Archive of Our Own

Seoul, October 2024

The night starts slow. 

Showing up as a branded set, parading around attached at the hip, that’s the goal for the night. But they are quiet about it, intensity building up in increments, like a locomotive that picks up the pace as it starts gaining momentum. Well, maybe it feels more like the slow climb of a rollercoaster, gaining height before it can drop. 

That is, at least, from their personal perspective. They are truly holding back from their natural pace and believe firmly that the night could have been much more deranged.

Surely, they’re perfectly capable at pretending they don’t need to be in each other’s space at all times, pretending being the key word here. With their masks of poise and distinction, living their lives together yet much too separate, they seem functional, socially interactive and adept. But to a keener eye or, to be fair, even the less keen eye, but really, any closer than the general public eye, they circle each other, like lionesses with their eyes fixed on the mark, ready to pounce at the first sight of helplessness. 

Devour one another like rabid dogs, desperate to scratch the itch of absence.

Like lionesses, also, they protect their game like they could rip out the throats of offenders who think they can get a closer look, let alone get a bite in.

Now. Tonight, finally… They come as a set. 

They’re supposed to brand themselves a set, which is the remarkable twist, paired with the extremely rare— and fiercely fought for, blessing of their joke of a company. They fought hard, they fought nasty , using the primary power of networking and the secondary, but not lesser power of being out in public and brandishing their words like swords at every outlet, letting everyone get a taste of the potential of their chemistry, the heights it all could reach. 

The tall, magnanimous and ever looming piles and piles of money, of course. It’s the only language the higher-ups can translate into their silky smooth brains.

The taste of money is undeniable, and no executive power is beyond the reach of it. No value system, outdated, dusty and rigidly dull as they come, no tradition and rite speaks louder than money. And so, that has been the plan for a while.

“Baby,” Hao had said, once, voice sweet as honey to a sobbing Sung Hanbin, “I really need you to get this straight into your pretty head, please. You can’t keep hurting yourself every time they— … Hanbin.” he leans over to plant a palliative kiss on Hanbin's temple when he hears a particularly loud hiccup. 

Hanbin was slung over his legs, nosing the inside of the flesh of his thighs below the hem of the shorts, whimpering a slobbery mess. Pathetic in a way nobody had a way of knowing, only Hao, and he’d kept it that way. 

The worst and best moments are these, the ones Hao had to softly scold him, but he had Hanbin, pliant and helplessly listening to his words, stripped of his leader title, being his Hanbin, the one who always does too much, too kind, too gentle to be left to his devices. Hao had told him far too much, dear, sweet Hanbin and his constant, imponderable weighty kindness.

“There’s no empathy in this place when it comes to people like us.” Hao had whispered against the shell of his ear, getting a soft whine in response, tiny broken rasps of breathing into his leg, “We have to play their game. Speak their tongue— Their language , I mean. You understand? Do you know what I mean?”

Both metaphorically, and literally, Zhang Hao needed Hanbin to understand his words fully. He had sniffled, gulped down some shaken breaths, gasps and hiccups, and finally, he had turned to face up, nodding once in understanding. Hao took the liberty to push his wispy bangs out of his face and trace Hanbin’s cheek with his fingertips, thumb stopping at the plush of his bottom lip. 

“The war we’re fighting is a long one, so… Don’t waste that kindness on our enemies.”

Hanbin’s eyes were rimmed red, glistening in the remainder of unshed tears he’d been reeling back, his breathing getting calmer, centered. Determined, as Hao pushed the pad of his thumb to knead the skin of his lip, index finger tucking under Hanbin’s chin. Keeping him still, even if he wasn’t going to break eye contact, to say “You’re only to share that endless kindness with me.”

His gaze was a bit darker, a shadow of something which he’d only seen once, during Boys Planet, right before it clicked for Hao that Hanbin wanted to debut with him, not despite him. Not only did it matter that it was with Hao, it only mattered if it was with him. Way before Hanbin had actually set his intentions out loud for the first time, he’d seen the look, before knowing the truth.

Devotion.

Layers shed so that Hao could watch him, stripped of shields, only endless devotion and obedience. Hanbin had nodded again, taking Hao’s hand, planting a kiss on the inside, on the outside, his reverence in a gestural metaphor.

They planned. Workshopped, brainstormed ways, how’s, where’s, brought back ideas and connections, ways of making it so transparent that this was a lucrative deal so that not even the most bigoted billionaire wouldn’t let them do their thing after taking a look at the numbers.

Making themselves a product, if they had to. Not “buy one, get two”, but a pair which could not be sold separately, better together, until it became only together. 

Until it was no longer a possibility to have one without the other. No company, no outside force could break them once they had succeeded. And they would.

They had to. 

So when the plans come to fruition, when he hears the sacred words, Hao becomes serious, like he hasn’t been the whole night. There’s a ringing in his ear when he understands the meaning.

“You two are supposed to be a set , right?”

The recognition is... Blinding. He feels nauseous with anxiety, vision blurry as the cart rides up the tracks of a roller coaster, his heart drumming inside his ribcage like a wild beast rattling its cage. He feels his breath, short, sharp inside his throat, dry from all the drinking the gin tonic Hanbin kept twisting his nose to the entire night. 

None of that matters, Hao would have done anything. Stepped over anyone. Broken down any mountain, carved a path right down the middle if it wouldn’t budge, so that he could hear the words.

“Later, we should probably discuss it.”

The moment that the words are brought into existence, it’s like the very peak of a rollercoaster.

“ A sponsorship. ”

And the drop is a high , so intense his stomach floats, drops, turns, bubbling into sparkles up his throat and pouring into a smile that fully reaches his eyes for the first time of the night. He hears Hanbin’s glee by his side, but makes sure to acquiesce and bow properly, first, securing the good first impression of any high caliber patron there could be in a place like this. Knowing his own words from inside out, that this alliance is still played in a battlefield, this is still his enemy, kept close.

But… They have it.

They have it . They’re finally stepping into the game, if just for a little bit, if only with whatever small chips they may have gathered up until this moment that they’re still gonna have to play safe upon joining the table. The gamble of their youth for a lifetime, the slow, but perhaps if played correctly, certain beginnings of their intertwined eternity.

Even as they float about, talk to people, ascertain their coupleness, even as Hanbin talks to other men, which undoubtedly poisons each sip of Zhang Hao’s drink for the night, even as his Hanbin is nice and makes a point to be polite and open some bottles for whoever it is that doesn’t interest Hao in the slightest, he still holds his vision.

Fingers card the front of his pair’s suit, barely touching the sweaty skin underneath. Anybody can talk to Hanbin. Nobody can touch him.

I can , Hao thinks, I will.  

We’re a set, he thinks, as he seats himself on his lap and makes a show of it, until they’re asked for a picture. It’s a joke, of course, but Hao pulls Hanbin by the nape, no discretion, says “Lean closer,” with a charming smile for the camera, Hanbin’s hand resting on his lap and holding his glass of sparkling champagne. I need you closer, his thoughts are loud like Hanbin could hear them, as he physically shakes for a moment under the weight of his body and his feelings, and Hao knows. Need you too, he hears what Hanbin is thinking. He knows .

The night is supposedly over when they reach the car, but even then, the manager is still present, so it’s not really, really over. 

They have to return the suits, so they’re not going home yet, but Hanbin’s cheeks are adrenaline flushed and Hao is slightly hazy, so Hanbin has a hand around his neck, massaging it while Hao holds the business cards they got and lets Hanbin save the contacts as he shows him them, one by one, like counting bills. Counting stars, looking dazzled. When Hao looks back at Hanbin, he’s not looking at the cards, and his eyes are so, so pretty, to the point that Hao forgets himself.

The hand on his nape gets tighter, the massage a little rougher, in a way that melts his muscles with a twinge of delicious pain. Hao’s breath is a shallow, stuttering thing, as Hanbin darts his eyes from Hao’s to his lips, intention plastered all over his dark gaze. 

Hao can’t help but lower his own sight, Hanbin catching his bottom lip with his teeth, gnawing in anticipation and releasing slowly, sultry—

The manager spares them a glance, huffs, clearly unamused, but clearly unimportant as well. None of this concerns him, and they won’t concern him either, come the time, but at the time, unfortunately, Hanbin is conscious enough to lean back the distance they were nearly closing. Hao sighs audibly, impertinent, allowing himself some rebellion over the good investment they have been recognized as.

A small bit of self-asserted freedom.

Hanbin steps out of the car first, holds a hand out for Hao, who’s just slightly tipsy over taking every drink Hanbin thought too strong, but even sober would find ways of tripping himself on air if it means he was to be held by his prince charming so tenderly. They go up the elevator, Hanbin goes for the fitting room and Hao goes for the bathroom first, after that diuretic hell of an imperfect-but-perfect night. 

Hao leans against the stall door for a moment, after relieving himself, head resting against his forearm as he takes deep breaths in. 

Everything went perfect, the bag was theirs, deals were coming, it was certain. 

]Why is it then that all he can remember are the moments Hanbin was fawning over every other person that they knew, over strangers, as if that wasn’t part of the plan? The flashes of memory he gets beyond the huge euphoria of the big moments, all of them, are a supercut of Hanbin-centric moments. 

The flush of his neck, tattoo peeking from his tailored suit. The crease of his eyes, tightening slightly more when the smile was directed at Hao, turning a little more real. The lightness of his touch in the small of Hao’s back, his forearm, his waist, guiding him around. When he subsided so Hao could talk, when he took the lead all the times Hao was unsure.

The countless times someone else thought they mattered to Hanbin’s point of view.

It’s the plan, Zhang Hao. He thinks, desperately trying to ground himself, you were there when it was cooked. You made suggestions. You co-created. Don’t be a fool, now. It’s all so good, now. Nails dig into his palm as he takes in breaths, holding for four, releasing for four.

His mind provided a vivid memory of someone pulling Hanbin aside to talk, whispering in his ear. An idol, or another. 

Hold for four. 

Someone asking for his help. Hanbin, smiling, not to him , as he opened a bottle. Not to Hao.

Release for four— Oh, fuck the stupid quadrantic breathing. Hao’s definitely spiraling.

The worst of all the moments comes to mind like a flood, someone, an old washed up wannabe someone, stepping on Hanbin’s shoes and the way he wouldn’t have even cared about it, as if the tip of Sung Hanbin’s toe wasn’t worth millions more than whoever the ill-mannered nobody was. Jealousy was one thing, but a braindead crusty, dusty, dirtbag stepping over his boyfriend, that was—

“ Ah —“ 

The door is suddenly gone, his flailing arms captured as Zhang Hao’s body is flipped around in a second, back against the marble wall and his world is spinning, spinning so, then coming into view completely. The world comes into focus, eyes dark, fleeting across Hao’s face, falling onto his lips and fixing in place, there, making a home.

A gasp escapes Hao’s lips, mouth watering, throat dry as a desert, a juicy meal in front of his eyes and right in the middle of his feeble attempt at being a modicum of normal about all of… this . 

All of it, the hot body pressed against his, the large hands grabbing at his waist, groping down his thighs, sparing no thought for modesty even within the very public context of the company’s bathroom. 

“Crazy b—“, the beginning of a swear word comes up his tongue and dies as a moan threatens to take its place and Hao has to physically cover his mouth to muffle it, a free, hurried hand pulling the stall door closed and frantically trying to lock it. He fails twice, manages when Hanbin’s hand inappropriately slips under the backside of his underwear’s waistband, squeezing indulgently. 

“ I missed you… ” Hanbin bears down on him, lips latching onto the skin of Hao’s neck. An area yet pristine, from both make-up and decency, the latter not a choice, by either of them. 

“You were just with me,” Hao says, but his words are but empty gasps of air, both in meaning and sound, since he’d also been missing Hanbin like the oxygen was just not pure enough and he needed Hanbin there as a filter. His hands search for Hanbin’s hair, still stylized in the front, but the back was fairplay, pulling when he feels a knee press between his legs. “Fuck—“

“I was allowed near you, I… Hovered you, but,” He bites a temporary mark, “We barely touched.” Hanbin gasps into his skin, still kissing and sucking, not enough to bruise, but clearly the intention is there, if they could, “You said this would be easy… Hao… It’s torture .” 

“You— Certainly looked pleased enough,” Hao’s voice is caught in a whimper, which ruins completely the intention of sounding snarky, but it doesn’t stop him from giving attitude. 

Finally, Hao takes a fist of silky hair and pulls Hanbin’s mouth away, harshly, but knowing fully well it’s appreciated when he’s met with drunk lust and a string of saliva. Hao’s fortunately blessed with stratospheric levels of self restraint not to push him down right there and have his way. 

And even that usually strong self restraint has been wearing really thin.

Hanbin huffs, both impatient and lenient, as if he’s content in being manhandled to a certain extent even though his hands still rummage Hao’s body, fingers dipping further down to push against his clothed hole, still decent in Hanbin’s book, which is merely being over the underwear. That’s what triggers the urgency in Hao, the kind of hunger he’s most unable to contain, immediately yanking and holding Hanbin’s wrist in place, shaking his head. 

“The suit .” Hao urges, gravely, while feeling his face burn red, “I’m still in a rented Gucci suit, you’re… Not.” Hao looks him up and down, and certainly he likes him casual, prefers him casual, but he did look hot in the outfit, snatched around his thin waist, reverently sculpting his chest. Hao bites the inside of his cheek, drooling a little too much just by memory. 

Hanbin scoffs, amused.

“That’s exactly why I’m doing this.” His hands tremble rebelliously, taking Hao’s wrist in his palms, bringing them to his mouth. 

Kissing in devotion, melting him in a way only Hanbin knows how to. He whispers into his skin, like a secret, “I’m taking back what they took from me. You, in this suit, parading right in front of my eyes, out of reach.” 

Hao quirks up an eyebrow, pulling his wrists down with a lot of difficulty, taming Hanbin’s beast like he tames his own, “You’ve seen me in a suit plenty of times.”

“Not when we’re… An item. Not when we’re a set .” 

Hanbin’s face starts contorting in urgency, his hand snapping out of grip and grabbing at the suit, unbuttoning it some, but mostly grabbing like he’s desperate. “You were touching me, doing whatever you wanted, so calm and in control and I- I can’t do that. If I start, I can’t stop. If I hold you it’s impossible for me to— To just…”

In a second, Hanbin’s breathing gets heavy, loaded, eyes glistening in a bathroom yellow overhead light that isn’t supposed to be flattering, but anything looks flattering when it comes to Sung Hanbin. And then he falls to his knees— with a heavy thud which is definitely gonna leave a bruise, with his skin tone pale as it is. Hao knows he bruises easily from experience, he also knows Hanbin would have winced in pain if he wasn’t this altered. And it wasn’t even from the liquor, considering he barely drank.

Just unadulterated, ravenous desire.

Yet, right now his eyes are pleading. And in this context, Hanbin is enjoying himself, the faux, even concocted martyrdom of being unable to keep to himself, attached to the drama he knows he can crank up to eleven if he’s with Zhang Hao.

Hao looks at him through hooded lids, his body growing hotter, Hanbin’s bulge already fairly noticeable now that the scene is developing. So cute, blinking up at him with his eyelashes dusting his cheeks, rouge spreading through his face, neck, probably chest. Hao would like to see that, the whole picture, in the safe enclosure of their bedroom.

The whole picture is worth indulging, unfortunately, and Hao isn’t as in control as Hanbin claims, neither is Hanbin that out of it. He sometimes likes to play it that way, to plead innocence, swear his devotion in the way of relinquishing his mental faculties. 

So out of it, Hao has to put him in his place. Hanbin must be hungry after their second most vicious victory over their stupid company. The first being, of course, debuting. 

So be it, then. If they’re caught, it’s not like the whole industry isn’t aware by now. A slap on the wrist would be a small price to pay for what he’s getting off to.

“… You’re a piece of work,” Zhang Hao finally utters, once he’s decided that doing this much is acceptable. If he knows Hanbin, and he knows him, he’s previously given some sort of excuse downstairs and locked the bathroom door as well. Hanbin may be gentle, kind, but he’s far from being proper. And thanks to Zhang Hao, he’s been well trained to deal with the enemy. 

How much is “this much”, though, is still a work in progress in his mind. What exactly are their boundaries, if they even have any.

To test his theory, Hao conducts an experiment to which he already knows the results, but he still would love to confirm it, over and over: he puts his foot forward, designer brushed loafer, lustrous to the point, and presses the sole, still a feather-light touch, against the obvious volume in Hanbin’s pants. 

Through this thick haze, born out of the condensed steam of their lustful thoughts, Hao’s hooded eyes fix every part of his lover’s face, submitted like this. Despite the mutual quality of the predatory sharpness to their gaze, Hanbin still whimpers, pink lips parting open and eyes blinking in a daze. Panting heavily, though Hao barely puts in any strength to it, barely really weighing down, Hanbin is still tense, expecting the most. He gasps, eyes closing for a sublime moment, Hao peeking down his loose cut v neck, chest so fully flushed contrasting the ink on his collarbones, heaving in big exhales.

So painfully anxious to be overtaken. 

Zhang Hao, too, is barely able to contain his attraction to whatever malleable state Hanbin would allow himself to be reduced to.

“You’re trying to tell me you couldn’t bear not to touch me,” he begins, voice low and careful. With each word, he puts a little more pressure on the step and gets another strangled whine out of Hanbin’s lips, “Yet you can not keep your attention on me when I’m talking to you? You have a lot of nerve.”

“I nev-... Never…” Hanbin mumbles, which causes Hao to immediately press down the sole into his cock, heavy, and it would hurt, probably, but his boyfriend only moans a little louder, gasps, and tries to continue his thoughts, “Never would I not be paying attention…”

“You did, though. You were looking away.”

Hanbin’s eyes grow impossibly wide as Zhang Hao brings a hand to his face. He notices Hao isn’t making this up when a particular curl of the lip twists Hao’s expression just enough. “Don’t you remember? You were opening bottles, for strangers , when we were talking.”

Hanbin grabs at Hao’s suit, desperate, already one step ahead of groveling, but his head snaps back with the force of Hao’s grip on his hair. The styling really be damned at this point.

“No, actually , I was the only one talking. You weren’t listening.”

“Love, my love …” Hanbin mumbles, his hands pulling at his clothes, slipping inside his shirt, clawing at his waist, “I can explain.”

“I know.” Hao says, and it’s not a lie. Fantastically, anyone else would think he’s being sarcastic, but he’s feeling generous. The groveling really does it for him, the desperation, it does make him smile in satisfaction and show his lover grace a little quicker than usual, “I know. You were so… Madly out of control, right? Is that why?”

Hanbin understands immediately that they’re the same. He smiles, accepting Hao’s grace. 

“Yes, gege . I… Had to look away from you… Sometimes. I’m sorry.” 

The apology grants him another tug. He moans beautifully at that, eyes shutting instantly, baring his neck with his head tilted back. When he looks up next, his eyes are so hungry and his mouth curves in an adoring smile. “I needed to pretend. It was the plan. Your plan.”

Hao feels it too, burning deep. 

“And we won.” 

A spark flies between them. It ignites.

“… We won.”

Hao lurches down, pulling Hanbin by the shirt, but he’s already halfway up when they meet and clash. Mouths colliding carelessly as their hands run over each other’s body mindlessly, feeling, touching, claiming every bit they can while still clothed. For good measure, Hanbin pulls Hao by the waist and falls back down, back colliding against the tiny cubicle wall. Hao pulls him by the nape, tongue feeling every corner, every dip, smooth on contact, wet, messing up the pristine makeup that was supposed to last the ride home.

It takes a long while, that burning passion for their diligently crafted plan is not an easy fire to put out, but this wouldn’t be their last battle. The war was far from over, but Hao learned to give Hanbin his due rewards. It gets him going, like a hunter, displaying his trophies proudly on the prize wall of his hall of memories. This time, it’s getting Hao to go freaky in the company bathroom. 

Hanbin needs this, the acknowledgment of their suffering and how it is indubitably conquered. The jealousy is pretense. Everything is pretense, all that matters is keeping their eyes on the prize.

Hanbin has his back against the wall, hands drifting down to grope Hao’s thighs, careless with the expensive fabric, as Hao straddles his lap. They part with a squelch, spit connecting them and glossening their swollen lips, dripping down Hanbin’s chin and making him an image of sin.

Careless and loud, Hao splaying his hands on the flimsy wall and causing it to shake and clatter as he slowly starts to grind down Hanbin’s now fully hard cock. That draws the sweetest, needy whines from him, completely forgetting himself, so Hao needs to use one of his hands to muffle his sounds, but the corner of his lips curl up at the display of derangement. The ever controlling Sung Hanbin, straddled into submission in a perverted scenario.

Amusement fills his voice with an airy quality, as well as desire coats it in husky hues when he asks “Handy?”, dropping the act a little, now that they’ve surrendered to the horny wolves inside. The insane ones, depraved and stupid.

“No… Not enough,” Hanbin frets, pouting even, taking two handfuls of Hao’s ass, which makes him gasp and melt, head dropping to pepper kisses along his jawline, “Wanna be inside gege .”

Gasping, Hao has to suppress a loud moan, the boldness hitting his sweet spot perfectly, “A-Aren’t we getting too brazen?“ he asks through a stutter, rutting against Hanbin’s lap, not denying, nor agreeing. In fact he’s pretty much decided he can’t really see the boundaries anymore, blurrily blaming the alcohol.

‘This much’, he reminds himself, has always a way to morph, constantly getting more daring and pushing it, pushing it. Crossing more and more lines, until there’s no limit to their indulgence anymore. It would be like binge eating, but it doesn’t get enough, ever, and he could go at it for days if there was such a world in which you have no other obligations.

Only for Hanbin, has Zhang Hao really indulged in such excesses. He used to be a man of diligence, yet here he is. 

“Hao…” Hanbin calls, like a soft prayer, and the fool that he is, he gets up. Hanbin comes chasing after quickly, pulling at his waist and hungrily taking his mouth, desperately unlocking the door and pushing it open with a bang. In a moment, Hao is pressed against the sink counter, indecisive if he should prop himself up or keep his hands on Hanbin’s broad shoulders, but— No, Hanbin decides that for him this time, flipping his body so they’re facing the mirror and grabs his hips, clothed bulge pressing between Hao’s cheeks. A hand across his chest so he can keep his back right against Hanbin’s warm chest. 

From that angle, Hao can see himself, makeup half ruined, messed up from heavy petting and the damn designer suit that they can’t really afford to ruin, he has half a mind of reminding himself. 

And he looks hot . 

He knows he’s always been hot, but not like this . Not when paired with such an equally stunning force, with undeniable chemistry, visual, spiritual even. Each other’s biggest achievement, a mutual rulership.

They make an unstoppable force.

Hao moans openly when Hanbin pushes against his ass, eyelids fluttering shut for a moment and enjoying himself in his fantasy of power, unable to contain himself any longer. 

A big hand pushes Hao over the marbled counter sink, face closer to the mirror to the point of condensing the surface with puffs of heavy breath. Unceremoniously, he pulls down Hao’s pants, to which the older hisses, snapping out of it for a moment.

“Hèng— Careful, it’s rental!” he nags, again, looking up at Hanbin, who merely smiles sweetly at him, annoying Hao with how it can feel both fake and so real.

“Someday soon, we’ll have enough to rip a thing like this to shreds.”

“Why would you waste—“ His sentence is interrupted by the tempting pull of his underwear, gasping outrageously as Hanbin pulls very slowly at the hem of his clothes, further down, exposing skin little by little and he knows that it could become serious. As they went along with this, he didn’t necessarily grapple with the reality of it, but now it’s getting serious. 

For a moment, he can only hear the thuds of his heartbeat in his eardrums, lowering his head to bury it in his arms, crossed over the cold surface, trying so hard to hide himself from the excitement, the smile betraying that there’s no shame, but still, he peeks over his arm to take a look at himself, at Hanbin towering over him, his hand strong on Hao’s nape, keeping him down, and the complete image of them .

Between them, it’s a flow of being caught in each other’s undertow, flowing to and fro like a trapped magnet between two polarizing forces. Power doesn’t struggle for balance, because it isn’t and hasn’t been kept in a single polar, a natural flow of balance, going where it must. 

This is how they succeed, relenting, charging, retreating, re charging. Giving, taking.

Hao doesn’t always hand it to him, but Hanbin takes and takes, until Hao gets the upper hand again, and his partner is graceful enough to know when to surrender. This time, he feels it coming, the surrender, which drags his feet from the shore, pacing slowly, but then builds momentum through the beach, reaching the waters in a full sprint and brings his body into the depths of the ocean, water making his limbs malleable, a soft and comfortable fall to the bottom. Sounds muffled all around, the waves handling him gentle, but powerful.

Hao sighs, and conforms. 

A whiny whimper is caught in his throat as Hanbin’s fingers wrap around his ass, squeezing the skin, the meat in his palms, a similar whimpery groan escaping the man behind him like he’s not that much in control either, even if physically, currently at least, he’s taking charge.

He watches Hanbin lower his body over Hao’s, whispering “You’re so… luxurious , your skin, it’s…”, he feels it against the shell of his ear, breath sending shivers down his spine. Hanbin’s not making eye contact through the mirror, rather showing favor to the real Hao beneath him, so Hao does the same and turns to look at him. Hanbin finishes his sentence a little out of breath, like he’s been running this whole time, when their eyes meet “It’s the real velvet, the… The real value is under these designer outfits. You wear them, you make them expensive. This piece of fabric or… Nothing at all, it’s all… you .”

Every movement is romantic, even a simple gesture like this during an act as lewd as public indecency, and it has Hao’s lower lip trembling, his hooded, devoted eyes. Long eyelashes, beautiful blush dusting his cheeks down to the skin of his neck, so close to him. His lips parted, expectant. 

Hanbin mirrors Hao, looking from his eyes to his lips and swallowing hard. Like they hadn’t been devouring each other a moment ago, like this is new, their first. Always like the first. 

Finally, his fingers push up the jacket of Hao’s suit, up until the bareskin of his back is on display. Hanbin scratches a path down, lines of red burning into Hao’s senses and sinking below his skin like tracks of fire. As he gets closer to his ass, the flames spread like wildfire, Hanbin burning blue behind his retinae, as his eyes flutter shut in anticipation. He swallows the dry, barely able to pick up on the question that follows, after a beat of silence.

“... Do you really care about the rental?” 

Hao considers this and decides he doesn’t, but he has to reel the fire in. He has to be the one to balance them, if Hanbin is the one out of it. That’s what Hanbin would have done, were the roles switched, as they often are. 

“Only as much as you care about getting married.” 

The retort gets Hanbin to frown immediately, like his little romantic ploy had been undermined, shattered, letting out a grunt of frustration. It was easy to undermine him with the right tactics.

“You’re playing dirty. I care a lot about that, it’s nowhere near close to this expensive suit.”

“You’re lost in romance, baby, I have to pull the pragmatic card.” Hao smiles, leans into a kiss, which gets a little bit of the power back on his side of the current, judging by Hanbin’s longing whimper. “... And, well, we actually are in company.”

“In a company, you mean?”

Hao’s ears, attuned to everything that could go wrong at any moment, had already noticed the footsteps pacing the corridor a while ago. Probably a staff hoping to interrupt at an apt moment without outing them, and now is the perfect time. “Not at all,” he says, and sighs, already pulling his pants back up.

Before Hanbin has the chance to protest, a small voice calls  from behind the locked door.

“Excuse me… I’m sorry guys, is Zhang Hao feeling any better?” It’s a stylist older than them, one of the trustworthy ones, sharing one key characteristic with them that makes them allies. Sometimes their friends in the staff offer to go get them when they take a while to come back, just so they won’t give the higher-ups any reason to suspect the mutiny of sorts, which has been brewing for quite a while amongst the staffers and the group members.

To cover each other’s backs, mutual protection, keeping jobs alive, keeping harmony in the workspace. Keeping an eye out for the scum— in italic, as you’d need to lean towards a certain direction to align with their graphy, and keeping their eyes out for those is really the most important part. 

They’re running quite an operation within the industry, so they need their trustworthy soldiers. The people who would benefit from such a revolution, their brothers and sisters in arms. Poor Jieun, who was weakly calling for them at the door, is another casualty, as she had many times witnessed sounds no one should be subjecting themselves to.

They have to be grateful. None of this could have been done without people like her. People like them.

Hanbin looks at Hao for a long moment, fighting an inner battle between his monster and his man, and the man finally comes up a winner when he gets a confirmation from Hao’s slow, finite blink of ‘get it over with so we can go home’. Another sigh, to recompose himself, and he’s ready.

“Sorry, noona. He’s feeling better now, we’ll come down in a moment.” 

It’s apparent he was trying to sound a bit more sympathetic to overcompensate his dissatisfaction, but Hanbin was a good actor. It took them a lot of daily life acting to get to this point. He pulls back, but not before one last squeeze to his recently clothed ass and a kiss to Hao’s nape, and they gather their bearings before leaving the bathroom.

They leave hand in hand, Hanbin a bit wet in his sideburns from splashing water on his face and looking like the one who’d actually been feeling sick instead of Hao, who only looked slightly disheveled, and that is later on also taken care of, by Jieun’s expert tail of a brush and competent hairdresser abilities with nothing but a silent hum in sympathetic acknowledgement of their pressing limitations. 

Before leaving, they left a box of some of his gifted Gucci rings hidden under her bag, with a xiexie note written down in pinyin. It was not enough, but it would suffice for now.

Paris, October 2023

Zhang Hao searches for Hanbin, thinking he’s talking to the staff inside the cabin, or in the small food court the boat offers as part of the ride along the Bateaux-Mouches. It feels weirdly like a cat and mouse game for a moment, as if either it’s an ironic prank of the Gods, that they can’t meet in such a small enclosure when, in the grander scheme of things, they were allowed to meet at the right place and the right time, as the whole wide world bears witness. Or, if not a prank, the option Hao dreads most, it’s a specific, looming, foreboding warning.

Just let him be, let him be for today. His mind keeps telling him, for Hao to heed the warning.

Hanbin is isolating himself, the mood affecting him, always so sensitive. So romantic, tired to the bone and refusing to let Hao bear the bitter end of it. Hao clings to his chest for a moment, looking out at the scenic view of the large river, a window of glass between him and the body of water below. 

Trying to fool himself into not looking for Hanbin is the same as trying to stop the stream, telling the river to flow upwards, instead of down, where gravity pulls it.

There’s a known fact about the nature of the salmon, there are times it has to swim up the stream, jumping, struggling against the natural course of nature. Hao has been told many times throughout his life that his behavior is unnatural but, really, the moment he most feels unnatural is a moment like this, where he fights the gravity pull of Sung Hanbin and tries his best to stay still.

After a glass of champagne, downed in one go, he brings two full glasses with him and moves up to the deck, giving into his gravitational pull and stepping outside into the chilly nightborne wind of Paris.

A cold draft sweeps his hair up and back into a bit of a disheveled mess, watering his eyes and carrying all his remaining caution with it.

Hanbin’s slumped silhouette is easy to pinpoint, facing the water, leaning over the rails, twinkling city lights framing his body and the iconic figure of the Eiffel Tower at the very back, beyond the bridge the boat is about to cross. Hao had looked here before, but he wasn’t here before. It was like he had to make the decision to come in order to find him. Despite knowing how tired he’d been, filming for hours on end, a gig that he’d been shoved into at the last minute and given as much as a day to prepare.

Obviously, Hanbin had freaked out, as Hao sat and watched the spiral twirl itself further inside, coiling tight, unnerving. He knows his patterns a bit too well, shaky, fidgety, wringing his fingers and hands and studying his cue cards, lip tightly pressed into a line. Jaw clenched. 

Eyes so incredibly tired. Still, when Hao accidentally bumped onto the side of the hotel room drawer due to his poor balance, Hanbin had shot up from the bed and ran to his side, caressing the side of his hip, cooing Hao into health as if he was handling a porcelain doll. Taking this as an opportunity, Hao coaxed Hanbin into bed under the pretense of taking a look at the side of his hip, if it had bruised. Then as he kept checking for bruises, Hao had shown more skin, and Hanbin eventually caught onto what he’d been hinting at.

They made love, then Hao got ready to sleep and Hanbin kept preparing. He asked him to sleep a little and he had said “In a bit, hyung.”

It’s safe to assume he had less than two hours of sleep, if Hao’s being optimistic. He couldn’t really take care of Hanbin, instead, he demanded attention even without meaning to and made him stretch himself even thinner than before.

It feels like walking down the aisle in a way. Hao had wished to—no, he still wants it, to walk down the aisle towards Hanbin, but this feels more like marching grimly to the chair. The damn foreboding feeling hangs around his head, despite the scenic view, of walking down to his death sentence, instead of a lifetime of happiness. Way too much guilt weighs him down for this to be a cool, normal encounter.

“Hanbin-ah,” Hao calls, as casually as possible, leaning against the railing, offering one of the glasses he’s brought with him. Hanbin hears him, humming a reply. He would never be able to outright ignore Hao, devotion far too all-encompassing for that level of aloofness, but he doesn’t look away from the Seine either. 

His eyes aren’t really looking ahead, despite the beautiful view that unfolds before him, nor does he turn his attention to Zhang Hao even after a long moment passes. Rather, he seems transfixed with the bottom of the canal, searching for something, always searching, and it twists the coil tighter inside his gut, Hanbin’s tired disposition, his melancholic-filled countenance slowly fixing Hao’s resolve get stronger. 

There has to be a stop to this madness. Hanbin needs to breathe.

Ever since he’d met him, Hao has tried to rationalize the person that was Sung Hanbin in the way that one appraises art; Hanbin’s colors are a prismatic myriad, a full rainbow on display with a multitude of faces, each design has a purpose of its own, a person, a context, yet all of his colors are him, really. None is fake, it’s all him. All of the sides of a beautifully composed piece, God’s great Magnum Opus .

And then… There are moments like these. Moments void of meaning, when Hao can’t see a color, not even the value of hues, painted in light and dark, it’s not like it’s desaturated because that would still be a shade in and of itself. Moments like these, when a painting is hung out to dry in the sun and is bleached by the sheer power of light, so much light that it corrupts the figure, the colors fade, it’s when it suddenly whitens out. 

An uncomfortable lump blocks Zhang Hao’s throat and dampens his breathing, his hand still awkwardly holding out the glass until Hanbin finally snaps out of it and takes it, with a diminished “ oh ”, looking away from the dark waves to look at Hao and the glass of champagne, a smile returning to his face as soon as he sees his lover.

“... Thank you so much, hyung.”

Ever so gentle, even worn out and tossed aside like an eaten, chewed up carcass, tossed aside when it’s done fulfilling its purpose.

Anger seeps inside Hao’s veins, propelling him to take a long gulp of the beverage, which feels light and bubbly down his throat and a very much needed respite to gather his thoughts. This way, he can try and mistake the bubbles for his bubbling anger and keep it tight and contained inside, not wanting to lash out at Hanbin for the wrath he feels for others.

Instead, he sighs and says, “You look so tired, Bin-ah.”

Hanbin laughs, airy and light and clearly putting up one of his masks, Hao’s favorite, the one that is a lovely rosy shade, the one reserved just for Hao. Hanbin shakes his head, touching Hao’s elbow for a moment, “I’m fine, hyung. It’s the usual. Tired and… maybe with a bit of a tummy ache?”

Herein lies the problem. ‘The usual’ to Hanbin is this state of zombie-like, adrenaline induced alertness. Working hours on end and still lighting up to meet Hao, because he’s perfect like that and wouldn’t let work get in the way of them. It’s his usual, but no, it’s not normal. It shouldn’t have to be.

At this point in their journey, Zhang Hao has already offered all of himself up on a platter, thinking for sure Hanbin has done the same—and he has, to a degree. He’d been offered all of Hanbin, at once, even, right from the get-go. 

But that was then, and now, it’s a bit different. Hanbin got called to many meetings by himself, summoned by the higher-ups, got put into this and that role, getting molded into a perfectly obedient cash cow. It’s not like Hanbin is unaware, either, but he always says he’s thinking about their future. 

How upsetting, that their future has such a high price, and that Hao isn’t allowed to pay some of it himself.

Then, Hanbin’s colorful parts scatter, slowly. It’s not a sudden change, and some new pieces are added to the composition of his core identity. Many memories he doesn’t want to share, a shake of his head and a dismissal in favor of doing something pleasant instead. A scowl which quickly dissolves as soon as his eyes land on Hao.

These new unpleasant colors, they don’t belong to Hao. They are processed, blended, concocted by an unseen bunch of hands, melded into his hardwiring, trying to poison his heart and mind. An attempt to keep his soul apart from his body, to use Hanbin as a well-oiled, multifunctional tool, in a framework that doesn’t——r shouldn’t involve or concern Zhang Hao.

“I know you’re tired—you’ve been that way for a while.” Hao admits out loud, trying for Hanbin’s sake to sound like this is normal, even though the thoughts bite at him, it’s not normal to see a shell of a man doubled over the rail of a boat, “They— —, all of it, it’s taking away too much of you, I…” There’s but a single moment Hao takes to decide his actions, delicately placing his hand above Hanbin’s, the one that tightly holds onto the rail, “I’m worried.”

This is what gets Hanbin to really level him with his actual presence. The coy smile, it finally falters and trembles along with his lips. “I’m fine,” he says, a bit more seriously, but tries for a smile again, “You know I can do this much.” 

“You can do anything, Hanbin, but that doesn’t mean you should .” Hao doesn’t mean to sound so dry, but it comes out before he can stop it, and Hanbin frowns, “You need to stop sometimes. Say no, to them… To— T—me, even. When I push you.”

“Hyung…” Hanbin’s voice sounds so weak when he utters the honorific, like pleading, knowing way too well every single intonation from his boyfriend, when he’s serious, when he’s done. Hanbin should know all of Hao’s inflections and his lilt by now, and he does, because Zhang Hao is, incontestably, his.

Worry seeps to his semblance, immediately. “I don’t mean it like that, no, I—I’m never tired, never for you.”

It’s like getting shot right through his heart. Hao can almost taste the blood in his mouth and realizes it’s the start of a battle he doesn’t want to fight. Not when he loves him, so very much, and can never bear to hurt him, never to be the cause of his pain. Even worse is realizing there’s no easy solution to this whole thing.

There’s no easy way to do this.

(Death sentence, as the foreboding warning has supplied.)

“No, you’re perfect for me, aren’t you? You’re my perfect boy. I can never seem to get you to tell me no.” Hao smiles, lovingly, and it feels very genuine. He means it, means what he says with his whole heart. And, after taking another sip, he notices he means it even more than he realizes, his eyes blinking a burning sensation, full of consequence. He breathes it down, “That’s why I’m not gonna make you. You’re good, too good, and it makes me… So, so furious, Hanbin, that you’ve been holding this much on. I don’t think I can—…”

Hanbin gasps, Hao’s choice of words making it sound too much like a sentence.

“No, come on—”

R—e liquid spills from his glass as Hanbin takes Hao’s hand in his, the grip a bit harsh, like he can’t really be bothered to measure the strength with which he begs, not when he’s this desperate. His eyes widen in fright and Hao feels it rising up his throat like a sickness. He can read all of that on his face, despair and dread and urgency. The gradual change, mouth parting and voice breaking, “Hyung, wait…”

Panic spreads all over Hao’s body and mind, flooding his senses, threatening to cave his knees in and surrender, but there’s a goal here somewhere, he tries to vaguely recall his resolve, and he does it by noticing Hanbin’s dry lips, his sunken eyes. Zhang Hao steels himself, once again looking at the big picture, whatever it may be. Hanbin, alive, perhaps.

“I’m not saying no to anything, I— You’re wrong. There’s nothing to say no to, I don’t get it, did I do something wrong…?” Hanbin trips over his words, trying to interject when Hao pulls back his hand, setting the glass of champagne down on a nearby table, his back to Hanbin, “Zhang Hao—”

“T—t is the problem, Hanbin. Don’t you see? You have to say no. Tell me no, tell me stop, say you need to rest or— anyt—ng . I take up so much of your time, already, and I…” Slow as it starts, Hao feels the words building up in his chest, a spill, coming up and up and threatening to break the limit and overflow like the angry sea that he is. All that’s pulled into his whirlpool now spills out in rippling waves. “You’re perfect . You can do everything. You belong to everyone . You’re everywhere, and you can be anything. I see it in you. There’s no way you’re going to stop if somebody doesn’t stop you, because you’re so... So perfect. So…” Hao sighs, “… You .”

(He reaches the end of the aisle.)

Once Zhang Hao turns to him, he feels his cheeks warm as the wind rushes past his face, drawing the tear track that had streamed down his face into an icy trail. Hanbin’s face contorts in a way not even Hao can read, and that’s all he needs to keep going, to say it all.

To do this now, rather than later, because there won’t be a later if Hanbin keeps pushing himself for Hao’s benefit. He’s supposed to be relishing his victory, reaping the rewards of the hardships he went through in that hell program, but no. This is what he’s reduced to, and because he’s associated with Hao, it’s even worse now. In his mind, this is all his fault, no matter how he turns the issue around, if Hanbin tells them no, he’s gonna get punished. But he’s so completely in love, he cannot physically reject Hao.

How stupid everything is, really. In a different reality, they’d have so much time. 

In this reality, Hanbin’s breaking apart and Zhang Hao has to sit and watch.

He wipes the tear casually, trying to act as if it’s nothing, trying to seem resolute, but his chest tightens impossibly. The words sound like jumbled gibberish, what he’s about to say making less sense in his head by the second. His survival instinct starts kicking in. 

His brain senses danger in ending things with Hanbin. He has to, it’s imperative to put a boundary here so he can help Hanbin put himself together again. But as long as they’re together, there’s nothing which can tame Hanbin’s devotion. So, they can’t really… Be together. 

It hurts so much when it hits, the realization of what he’s been trying to do.

Panic , yeah. He’s panicking.

“You’re being split down the middle, like a toy, pulled by both arms, and the only way this ends is… You— You rip . You break, I don’t know, have you even noticed? You’ve barely slept a wink, and you can’t even let yourself look tired when you talk to me. Please…” With a shaky hand, he covers his mouth to keep a shudder under control, realizing now that his breathing is ragged, heavy on its way in, it drags painfully down his lungs and sprouts thorns inside. No oxygen is enough, it all hurts terribly. Oh, fuck.

Hanbin is his oxygen. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck —

They’re about to break up. He has to— or Hanbin’s the one who’s going to break. But it also feels like dying. Hao’s about to die, his brain screams at him to stop.

They’re breaking up. Something has to give. Someone. Zhang Hao loves him; the company gives not a single shit about his health. Someone has to take care of Hanbin.

They’re breaking up.

It’s the right thing to do—

They’re breaking up.

“I… I can’t let you do this. I can’t be the one that finally pushes you too far. If you’re not gonna take care of yourself, if they won’t give you a break, then I have to. I can’t sit and watch this. I refuse —”

So many emotions flash across Hanbin’s face, but Hao barely identifies the one of pure dread before, at once, all of Hanbin’s expressions blank out. Zhang Hao’s vision starts blackening at the corners, his knees starting to lose strength and wobble, he’s got to turn away.

He’s dying. Losing Hanbin means dying . It’s probably a good enough evidence of how much they shouldn’t be doing this, because he needs Hanbin like air, and one look at him had told Hao the despair was mutual, but more than anything his body and mind, it all needs to be well and something’s gotta give. If Hanbin dies, Hao dies, anyway. If his colors wither, Hao withers. If he can preserve Hanbin’s lovely colors, it’s fine. Letting a part of himself die, walking down that aisle, as he proudly assumes his death sentence, it will have been worth it. 

Belatedly, maybe, he remembers wishing to know what Hanbin’s vows would have been, when the time comes, and realizes that this could potentially mean Hao would never get to know. Suddenly, he desperately wishes for a change of fate that turns the cards in their favor. Prays, nay— begs for a future in which the man of his life, his person, doesn't get torn to shreds, thinned out and blanched until there’s no more colors left of him just to try and fulfill a role he’s never really agreed on playing, but were convinced he had signed the Devil’s contract. 

It’s not like he’s stupid, Hanbin knows what he agreed to. He must know it wasn’t this . Hao knows him so well, how clever he can be, strategic, masterful. These are all sides of him that not everyone gets to see.

Hanbin’s colors are vivid, diverse, the joy of everyone around him. Whenever Hao says something funny, he copies it, he makes sounds of it, a whole theater play of champagne rose, bubbly and light. The sadness painted when he doesn’t get to help someone the way he wanted to is a deep indigo blue, a wave of sorrow that crashes into the shore and dries a picture of comprehensive melancholy. The quiet of dawn, by his side, the rumble of his morning voice into the shell of Hao’s ear and his eyelashes fluttering as Hanbin blinks his sleep away, washed in golden yellow. 

So complex and raw, an artiste, a friend, a lover, a good person, despite this rotten world. The best person.

His person.

Sometime in his panic, he stops hearing at all, a moment that lifts from time, half a mind to protect himself from his breakdown by pulling his arms up, and Hao doubles over the railing, fingers curling around the metal in a vice grip.

If there is ever a moment for a miracle, this is it.

Turning away seems like the right choice to remain resolute, so Hao pushes down the early symptoms of his imminent death by breathing slowly, closing his eyes and grounding himself with the sharp cut of the icy wind on his cheeks. 

“Hyung,” Hanbin’s voice is calm now, despite everything. A complete turn from how desperate he had sounded earlier. 

Hanbin sounds light and Hao realizes that perhaps he’s not being clear enough, giving too much leeway for it to seem reversible. Like an idiot, part of him hopes Hanbin convinces him somehow, but if he just lets himself get carried away then what are all of his feelings built on? 

What base can his conviction have, really, if he can’t be dependable to free Hanbin of the burden, even if it’s just this once?

Hao shakes his head to ground himself. One more time, then. One last try.

“No, Hanbin, I really need to do this for you. Let me—,” again, he shakes his head, “I need to do this for you.”

Hao hears the clear sound of Hanbin’s sigh, it’s not the most common thing in the world, that Hanbin would get fed up , but he guesses everyone has their limits and Hao must be really pushing it this time.

Good.

If he’s annoyed then maybe this could all be easier, so Hao steels himself and looks down, standing firm and steeling his mind as the dark river ripples waves around the boat and reflects the city of lights above them.

A moment of silence follows, in which Zhang Hao thinks he’s done. Maybe, he’s really done it and it’s really over, and he realizes his chest tightens. 

There’s no relief in letting go of the most important thing he’s ever had the pleasure of calling his, and for that single moment, Hao is overcome by grief. Perhaps half a word was enough to give Hanbin a hint, and this is how they end. With a speech about wellness, a stupid horn blasting somewhere down the canal, Taerae’s shrill laugh sounding somewhere downstairs and the chill of the night petrifying Zhang Hao down to his bones. 

It’s a silent thing, a feeling of nothingness, when it all quiets down. 

Not being able to hug him now, if Hanbin walked away, to miss the little touches they allowed themselves rebelliously in between shoots, stolen glances, inconspicuous smiles. Kissing, sleeping together when they can, finding a way around the company’s clearly bigoted policies just so they can brag about each other in convoluted ways on their SNS.

Oh my God , Hao thinks, what have I done? His head snaps up, ready to turn around, because even a second of that grief was impossible to handle.

He doesn’t get to turn around, though, because warmth surrounds him in the form of Hanbin’s firm hands around his body, pulling him close, flush against Hanbin’s chest.

It’s a slow collision, the kind of embrace that you easily slither into and everything, everyone becomes afterthought. The echoes of everything around them are but a faint afterthought. 

Lights, boats, cars over the bridge, their people joking downstairs. Waves, crashing onto alloy. A distant boat horn blasting as it crosses under the bridge, and Hao’s wide eyes, frozen, glazed over with the mere prospect of death without the actual experience. He notices he’s shaking when firm hands hold him strong and his body starts coming down, adrenaline subsiding.

Strong arms constrict him into his haven, pulling Hao back above water.

Hanbin hugs him so, so impossibly tight. So close and warm. 

His person.

It turns out, he can’t do this, not now and most likely not ever. The burden of ending things, killing a part of himself… Hao’s love is so, so grandiose that it suddenly becomes clear: the decision is unfathomable. Weak, unreliable, completely selfish, that’s what he is when faced with the choice of letting go. 

Hanbin insists, so Hao fists a hand around the sleeve of his coat. 

“ No , hyung.” The warm puff of air against his neck makes Zhang Hao shiver, “I’m saying no, like you wanted. I won’t let you do this, so… Here it is, the no you asked.”

“... Fuck you. ” Hao grabs at his sleeve harder, feeling ridiculous that the comfort of Hanbin’s arms really is doing its job, anchoring him by simply staying there, consistent. The sound of his own voice quivering is stupid, everything is stupid, the perfect density of Hanbin’s body, which is a sentence that sounds stupid (because it is!) is a constant fixed variable that spreads comfort through his body.

Always reliable, even when he shouldn’t be, like an IV dripping sweet oxytocin directly inside his veins.

There’s a loud gasp that gets drowned by the sound of the wind, rushing past them as the boat advances below the bridge. Another gasp, then another, as Hao slowly lets the adrenaline of whatever happened wash away in the last moments of what he belatedly realized had been a panic attack.

If anyone sees them up here, they pretend they don’t, because other than the desperate gasps, there’s nothing.

Maybe to Hao, there really isn’t anything else.

“Breath, dear,” Hanbin mutters, a calm to his stillness that isn’t new, but relatively uncharacteristic. It shows up when there’s high demand, when the stakes are absolute. This time, Hao realizes, maybe Hanbin’s stakes are Hao, and there is a sick satisfaction in the way his body melts further into the embrace, cuddles further into Hanbin like finally breathing after nearly drowning. Like when his foot meets the ground after a long flight.

Inside his arms, Hao is home. And his resolve gets washed away down the stream, finally dropping it when Hanbin’s lips come to touch the back of his neck and an ungodly moan comes out of Hao’s parted lips, a satisfied groan, “... You’re terrible . Why won’t you let me break up with you. This is not what I meant, you know.”

Embarrassment settles in the pit of his stomach; he’d lost his poise, composure be damned when his brain merely tried to register losing Hanbin. But also, yeah, relief consumes his entire being when he hears Hanbin’s bashful chuckle, and Hao tries to assess if at any point, at all, Hanbin had taken his drama seriously. 

Probably not. Was it all just a tantrum in his eyes?

How can he win this game? It all seems so impossible, if Hanbin won’t budge from his tightrope and won’t let Hao take his place in the metaphorical cross. Well, it’s either a cross or a tightrope, it can’t really be both, can it? 

Hao’s comfortable enough in his musings that Hanbin’s suddenly deep voice startles him into a jolt.

(At the end of the aisle, unsure of what lies beyond, he looks beside him and finds his other half.)

“Hyung, listen carefully.” 

Entirely too familiar with it, Hanbin buries his nose against the curve of Hao’s neck, breathing in like he’s a bouquet of roses, not a person who’s had two glasses of champagne and a panic attack, however diminished had Hao’s demeanor been. He’s never really been one to shout his woes to the world, but this must have been his worst, if he thinks about it hard enough. There’s never been anything this alarming besides his coming out to his mother, when he was a teenager and had to tell her he wasn’t planning on having natural children unless it was a surrogate. 

Hao sighs contentedly as he feels Hanbin rub his nose, chin, lips and cheeks against his neck like a cat that marks his territory, mumbling his reasoning.

“This is out of the question. I… Ah, how can I say this… Without being pathetic…” Hao feels his chuckle before he hears it, vibrating deeply, a cackle that’s borderline manic, and he wraps up tidy and neat, too sober for what he’s about to say, “You’re not breaking up with me. It’s not gonna happen. There’s no way, hyung, there’s no— It’s us , Hao.”

Hao shakes his head, biting down on his lip, “Don’t be foolish,” he says hurriedly. It’s entirely too toxic of him to be glad about this, the unwillingness of his boyfriend and the way his arms tighten around his body when Hao suggests he’s not being serious. The crazy part is, Zhang Hao knows it’s serious and, going one step further, matches the exact energy. 

“I’m not foolish, it’s the truth.” Hao turns around to face him, now, and levels Hanbin as serious as his drifting eyes can get, wrapping his hands around Hanbin’s neck without much of a thought because Hao’s also entirely too familiar with his body. “I mean, if you hated me, got tired of me, I’d keep chasing you, but I could handle being broken up with. But… but for my sake? What… I’d rather die .” Hanbin smiles. He looks smitten, biting his lower lip like a mischievous kid, and Hao feels endearment fill his chest with petals of roses, thorns and leaves, hurting and making him want to throw up. Hurting because he loves him so much and this was really his only ever attempt at being decent, giving Hanbin a way out, and now he hears that Hanbin intertwined to him so deeply he could die and, once again, they reflect one another. This was it, really, his one attempt, but in the end all the paths led them to the same end.

The same aisle.

“I’m romantic, you’re pragmatic, I know, but even you must have known this wouldn’t work.” Hanbin pushes Hao against the rail, but even at a moment like this, his hands still shield Hao’s lower back like the gentleman he is, which is annoying and makes Hao’s heart race. “There’s no way, hyung. Seriously, if you think… Ah, if you say I’m giving too much of myself away, that I’m too tired, then maybe I could let go of something, but not you. Never you, you’re… You .”

Hanbin laughs, suddenly, startling even himself that he has to bring a hand to his mouth. His mania looks overwhelming. Not to Hao, but to Hanbin himself, as if he’s just now realizing how it overflows, and his face shifts between his bursts of laughter and a little bit of fear, panic, holding Hao tighter with one hand to cover his mouth with the other.

“Sorry— I’m… Uh!” Hanbin’s eyes dart around, trying to calm down, hand muffling his voice a bit,  “It was just so… Ridiculous. That I’d ever let go of you, of all things I could give up, it’s just… No .” He drops his hand to cup Hao’s cheek with it right away, frowning, unable to look away for long enough and coming right back into Hao. Always back inside Hao, with those intense deep eyes of his, “You… You’re everything , Hao. You’re Zhang Hao, my Hao, if you need me to let go of something so that I stop ripping apart, okay, I’ll do it. I’ll let go of anything as long as I’m with you.”

“Hanbin-ah, hold on, this is really…” 

“ Too much , right? … It’s too much for me, too” He starts slow, but his words build weight as they go, picking up pace and gaining momentum. Hao’s unable to stop him, quietly watching the train wreck before him, crashing with such a force that you can do nothing but watch. “Not being able to say what I want to, when I want to. Having to be all the way across the room from you, sitting apart, being told to look away,” Hanbin’s hand slides to grip his neck, their fingers finding a safe place there. They always do. Hao finds himself nodding along, without noticing himself that he’s mirroring Hanbin in the way his hands frantically grip onto the strands of hair on the back of his head. Bracing himself for the crash. 

“Being told short notice to do all this, being pulled away from you, feeling my body giving out and still , the only person who comes to me and pulls me away from all of it, it’s you , Hao. How could I survive? I only know I’ll be fine because I look over and you’re there and you exist and I can hold you—“

As the spiral goes further on, faster, more violent, his eyes start reddening. Hanbin has cried in front of him before. Every time he does, it starts like this, too. His usually well behaved, well put together self starts to come apart and he spills before he can catch himself. Zhang Hao is there to catch him, once again, as he starts to unravel the mess Hanbin’s been locking away, because no one else can do this for him. 

To hold, perfectly still, and let the hurricane unravel around them, sitting right at the eye of it, with no rush to leave.

To pull the thread and smooth it out for Hanbin in a way that makes sense, because most things seldom do and people have their own mess to unravel in lieu of stopping everything and care for his . 

Hanbin once made his own mess Hao’s business, back when he decided to fix him when nobody else would. Entangle himself with the queer foreigner, look for Hao everywhere, pull him out of his pit of shame. When Hanbin had sat beside him and asked what was wrong, not just the one time it was aired but the many times Hao had gone inside himself, but the one time it did air, he was at the breaking point. 

Hanbin held him in place, pulled the jumbled up thread and untangled it slowly, making it his, unbeknownst to his conscious mind. Their threads had interwoven into a beautiful pattern, a real strong sort of fiber you don’t get from cheap markets. The kind that artisans dream about creating. 

Hanbin goes on with his crazy spiel and Hao patiently waits so he can unravel his thread of pure gold.

“Fuck, they’re crazy if they think I’d consider, even for a second — I’ll burn it all down, just tell me. Should I?” He laughs again, but it feels dead serious. A weight settles in Hao’s chest, tighter, the rope pulling them closer into a knot. He holds onto the end of the thread, waiting for a cue to pull it, as tears spill freely and stain Hanbin’s face, tracking down his chin, glistening under the lights. Hao feels his throat dry with the absurdity of his own mind. He wants to lick it— “Should I tell them to fuck off? Should we break the contract? If you tell me to, I’ll do it. If you say jump, I’ll jump , Hao. Let’s go live, tell everyone about us, we should elope —” 

Hao stops him with a strong pull, steadying Hanbin’s spiralling mind. His eyes go comically wide and round, then they become dazed for a second, like he’s been injected with a tranquilizer, and it works perfectly. It’s the first of the many experiments Zhang Hao is yet to conduct, so it’s hard to contain his satisfaction when he’s laid out a safety net for Hanbin to let himself go, deeper down into his maze, just so he had a thread to follow back up. 

This time, Hao allows himself a contented smile, but soon enough he’s focused on containing Hanbin’s hurricane, again.

“Easy now,” he says, and Hanbin pants a little bit, coming down his high obediently as he takes deep, grounding breaths. Hao should have seen it sooner, how out of the curve they both are. The whirlpool and the hurricane being entirely too similar in their self contained nature, and if any of that spills, it’s a catastrophe. “You’re right, but no. We have come too far, okay? Let it all out, I’m here, we’ll figure it out.”

Ragged breaths leave Hanbin’s parted lips and he nods, his eyes fluttering close as the tears become more intense, another one of the beautiful messes he paints when he’s so full of emotion he can barely speak. Hao feels Hanbin shaking slightly and pulls him against his chest. Without a moment of hesitation, Hanbin wraps his hands around Hao’s body like he’s holding onto his lifeline, gripping onto his clothes, trying to fuse two bodies into one in the way only the two of them could do.

Hanbin buries his face on Hao’s neck, hugging him tighter and tighter. “ Hyung… hyung… ” he mumbles against his skin and Hao combs his fingers through his hair, humming in agreement, letting Hanbin cry himself out. 

They stay like this for a long while, until Hanbin calms down under Hao’s soft whispers of “we’re okay, it’s okay”, and eventually he’s able to lift his head again. Before Hanbin can wipe his snotty face on the sleeve of his jacket, Hao bats his hand away and gets a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his sweater, “As long as you’re my boyfriend, you can’t be gross.”

Hanbin finally laughs a little, not manic, just a kiddy laugh that’s a little too relieved that everything is not as crazy as it seems. 

“Well… That’s not what I want to be.” He says, and Hao frowns.

“Did we do all this so you could break up with me instead?” He’s joking, of course, even if Hanbin’s phrasing is confusing, Hao’s still well aware he’s not trying to break anything up. Even so, Hanbin grabs him by the arms and it’s a little jarring how intense he becomes in a blink of an eye, Hao gasping in surprise and going still.

“I’m gonna be your husband.” Hanbin says, decidedly, in a low and firm voice, and Hao melts, practically swooning, lips curling into a smile, “And I’ll be the one to propose. So you just… Wait.”

One of the managers (the good one) catches them as he comes up the stairs and motions quickly for them to break it off, and they put space between them just in time for the (bad) manager to come see what’s up. 

Hao pulls Hanbin back to his chest and pats his back. Even if it’s supposed to be a little act, Hanbin starts crying again just by being touched, which helps immensely in Hao’s quest of getting the manager to back off. With a bit of an annoyed nod, he climbs back down and the other gives a sympathetic nod. 

Of course, now everyone knows Hanbin’s crying and in a blink, the deck is full of people doing just about nothing, with the pretense of staying close to Hanbin and comforting him. Gyubin cries with him, hugs him, tells him he’s the best and coolest MC. Yujin keeps showing him Pokemon he’s captured during the boat ride and the others take turns to give him physical touch.

At the end of each interaction, Hanbin goes back to Hao. His place, naturally, is with him and it’s crazy that Zhang Hao thought of breaking it off, if even for a moment. He’s not that altruistic, really. Not even a bit. 

(At the end of the aisle, doors open wide. He hears the sound of church bells.)

Seoul, November 2024

It’s late when Hao arrives home, after getting a cute text from Hanbin during the midday break of his current CF photoshoot. The text reads:

“Gege, come home right after your schedule.”

“I have a surprise! (*≧∀≦*)”

The merit of his excruciating cuteness aside, Hao texted back a bunch of hearts and sickeningly sweet praise for his boy, wondering what the surprise could be. Hanbin surprises him everyday, basically, but this seems special, if he’s asking Hao to specifically save time for him.

Not everyone knows how obsessively controlling Hanbin can get, not everyone would get it, but Hao gets it. He lets him adjust their schedule, play them around like chess pieces, once he gets the green light to do so from Hao.

The way he arranges their lives is meticulous and Zhang Hao slides through the wires with ease, perfect to a fault, Hanbin said once. This time is no different. 

“Hanbin-ah, I’m here!” he calls out, looking around the empty living room, which is mostly their conjoined messes. Gyuvin isn’t home, texted earlier to let them know he’d spend the night at his mom’s, but not without a bunch of siren emojis. That’s Gyuvin’s way of asking them not to be nasty in their shared space.

They respect it. … Mostly.

Perched upon his door knob, Hao finds, is a hanger with a garment bag. His eyebrows shoot up, although this wouldn’t be the first time he finds things set up like this, but it’s been a little while since they had one of their adventures . 

In their hedonistic secondary lifestyle, whenever there’s time, Hanbin’s penchant for exploration comes around like an all consuming wave, once or twice in the beginning they nearly got caught red handed at a public venue, which had them enforcing some deals, in order to keep their careers afloat, so to speak. So that it wouldn’t consume their everyday lives and they don’t get arrested for public indecency, Hanbin gets to have his explorations in the safety of their bedroom, well, at the very least the weirder, inexcusable ones that could get too out of hand. 

Costumes are really nothing new to Zhang Hao, who takes the hanger inside his room casually, while he reads the note Hanbin left stuck to the top part of the bag, cute Cinnamoroll light blue patterns across the paper. 

“Put it on and meet me in my room. Love, Baby .”

And the doodle of a heart. Next to another, less cute, more obscene doodle.

The fact that he has to sign these, even when they couldn’t possibly be from anyone else, has its own place in Hao’s heart, warranting merits of adoration. He’s never been romanced to this degree back home and doubts anyone here would do the same. It’s not really cultural, he knows it because he has plenty of friends in relationships and they’re not really an ounce as passionate, as amorous as him. It is specific to Hanbin, and Zhang Hao’s the only one in the world to benefit. 

He grins, impossibly smug and self satisfied as he zips open the bag, and his smile falls. 

“Oh, God —”

Slowly, he puts down the outfit, lays the Gucci suit across his bed with shaking hands and slowly takes a steadying breath. Immediately he needs to retouch his makeup, to freshen up, smell perfect, look perfect. To get ready for what deranged plan Hanbin has for the night. Excitement, and a bit of fear, takes hold of his racing heart as he dives into getting ready. He forgoes the bowtie completely, chooses a loose white blouse and pearls for his neck, he’s not really a masculine person when he gets to accessorize himself, and he knows this is how Hanbin prefers him, too. 

Once he’s ready, he marches into the room across the hallway.

The mood in Hanbin’s room is set to perfection. 

It’s no secret that ambience is a big thing for Hanbin, it is for Hao, too, but he knows his boyfriend and how much everything matters. Stepping inside, he smells coconut and sandalwood, it feels a bit like a maritime breeze, and Hao takes but a quick glance to know that it’s devised by a silent fan paired with his humidifier. 

A warm, orange hue paints the side of the walls. Perched on the corner, a record player spins a vinyl, hum crackling a distinct Shidaiqu, pleasantly embracing Hao into the mood of the room. It’s worthy of note that the music is not just pleasant for the homely feel of his language, but it suits Hanbin so well, the early Shanghai cross Hollywood vibe which he referenced as songs he’d often practice in his dancer years, training for waacking battles. 

(On the back of his mind, he thinks of Hanbin’s old iPhone, full of his favorite memories, his practice videos, his battles, Zhang Hao, Zhang Hao, Zhang Hao. Hanbin keeps buying cloud space. Hao comes to, from the roam of reminiscence, with a chest bursting at the seams from unbridled affection, thinking of how much space Hanbin chooses to hold for him.)

The pillows are lined along the wall, burgundy satin pillowcases and sheets making for the illusion of a spacious sofa. 

Inhaling deeply and closing his eyes, Hao drinks it all in before he can look at the center piece. Before, he needs to commit the sensations and images and ambience to his mind, because Hanbin has built this castle of luxury for him, in the safe enclosure of their quarters, and it would be unfair of Hao to jump the gun, to completely underappreciate the setting of their play. 

Because, obviously, once he looks at him, once he sets his eyes on Hanbin, he won’t be able to see anything else. 

Hao opens his eyes and focuses on him, Hanbin, who’s been patiently waiting to be the center of attention. Zhang Hao loses his breath.

The low V cut, not as tight as it was during the event, this time the hem falls lower and tightens only around the waist, the sultry lines of his chest in full view, nipples barely concealed. On his way down his eyes meet the lovely sun, moon and stars, contrasting with his flushed neck and chest, and he keeps looking down, down until he can’t see skin anymore and looking further down would distract him from the main course, so there’s nowhere to look but up.

And up is where he finds his eyes, a bit of makeup dabbed here and there, he’s been getting better at it, watching Zhang Hao and getting tips, although not as masterful as his teacher it’s not like he needs it, really, one being as naturally beautiful as Hanbin is. His lips are tinted a pretty pink, his eyes smoky at the outer corners and a bit on the tight line, darkening his gaze, fixed on Hao’s reactions. Black hair a damp style, strands of his bangs falling below his eyes, slightly parted down the middle. 

“… Oh.” his knees wobble, he has to suck in a big breath, almost a hiccup. “You… Huh.”

Revering in his reaction, drinking it fully, Hanbin sighs in delighted relief, “Did you like it? I tried my best, because you’d look good, no matter what.” It’s sheepish, but he notices the blush across Hanbin’s face. “You always look— Um. You surprise me every time.”

Vaguely, Hanbin gestures at Hao, near his neckline. Oh, yeah. This time, he also dropped the under dress shirt, opting for just the blazer and a favorite of his, the dolphin necklace. Hanbin trains his eyes back up, after staring for a beat too long, and clears his throat, “Anyways.”

Hao feels his chest swell with the pride of knowing his effect on Hanbin. “Did you rent these?” he asks, tugging at the collar of his own suit, impressed.

“Ah!” Hanbin smiles, first a gentle thing, then, not really as soft. More like cocky, or definitely cocky, and keeps silent, fixing Hao as he fidgets with his fingers in his characteristic anxious tick. 

Another beat of silence, it drags for too long without an answer, and realization dawns on Hao like a thunder.

“... You bought them?!” he asks, scandalized, shocked to the bone, pupils shaking as Hanbin barks a lovely laugh, charging forward to finally pull Hao by the waist and bury his nose down the curve of his neck.

“Ah… Don’t be mad. Don’t—” Hao punches his chest with his fists a bit, not strong enough to hurt, but clearly outraged, soft and angered interjections of ‘Sung Hanbin!’, but he ends up conquered by a nose brushing against his earlobe and swallows it down. Relents and lets Hanbin explain himself.

“ Hao… ” he whines, and Zhang Hao holds back a whimper, still trying to at least look displeased, “You kept yapping about rental this and expensive that. I saved up, so that you don’t have to worry. I…” A soft breath tickles the sensitive skin of his neck, right below his ear, and Hao feels a shiver down his spine, unconsciously giving into the temptation of baring his neck. He gets a kiss on the curve of his neck as a reward, “I wanted to give you a taste of the future we planned, gege . The most outrageous part of it.”

The younger pulls back, not overextending, but still keeping a hold on his waist. Hao must be pouting, because Hanbin mimics the gesture and his eyebrows tilt upwards, “You know I wouldn’t do it if it compromised us, right? It’s not our savings, it’s a different… Thing , I kept it a surprise.”

Even though he trusts Hanbin completely and knows he would be so careful not to poke into Hao’s insecurities like that, knowing money is a big issue for him, still he feels grateful for the verbal acknowledgement. For Hanbin taking his worries into consideration, not taking offense to it. Being so perfect it hurts so bad. 

It placates any worry which inadvertently had started brewing and, finally, Hao’s shoulder relaxes. Once the fear is gone, he’s fully hit with the reality of what Hanbin had been planning, looking around once more, taking a deep breath in and exhaling, but it comes out a pathetic whine, characteristic in the way it resembles the noise he makes when he indulges in fantastic, ostentatious food. 

As if on cue, Hanbin reaches by their side. The bedside table showcases a bottle Hao had paid no mind to, before, but now he realizes it definitely stands out: The amber liquor shimmers, expensively resembling gold in the dim light. Hanbin pours himself a glass, neat, takes it and swirls the liquid around, scintillating like molten gemstones. Hanbin’s not fond of strong flavors, usually watering everything down if he can, so Hao thinks even ice would spoil this drink, which in turn spoils the true value of the bottle. 

 With a ragged breath, Hao realizes he’s growing hot under the suit jacket, his neck, his ears, trickling down his underbelling, heat pooling there and pouring excitement onto his limbs like money has become an aphrodisiac, two Gods uniting to the flare of reckless spending and the lengths one goes for devotion. 

“Is that whisky?” Hao reaches for the bottle, an attempt to calm the buzz and keep conscious of himself a little longer. He recognizes the Japanese brand. Famous, and he knows of a few bottles that would be accessible, but once he reads the number 18 on the label, his throat goes dry. As carefully as he would handle a baby, he sets the bottle back down, shaky hands backing away as quickly as possible, he’s so scared of dropping it, famously being a person that drops things, stumbles, trips on his own feet way too often, “That’s an 18 year old Suntory… Hanbin… ”

With a stern hand, Hanbin cups Hao’s face, much more careful than he had held the bottle, the glass, the expensive clothes. Instead of a smile, Hao finds a reverent look of a man appraising fine art. 

“I wanted to give you this… The experience. Remember, you couldn’t touch me, then, and you were so tense all the time, even though we were so happy, I wish I could have just... Come here—”

Hanbin pulls him by the waist, suddenly lifting Hao up in the air and twirling him around. Hao gasps a surprised giggle, scaredly holding onto Hanbin’s shoulders before he’s set on the floor and has to steady his clumsy feet for a moment. They’re both laughing when Hanbin leans forward and steals a peck. He sets his hand on Hao’s waist, sliding his left one down the length of Hao’s right arm, and he takes his hand, finally, moving slowly to the rhythm as his face pulls back to admire his boyfriend, and Hao sighs beside himself.

Sighs in longing, even if they’re hand in hand. Like this is everything and still, he will never have enough of it.

“We should have been able to dance.” Hanbin whispers. Hao leans his head against Hanbin’s shoulder, the match of heights being perfect for this. He hears the husky tone, bright and comfortable, humming along the tune in broken chinese. Still, the words he does know, he sings to perfection, like boasting to Hao that look, he’s learned it from him, for him.

Everything was for him.

A couple glasses of whisky and a few upbeat melodies later, they’re dancing a funky tune in which Hanbin is masterful, but Hao is an uncoordinated mess of laugh and goofy moves, and they’re both so happy, flustered by the alcohol, drunk in each other, and it’s Hao that somehow pushes Hanbin against the bed as they tumble down from a wobbly move.

“Ah!” Hanbin falls on his butt, bouncing on the mattress lightly, and looks up at Hao, hands on each side of his face so as to not fall face first.

They’re smiling, the remnants of the giggly fits finally dying down, as Hanbin’s eyes flit from Hao’s, to his lips, and it’s a clear invitation under his darkening gaze. Hao can touch him in the safety of their enclosure, no one to snap pictures, no unwanted guests, Hanbin’s attention fully his.

“Hey,” Hanbin calls, whispering huskily, bringing his hands up above his head, submitting to Hao like he probably had wanted on the floor of that bathroom stall. Hao’s heart thrums an incessant beat, leaning back up so he can support himself on his knees, desperate to free his hands to roam the patch of skin Hanbin’s served to him on a platter. He undoes the one button that’s been keeping away the little skin still left to exposition, splays his hands on the milky, porcelain skin of his belly and firmly gropes down on the very slight chub there. 

A heated moan escapes Hanbin, tilting his head back at the touch, even if it’s just started. It feeds the fire under his fingers, sliding up and up until he’s fully grabbing at Hanbin’s chest. Highly sensitive, the man squirms under the touch and bucks up his hips instinctively, whining a little, cheeks so stained in rosy hues he looks like a painted cherub.

“How much did you want this, then…?” Hao presses both his thumbs over his nubs, twisting gently under the pads. Hanbin gasps, grabbing at the burgundy sheets to relieve the tension, “That day, with everybody watching?”

“To the point that—“ Hanbin tries to buck his hips again, trying to get some contact with Hao’s clothed erection, but fails and grunts in frustration, “That if I had had strong alcohol, I’d do something horrible…” 

“Horrible for them, you mean.” Hao smirks, licking his lips and leaning down, licking down Hanbin’s exposed tattoo, “I think it would have been wonderful .” 

Zhang Hao wants to devour him. He peppers in kisses and licks down his torso and, this time, he’s the one falling to his knees before he can catch himself. Hanbin pushes up to sit, his jacket open, chest exposed as it heaves and moves with his heavy breathing. 

There’s so much adoration in his eyes that it could set Zhang Hao on fire.

With an urgency that burns viscerally, deep from his insides, Hao palms his own cock, no, pushes down onto the fully fledged erection, his other hand creeping up Hanbin’s body and asking, begging without words, “Let me…” 

Hanbin, ever generous, but still mischievous in his own way, hums a considering note. He leans back lazily and reaches for the whisky, taking a sip of the fancy drink, his free hand carding through Zhang Hao’s soft hair, pushing his bangs off his face, then drops his hand to his lap, sleek fingers tracing the tented erection for a moment before unbuttoning his slacks in a tortuous pace. 

Hao watches every movement, bewitched, and wonders, how, just how did he end up having a relationship in which they both get to sit at the top, adoring one another, devoted to a fault. 

Having the sweet privilege of watching his lover put on a show just for him, it’s for moments like these that Hao really has to count his blessings. 

Sitting down on his feet, he watches carefully as Hanbin leans forward and sips his glass with ease, but his eyes are on Hao at all times, his hands careless with the latch of his pants like whatever happens to it is of no consequence.

Hanbin burns money, hard earned money that Hao remembers having had to grasp with both his hands, once. It’s the same one luxury article, an immaculate fabric, the one he treated with so much care as to not let a single thread come out of place, yes, Zhang Hao now gets to watch that same jacket get stained, as Hanbin pulls out his leaking dick and strokes leisurely, dripping on the lapel of his now owned Gucci suit. 

“Hanbin-ah…” Hao gasps, looking up through his lashes, desire swirling in his eyes, pulling Hanbin in and under, deep inside of Hao’s dark waters, and pushes himself off the balls of his feet so he’s fully on his knees again.

With one hand, he pulls his blouse down as flush creeps down his chest, but he keeps his face a lewd image and leans forward daringly. Hao rubs himself, the naked skin of his chest against Hanbin’s full length and tries to push the small plump of his chest closer together, even if there’s not much there, and Hanbin whines , purring in contentment at the newest erotic sight Zhang Hao’s gifting him with, a new thing for him to chase after in his dreams. Fingers dig into Hao’s burgundy strands, nails scratching his scalp deliciously before pulling at the back. Tilting Hao’s face so he could look at him more honestly.

“ God , that’s… You…” His voice breaks, “You’re full of surprises.” He breathes, hoarse, and chuckles in surrender, “… Keep going.”

Smugness slips into Hao’s expression in the shape of a crooked smile, trying to bite down on his giddiness as he rubs more, Hanbin’s precum makes the slide an easy motion, Hao moves his hand to keep his cock in place under his finger, holding it with both hands now, wanting to do all the work of pushing himself against it. 

It’s a feast, really, Hanbin’s expressions, every emotion so frankly stamped on his face even as he tries to stay in the hedonistic nouveau riche character. Hao pushes a little further, “We should really try to spend the New Year’s at our cottage in Scotland this time, darling,” he says, pouty lips and wide brown eyes, blinking expectantly at Hanbin, “It’s not as big as our other estates but… it’s so lovely during the cold. The view of the lake, the hills… Sitting by the fireplace… Hngh—“ His own cock twitches with the little fantasy, overcome by Hanbin’s hungry eyes, growing more intense with every word, “Since you gave it to me as a wedding gift , we should try and make use of it more often.”

The exact moment he sees Hanbin crack is priceless, when he fully absorbs the meaning of what nonsense Hao’s splurging, choking on a dragged moan, rolling his eyes back with the power of some silly words, a made up scenario that takes the form of a fully fledged scenario way too easily. A parody of the people they despise most, wearing their skin for a day and making it theirs. 

“Dear…” He chokes on the word, “ Anywhere , I’ll go anywhere you want, love,” Hanbin takes a while to recover, but he dutifully delivers his lines, licking his lips as he holds at the base of his cock firmly between two fingers— a telltale sign of an early ejaculation he had to prevent. It sends shivers down Hao’s spine, how crazy he is about all of this. “All your ideas are wonderful— ah… Anything that leaves your mouth is golden, darling.”

The suit is sticky with Hanbin’s precum by the time he’s done playing, but he needs to ruin it some more, so Hao opens his mouth and lets a sinful drop of spit draw a line down his pink lips and drip on top of the slit, sliding along the head and reaching his length before it gets caught between Hao’s skin and Hanbin’s cock, becoming lubrication along the slippery path they created. “I guess I can put this mouth to use in the meantime… Yes?” 

“Y-yes!” Hanbin gasps, and collects himself with some struggle, “You’ve been hungry for it without telling me. Tch.” With a click of his tongue, he pulls Hao’s wrist away and pushes him a little back. Holding his chin between his fingers, Hanbin pulls Hao’s mouth open with a thumb and presses down his tongue. “Say ah , and I’ll give it to you.” 

“A-Ah…” Hao complies easily, tongue following Hanbin’s thumb and licking with gusto, before he’s forced to part with it. As soon as Hanbin guides the tip onto Hao’s mouth, the tip touching his tongue, he closes his mouth around it and sucks fervently.

Holding the length with both hands, Hao strokes it and bobs his head and Hanbin has to shakily hold him by the shoulder. 

“E-easy! I’m already close…” He whines, brows furrowed and eyes closed as Hanbin tries to concentrate. Hao does the opposite and swallows him deeper, moans getting muffled by his stuffed mouth, cheeks hollowed, and he only stops when Hanbin practically screams in agony, trembling as he holds down the base. 

Hao pulls back, lips parting with a soft ‘pop’, “You’re so weak. We need to work on that self control.” He smirks, getting glared at for half a second before he’s pulled to and thrown onto the bed, on his back, gasping, “Hold on!” 

Big hands pull his jacket open carelessly and Hao watches clearly as the buttons rip off, flying across the room somewhere and he screams in outrage, covering his mouth. 

“That’s…!” 

“It’s my money.” Hanbin bears down on him with his body, spreading Hao’s knees with his legs. He leans down to lick a strip of skin along his neck and catches Hao’s earlobe in his lips, sucking the pierced ear, getting a shuddering whine from him. Hanbin’s hands anxiously pull at the bottom of Hao’s blouse, “Now get this off before I rip it too.”

“You… You’re getting too comfortable in this character, Sung Hanbin.” Hao complains, getting a chuckle out of Hanbin before getting space to strip the jacket and pull the blouse over his head, tossing it to the ground carelessly and spreading his legs, offering himself on a platter. “Is this good enough for you, dear? Are you gonna use my body now, after your full day at the office?”

Hanbin takes a moment, staring like he’s never seen Hao’s body, and he does this every time without a fault, whistling in awe. “You’re so beautiful…”

Even though he’s heard it a million times, it still flusters Hao to the point he has to look away and cover his face with one arm. This also triggers a specific reaction out of Hanbin, pulling him by the wrist and pining Hao to the bed.

“Don’t hide, Hao…”

“Y-You forget yourself.” Hao mumbles, biting his lip when Hanbin starts biting and kissing down his chest. He holds Hao’s wrists easily under one hand and brings the other to his pants, unbuttoning skillfully with one hand, “It’s gege until marriage.”

“I thought we were married? Going to Scotland for New Year’s?” Hanbin’s tone is insufferable, coming to face Hao with a shit-eating grin. 

“Brat.” Hao bites Hanbin’s lower lip, indignantly, and pulls him down to kiss him sloppy, dirty, using the tension from their banter to fuel a passionate kiss. Hanbin tastes of whisky and the remnants of minty toothpaste, until Hao’s own cherry gloss gets into the mix. His hips roll against Hanbin’s rigid cock, skin wetting the italian luxury fabric.

Finally, his pants come off while he’s distracted, penis bouncing free from the clothes, and he gasps into the kiss. His wrists were freed a while ago but Hao just kept them above his head out of habit, feeling himself blush deeply from the self submission. 

Hao glances down at their bodies together, his own body fully naked, spit trailing his chest from what he’d done earlier. He looks up, getting trapped under the predatory gaze of a hungry Hanbin, who doesn’t waste a second and dives back into Hao’s mouth. 

Hao feels his hands everywhere on his body. At some point, a cap pops open and his hole is lubed with a warm coating, and the slide is easy. It stopped hurting all together three months into their relationship, now it’s just extremely pleasant. In and out like a beat of a melody, skin slapping, vows of eternal love whispered into intimate kisses. 

It gets frantic along the way. Hao claws his back, Hanbin pounds against him carelessly, holding his hips up by the waist and finding the perfect angle. 

When he comes, it’s a sudden burst of stars, and he imagines they’re amongst castles on a hill, looking at the stars unperturbed by the lights of civilization. His body trembles and yet, he’s fucked under oversensitivity and screams louder with each thrust, because Hanbin has self control only when he wants to, and he’s not nearly done.

It’s four in the morning when Gyuvin comes home and finds that he should have stayed at Ricky’s when he still hears the evidence of round three (or four?). In the end, he sleeps at his mom’s, a couple blocks down the street. 

Both stay in bed until late, skip breakfast to further enjoy the warmth of Hao’s bed.

Clearly he wouldn’t wanna sleep in the filth, that’s a problem Hanbin will have to deal with later, since he was the one that kept going. After all, when Hanbin whined about having to clean up, Zhang Hao heavily implied a good husband cleans up well after himself, and that gets Hanbin to spring into action quicker than a blink. 

Zhang Hao sighs and counts his blessings. He keeps his eyes on the prize and looks at his ring finger with a set determination. 

The projection of a diamond looks back at him and it’s almost real .

Any minute now.