizing it now that he was losing weight, but Hao had always seen it. His broad shoulders, the way he moved his body in such a controlled way, the way Hao was completely surrounded when Hanbin held him in his arms…
Okay, he really needed that bath now.
Hanbin hadn’t drained out the water. It was probably a mistake, him forgetting in his rush to give his place to Hao. His heart beating too loud, Hao closed in on the bathtub. It was dirty, of course. But maybe… maybe he could…
The tip of his fingers dipped into the water, and he stepped back with a hiss.
Only a psychopath like Hanbin would take an ice bath. Sure, it was hot outside, but stepping inside would qualify as torture in Hao’s book. He had to psych himself up before unplugging the drain, moaning in pain after having to submerge his arm in the water. It was for the best, he consoled himself. Had it been lukewarm instead, he might have made a very dubious decision.
Hao ran himself a bath at a more reasonable temperature, stepping inside before it was even half filled. It was more like a very small pool than any bathtub he knew, wooden and square, but it was still comfortable. Staring at the ceiling, alone in the house, Hao considered. He was very horny, there was no way around it. He was also about to spend the night next to Hanbin. Objectively, the best thing to do would be to get off now so that there would be no awkward trip to the bathroom after struggling to sleep. But it felt a little weird, doing it where old people bathed.
Even if Hanbin did just wash himself here. Naked. Right where he was.
While he was flip-flopping from one resolution to another, the tub had been filled, and Hao had thoroughly washed himself of the grime of the day. Hearing Hanbin come back from his small trip outside sealed Hao’s fate. He had to learn to deal with his unmet needs after all. Discipline, focus, determination. Hao would need it all to survive unscathed.
And maybe, when everything else failed, he should take a page from Hanbin’s book and jump into a cold bath.
Thankfully, the end of the day was easier than he expected. They ate some ramyeon together at the small table under the fan’s soothing wind, the doors open until moths started swarming the room, slamming themselves onto the overhead light. They quickly finished eating and turned it off, staying in the dark with their ice cream on the porch to make sure the insects wandered away. They talked about school, the latest gossip, the homework they had cruelly been assigned on their last day. Despite how different everything was, this didn’t change; the way they talked to each other, with a comfortable ease, giggling and pushing each other.
By the time they closed everything and went to bed, laying down next to each other, Hao was only dying a little on the inside as he turned his back to Hanbin to make sure to not accidentally hug him during his sleep. As usual, they said goodnight three times before actually sleeping instead of starting another conversation, and Hao faintly registered another layer of thin covers being thrown over him at some point. It was easier than he expected to let himself be carried off to sleep with Hanbin’s regular breathing next to him, without any of the dirty ideas he had earlier.
Maybe the rest of their stay would be just as easy, too.