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The towers are back online, have been for weeks now, but neither of them acknowledge this fact. It's meaningless, anyway — Zhang Hao threw his phone in the river on day five. Hanbin—well, he doesn't know what Hanbin did with his phone, but he definitely doesn't have it on him. And he's not even sure if the reception extends out of the cities. True lawlessness, the new mayor had promised, for those that shirk their civil responsibility. The message had been clear: don't come back.
Before everything, he would've never been able to imagine living in a world without the Internet. He practically spent his teenagehood online, fleeing into the arms of strangers whenever he required advice or comfort. It was practically his second home. And, just like his first home, he'd turned his back on it.
It was likely necessary. It meant that his only option was to entertain himself with the real world. If he hadn't thrown away his phone, then he would've never met Hanbin.
There's a man at the side of the road, standing amongst the yellow grass and trash that fugitives tossed out of their car windows as they fled to the city. There's a bleary, dazed quality to his face, as if he can't believe he's here either. He sticks his thumb out as their car approaches, then upgrades to attempting to wave them down.
Zhang Hao almost considers asking for it, pleading with Hanbin to pull over and pick up this hitchhiker. Have him sit behind Zhang Hao, Hanbin's hands tight around the steering wheel, cutting menacing glances at the rear view mirror. Have the hitchhiker put his hands on Zhang Hao just so he could see Hanbin put his hands on him, strong hands purpling his neck while Zhang Hao watches.
It's a pipe dream. Hanbin would never agree to a third person in the car.
They speed past in silence. Hanbin doesn't even look. Maybe he didn't register the hitchhiker in the first place. It happens a lot when he's driving, autopilot taking over while he retreats somewhere into himself. Thinking about the past, probably.
Maybe, probably. He knows hardly anything about Hanbin.
Zhang Hao returns to his task of rifling through the CDs. So much trot. Especially for a man of Hanbin's age.
“I didn't take you for a Lim Youngwoong fan,” he observes, holding the CD in question up.
Hanbin glances over. “That was my mom's. We shared this car.”
“Oh.” He feels awkward now. The CD slots back into the glove compartment. He closes the compartment with a snap. “So what did you listen to?”
“Nothing much,” Hanbin replies. He's still not fully present, still floating somewhere outside the car. He may not even blink if Zhang Hao flung the door open and threw himself out.
He entertains the notion for a fleeting second, then ignores it. With Hanbin, melodrama will get him nowhere.
He settles for reeling Hanbin back into his body instead. “How many did you lose?” This is what qualifies for small talk in the New World.
Hanbin snorts. As he expected, such a question is designed to force him to pay attention. “All of them.”
Zhang Hao considers him carefully from the corner of his eye. “Everyone?”
“Yep. Just like you.”
Outside, the sun bursts out from behind a cloud, resplendent. Zhang Hao pulls his visor down. “So we match.”
“So we match,” Hanbin echoes.
Hanbin fucks him like a wild beast, all sharp teeth and bruising pressure. Zhang Hao loves it; he thought he wouldn't, because he's only used to the slow and teasing sex that his exes provided him with, but he can't quite fathom Hanbin treating him like that.
Hanbin throws the discarded condom in the full trash can, then digs around in his bag for some tissues. Absently, Zhang Hao wonders if they'll ever fuck raw.
“Thanks,” he offers awkwardly after Hanbin wipes his stomach for him, then immediately winces. This is why he doesn't do casual sex. Although sex with Hanbin is hardly casual, at least on his part.
Hanbin scrunches his face up as he grabs his jeans off the floor. “Don't thank me after sex, hyung. That's just weird.”
There's many aspects of their relationship that qualify as far weirder, in his opinion.
“You don't have to do that,” he tells him, staring up at the ceiling. There are yellow splotches staining the paint. “Call me that, I mean. There's not much use for honorifics in a world like this.”
“Probably not,” Hanbin agrees, pulling his jeans up. There's a vertical scar slashing down his abdomen, starting below his left nipple and ending at his hips, as if someone has tried to reach inside him and grasp an organ in their slippery fingers. Zhang Hao's own fingers flex. Hanbin tugs his shirt over his head, hiding the scar from view. “So what should I call you?”
A great number of things. His father's voice echoes in his head.
Zhang Hao raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “My name.”
“Okay, Zhang Hao,” Hanbin pronounces, as if expecting a round of applause. There's a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes, so rarely there that it takes Zhang Hao's breath away. He gets these glimpses, sometimes, into a different Hanbin, the Hanbin that must have been alive before everything happened. It makes his heart squeeze in his chest. Hanbin taps his ankle. “Let's get moving.”
He's grown tired of being on the move. Hanbin doesn't seem to care, even relishes in it, but Zhang Hao craves stability. Creature comforts. Somewhere he can rest his head and call home. The car doesn't count.
“I don't like staying in one place,” Hanbin had said when Zhang Hao proposed settling down, his voice the sharpest Zhang Hao had ever heard it, a blade pressed against a throat. Zhang Hao knew this was a hill he was prepared to die on.
“Okay,” he replied easily, heart pounding for no reason at all. Lie: he knew the reason. It was the most emotion he'd managed to drag out from Hanbin. Zhang Hao relished it even if it meant scars. “We'll keep moving, then.”
Hanbin, infinitesimally, relaxed. “Good.”
No one expects the end of the world to be boring. The outcome was dramatic, he'll give them that much, but the event itself? It happened in the blink of an eye. One moment he'd been poking fun at something Kuanjui said, Siyeon joining in on his teasing with Hyesoo laughing at her side, then the next they'd simply—disappeared. As if it were a bad dream.
He'd thought he was hallucinating at first. Too much coffee and not enough sleep.
He blinked, and blinked again, but nothing changed. That was when the panic set in.
The news anchors — the ones that were left — quickly, courageously reported on what had transpired. Half of the world's population had just gone, erased from existence. Everything was so empty.
Zhang Hao, uncharacteristically, had no idea what to do. All of his family and friends had vanished into the ether. A calm blankness stitched itself into every cell and neuron of his, dulling his thoughts. While the world reassembled itself, he curled up in bed and stared into space.
The cities were where the law prevailed, where new leaders emerged and took charge to set the world back into balance. Soon, things went back to normal. Normal enough, anyway.
Outside of the cities, it was wildly different. If you chose to stay in the more rural areas rather than flee to the population hubs, you were willingly signing yourself up for chaos. There would be no healthcare, no communications, no policemen or military patrolling. No infrastructure, period.
The larger cities, the ones with enough resources, had begun to construct barriers — towering, guarded walls and multiple checkpoints — around their borders. It wasn't about keeping people in, he knew, but everyone else out. You were allowed to leave; you just couldn't come back.
Zhang Hao had stayed in Seoul because he had nowhere else to go. His family and friends back home were all gone, too. He was afraid that going back to Fujian would make it all so much more real. If he stayed in Seoul, he could carry on deluding himself that everyone he knew was uncontactable but still there.
And then he’d found Hanbin. Or, more accurately, Hanbin had found him: Zhang Hao had squeezed between the steel cables of Yanghwa Bridge to stare into the still waters below, idly contemplating. He did a lot of that in those days.
“I heard if you jump from this height, it feels like slamming into concrete,” a voice greeted at his side. At first Zhang Hao thought the voice was a figment of his imagination, an echo of his own mind, stare into the abyss and the abyss stares back into you and so on, but the air shifting next to him told him a different story.
He only blinked at this revelation. The water would slam into him, punch the air straight out of his lungs.
“Are you thinking of testing it out?” Hanbin's voice was devoid of judgement.
“Sometimes,” Zhang Hao answered, finally looking at him. He couldn't see much in the dimness but it looked like this stranger was around the same age as him. “At least it will give me something to do.”
Hanbin cracked a smile. “That bored?” Zhang Hao shrugged. “Why not get out of the city?”
“I'm starting a new life here.” The words felt strange, unfitting in his mouth. That was the mantra of the New World. There was a billboard outside his apartment which used to advertise cat food. Now, it had a picture of a smiling woman with a start your new life! speech bubble. It was already beginning to peel in the corners.
The steps were simple enough. It was easier than ever to find a job. Find new friends, a new partner. Some people even found a new family. It had been over a month, now. All the top scientists — the ones that were left — said this was an unprecedented phenomenon, but it was highly likely that no one would ever come back.
Just yesterday, he'd dipped into the café he frequented both before and after. If he was going to live through the end of the world, he might as well do it with coffee. His plans had been unfairly thwarted — the café was holding some kind of speed dating event, except for families rather than partners. Adults his age looking for surrogate parents or the elderly desperate for children and grandchildren.
He'd stumbled out of there and thrown up in the alleyway.
On the flip side, there were others who wouldn't, couldn't, move on. Zhang Hao saw their street protests; they demanded society to pay attention, to renounce the new ways of living. To condemn those who were so eager to abandon their previous lives.
Zhang Hao identified with neither of these groups. He was unmoored, a lonely, rotting piece of driftwood, waiting for the tide to regurgitate him so he would be someone else's problem. Or splintered into pieces. The river beckoned him.
“A new life,” Hanbin echoed. “Is that what you think will happen? You'll be able to return to how you were before?”
“No,” Zhang Hao said, because he already knew that would be asking the impossible. “But maybe—it’ll get better. I’ll get better.”
“That won’t happen either,” Hanbin denied cryptically. He wore an odd smile. “Not when you see ghosts on every corner. Fresh reminders.”
“So what can I do?” He gripped onto the cable to hold himself steady. “I have nowhere else to go.”
Hanbin paused, as if he needed to think about it. As if he hadn’t approached Zhang Hao for this very reason. “You can come with me,” he offered. “I’m leaving Seoul behind. I’m going to see what there is outside of the cities.”
The steel creaked in his hand. “And you think that will work instead?”
Hanbin’s smile broadened. He was quite handsome, Zhang Hao realised. “What’s the harm in trying?”
Shortly after he left Seoul with Hanbin, the two of them and all their bags squeezed into Hanbin's dented Kia and Zhang Hao thinking this was either the worst or best decision he'd made in his whole life, they ran into a small problem.
They were outside Wonju at this point, mountains rising up like gravestones around them. He knew it was merely delusion, optimism, but a part of him was convinced that those mountains were where everyone was hiding, neatly tucked away into the valleys.
They decided to stop off in a business park bordering the road and see if there was anything useful in any of the offices. Not so much food but medical supplies stowed away in cabinets, batteries, even towels. The building they were currently in seemed to be some kind of box supply company, which wasn't very exciting. But they'd managed to procure some wet wipes, so he didn't give a damn about how exciting it was.
To cover more ground, Hanbin decided he would head over to the opposite side of this floor. It was a much larger office than it appeared on the outside. Zhang Hao would continue examining the left side.
There shouldn't have been any cause for concern. There were a few cars dotted around outside but they looked unused, dust already collecting on the windshield. A lesson for both of them.
He didn't know the first thing about combat. He wasn't even sure he knew how to wield a knife properly. Hanbin was more skilled than he was in this regard. Zhang Hao, if he were being honest with himself, was slightly scared of Hanbin. He hadn't wanted to ask how he knew how to gut a squirrel with such ease, so he didn't.
He could have used Hanbin's expertise here. This stranger dashed out of one of the cubicles at him and Zhang Hao shrieked; he was backed up against the wall with a knife to his throat. He couldn't see or hear Hanbin anywhere — he could only hope that his shriek was loud enough to attract attention. It was impossible for him to make another sound. Fear — or at least he thought it was fear — clogged his throat.
He felt, quite accurately, like an ensnared animal, one of Hanbin’s squirrels. One who had already accepted its death.
“Are you alone?” the man asked him. His eyes were wild but his hand was calm and steady. One slash is all it would take. Zhang Hao had never felt so alive.
Hanbin answered for him; Zhang Hao's legs almost gave out in relief. “No.” Another knife appeared at the man's neck. Hanbin wasn't gentle; beads of blood began to slide down the blade. “Hands up. Now.” Zhang Hao had never remotely heard his voice sound like that before, the harsh grind of metal against stone.
The man hesitated. Zhang Hao could see him thinking, could see him weighing up his options. He would die but he would take Zhang Hao with him. Another two of the world's population gone. A small ripple in the sea, nothing anyone would notice.
The knife left Zhang Hao's neck. The man’s hands lifted in surrender.
Hanbin moved like a shadow, hand clapping over the man's mouth and knife twisting in his stomach. He had the foresight to angle him away from Zhang Hao so he wouldn't get coated in blood, but Zhang Hao still saw the whites of the man's eyes, the animalistic fear there.
Nothing reveals a man's true nature more than when he knows he's about to die, his father had said once. They were watching a war documentary together, at opposite ends of the couch. His father had muttered this to himself, like he hadn't noticed Zhang Hao was even in the room.
Afterwards, Hanbin kicked his limp body for good measure. They left without sparing another glance. Not even a ripple.
The man had scratched at Hanbin's arms, clawed at his face. Zhang Hao used their meagre supplies to clean each one of these scratches meticulously, watching the white fluff of the cotton ball stick to Hanbin's skin. Hanbin's eyes didn't leave his face.
That was the first time they kissed, hungry and biting. Zhang Hao thinks if willingly damning yourself to Hell in the name of someone else isn't romance, then what is?
“At least I'm not bored,” Zhang Hao said, after they'd been driving in a cold silence for fifteen minutes. Hanbin didn't laugh.
“What did you do before everything?” Zhang Hao asks, twirling a pair of sunglasses around by the stalk. They're the cheap, plastic ones, the ones you might find in a photobooth. Hanbin had found them in a petrol station back outside Gwangju. He'd perched them on the top of Zhang Hao's head then brushed a hand over his hair, oddly affectionate. “Were you a student, working?”
Hanbin taps his fingers against the wheel, silent for so long that Zhang Hao thinks he's giving him the cold shoulder. “Military service,” he says eventually.
Zhang Hao's eyebrows shoot up to his forehead. The military were the ones who were at the helm of reorganising the country, the ones who calmed the people down and controlled riots and sorted out rations. They were the ones to suggest the borders around the cities. Anyone actively undergoing enlistment at the time was made to help these goals be achieved, no exceptions.
The pieces slot together: Hanbin found him on day thirty-seven of the New World, while the services of the military were still being required. Anyone who left the military during the Collapse, even if they were mandatorily conscripted, was wanted for desertion. He's been travelling with a criminal for over a week now. It makes him want to laugh.
“You're on the run,” he fills in.
Hanbin drops down a gear as they skirt around a crumpled Toyota. “Yeah. Not that it really matters now.”
More and more pieces of the puzzle, building up into layers. “Why were you skulking around Seoul for so long, then? You should've left if they were looking for you.”
“True,” Hanbin concedes, “but I knew they weren't. They had more important things to deal with at the start. Now, though…”
“But what were you doing in Seoul for so long anyway?” he insists.
A ghost of a smile. “Looking for you.”
Zhang Hao scowls; he knows when he's being made fun of. “Funny.”
“I wasn't joking,” Hanbin drawls, and takes the turn-off for Yeongwol.
There are times Zhang Hao's back requires an actual bed. He's getting old, maybe. Time doesn't care if the world has ended or not.
They stop off in empty houses, dingy motels, glamorous bed-and-breakfasts. Hanbin isn't a fan of this practice.
“You can always sleep in the car, you know,” Zhang Hao had said the first time, when he sensed Hanbin's reluctance. “And I'll just come and meet you in the morning.”
Hanbin hadn't even deigned this worthy enough of a response.
This mattress is so welcome that he falls asleep immediately after his shower, hair soaking the pillow and the sound of Hanbin flipping through their map his lullaby.
He wakes up to realise that their fingers have intertwined. He doubts they were like that when they fell asleep, so either it just happened naturally overnight or Hanbin locked them together at some point. Zhang Hao stares at their hands, trying to work out which option is most likely.
“You stink,” Hanbin greets, breath fanning out over the nape of his neck.
“Good morning to you too,” Zhang Hao mumbles, eyes closing again. He doesn't want to get out of bed. It's nice to have Hanbin's warm, protective weight against his back. There's something so very special in the knowledge that a priority for Hanbin is keeping him safe.
Hanbin sets his teeth to the back of his neck, proprietary rather than violent. His hips press against the small of Zhang Hao’s back as he's rolled over onto his front. He sighs as Hanbin fumbles for his waistband.
It's almost gentle. Almost like making love. Almost.
Yeongdeok is very pretty. Zhang Hao's always been fond of remote landscapes like this, hills and mountains folding into each other like dominoes. And the sea, but that goes without saying. He wonders what Fujian looks like right now, if they've been able to organise as easily as Seoul did. A part of him regrets throwing away his phone so early on.
He has dreams, occasionally, that his parents have returned, have been daintily placed back into their two-bedroom apartment like miniature figurines in a dollhouse. That they've tried to contact him only to receive no answer, drawing the logical conclusion that he's gone too.
On these days, he wakes up in a daze, like his body is constantly moving one step behind his brain. Hanbin is always a little warmer when he notices Zhang Hao in these moods. He’ll make idle conversation about the best Thai restaurants in Seoul and debate milk tea orders, distract Zhang Hao with inanity. He'll be more physical, too. He must have picked up on the fact that skinship is grounding for him.
Like now, where his hand is on Zhang Hao’s thigh. Proprietary rather than violent.
He leans back against the headrest, staring out of the window. He needs to grow out of that mindset. He used to fear, at the start, that he'd wake up with Hanbin's hands around his throat. But Hanbin has never once treated him with violence.
Zhang Hao thinks he wouldn't mind if he did. At least it would be proof that he's feeling something.
They park in a lay-by near the peak of the mountain, large enough to fit three cars. Zhang Hao wanted to see the view and Hanbin indulged him, as he's doing more these days. He doesn't know what that means.
After he's gotten his fill of staring at the horizon until his eyes hurt, he turns to Hanbin. “Did I disrupt your plans?”
Hanbin blinks in surprise. It's strangely cute. “What makes you say that?”
“I feel like…” I'm unwanted. “You were unprepared to have me come along with you. Maybe.”
“Zhang Hao,” he says, elongating the consonants. His head is tilted in confusion. “I was the one that invited you, remember?”
“I know, but still. I don't know why you approached me in the first place. You don't seem like the type of person to get lonely.”
Hanbin's mouth thins. He's annoyed, it takes him a beat to register. “Based on what?”
Zhang Hao shrugs. “The way you carry yourself.”
“Everyone gets lonely. Everything. Even cockroaches get sad when they're alone for too long.”
He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling. “Are you comparing yourself to a cockroach?”
“Shut up,” Hanbin mutters. His ears have pinkened a little. Zhang Hao is delighted.
That's what likely gives him the courage to ask, “Are we in love?”
Hanbin laughs loudly. Zhang Hao doesn't recognise the sound at first; he's never heard him laugh before. Why is he laughing? It's a valid question.
“I've had two boyfriends before,” he blurts out in revenge, arms wrapped around himself for warmth.
Hanbin's lingering smile vanishes abruptly. Now he's back to normal Hanbin again, the Hanbin he's used to. “And? How did they treat you?”
Candlelit dinners, walks along the river path, flowers on birthdays and anniversaries. It was easy, gentle. Nothing like how it is with Hanbin.
“I don't know,” he lies. “It was all so…”
“Ordinary?” Hanbin supplies. His gaze slides over Zhang Hao, back towards the sea, as if he's already lost interest in this conversation. But Zhang Hao has grown quite adept at reading Hanbin's nonverbal tells; the tension in his neck says otherwise. “We both know that's not what you need.”
Zhang Hao bristles in offense. “What do you know about what I need?” he fires back.
Hanbin holds his hands up in surrender. “Just making an observation. One that I'm pretty sure is correct.”
“I don’t…” He trails off. I feel empty all the time. I trust you. You make me feel safe. I’m scared of you. I like that I’m scared of you. You’ll protect me from everything other than yourself. I know you’re hiding something from me. I still think of dying. I need to be given orders so I can stop thinking.
Hanbin's expression clears, as if he's somehow heard all of this.
He realises he's only scared of Hanbin because he's an unknown variable. He's always been adept at sorting people into boxes. Hanbin doesn't fit in any of them.
They stop off in another motel, their room facing the sea. It’s tiny. When the bathroom door is open, he can see everything. He sprawls on his front at the foot of the bed and watches Hanbin shave at the sink for the first time in four days, the snick of the razor echoing all around them. Hanbin glares at his reflection as if it's offended him.
He thinks he prefers Hanbin clean-shaven but there's a certain charm to his stubble as well. After they fuck, Zhang Hao loves admiring himself in the mirror and tracing the rawness on his cheeks and thighs, skin sparking like a live wire.
Hanbin washes his face and razor off, examines himself in the mirror again, then turns the bathroom light off. In the soft glow of the lamp, he looks shockingly young.
His legs fill Zhang Hao's vision as he stops at the foot of the bed. “No shaving for you?”
“I don't need to.” Zhang Hao's stubble is barely there, in comparison to Hanbin who starts sporting a five o’clock shadow incredibly quickly. Even this difference makes his thighs squeeze together.
These motel beds are high; he wouldn't need to lift his head much to be eye-level with Hanbin's crotch.
“Hmm,” Hanbin says, unreadable. He fists a hand in Zhang Hao's hair, tugging for a single moment, then releases him. Zhang Hao watches him move out of the corner of his eye until he's settling at the head of the bed, legs parted. “Come here.”
Zhang Hao complies without needing to think, slinking into Hanbin's lap. Hanbin holds him steady by the hips. He perches there and blinks, suddenly unsure of himself without a command to obey.
Hanbin smiles crookedly. “There you are.”
Desperate to gain back ground, he recovers quickly. “Why do you always order me around?” He punctuates the question with a sharp jab to Hanbin's chest.
Hanbin glances down, then back into his eyes. “Because that's how you like it. Has anyone ever told you that you ask too many questions?”
“No,” he says truthfully. “But I wasn't like this before I met you.”
Hanbin's smile grows. “Good. I wasn't like this before I met you, either.”
Like what? Zhang Hao wants to ask, but doesn't. He slinks down Hanbin's body to suck his dick instead, because there's nothing else to do.
When he's particularly tired and Hanbin is particularly quiet, he'll doze off in the passenger seat, head falling to his chest or against the window. He thinks that Hanbin must take special care to avoid potholes, as he never wakes up from the force of the car rattling. Or he's being delusional. It's difficult to know how much of his relationship with Hanbin is wishful thinking.
But, sometimes, he's thrown a bone. Such as now, where he's slipped into that state of half-consciousness. In flashes: the silence of the engine, his door wide open, Hanbin's strong arms around him, being carefully lifted into the backseat, their navy blanket tucked around him. And, just like that, he's slipped away again.
He comes to in the middle of the night to the sound of pen scrawling on paper. His brow furrows. At first he thinks it's the sound of some insect trapped in the car with them but then he hears Hanbin's tiny sigh, and his eyes open.
Hanbin's arm flexes as he writes in the notebook in his lap, tongue peeking out cutely.
“You have a diary.” He can't help the smile crawling up his face. It seems like such a silly thing, keeping a diary at the end of the world.
Hanbin's eyes meet his in the rear view mirror. There's a slight curve to his eyes, as if he's smiling too. “Yeah.”
Zhang Hao shifts, sitting up against the passenger door. The handle digs into his back uncomfortably. “Why?”
“It helps.”
“With?”
“Compartmentalising.”
He pauses. Hanbin doesn't strike him as the type of person to require compartmentalisation, but what does he know. Clearly not much. “Have you written about me?”
There's a beat of silence, like Hanbin hadn't expected him to muster up the courage to ask that. Then he's twisting around in his seat, placing the closed notebook in Zhang Hao's lap. Their eyes meet, no protection of the mirror this time. “Check.”
Zhang Hao glances down. The cover is black, nondescript. Nothing to indicate that this is the most coveted book of Zhang Hao's life. “I don't want to read your diary.” His voice shakes, betraying him. He hands the diary back. “Forget I asked. Keep on writing.”
Hanbin just carries on looking at him. “I'm done for tonight, anyway,” he says softly. “Go back to sleep.”
Blissfully, Zhang Hao does as he's told.
He can't stop thinking about it. He's always loved discovering how other people see him, how much their perceptions differ from his true self.
What a flimsy excuse. Everyone loves that.
Hanbin is the one stretched out across the back passenger seats this time, mouth parted against his arm. A sleeping Hanbin is a lot cuter than an awake Hanbin. Zhang Hao watches him for a few moments. He continues watching him as he eases out the diary from the driver's door side pocket, holding his breath. Hanbin doesn't move a muscle.
He slips out of the car, closing the door as quickly and quietly as possible so that Hanbin doesn't wake up from the rush of frigid air. He sits on the bonnet, torch in one hand as he flicks through the pages with the other.
Finally, he's seeing Hanbin. The more he learns, the more he questions everything Hanbin has told him up to this point. His heart is pounding so hard he's worried he might be sick.
“What happened to not wanting to read my diary?” Hanbin says at his side, and Zhang Hao jumps, startled. He hadn't even heard the car door open. There's a thin sheen of sweat covering his palms.
“You lied,” he whispers, beam of the torch glaring directly in Hanbin's face.
Hanbin doesn't flinch, the very picture of nonchalance. “About a few things,” he admits, shrugging as if to say what can you do?
"Important things. Your family are still here,” he says in disbelief. “In Seoul, waiting for you, they think you're the one that was taken and you just left without a word—”
“So what?” Hanbin interrupts. “They'll get over it eventually. Everyone does. They're free to start their new lives without me.”
Zhang Hao points the torch at their feet. Hanbin’s face is too—naked in the harsh light. “I don't understand why you left the city,” he insists. “You still had everything. The military's probably forgotten about you. Probably did the second you left. And then all your family and friends—”
“Because I was done,” he says simply. His hands haven't moved from his pockets. “Lawlessness appealed to me. More freedom.”
A scoff of incredulity. “More freedom? To be driving around forever and forever?”
“I think it's nice to live like an animal. I can go where I want. If someone threatens us, I take care of it. I have things that I can call mine.”
“Like what?”
Hanbin smiles. “You, for one.”
The light pooling at their feet is shaking. “Doesn't sound like much of a new life to me.”
Hanbin snorts. “Doesn't it? If you disagree with me, why'd you leave the city in the first place?”
He can't answer. He's standing back on that bridge again, watching the river wait for him with open arms.
Understanding Zhang Hao's silence as refusal, Hanbin cocks his head. “What did you think about the rest of it? All the stuff I wrote about you?”
He hasn't had time to read the majority of it. He'd started from the beginning, before they'd met. He's only reached the point where Hanbin killed that man in the office, the one who had held a knife to Zhang Hao's throat. But what he'd written there had been illuminating enough.
His thumb is leaving a dent in the bottom of the page, over the sentence it felt so good to see him—. “It scared me.”
“Now you're the one that's lying.” He steps closer, shadows sliding across his face. “That's the reason you agreed to come with me in the first place, Hao. You saw what I was, you saw the potential for us.” Another step closer. “You kissed me after I killed a man for you. Don't play dumb.”
“Would you do it again?” he whispers.
“What, kill a man for you?” His teeth flash, white as bone. “I'd love nothing more.”
He flicks the torch off. Not even the wind is awake at this hour. In front of him, Hanbin looks like a spectre, a nightmare, something that's been dragged out of his dreams.
“If you want me to drive you back to Seoul,” Hanbin says, voice slow and even, “I can do that. I can drop you off there. You can tell them that you were kidnapped, that you only just managed to escape. They would let you back in. If you want that.”
His heart settles. “I don't.” He hands the diary back to Hanbin, who takes it cautiously. “I won't read any more. Let's get driving.”
In the car, when the sun is beginning to rise, he catches Hanbin smiling to himself. “What?”
“Nothing,” Hanbin answers. “I just think it's funny that you're avoiding asking me the most important question. What anyone else would leap to ask me.”
“Which is what?”
“If I've killed before.”
Zhang Hao looks down at his hands. “That's not the most important question to me. I’ve already gotten my answer for the most important.”
Hanbin snorts. “So you really wanted to know if I'd kill again for you, huh?”
“Not that one, either.”
Hanbin frowns, thinking. Zhang Hao sees when he understands. “Oh,” he says quietly, and nothing else.
“Has your answer changed?” He sounds too hopeful, like a child.
Hanbin doesn't take a second of consideration. “No.”
He stares out of the window, ignoring the burning of his eyes when he blinks. He genuinely can't think of anything worse than crying in front of Hanbin. He doesn't even think Hanbin would be cruel about it, but it's unfair for him to be so vulnerable when Hanbin is a wall.
“Love is the wrong word for it,” Hanbin says, almost kindly, after too much silence. “You know that.”
He does.
Things change. Things stay the same. He doesn't know. He thinks he doesn't know anything. In his diary Hanbin had written sometimes I look at him and think this is what my entire life was leading up to, but he still refuses to let Zhang Hao in.
They continue along the coast, skirting Pohang and Ulsan. They'll have to head inland before they reach Busan. He imagines it must have the same travel restrictions as Seoul. No entry for those that have decided to leave society behind.
They'll run out of land soon. Korea is a small country. Tiny, actually. Hanbin would probably be content to drive in spirals forever, but Zhang Hao wants more. The Incheon ferry to China might still be running.
They could have reached Busan the same day they left Seoul but there's an unspoken agreement to drag their trip out. Linger in petrol stations, breathe life into ghost towns, sleep for twelve hours in motel rooms. They hardly ever see anyone else.
Zhang Hao wishes they did. Not because he cares about interaction with anyone other than Hanbin, but because Hanbin reacts beautifully when a third person dares to intrude on their lives. He's like a toy that Zhang Hao can wind up. It's exhilarating to have this much power; it's like being a god. He can stamp out life with a single glance.
They'd been ambushed on that long stretch of highway between Yeongdeok and Gyeongju, where it's miles and miles of empty land. An ambush is an exaggeration; Hanbin had seen the car coming from a mile off, rapidly gaining speed in the rear view mirror. Unbothered, he'd pulled over and waited for them to catch up.
He'd ordered Zhang Hao to stay quiet, so he did.
It had been nothing to worry about, not really. A lone man asking them to join him, even for a few days, in a textiles factory a mile west from the Pohang turn-off. They could pool their resources together or trade, he said. Whichever they preferred.
Even cockroaches get lonely.
Hanbin had declined on their behalf. The man hadn’t bothered to hide his crushing disappointment. They both saw it clearly. Disappointment, he knows, can often metamorphose into something far more dangerous.
After the man’s car reluctantly trundled away, Hanbin’s eyes flickered over his face. His expression had been neutral, even friendly, while the man rattled off his proposal, but now there was a crease in his brow. “He freaked you out.”
There was no use in denying it. “Yeah. A bit.”
“Hm,” Hanbin said, and nothing more. The crease in his brow only deepened.
He ended up making a U-turn and finding that factory while Zhang Hao was sleeping. At least that’s what he thinks must have happened. He only knows anything happened because when he woke up the next day, he saw a streak of blood on Hanbin’s jaw that he’d forgotten to wash off.
Zhang Hao said nothing about it but when they stopped for breakfast, he licked the pad of his thumb and rubbed the dried blood off, brown specks flaking. Hanbin’s eyelids fluttered as he leaned into his touch. Like being a god, he thinks again.
It's beginning to rain a lot more. One afternoon, they got caught in a thunderstorm so terrible that Hanbin had to pull over. The sky looked like a veil of blackness. Hanbin tilted his seat back and announced he was going to nap.
As the rain lashed the windows, Zhang Hao fiddled in his own seat. The silence wasn't awkward but he already knew attempting to fall asleep would be pointless, so he'd resigned himself to an hour or so of only having his thoughts to keep him company.
Hanbin's eyes opened suddenly, as if Zhang Hao's thinking was disrupting him. He yawned and murmured, “C’mere,” hand outstretched to help Zhang Hao over the central console. A tad inelegantly, Zhang Hao slid into his lap. Hanbin’s arms came around him and Zhang Hao gladly sank into his weight. It was slightly uncomfortable, especially with Hanbin’s seat reclined, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He ended up falling asleep alongside Hanbin, face pressed into his neck.
There's a small disruption of their plans one morning outside Yangsan, in their second-floor hotel room.
Zhang Hao wakes up with a gun pressed to his temple. At first, he doesn’t realise that’s what it is. It’s not often that he has a gun pressed to his head. Maybe something fell on top of him during the night, whatever.
Then he moves, preparing to roll over onto his back. A hand on his shoulder stops him. Ice solidifies in his veins; that's not Hanbin's hand. His eyes fly open. All he can see is the wall.
“Get up and stand over there,” this stranger orders, hand leaving his shoulder. His voice is deep but hardly menacing.
There's only one man he follows the orders of. He twists a little so his eyes can find Hanbin, sitting in the armchair by the window. His hands aren't even tied. Amateur, Zhang Hao thinks of this faceless man. He's alone, or at least there's no one else in the room with them.
Hanbin looks more bored than anything. “Do as he says, baby,” he says softly. The first time he's called Zhang Hao that. His stomach warms.
Behind him, the man scoffs to himself. “Should've known.” The metal of the barrel presses harder into Zhang Hao's temple and he winces in pain, drawing his bottom lip in between his teeth.
He’s still looking at Hanbin which is how he sees the crack in his glazed veneer, that hollow rage, before it’s sealed up in a second.
“Come on, get moving,” the man commands with another jab of the gun. “Go and stand next to your boyfriend.”
With great effort, Zhang Hao bites back the childish he's not my boyfriend retort.
Adrenaline courses through him; he thinks quickly. Hanbin always sleeps with his knife underneath his pillow but it can't be on him now, otherwise he would've already dealt with this man. Which means he must’ve been ambushed while returning from the en-suite. He subtly slides his hand up under the pillow as he sits up, expecting to find the grooves of the handle meet his palm. But it’s not there.
Hanbin watches him fumble with an air of cool detachment, even amusement. Zhang Hao is at a loss. Why hasn't Hanbin done anything? He could've taken this man, even with the threat of the gun.
He stands on shaky legs, hand flexing at his side. The lamp on the nightstand is already unplugged. Did Hanbin do that? He must be expecting Zhang Hao to make the first move. He needs to hurl the lamp at the man behind him. That will give Hanbin enough time to take over.
His brain screams at him but he can't do it. The gun is pointing right at him. Surely Hanbin can't think that he'll risk his life like that.
“I said move,” the man barks out. Zhang Hao's limbs unstick. He walks over to where Hanbin is sitting, unable to bring himself to look at his face and see the inevitable disappointment there.
But he can look elsewhere. The man glares at him like a cornered dog would. He's afraid, too. Maybe more afraid than Zhang Hao.
“I don't want to hurt you,” he enunciates clearly when Zhang Hao comes to a halt next to the armchair. “I just want whatever medication you have. Then I'll leave.”
Hanbin shifts, preparing to stand. “I'll get it.”
“No, not you.” He jerks his head at Zhang Hao. “Him.”
He can't see Hanbin's reaction like this, doesn't know if he planned for this or not.
He takes a step forward, then stops. They don't keep their Ibuprofen in this bag. “It's in the car,” he says. He's surprised at how steady his voice sounds.
The man hesitates. Allowing Zhang Hao to go alone would be stupid, just like leaving Hanbin here alone would be stupid. He must not have thought this far ahead.
“Fine. Both of you with me,” he decides, motioning at Hanbin to stand.
Zhang Hao already knows Hanbin is going to kill this man. He can see it in the fluidity of his body as he rises from the armchair, like he's already telegraphing his intent. The man just doesn't know Hanbin well enough to catch it.
They walk in silence, the man taking up the rear. Still with that damned gun.
“Hanbin—” he tries to mutter.
“Shh,” Hanbin says, equally quiet. “Just a bit more.” His fingertips press against the small of Zhang Hao's back in comfort, there for a second before the man snaps at them.
Hanbin fishes in his pocket for the car keys, uncaring of the gun swinging towards him. “Relax,” he says in a tone of great boredom as he dangles the keys from his fingers, as if all of this is beneath him.
The gun stays on Hanbin as Zhang Hao rummages through the boot, locating the small backpack with all their health supplies. He's been judged as the bigger threat, the loose cannon. At least the stranger got one thing right.
He passes their three packs of Ibuprofen to the man, hand trembling. The man relaxes in relief. Zhang Hao holds his breath, waiting.
“That's enough,” Hanbin says coldly, and lunges. His knife flashes in the corner of Zhang Hao's eye. The gun is dropped on the ground without an attempt to fire it, skidding across the asphalt to land by Zhang Hao's feet. He stares at it so he doesn't stare at Hanbin in his element. Having to listen to the man choking on his own blood is enough.
The choking doesn't cease; it takes him far too long to die. Zhang Hao's arms wrap around himself. “Just put him out of his misery,” he pleads.
“He scared you,” Hanbin says, like that explains everything. In his mind it probably does.
“Please,” he says. This time, Hanbin listens, though he does it with a sigh. The choking cuts off.
Hanbin's head fills his vision as he bends down for the gun, checking the chamber. “It's empty,” he says, showing Zhang Hao. “I knew it was from the way he was holding it. Loaded guns are a lot heavier than people think.”
Abruptly, the adrenaline drains from him. He feels like he might collapse. He sits on the asphalt instead, leaning against the car and limbs askew like he's the one that's been stabbed instead.
Hanbin crouches down in front of him. His eyes are bright with excitement. Behind him, the blood is forming a puddle. “If it were loaded then I wouldn't have let him near you,” he says, low and soothing, like he's talking to a child. “But I know he couldn't really do any harm, so I saw this as good of a chance as any.”
“Chance?” Zhang Hao rasps. His legs won't stop trembling. “For what?”
Hanbin's mouth twists a little. “I wanted to see how you'd react. If you'd try to take him on yourself.”
It was a test. His stomach sinks. “So I failed.”
Hanbin arches an eyebrow. “Did I say that?”
“You wanted me to kill that man.” It's not a question.
“No,” Hanbin says calmly. “Don't you remember what I said when you asked me if I'd kill again for you?”
How amusing; it's all Zhang Hao thinks about. “That you'd love nothing more.”
“Exactly.” His face softens, losing some of that manic energy. “You passed. You relied on me. You let me handle it. That's what I wanted to see.”
Zhang Hao's head hurts. “But…why?” he whispers.
“Hands like these shouldn't dirty themselves.” He reaches for Zhang Hao's hand and holds it up to his mouth, kissing the back of it. Zhang Hao stares at him, heart in his throat. Hanbin is never the one to initiate kissing between them.
Hanbin laughs when he catches sight of his expression. His smile is beautiful. “What's that look for?”
Zhang Hao shakes his head. “Nothing,” he manages. His blood thrums. “Nothing.”
The world blurs by. They're in the south now, taking a quick break in one of the many beaches on the outskirts of Goseong. Well, Zhang Hao takes a break. Hanbin leans against the car and watches him swim, citing his need to be on lookout.
It's a little boring, being in the water by himself, but whenever he looks over he catches Hanbin staring at him with a soft smile. That makes it worth it.
Hanbin waits for him with a towel, too. He's wrapped up in it as he approaches, soft cotton abating his shivering.
“I'm cold,” he complains, leaning into Hanbin's side for warmth.
“And you're getting me all wet,” Hanbin says back, but he doesn't sound annoyed. He kisses Zhang Hao's forehead, in fact. Zhang Hao can't remember feeling this happy.
The sea, boundless and infinite, rolls out before them. They could make something of this. A new life together.
“Where can we go next?” he asks, still locked in Hanbin's hold.
“Anywhere,” Hanbin replies, and it sounds like the truth.