Chapter Text
From the kitchen, where Hanbin is finishing reheating some food for himself, he hears Yujin’s laugh alongside the sound effects from the cartoon he’s watching. He lets out a breath of relief at that.
Yujin has been in a sulky mood ever since Hanbin picked him up from daycare. Instead of running towards Hanbin, with his arms extended for a hug, Yujin had eyed him with suspicion.
“Where’s bàba?” He’d asked in such an accusatory tone that had no business leaving the lips of a 4-almost-5-year-old.
“He’s a bit late, Yujin-ah,” Hanbin had gotten on his knees to explain and bargain with his own child. “Let’s go home with appa, bàba will come later.”
The only reason Hanbin managed to head off a tantrum was thanks to his pantry being stocked with snacks (courtesy of his friend, Gyuvin, a frequent visitor and snack-addict) and by forgoing the usual screen-time curfew, just this once. It was an emergency, he reasoned.
After a full day working at the dance studio – teaching classes, developing choreography, and filming some content for their social media with Gunwook – Hanbin figured he was allowed to slightly bend the rules to appease Yujin.
That Friday night was supposed to be a rare day off for Hanbin. He had to cancel his plans to have some chimaek with Matthew and Gunwook to be able to pick up Yujin, since it was supposed to be Hao’s turn at doing so.
Hanbin would be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit miffed when he received a text from Hao in the middle of the afternoon. “Hanbin, can you pick Yujin from school today?” the message read.
He responded: “I have plans, Hao. It’s your turn.” Hanbin and Matthew had been having a lot of conversations (more like interventions) about boundaries. Boundaries with his students, with clients, with his schedule, and especially with his ex.
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” came Hao’s message. It should’ve been the end of it.
But Hanbin ended up asking: “Something’s wrong?”
He couldn’t explain why (and Matthew demanded an explanation when Hanbin bailed out on their outing), but he just knew something was up. There was just something in the way Hao wrote those texts. The lack of punctuation in one message, the misspelling of a word in the other.
Not to mention that it was a rare occurrence. Even when Hao himself was unable to pick Yujin from school, Taerae or Gyuvin would do so, and Hanbin would only hear about it later. For Hao to be texting him out of the blue, on short notice, it was obvious that it was an emergency.
“Something at work, can’t reach Taerae, I’ll think of something. Sorry again.”
Considering that they shared the same group of friends, Hanbin was well aware Gyuvin and Ricky were in the US and that Chen Kuan Jui had left for a dance competition in Hong Kong earlier that week. So that was why he texted back: “Ok. I’ll pick Yujinie.”
Hao texted back his thanks and a promise to explain everything later. It was good enough for Hanbin, but of course it wasn’t good enough for Matthew:
“You know there are other options, right? A babysitter, your mother, Areum…” And Hanbin could counter each of them with explanations as to why they weren’t options for Hao (their go-to babysitter was sick, and the daycare wouldn’t accept an unauthorized stranger picking up a child; it was unreasonable to make Hanbin’s mom or sister drive all the way from Chungcheongnam-do…). “Hyung, I’m just saying, you’re allowed to be mad at him.”
But the truth was, Hanbin wasn’t. He had been a bit annoyed initially, yes, but then it was more concern eating away at the back of his mind. It seemed serious. It didn’t feel like an excuse. That familiar prickle in his chest, the one that always showed up when something felt off with Hao, had kicked in before he even realized it.
And his only explanation for it, when one was forced out of him, was: “Something serious must’ve happened. I know Hao.”
“Yeah, so do I. But, hyung, you give him way too much leeway, you’re still too hung up on him…” Matthew was right, as usual. It was a frequent topic of conversation for them. And it was certain to be revisited the next time they saw each other. But this time, Hanbin had to cut it short.
He apologized again for bailing out on his friends and left the studio in a hurry to make it on time at the daycare. Then Hanbin had to busy himself with appeasing Yujin and making dinner and…
That brought him to his current situation: eating his meal, while Yujin valiantly fights off sleep by watching cartoons and playing with the car toy set Taerae had gifted him a few months ago. It’s a lost battle, however, and Yujin’s head drops against the throw pillows on the couch.
Hanbin slowly turns down the TV’s volume with the controller, not too fast as to not wake Yujin up again. And eventually he’s able to mute it, Yujin’s soft breaths and the scraping of his chopsticks against the plates the only noise in the otherwise quiet apartment.
After checking the time again on his phone, Hanbin’s mind once again fills up with concern. The last message he sent to Hao went undelivered, and that was a good half-hour ago. Taerae also reached out, asking if he had heard from Hao, and Hanbin had to respond that he didn’t and then stew in worry, wondering what had happened.
A quiet, soft knocking on the door sounds, and Hanbin is on his feet – wincing as his chair scrapes a little too loudly on the wooden floor – before he can even register it. He quickly makes his way to the front door and opens it.
As he expected and to his relief, Hao is on the other side.
The first thing Hanbin notices about him is how exhausted he looks: something clouding over his expressive eyes, his lips pressing together in a line, and the slump of his shoulders, sagging under the weight of his bag, likely full of sheet music and lesson plans, and a violin case.
“I’m sorry I’m so late.” It’s the first thing Hao says. His voice is quiet and, if Hanbin’s not mistaken, it sounds quite raspy.
Hanbin opens his mouth to say that it’s fine, but stops himself. Matthew’s words echo in his mind. Boundaries. Too much leeway. Still too hung up. Instead, he settles on asking gently:
“What happened?” But, noticing how Hao seems to either be hesitating or struggling to form a response, Hanbin adds: “Please, come in. Yujinie is asleep.”
Hao steps into the hyeongwan – the lowered spot just inside the front door – and tugs off his oxfords, with a small bow and a murmur of “excuse me” on his lips. Hanbin watches him push his shoes to line neatly beside Hanbin’s and Yujin’s, and then offers to take his bag and violin case away from him, setting them on an armchair.
When he turns back, that’s also when he notices how, in the middle of February, perpetually cold Zhang Hao is not wearing a winter coat, just a blazer on top of a light sweater. So the question escapes before he thinks about it:
“Where’s your coat?”
“I forgot it in the conservatory,” Hao shakes his head. “There was a trip today, an accident occurred, and one of my students got injured.” He leaves out an exhale
“Oh, no. Are they okay?” Hanbin, as a teacher himself, had gone through similar situations and knows how nerve-wracking they can be.
Hao nods. He explains the situation: one student twisted her ankle and fell when another student accidentally bumped into her. It had been more of a scare for the kids involved, rather than anything that serious. As their homeroom teacher, Hao had to take the student to the hospital and then wait for the student’s parents and for the vice-principal to get there.
“My battery died when I was there, so I couldn’t contact you to say I would be even more late.” Hao glances remorsefully at Yujin’s sleeping form on the couch for a moment before looking back at Hanbin. “I’m very sorry for today, Hanbin.”
“No, I can understand. Those things happen.” Hanbin says.
He can sympathize; it’s a stressful situation to be under. And he also knows Hao very well, enough to imagine how he must’ve felt. How he must’ve worried about both his student’s well-being, as well as how guilty he must’ve felt towards Yujin.
“I see I also interrupted your meal,” Hao comments, a faint, apologetic smile on his lips. “Bokkeumbap?”
Not only is it one of Hanbin’s go-to dishes (or rather, the only thing he knew how to cook for a long time), but it’s also one way to trick their son into eating more vegetables, besides bean sprouts.
“Yujinie chose.” Hanbin chuckles. “Have you eaten? I know you didn’t, so don’t lie.”
“I haven’t,” Hao admits. “I should let you finish your meal. I’ll get Yujinie, if you could call me a taxi?”
Hanbin nods. He had been about to ask if Hao wanted some food, almost falling into the familiarity of having him in the same space. But he knows better than to do so. Things with Hao are still quite complicated, even if they are once again able to have small conversations with each other without tension and awkwardness filling up the room.
For quite some time, their chats were curt, straight to what was strictly necessary to be said. Just small exchanges about Yujin’s daily routine – logistics, updates, school activities. Then things devolved into strained civility: pleases and thank yous offered more out of politeness than real warmth.
Now, things are… A bit better. To the point Hanbin feels comfortable enough to walk to the kitchen to grab a small tupperware of leftovers for Hao to take home, while opening up the taxi app on his phone. When he returns to the living space, he notices how Hao is trying to nudge and convince Yujin to wake up.
Yujin is being testy: happy to see his bàba, but not willing to fully wake up. He clings to Hao, throwing his arms around his neck and wordlessly asking to be carried. Hao’s efforts to convince him to let go, to accept putting his coat and shoes on, are being ignored.
“No, I wanna sleep,” Yujin whines, babbling around Hao’s neck. “I wanna stay.”
Of course, just as well as Hanbin does, Hao knows Yujin doesn’t mean to be hurtful when he says such things. He’s a kid and just says what he’s feeling at the time. The same scene had played out before, only in reverse, at Hao’s place. It would just happen sometimes, especially when Yujin is moody from being sleepy or hungry or both.
But just like Hanbin had felt like an absolute villain when Yujin wailed and complained about being taken away from Hao’s place the last time it happened, it’s not that surprising that Hao’s face became troubled when Yujin initially refused to comply.
With a bit more prodding, Hao manages to get him on his feet, and Yujin pads towards the front door, rubbing his eyes as he does. Hanbin’s phone pings with a notification that a taxi is on its way, just as he hands the container of leftovers to Hao.
“Thank you, Hanbin. For everything today.” It’s a testament to how tired Hao is that he didn’t even try to refuse the food before accepting it and storing it in his bag. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“You don’t have to,” Hanbin says, a bit too quietly.
As Hao finishes helping Yujin put on his shoes, Hanbin hands him Yujin’s coat and gloves. He also manages to convince Hao to borrow a scarf from him, pointing out how rough his voice was already sounding. The coat, however, Hao refuses to accept, reasoning that the drive to his place wouldn’t take long.
Hanbin then says a quick goodbye to their son – a quick kiss to the cheek, a huge hug, and a ruffle to his hair, for good measure – and then looks at Hao. He never quite knows what to say to him, still figuring out where the line is these days.
“Have a nice weekend,” is what he settles on.
For a second, it looks like Hao might say something else, but instead, he just nods and responds with a “you too.” Hanbin watches the door close behind them, the quiet of the apartment settling in like a weight.
In truth, Hanbin had wanted to offer to drive Hao and Yujin. But, just like he refused the coat and hesitated at the front door, Hanbin also knew it was more than likely that Hao would refuse it. He had always been better than Hanbin at setting boundaries and sticking to them.
The following day, Hanbin goes out with his friends. They insisted, and it was hard to argue against Gunwook’s reasoning. “Matthew hyung and I ended up having our date night at the chimaek place. So we’re free to hang out this weekend anyway,” the youngest had texted in their group chat.
So they decided on another place, a new barbecue joint that had just opened the previous month, and Hanbin could explain in detail what had happened the previous day. Matthew eventually relents and agrees that it was a real emergency. Still, he adds:
“Hyung, you know Hao hyung is also my friend,” Matthew says, over a huge mug of beer. “And as a friend to both of you, I need to point out that you need to move on. It’s been two years. It’s not healthy for you.”
Hanbin nods, a display of agreement just to show that he’s listening and to avoid yet another argument. It’s not as if he doesn’t, in part, understand Matthew’s concern.
He and Hao, back when they first started dating, moved fast. They went from acquaintances from university to friends to boyfriends to living together in record time. At the time, many of their friends (namely Taerae and Ricky) joked about the two of them moving like lesbians in their relationship.
It’s just that for Hanbin, he had already found the other half of his soul. So why take things slowly? And Hao had never been good at being patient when he wanted something. Whether it was changing his major from Geology to Music, moving to a foreign country to further his studies, or pursuing a relationship with Hanbin, Hao always came up with a plan and went for it wholeheartedly.
It had been one of the first things Hanbin loved about Hao. He was very much the same way, so it was just natural for them to get married, adopt a cat, and, as soon as they found a bit more stability in their careers (Hanbin teaching dance and choreographing alongside his mentor Lee Bada; Hao first tutoring students in their living room to later, when he finished his Master’s, teaching music at a private academy), start thinking about children.
It was both the next logical step in their life, as well as something they both dreamed about. They had so much love for each other that when Yujin came into their lives, it felt like everything was finally perfect. As it was supposed to be.
But then… Slowly, the cracks started to show. Until everything crumbled. Until that night in January when Hao first said that “I need some time, Bin-ah. I’m not– It’s not working for me anymore.”
And Hanbin, who had spent his entire adult life in a relationship with Hao, who had only thought about a future that included Hao in it… He didn’t really know what to do from there. In fact, he still doesn’t know. Hence, why Matthew reminds him so often that he should move on.
But how does one move on from what it was supposed to be forever? It is something Hanbin is still trying to figure out.
“I mean, Hao hyung is more than just an ex for Hanbin hyung, and vice-versa. They will always have Yujinie together.” Gunwook intercedes.
Even if he’s the youngest in their friend group, he’s always the best at understanding each person’s point of view and at acting conciliatory for the many opposing opinions each of them has.
In the very beginning, when their friends were also unsure how to deal with Hao and Hanbin not being together anymore, most of them naturally split between the two. Not necessarily picking sides, but trying to offer support to each of them. Gunwook and Matthew were firmly by Hanbin’s side through all of it.
Not that they aren’t still close with Hao, quite the opposite. Maybe precisely because of it that Matthew, in his blunt way, reminds Hanbin that he needs to put himself first. And Gunwook, even if more understanding in his approach, also gently tries to help him move on.
“But, yeah, I also think you should maybe… Start thinking about it, hyung.” Gunwook concludes, exchanging a look with Matthew.
Taking the cue, Matthew picks up his phone from his pocket and slides it across the table towards Hanbin. In the screen, it’s a contact saved as “Jaehyun (Jiwoong’s friend).”
“There’s someone, one of Jiwoon hyung’s friends, who asked about you,” Matthew says. “I promised him I would give you his number and… I mean, no pressure, but just think about it.”
Hanbin saves the number and stares at it for a beat before putting his phone down. He can’t promise his friends he’ll use it. But he’ll think about it.
Two years ago, in the first few days of January, Hanbin had been in a hurry to get home. A new project at work, mentoring idol trainees at one of the top entertainment labels, kept him busy until quite late at night. The deadline was dangerously close, and the results weren’t anywhere near what Hanbin wanted, needed them to be.
Not only that, but Yujin had been so poorly lately. His rhinitis had been causing him so much discomfort that he would only sleep after crying himself into exhaustion. Even though his pediatrician wasn’t that worried, because Yujin was a very healthy boy otherwise, they still had to find a treatment that worked for him.
So it wasn’t as if it was unexpected when Hanbin stepped out of the elevator and could hear the muffled cries coming from his and Hao’s apartment. It seemed that another apology to the neighbors would be needed, and Hanbin sighed and braced himself for what was to come.
If Yujin had barely been sleeping these days, it also meant that he and Hao also weren’t. Hanbin had worked the entire day on fumes, fuelled by coffee and energy drinks that had only given him a migraine and an upset stomach.
As soon as he opened up the door, he saw Hao standing in the middle of the living room. He was pacing in circles, holding a hysterical Yujin in his arms, trying to soothe him. But as soon as Yujin saw Hanbin, he pushed one of his tiny hands against Hao’s face, extending the other towards Hanbin.
“Appa, appa!” Yujin mumbled through his cries, desperately wrestling against Hao’s embrace.
Hanbin toed off his shoes and dropped his winter coat on the floor, rushing towards the two of them. He gently gathered Yujin in his arms, feeling Yujin’s head rest against his shoulder. Their son’s entire body shook with his sobs.
“I got him,” Hanbin said, hoping it was reassuring.
Hao nodded, mumbling out a thanks. At the time, Hanbin took notice of the way Hao’s lips pouted, how red-rimmed his eyes were, and the huge dark circles under his eyes. But he stepped away, taking Yujin to his bedroom.
After some time and a round of nebulization later, finally, Yujin was asleep in his bed, though Hanbin kept rubbing circles on his back just to make sure. Then, he left Yujin’s bedroom and went to the one he shared with Hao, wanting nothing more than to sleep.
Hao was already in bed, but not asleep. Instead, he was curled into himself, his chin resting against his knees, and his back leaning against the headboard. His eyes looked miles away.
Hanbin said something to him, most likely something about how Yujin was sleeping and that they needed to follow suit, to get as much rest as they could before their son would be up again. When Hao didn’t respond, Hanbin asked: “What’s wrong, gege?”
And then Hanbin saw that Hao’s bottom lip quivered, the tears coming even as Hao fought to stop them. Hanbin sat beside him, pulling him against his chest.
Eventually, Hao said: “I need some time, Bin-ah. I’m not– It’s not working for me anymore.”
Hanbin froze. For a moment, he thought he’d misheard.
“You’re just tired,” he said quickly, too quickly, pressing a kiss to Hao’s forehead like it could patch whatever had just cracked open. “Things will get better. You’re doing your best.”
They ended up falling asleep together, Hao’s head resting on Hanbin’s arm, like they hadn’t done for a good while. At the time, to Hanbin, it seemed it had been just exhaustion speaking.
While there had been hairline fractures before, that was the moment when it finally began to snap. Though at the time, Hanbin didn’t know it. It was only through hindsight – courtesy of the many sleepless nights that he kept replaying his life to see where everything went wrong – that he realized it.
Just over a week later, Hanbin walks into the daycare, exchanging quick greetings with the other parents gathered to pick up their kids. It doesn’t take him long to spot Yujin, already wearing his puffer jacket and sporting his tiny colorful backpack.
Surprisingly, his son is already ready; usually, he needs a bit of convincing to let go of the toys and to say goodbye to his teachers and classmates. Hanbin is about to call his name, but before he does, Yujin runs across the room towards where his teacher is.
And even more surprising is seeing that Hao is also there, in the middle of a conversation with Yujin’s teacher. For a few seconds, Hanbin just blinks and tries to think of a reason why Hao is there as well. And he’s pretty sure there’s not a parent-teacher meeting that day.
Still, Hanbin walks towards them. Yujin notices him first, letting out a screech of “Appa!”
Hao startles, his hand flying to his chest, as he turns towards Hanbin. The look on his face mirrors Hanbin’s own surprise.
On the way out of the daycare, while checking his phone, Hanbin figures out what happened: he was the one who made a mistake. When they were dividing pick-up duties, he made a typo in one of the dates when texting Hao.
“I’m so sorry, Hao,” Hanbin says, after checking the app where he would color-code and organize everything he had to do. “It’s my fault; it was supposed to be my turn, but I got the dates mixed up.”
“I did think it was a bit weird when you texted me the schedule,” Hao chuckles. “But it’s fine, Hanbin. No trouble at all.”
Even so, Hanbin feels bad for it, so he insists on giving Hao a ride home to make up for it. It seems for a moment that Hao is about to refuse it, but Yujin is so excited about the whole thing (“Car ride with bàba and appa, yay!”) that neither of them stands a chance of going against him. Plus, he refuses to let go of Hao’s hand, pulling him towards the vehicle before he can even answer.
Hanbin figures the decision has been made, so he unlocks the car with the controller. He’s about to help Yujin get fastened into his booster seat, but Hao smiles: “No, let me.”
So Hanbin instead moves to get into the driver's seat, making sure to turn on the heating. Even with winter beginning to melt into spring, the chill still clings to the days. Despite the cold, Yujin seems to be even more energetic than usual, nonstop chatting about how his day at daycare was and about the cartoon he’s obsessed with during the ride.
Hao indulges him by asking questions and giving big reactions to the answers: “Really? And what happened next?”
“Then it ended, bàba.” Yujin deadpans, with that special brand of seriousness only children can muster, especially about the silliest things. “You need to wait for the next episode.”
That startles a laugh out of Hao. Loud, resounding as ever, even as he tries to dampen it with his hand against his lips. And it stirs something deep on Hanbin’s chest.
Hao’s laugh was yet another of the first things Hanbin loved about him. Or rather, it would be more accurate to describe it as an addiction: from the first time he ever heard it, Hanbin got obsessed with hearing it again. He would act silly, make funny voices, and say ridiculous jokes, only for the chance of being rewarded with another laugh from Hao.
For something that he loved so much, it’s weird how Hanbin can’t remember the last time he heard it. Even before they split up, it had been a long time since he’d last made Hao laugh. And even when he did, it wasn’t as free as it used to be. It felt more forced, and it didn’t light up Hao’s eyes the way it used to.
“Hanbin?” Hao asks. It seems like he had been trying to catch Hanbin’s notice for a while. “Do you mind dropping me at the grocery store instead?”
“Of course,” Hanbin smiles. “Is the one by the station okay?”
“We going shopping?” Yujin beams, like he’s already made up his mind.
Hao makes an alarmed face, his eyes wide and his lips pressing together – the expression he always made when he thought he’d done something wrong. Hanbin also catches how Hao’s eyes, with a flicker of hesitation in them, dart toward him to check, to measure.
It’s something Hao does often these days, yet another thing that changed in their interactions with each other. And maybe it’s the natural result of everything that happened between them. The breakup, the silence, the careful distance they rebuilt things from.
But it still stings. Because he remembers a time when Hao never had to look at him like that. When they understood each other with a glance. When Hao didn’t walk on eggshells around him.
“I guess we are,” Hanbin replies to Yujin cheerily, but it’s meant for Hao. An effort on his part to convey that it’s fine, that he doesn’t mind.
He does need to grab a few necessities for his place – some dish soap, a few vegetables, and some snacks, since Gyuvin will be visiting soon. That’s what he tells Hao after he parks the car at the grocery store.
It doesn’t stop Hao from apologizing to him: “Sorry, I should’ve thought it through. I thought Yujinie was distracted by the tablet…”
“Yujinie has sharp ears,” Hanbin comments breezily. “He only hears what he wants to, however.”
“That’s true.” Hao chuckles, looking fondly at Yujin, who has attached himself to Hao’s hand again.
Inside the store, for once, shopping goes fast. Hao manages to distract Yujin, by pointing at exotic imported fruits, while Hanbin efficiently picks vegetables and organizes them on the cart. Later, it’s Hanbin who’s helping Yujin push the cart, while Hao selects a few things for himself.
At the register, Yujin is rewarded with a candy for how well he behaved, and Hao organizes the shopping bags. He still remembers how particular Hanbin is with arranging certain products together, so it’s easier to unpack and store them at home, which makes Hanbin smile – not just at the memory, but at how Hao still remembers.
Hanbin ends up taking Hao home from the store (he insists again), and getting there, Yujin wrestles against his security belt and wiggles on his booster seat.
“I wanna stay with bàba!” He demands. Maybe the candy was a mistake after all; it’s clear the sugar only fed into Yujin’s endless supply of energy.
Hao keeps mostly silent while Hanbin tries to negotiate with Yujin. Eventually, and a little sheepishly, which isn’t like him, Hao says that if Hanbin is okay with it, he doesn’t mind having Yujin stay. His reasoning being:
“I need to make it up to you. You know, for the other day.”
“You already have,” Hanbin says. Grocery shopping with Yujin would’ve taken at least another half-hour if Hao hadn’t been there. But he relents: “Okay, since Yujinie wants to stay…”
After he helps Yujin out of his car seat and Hao fetches his shopping bags and violin case from the car, Yujin refuses to say goodbye to Hanbin.
“No, appa, you come too!” Yujin whines.
Despite the sugar rush, he’s tired and moody after a long day. It takes some convincing for Yujin to relent and accept giving Hanbin a kiss and a hug. He’s still pouting as he holds Hao’s hand and waves at Hanbin.
Even if Hanbin feels his heart settle heavily on his chest, filled with remorse for being unable to grant a request from Yujin, there are some boundaries he cannot cross. And even if Hanbin can’t read Hao the way he used to, the furrow in his brow – Hao’s telltale sign of discomfort – is still unmistakable.
Though Hanbin always remembered that day in January as the beginning of the end, the fractures in their marriage had started spreading long before.
When Yujin was an infant, before he could even babble, he used to cry every time Hao tried to hold him.
Hao used to freak out about it, always looking at Hanbin in a panic, worried he had done something wrong. Unlike Hanbin, who grew up surrounded by children younger than him and helped take care of them, Hao didn’t have siblings, nor cousins, and never had much experience dealing with children, until Yujin.
“You are such a natural with him!” People would comment and praise Hanbin, but instead, Hao would be told, “You’re trying your best, don’t worry, it gets easier.”
From experience, Hanbin knew children can be finicky. It was what he told Hao several times. For a while, he believed that maybe Yujin was just sensitive to the smell of Hao’s cologne or aftershave. Or maybe he just preferred Hanbin’s hold because he tended to have a warmer body temperature than Hao.
Hao, however, wouldn’t feel reassured by it. He would buy more baby books, study, and take notes during doctor’s appointments, trying to learn, to prepare as much as he could to take care of Yujin the best he could.
And Hanbin, of course, was always willing to help him. They were a team, and all they needed to do to succeed at anything was work together. But sometimes, being a team meant knowing when not to take over. And Hanbin hadn’t learned that soon enough.
By trying to ease Hao’s worries, Hanbin ended up taking more and more charge when dealing with Yujin. He would step in and deal with whatever needed to be done. Again, it was only in hindsight that Hanbin recognized the flaws in his mindset at the time. If anything, it only contributed to Hao feeling even more lacking.
One night, Hao had been trying to convince Yujin to try some baby food. They were trying to introduce new flavors and textures into their son’s diet. That entire day, Yujin had been testy, a bit moody. And he ended up slapping away the plate, throwing it on the floor.
Hanbin then stepped in to try and help appease Yujin, telling Hao to instead clean up the mess. That night, when Hao cried out of frustration, somehow Hanbin, who always believed he knew what the other half of his soul was feeling, failed to realize he had been the cause of those tears.
“It will get better, gege,” He had said, rubbing salt against the wound. “You’re doing your best.”
If he knew Hao as well as he claimed, Hanbin would’ve realized that his words were like mockery to Hao, who used to always see excellence as a result of his hard work. In a way, Hanbin was the one to push Hao even further away, straining their relationship to the breaking point.
And Hao told him that. Not only during that day, or the one in January, but many times before it and several afterwards.
To the present day, Hanbin kind of hates himself for how he brushed away Hao’s concerns and insecurities with vague reassurances and promises that one day things would get better, easier, smoother.
It was his fault that Hao stopped voicing his thoughts; Hanbin had long stopped listening to him anyway.
As soon as Gyuvin enters Hanbin’s apartment, he makes a beeline for Yujin. After almost an entire month away in the US visiting Ricky’s family, Gyuvin is suffering from withdrawal (or so he claims). He needs to get his fill of his favorite dongsaeng, peppering Yujin’s cheeks with kisses and hugging him tightly. Yujin squeals, but doesn’t try to escape. He’s used to it by now.
Ricky is more measured in his greeting, ruffling Yujin’s hair with affection. He then presents Yujin with a cute figurine set of some of Yujin’s favorite characters. A souvenir, he claims, against Hanbin’s accusation of the two spoiling his son rotten.
“Let’s count it as an early birthday gift,” Hanbin suggests. Yujin is turning five later that month, so it just makes sense.
“Nonsense,” Ricky dismisses coolly. “We have something else planned for his birthday.”
Yet another piece of evidence that they are spoiling Yujin, but Hanbin just laughs. He’s also surprised when Ricky hands him a gift bag. Only Gyuvin and Ricky would look at a luxury perfume bottle from a designer brand in LA and call it “just a souvenir from the trip.”
Their visits to Hanbin’s place are always a bit chaotic, consisting mostly of Gyuvin smothering Yujin with affection while Ricky rolls his eyes at the display, but still ruffles Yujin’s hair and somehow always finds an excuse to get him some sort of gift. Just a small trinket, Ricky always claims, while presenting Yujin with yet another extravagant toy.
Yujin always tries to resist bedtime as much as possible, but after playing with Gyuvin for so long, he’s usually tired and inevitably passes out sleeping on the couch. Hanbin carries him to bed then, and, after Yujin is tucked in, he rejoins his friends at the living space to see the many photos they took during their trip.
Someone less familiar with Gyuvin and Ricky might think they don’t get along: they bicker constantly and tease each other, but Hanbin, being their friend for years, knows that’s just how they show their love for each other.
“But enough about us!” Gyuvin exclaims, clapping his hands. One disapproving glare from Ricky makes him tone down his voice, as he asks: “How have you been, hyung?”
Hanbin fills them in about how the past month has been, mainly bragging about how Yujin’s starting to learn a few hanja at preschool, even if numbers still elude him. He also mentions some news from the dance studio, how they have been getting many new students after another of Matthew’s Tiktok videos went mildly viral, or how they were hired by a high-profile idol group to create choreography for their new comeback.
Ricky, more than a little tipsy, proposes a toast to that. “That’s huge, hyung! Congrats!”
A couple of drinks later, Hanbin ends up sharing as well about how Matthew is trying to set him up with one of Jiwoong’s friends. Even if he hasn’t drunk that much (he never does when Yujin is staying with him), Hanbin’s tongue gets a bit looser, and he ends up admitting that he’s been entertaining the idea of sending the guy a text.
“That’s good,” Gyuvin nods. “It’s time for you to put yourself out there too.”
His words are not that different from things Gyuvin has said in the past. Even if he’s not as vocal as Matthew and Gunwook, he also tries to gently nudge Hanbin to go out more and have more time for himself. So Hanbin doesn’t even think too deeply about them, but it’s the look on Ricky’s face that gives him pause.
It’s almost as if Ricky is about to smack Gyuvin, scolding him silently with a sharp glare. That’s when Hanbin replays the words in his mind, and one sticks out, sharp and undeniable.
“What do you mean, ‘too?’”
Realization dawns on Gyuvin's face, and he exchanges an alarmed look with Ricky. The two of them are terrible at lying, so they don’t even try. It’s Ricky who replies:
“Hao hyung is seeing someone new.” He says it plainly, though his gaze is wary, almost apologetic.
It’s what Hanbin expected, but it still lands with a quiet, sickening weight in his chest. It feels that his stomach is twisting, as a coldness spreads across his body. But he plasters a smile on his face, saying as sincerely as he can:
“That’s nice. I hope it works out.”
He means it, he really does. Or at least, he wants to mean it. Hao is someone who is still very important in his life, even if they aren’t together anymore, so he truly wishes that Hao can be happy. Even if it means that he’ll be happy with someone who’s not Hanbin.
With that, Gyuvin is changing the subject to something else, and Hanbin swallows down all the questions that threaten to come out. Who is it? How long has it been going on? Are they nice? Do they make Hao laugh?
He knows it’s none of his business. He has no right to know. Hanbin just needs to figure out how to be normal about it. If he can’t be happy, then at least he can pretend.
Unfortunately, that is easier said than done.
Hanbin folds laundry while Yujin naps, the cartoon still murmuring from the tablet on the sofa. The apartment is peaceful. On the outside, at least.
He tries to focus on the laundry, on the faint smell of fabric softener, on matching socks and organizing shirts by color in neat little piles. But all he can think about is the little piece of information Gyuvin accidentally let slip. Hao seeing someone new.
Soobin. That’s the name. Taerae told him the other day, when he dropped Yujin off at his place for a hangout and a singing lesson.
Hanbin subtly asked about it, as if he didn’t care at all, even if it was all he could think about. Taerae didn’t buy Hanbin’s attempt at nonchalance, but told him anyway – blunt as always, like ripping off a band-aid.
In a way, it feels as if hearing about Hao seeing someone new opened up a Pandora’s box.
That was how Hanbin explained it to his therapist in their latest session. All the ugly feelings he had been trying to store away, hidden safely in the deepest corner of his wounded heart, came barreling back in, demanding to be acknowledged.
Even through the mist of insecurity, regret, and resentment, he tries not to blame Hao for it. It was a matter of time, after all. It shouldn’t hurt. It’s surprising, really, that it took Hao this long to find someone else. Someone who can give him what Hanbin apparently couldn’t.
Still, knowing doesn’t help. Not when the ache feels so fresh, despite all the time that has passed.
During the session, Hanbin tried to shrug it off, saying he was fine. But his therapist didn’t let up, asking questions – gently but relentlessly – until he admitted the thing he’d been avoiding most of all: that he still hopes. That he still dreams. That, despite everything, a part of him still waits for Hao to come back.
When he finishes putting the clothes away, Hanbin sits on his bed and sighs. He knows he can’t keep holding onto that hope. He doesn’t need to be told – not again – to know it.
On an impulse, Hanbin reaches for his phone and unlocks the screen. His thumb hovers over the contact Matthew made him save. Jiwoong’s friend, Jaehyun.
He stares at it for a few moments. Then, he closes the screen without calling.
It’d be unfair, he thinks. To himself, and even more so to the guy on the other end.
At Hao’s apartment hyeongwan, Hanbin waits as Yujin disappears down the hall, busy putting his toys back in their designated spots. It’s a little routine Hao had instilled in him that Hanbin never quite had the heart (or consistency) to enforce. It gives them a moment alone, though Hanbin doesn’t quite know what to do with it.
That’s when he notices something different about Hao. He can’t immediately pinpoint what it is. His hair, maybe? It looks slightly lighter, catching the hallway light in a way that softens his whole face. Or maybe it’s the cardigan, a soft pink tone that warms his skin. Whatever it is, it’s subtle. But it’s enough to catch Hanbin off guard.
Hao turns, moving toward the shoe cabinet to pull out Yujin’s tiny Converses, and that’s when Hanbin catches the scent. It's unfamiliar, a little sweeter than what Hao normally wears, with a soft spicy note that trails after him.
“New perfume?” Hanbin asks before he can stop himself.
Hao glances over his shoulder, a bit surprised but not caught off guard. “Yeah. Ricky gave it to me. It’s from the US.”
“It suits you.”
Hanbin could’ve stopped himself from saying it, but didn’t. And he mentally scolds himself for it. At least, he has the excuse that collecting perfumes is his hobby, and Hao, of course, knows it. So it’s not out of character for him to comment on it.
A pause follows, not exactly awkward. Just full.
“I’m still deciding if I like it,” Hao says lightly. He muses about how it’s not his usual (Hanbin knows, and maybe it should be sad that he does), but how he’s giving it a try.
“It’s nice,” Hanbin says, softer this time.
Hao hums in response, then glances down the hallway to check on Yujin. Seemingly satisfied with what he sees, he lowers his voice a little:
“Ah, I almost forgot.” He turns back to Hanbin. “Did Yujinie tell you what he wants for his birthday?”
“He did,” Hanbin replies. “He wants to go camping. Because of that cartoon with the bear family.”
“Yeah, he made me watch that episode. Twice.”
“Me too.” Hanbin smiles. “There’s a campsite not too far from Seoul. I was thinking of taking him there.”
“That sounds perfect. He’s going to love it,” Hao’s eyes crinkle a little, fondness spilling into his voice. “Gyuvinie’s tagging along this year too?”
“Of course. He already invited himself,” Hanbin says, shaking his head affectionately.
Gyuvin is always excited about each of Yujin’s birthdays, as his self-proclaimed favorite hyung (even though Taerae may currently hold this title), and takes part in every single one. Last year, Hanbin organized a picnic by the Han River, where Yujin played soccer with Gyuvin, only stopping to eat snacks. And from what Hanbin heard, at the party Hao organized, an outing to the cinema, Gyuvin made sure to buy Yujin a bucket of popcorn bigger than his head.
So this year again, Gyuvin is going overboard with his planning for the trip. He scouted over different camping spots, while Ricky ordered online the fanciest, most extravagant black tent he could find. As Hanbin shares this, a chuckle leaves Hao’s throat. It’s almost a laugh. A warm, deep sound.
There’s a brief, easy silence between them again. It feels strange. Familiar, but also new. Like slipping into an old rhythm that still fits, but now carries the memory of why they stopped dancing to it in the first place.
Hanbin is almost reluctant to break it, but he eventually says, “I think Yujinie must’ve told you, but he said he wants both of us there.”
Hao nods. “He told me. He even showed me a drawing.”
And he leaves it at that. Even though Hao brought up the subject, he hesitates, refraining from saying more. Instead, it’s almost as if he’s waiting for what Hanbin will say to know how to proceed, though it’s clear that isn’t all he wants to say.
Before, Hao would always speak his mind, loudly and clearly. He wasn’t afraid to voice his strong opinions, to express how he was feeling, to argue back, and to shut down something he didn’t want to do. Not only with Hanbin, but with anyone.
And Hanbin knows, from little fond stories their shared friends (mainly Gyuvin and Jiwoong) let escape, that Hao remains the same way with them. It has only changed with Hanbin. Though the reasons for that are obvious, Hanbin much prefers the Hao who would allow him a glimpse of his mind and heart.
Hanbin had never been one to be easily offended. It hurts, then, to realize Hao seems to believe otherwise and treats him with such apprehension. Even if Hao won’t say it, Hanbin has to. If not for himself, then for Yujin.
“Will you?” He asks, a little clunkily. “Come to the camping trip, I mean.”
“I’m not sure if I should,” Hao drawls, a tone even more cautious than before. “I could come, if you don’t mind me being there.”
That startles a laugh out of Hanbin, more out of discomfort than anything else. “Why would I mind it, Hao? I’m inviting you.”
Hao’s eyes shift towards the hallway, before he responds: “I know, it’s just that… I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Hanbin is about to reply that he isn’t, but stops himself. It clicks in his mind that maybe Hao’s hesitance is not due to him being afraid to offend Hanbin, but rather of hurting him. By pushing him to do something he’s not ready for.
But then comes a different thought, one of those he should’ve locked away, but it pushes through anyway.
“I’m not, but I understand if you are,” Hanbin says, and even before he finishes, he already starts to regret it: “Or if your boyfriend is.”
Hao blinks at him, his eyebrows raising. “Boyfriend?”
“I mean Soobin,” Hanbin hates that he continues talking. “I heard about it.”
For a second, Hanbin catches a flicker of something in Hao’s eyes. He can recognize it, even if it’s something that he hasn’t seen for a long time. The same look that would precede an argument, that look on Hao’s face whenever he’s about to give someone a piece of his mind.
But just as quickly as it flares, it dampens.
“Soobin isn’t my boyfriend,” Hao says, very evenly.
Hanbin opens his mouth to apologize, to lie that he must’ve heard wrong, even if he’s sickened by the relief on his chest. However, Hao isn’t done:
“And even if he were, he has no say on how I spend my time. But most importantly,” Hao sighs, before finishing: “Hanbin... If I didn’t want to spend time with you, I wouldn’t.”
The last few words are said in a much softer tone. They make Hanbin feel even worse than he already does. It’s with an apology that he parts ways with Hao that day, once Yujin rejoins them at the front door.
Despite that day in January, Hanbin can’t blame Hao for how their marriage ended. While Hao had been the first to bring it up, in the end, Hanbin was the one to blame.
Even though at the time, he blamed someone else: Jinyoung.
It was during the first days of March, just after the school year had begun, that Hao first mentioned that name. It belonged to a sunbaenim teacher in the new private academy where Hao had started working at.
At first, Hanbin didn’t think much of it. He even might have said: “I’m glad you’re getting along with your new co-workers, it’s good you have a reliable hyung there.”
But as that name began to be said more frequently, something started stirring in Hanbin’s chest.
Back then, he and Hao barely spoke, except when it was about Yujin (“Did you brush his teeth, gege?”) or their routine at home (“I left the washer running, can you move the laundry to the dryer, Binnie?”). So of course he noticed when Jinyoung hyung started appearing more and more in conversation.
And it wasn’t just the frequency, it was the way his name was said. Often accompanied by a soft smile or a glimmer of affection in Hao’s eyes.
At that point in their relationship, intimacy between them had practically died. They barely had time for it in the first place, with Hanbin being so busy at the dance studio and Hao always bringing home piles of students’ assignments to grade. Then it felt more like they were roommates raising a child together. So hearing someone else being called by Hao with such warmth – warmth that used to be reserved for Hanbin – felt like a dagger twisting in his chest.
Matthew, the only friend Hanbin dared to expose to his worst self, was offended on Hao’s behalf when Hanbin confided in him.
“Hanbin hyung, it’s Hao hyung we’re talking about here. Everyone knows he loves you,” Matthew declared, his tone leaving no room for arguments. “You two just forgot how to be a couple. You’re not just Yujinie’s parents.”
Though hearing about Jinyoung hurt, Hanbin pushed those feelings away and tried his best to follow through with Matthew’s advice. He attempted to change small things in his day-to-day life with Hao, to show him how much he still cared, to make an effort to get them back to what they used to be.
One of his ideas was getting a babysitter so they could go out again, just the two of them. At first, Hao was a bit hesitant, not used to relying on anybody other than Hanbin, but he eventually agreed to it.
It felt like things were moving in a good direction for a while, even if they were not perfect.
Still, Hao wasn’t interested in anything more than going out for dinner or holding hands while watching a movie on the couch. Not that Hanbin ever felt like Hao owed him sex. But he did feel, at the time, that he was owed love.
Love that, the demons inside him whispered, was likely being given by Hao to someone else.
One day, the voices of his insecurities were too loud to ignore, and Hanbin ended up giving in to them. Even if he developed the habit of replaying, reliving, and revisiting all the moments in his life where he screwed up, Hanbin doesn’t like remembering how that argument went.
In the middle of the shouting, Hanbin made Hao admit that he found Jinyoung ‘attractive,’ a hollow masochistic victory Hanbin would later find ways to throw back in his face. Even if it hurt Hanbin as well to do so. And even after Hao packed his things and left, which hurt even more.