Archive of Our Own

Zhang Hao is convinced that everything he has ever done is a chain reaction.

There’s an initiation, usually in the form of competition. He has a thirst for it, a dignified need to constantly be clawing for first place. It always begins with two locked pinkies—a pinky promise—bruising fingers that seem to be refusing to let go. Then there’s the propagation, the subsequent events that follow. He always knows he’s the one who set off the chain reaction, but he personally likes to blame the other, especially if it doesn’t go his way. Lastly, the termination, where it all comes to an abrupt stop. It’s either they both get too exhausted, or Hao makes up some rule in order to secure his victory.

Underhanded, he knows.

But in correspondence, it’s partly the other’s fault. No, scratch that, it’s always the other’s fault.

The other being no one other than…

Hao bites his lip back as he bores his stare as thinly as possible to the back of a certain uniform. Hao can’t seem to bring himself to say his name. He isn’t turned towards Hao, hunched over his desk as if he can’t feel the icy stare that Hao hopes is boring holes like lasers through the other’s clothes. 

Flickering between the neat pencil case tucked within his desk and the way he crosses his ankles over one another underneath his desk, Hao lets out a loud sigh.

“Sung Hanbin!”

The door slams open, a boy with mousy brown hair crashing into the room with a bit too much force than necessary.

Teeth grinding down onto his lower lip, Hao fights back the urge to let out a gnarly scream. Sung Hanbin, also what he would consider to be the utter bane of his existence. In TV shows, there’s always that angel and devil perched on either shoulder. But Hanbin wasn’t just that small devil, no, Hao’s almost thoroughly convinced that Hanbin is the sheer devil himself, shrouded in darkness and prowling in every corner of Hao’s life.

It began as a quiet rivalry, since after all, Hanbin hadn’t a single clue who he was at the time. They simply shared a class, Hao constantly hearing the door slam open as a new person announced their excitement of seeing the pristine ‘Sung Hanbin’.

Yet Hao fought tooth and nail to always one up the other. He was to be first in the lecture hall for their eight am class, always taking the seat he saw Hanbin in the day before. He would absolutely ensure he would be ahead of the others in the lunch line at their cafeteria, even figuring out through the grape vine of people what Hanbin’s favorite dish was. He would always order enough extra to sell out the item before Hanbin got to it.

It wasn’t some ungrounded rivalry. It could’ve stemmed from jealousy, some curling kind of green envy, but in Hao’s mighty opinion, it was justified. 

Hao had always ranked first at Seoul National University, the program he had transferred into immediately after completing his high school curriculum in China. He took it in stride, something attainable that he could put a finger to. He was always ranked first in his province in China, but achieving the same stature in a city as enormous as Seoul was considered a feat alone.

He worked hard, he always was a hard worker. He wasn’t inherently smart as some of his peers, he never grasped concepts as fast as them, never scored as high as them at first, and was always the last kid to be left remaining in after school tutoring. But he worked, working through textbooks and practice tests, listening to audiobooks on his sad, but necessary, ride home on the university bus, and always showing up to tutoring with a stack of questions prepared.

Therefore, he took his ranking with pride. 

The Seoul National University even had a specific ranking system. The top ten of the class all received specific neck-ties in correspondence with their ranking number that they receive with every interim exam result. Most notably, first place with a red tie and gold letterings and second place with a green tie and silver letterings.

Hao would be adjourned with a red tie for the entirety of every exam result his freshman year. But his entire idealistic idea of this fruit from his labor of studying was all stolen the moment he reached his sophomore year.

Sung Hanbin.

Stolen like some crook in the night, a thief at a jewelry store. Hanbin was a natural talent, sleeping in class and doodling in his workbooks. Hao’s sure he’s seen the other at the cafeteria more than he has in that particular couple of lectures that they shared.

Yet somehow, Hao found himself in a green-colored tie while he watched Hanbin be bestowed the tie that Hao had practically owned for the past year.

As he stated before, a rivalry that was completely and utterly justified.

But of course, the universe was working against him in many other ways than just through the interim rankings. 

Not only was Hanbin naturally smart, the kind that makes Hao want to crumple the paper beneath his fist into a ball and fling it at a particular desk in front of him, but he was also so terribly social.

Hao always assumed his feud with Hanbin was something that would remain in his head. Churning like butter in his mind as he goes stupid from the little competitions he has with Hanbin who isn’t even participating. 

But then their worlds collide. Not in the way where they bump into each other in the hallway and suddenly become the bestest friends (Movies are all liars). But in the way that Hao’s friends—the same people he would probably take a bullet for as long as it would pierce him fast enough and he wouldn't die panifully—seamlessly merged with the friend group of Hanbin’s. Subsequently, making Hanbin one of Hao’s friends by association.

Not that Hao agreed to the arrangement. 

Worse off, Hao is sure Hanbin was born simply to torment him. Hao’s plotting would inevitably bleed into bantering words, quick witty responses to anything that Hanbin would say of intellect, and the other would match his pace. Horrifically well for that matter.

Hao conjured a list of possible reasons that Hanbin’s existence could possibly mean in this specific chain reaction. One, he was here to rub the fact that he could beat Hao through their interim exams with a flick of his hand. Two, he was to figure out all of Hao’s weaknesses and pry him apart, smother him down, and pound him to the ground. Three, he was also plotting on Hao’s downfall, like Hao had mentioned earlier, the devil prowling in the corners.

It was almost as if… Almost as if….

“Almost as if you’re obsessed with him.”

The bar is bustling, a bit too loud for Hao’s comfort. He stares down the six shots of Pink Whitney that his friends had ordered for themselves. What is this, a frat party? They were at an establishment for goodness sake, what would let them order something so low?

Still, Hao throws back the shot with a wince, his throat burning as he can physically feel the liquid sloshing down his esophagus. Two pairs of eyes peer back at him, both looking highly unamused, one even precariously tapping his foot against the floor with sheer impatience. 

“I’m the furthest from obsession when it comes to Sung Hanbin in comparison to anyone else.” Hao narrows his eyes, cheeks already hot and flushed from the earlier drinks in the evening.

“You’ve known him for what, three years now?” Ricky—Hao’s friend who sits opposite him—(And the first to betray him and befriend Hanbin) muses, “Yet I think I’ve heard you complaining for more than three years.”

There’s a hum of agreement from the boy beside him—Taerae—who succumbed to Hanbin a week and a half after Ricky.

Hao holds up a fist in a weak attempt of asserting his dominance, but it falls flat when he sees Taerae doesn’t even flinch from his antics anymore.

“Don’t start Kim Taerae,” Hao’s eyes narrow at the other, “You complain about Jiwoong all the time yet you turn to putty every time you speak to him.”

Taerae groans as he throws up his hands in exasperation, “That’s because I have a crush on him,” Hao can’t tell if his cheeks are pink from the alcohol or the mere mention of their senior, Jiwoong, “I thought we’ve established this before.”

Through his drunken haze, Taerae suddenly sits up straighter, pointing a finger in Hao’s direction that seemingly shakes a bit, “Also, I thought that was confidential information, why are you airing it out to the entirety of this bar?” He waves his arms around for good measure.

Hao rolls his eyes as he crosses his arms over his chest with a loud huff, “No one can hear us over this loud music.”

As if for added effect, the music booms louder in their ears and Ricky gives a nod. Hao’s almost sure the other is nodding off into some dreamland and not exactly agreeing with him, but he’ll take a win when he sees one.

The slew of alcohol looks a bit too pitiful on the table in front of them, Hao grabs one of the shot glasses and tips his head back to send it down to God knows where (His headache tomorrow morning is going to kill him).

“Wait but that’s not right,” Taerae squints at Hao, “I have a crush on Jiwoong, so does that mean you have a crush on Hanbin?”

The Pink Whitney comes back up before Hao can stop it. There he is, spluttering over an alcohol stained wooden table at a random college bar, wiping his lips with the sleeve of his clothes as he gapes at the other incredulously.

“Where did you get that one from?” Hao whisper-yells, suddenly acutely aware that perhaps people at this bar do know who Kim Jiwoong and Sung Hanbin are, and that maybe he shouldn’t trust his drunken sentiment about what volume to keep his voice at.

Now Ricky’s fully awake, jumping into the conversation with a bit too much force than he usually would, “You two bicker like a divorced couple.”

There’s a nod next to him, Taerae agreeing vehemently, “Like you guys have been married thrice in the process.”

Suddenly, Hao doesn’t want to be sitting in a dim bar with flashing lights and colors with his two closest friends. Rather, he’d like to be as far away from them as possible. Divorced is one thing, at least it implies they’re separated, but married thrice in the process? What, are they assuming he’s some dog that comes running back to Hanbin three times in a row?

No, he would not like to unpack that his first thought is that he would be the one who runs back. But he digresses.

“You two have also been awfully weird lately,” Ricky scrutinizes Hao with a scrunch of his nose, as if he were to sniff out some terrible lie, “It’s been unnerving.”

Taerae agrees again, when would this man stop agreeing with Ricky?

Hao coughs into a shot glass he’s already raised by his mouth like some defense armor in the state of war. He hopes with enough shot glasses he throws down his throat and stuffs into his mouth, they won’t realize just how incredibly hot it’s gotten, or the insatiable fingers of his that pry at his collar.

“And why do you say that?” Hao fights back the urge to smack his hand over his mouth when he realizes just how high-pitched his voice had come out, the way he had almost stumbled over the most basic words in the dictionary, and how his curiosity almost ebbs straight off his tongue.

Lying was a virtue he held zero possession over.

The two look between each other as they begin to rattle off—lo and behold—a list of things they had seemingly collected.

“You two have weird inside jokes, like you’re teasing each other but no one gets it,” Ricky begins, “You both just so happen to disappear at the same time,”

“Sometimes ten minutes after one another.” Taerae chimes in. Bless his soul but Hao was tempted to throw his shot glass down his friend’s throat in an attempt to silence him.

Ricky makes a tutting noise, shaking his head as he takes a cautious sip from his shot glass as if he were drinking some Chateau Lafite 1869 wine and not the cheapest vodka available at a college bar, “And you’ve been talking to him, a lot more than usual because I remember that you used to outright ignore the poor boy.”

Poor boy? That was the last type of coupled words Hao would ever use for Hanbin. What was Ricky even thinking?

“And,” Taerae adds, were they not done yet? “You talk about him a lot more. That’s suspicious if I’ve ever seen it.”

Hao grumbles beneath his breath, reaching for another glass in hopes more of the alcohol might induce more of the fuzz in his brain. He hopes with that equation, maybe he could fumble up an excuse that would be deemed worthwhile in front of his friends and their curious gazes.

Tipping his head back, he throws the shot down like no tomorrow. The same way he had many nights ago, but a starkly different face peered back at him. 

A week ago, a content sigh had slipped through Hao’s lips, loud and coming from the base of his throat. 

An ice cold beer paired with an entire platter of hotpot would be able to hit any aching spot in his body. He would like to say it would’ve been even better if he wasn’t sharing a meal with a certain someone.

“You’re drinking as if this bill isn’t on you.” Hanbin chimes across from him, taking a chopstick full of rice to his mouth and chewing ever so slowly. He even had decent table manners. Another reason for Hao to hate him.

Swatting Hanbin away despite the other not even leaning close towards him, Hao bares his teeth, “Sorry, some of us aren’t broke poor people and can actually afford a meal.”

A low whistle, Hanbin’s lips curl up into a smile, “Say that after you’ve paid for our meals this week.”

Some may wonder, if Hao hated Hanbin so much, and they were sworn enemies on every behalf, why would Hao even offer to pay for his meals?

That was the problem—he hadn’t offered.

Hao had bet the other to race him to his lecture hall the next morning, whoever sat in that specific seat they’ve been fighting over for the past semester first would get the seat for the next week and have their meals covered for the other. Hao would like to say he really tried to win.

But his alarm hadn’t gone off and he had found himself late to class of all things. In part, this was definitely Hao’s fault and he shouldn’t have made the bet in the first place. But he couldn’t help it, it seems to be the only thing he was capable of blurting out around Hanbin.

“Cat got your tongue?” Hanbin’s tone is smug, his arms crossed over the table as he eyes Hao with a quirk in his lip.

Hao narrows his eyes at the other. Hanbin always seemed to know the exact way to tick him off, like his every word and action was bred for the exact purpose to piss him off. If Hao could award someone who raised his blood pressure the most, he would give it to yours truly, the man in front of him.

Instead of feeding into his antics, Hao resumes stirring the pot of hotpot broth while he changes the topic back to what he was discussing before Hanbin rudely interrupted and made a comment on his drinking habits, “Don’t deflect on me.”

He raises his chopsticks and makes a point of waving them around in Hanbin’s direction, “That waiter was totally flirting with you earlier. I could practically see her shooting heart lasers in your direction.”

“Oh?” Hanbin leans in closer over the table, “Are you jealous or something?”

Hao scoffs loudly. Was the kid deranged or did he have the perception skills of a turtle? Hao did not like Hanbin, let alone come close to wanting to even be acquainted with him. Jealousy would be a far far stretch.

“As if anyone would be jealous of you.”

“Oh but you are,” Hanbin insists, grabbing a tray of meat and sliding it into the broth, “Why else would you be mentioning that?”

“I don’t know, maybe because I had to point out the obvious .” Hao shoots back, “I couldn’t stand watching your oblivious ass anymore.”

This earns him a brow raise and Hao already knows Hanbin is already prying apart his every word. He’s probably thought of an ingenious remark that would have Hao stumbling over his words as he tries to come up with a reply. Damn you Sung Hanbin.

“So that means,” Hanbin drags out his words with a tongue poking at his cheek, “You were watching me.”

Not as witty as he expected, this was something he could deflect. Hao throws his arms up to an immediate x-sign and a shake of his head, “Delusion is a disease and I think you’ve caught quite a severe case.”

Hanbin simply laughs in response. Hao had tasked the other to be the one in charge of scooping all the food out of the hotpot broth, in exchange of Hao paying of course. It would only make sense for Hanbin to do all the labor when Hao would be spending his hard-earned money on a dish they had to share.

In his small white ceramic bowl, Hanbin places a couple of fish balls, duck intestine, and enough meat to last Hao approximately five minutes with. Hao shoots him a glare the moment the spoon touches his bowl, the other nodding in quick succession,

“I know, I know,” Hanbin grabs his pair of chopsticks and separates the duck intestines from the rest, “Keep the spicy broth foods separate from the tomato. You don’t have to remind me.”

Hao makes a loud clicking noise, “Just making sure.”

There’s a whisper under Hanbin’s breath that Hao unfortunately catches, “High maintenance.”

“Hey,” Hao hisses, “If I’m so high maintenance I can perfectly eat by myself.”

Hanbin playfully rolls his eyes at the other, “I swear, you’re like a cat when you flick water on them. Are you always like this? Loud, irritable, and pouty when you lose?”

“Mind you,” Hao grabs a piece of meat and flicks it around before he pops it into his mouth, “This will be the last time I lose.”

“Whatever lets you sleep at night.”

Hao promptly decides to ignore the other, tasting the explosion of flavors on his tongue from the meat he had just picked up. According to the workers here, seven seconds was all it needed to get the meat perfectly cooked. He’s tested the theory a couple times and he would say it’s closer to ten seconds. Through their shared hotpot sessions, he’s trained Hanbin to cook their hotpot meat for exactly ten seconds to meet that quota.

It practically melts into his mouth, a low groan escaping his lips as he sighs.

“Would you please not make that noise?” Hanbin notes from across the table, voice a bit strained than his usual as his eyes dart from around the room, “We’re in a public place.”

“Let a man appreciate his food.” Hao counters.

Almost as if in order to irk the other even more, Hao eats the next bite with the most exaggerated noises he could possibly muster. When it came to taking down Hanbin, shame was something that entirely did not exist to Hao, a concept or figment of his imagination.

The noise almost borders on a moan, a high whine hidden between it all. Hao evidently sinks down into his seat as he rubs his stomach in pure joy.

“Stop it.” Hanbin whispers, chopsticks pulling out pieces of meat from the simmering pot.

Hao shakes his head, only opening his mouth and nodding his head in the direction of Hanbin’s chopsticks,

A brow raise, “You want me to feed you?” 

Hao vigorously nods his head.

Hanbin sighs, but eventually gives in considering how long Hao held his mouth open, expectant and waiting. Blowing on the pieces of meat to cool it down just a tad bit, he slides his chopsticks over Hao’s tongue.

Hao immediately closes his mouth over the bite, drinking in the sensations of a spicy broth mixed with the heartiness that comes from any kind of meat. His eyes squeeze shut and a high whine comes muffled from his mouth.

Hanbin’s arm freezes in his motion and Hao’s eyes fly back open.

Okay, so that one wasn’t intentional. He swears, even if it means getting struck by thunder, Hao would never lie about such a thing. It had honestly just slipped from his lips, an instinctive reaction to good food.

As threateningly as possible, Hao pulls back with cheeks flushed a hot pink, the kind that burns and makes his ears feel as though they had been singed by a wild fire, “Don’t you dare say a word—”

“I bet you’re just as loud in bed.”

There’s a smirk on Hanbin’s face as he replies, the kind full of confidence as he brushes the hair sticking to his forehead away with a sweep of his hand.

Through the months of getting to know Sung Hanbin—both as a metaphorical concept and an actual human being—Hao realized the other seems to have a formula for the exact words to set him off on a piss-off tangent. Somehow, it always seems to work as well. It’s another set of chain reactions, and each time Hao falls right into his trap.

A slam of hands on the table, the chair screeching beneath Hao’s weight as he abruptly stands. The words tumble out before he can stop it, too high off his haughty chair and that stupid air of confidence that Hanbin always seems to wear.

“I am not.” Hao declares loudly, “Matter of fact, I’d like to bet you’re louder.”

The hotpot broth sitting between them gurgles earnestly, a spit bubble of tomato flavoured broth spilling onto the table. The heat emits in waves off the hotpot following their shared beat of silence, a crackling tension left between them so tight it comes even closer to snapping.

Hanbin clears his throat, his posture poised and relaxed, “And how can you prove it?”

“What?”

Hao’s words echo back as he stares at the other. He had meant it as a snarky comeback, the bantering of back and forthing they had meticulously built between each other like a pile of unfolded laundry. He hadn’t expected Hanbin to take it a step further, encroaching further than just empty threats to the air between them.

“You heard me,” Hanbin’s hands come slamming onto the table, leaning over the table as he speaks, “How can you prove it?”

When Hao doesn’t answer, or rather is unable to, Hanbin takes it another step further, “Don’t tell me Mr.Zhang Hao-ssi’s just full of empty threats, hm?”

Hao practically splutters in response, arms flailing before his mouth or mind has the ability to catch up.

“As if.” Hao sticks his nose in the air, he really doesn’t know what he’s getting into, or saying, at this point. His mind churns for an idea, how can he prove it. It wasn’t like some math theorem he could use a set of derivative properties like an old calculus textbook, it was who could be louder in bed for goodness sake.

Like the clouds parting in the sky after a long day of rain, Hao’s struck with the sudden idea.

“Let’s make a bet.” Hao decides, gauging Hanbin’s reactions with every word, “Whoever’s quieter in bed wins.”

Hanbin lets out a long sigh, a rather disappointed one for that matter, shaking his head as he feigns disinterest, “And what am I getting out of this?”

If this were a comic, cartoon, or animation, Hao’s sure there would be pellets of smoke and steam erupting from the top of his head. Hanbin had quite the gaud, mind you, he was the one to suggest such a thing in the first place.

Putting aside his pride for the next sentence that would come from him, Hao squeezes his eyes shut as the words are practically pulled from out of his mouth, “In 3 months is the next interim exam rankings. Whoever loses has to purposefully flunk the exam.”

It’s quiet. Some popping from the broth that had been nonstop since they entered the hotpot place and the occasional buzz of the workers from outside of their booth. Hao opens one eye to take a peek before he allows his full vision to succumb to the view in front of him.

Hanbin’s closer than Hao remembers, perched over the side of the hotpot table. There’s a slow blink in his eyes that happens so quickly Hao almost doesn’t catch it. He grins before Hao can comment on it and his hand swoops right in front of Hao.

It’s his pinky, outstretched with a peevish little shake of his hand.

“Is that really what you want to bet on?”

Hao gives him a firm nod. Without an additional word, he follows the similar process they’ve done before in all of their major bets. Looping his pinky finger around Hanbin’s, he locks them into a pinky promise, their thumbs stamping against each other. When Hao looks up to meet Hanbin’s eyes, he’s surprised to see the other already gazing at him, a slight smile playing on his lips.

“Get ready to fail that exam, Sung Hanbin.” Hao whispers under his breath.

Hanbin chuckles, “Is that a threat Zhang Hao?”

Hao shakes his head, “No, it’s a promise.”

The initial event fires, like always, started with a pinky promise shared between the two of them. Now all Hao will have to see is how it propagates, and of course, how it will terminate. He doesn’t expect it to end any other way than what it usually does.  Like the birth of its creation, it’s another set of chain reactions.

────────────────────────────────

“We’re like partners in crime if you really think about it.”

Hao’s at a kitchen island, the seat a bit too firm for how long he’s been sitting on it, shifting his weight in order to relieve the pressure. It’s Hanbin’s apartment that surrounds him, four walls covered in posters of things that Hao doesn’t want to and couldn’t be bothered to decode. The other looks half-awake, a random white tank top strewn over his body and freshly washed hair raked back as if it counted as styling his hair.

He doesn’t exactly know how they had gotten there. One moment they had been bickering over a hotpot meal in a room that felt as though the heating were cranked up seven notches. The next thing he knows, he’s sitting in Hanbin’s apartment as they lay down the base rules to a bet made in the same breath of impulse.

A sheet of paper sits beneath Hao’s hand, a pen gripped tightly in his hand as he gives Hanbin as condescending a look as possible, “Like Bonnie and Clyde?”

He doesn’t have it in him to entertain any of Hanbin’s fiascos, though today seems as though it were one of those days where no matter how much Hao shoots down the other, Hanbin resuscitates like no other.

Hanbin leans over the kitchen island, supporting the majority of his weight on his arms as he makes a clicking noise with his tongue, “You’re not quite on the same page, I was thinking of something more…” He pauses for extra effect, "Mystical."

Hao lets out a huff of exasperation, pen scraping against the paper as he eyes the other, “So Harley Quinn and the Joker.” He deadpans. 

A flick to the forehead and suddenly Hao’s gripping at the stinging skin where Hanbin had subsequently swatted in response, “What was that for?” Hao winces as he rubs at the spot to soothe it.

“You idiot,” Hanbin sighs, “More like Ares and Aphrodite.”

Hao wants to bite something back—who was Hanbin to call him an idiot—yet he can’t bring himself to, exhaustion riddled through his system so he simply raises a brow at him, “Is that even a duo?”

Hanbin scoffs, a look of disbelief coming over his face, “Of course they are. I’d be Ares and you’d be…” He looks over at Hao, holding his eye contact for a beat longer than necessary, “Aphrodite.”

He hates when Hanbin gets into these kinds of feuds. It’s hard to counter the other when Hao can’t decipher if the other is simply teasing him or if the other was capable of complimenting him. Either way he wasn’t going to let it slide.

Hao leans in closer, dropping the pen to the paper with a clink, “Are you calling me pretty?”

He half expects Hanbin to grow flustered, maybe even back-off. But of course he doesn’t, the man never goes along with whatever made-up interaction Hao had already conjured and replayed sixty-three times in his head. 

There’s always been a knack inside of Hao to do this. He likes it, enjoys it too much, making up imaginary arguments making sure he wins every time in his head, but Hanbin never seems to go along with the words Hao has planned. It riddles him a bit too quietly every time and simply put—Hao fumbles .

“What if I am?”

Hao coughs, the most ingenious response he could ever muster. He adds ‘heatstroke causer’ to the list of after-effects that Hanbin seems bastardly good at setting off because his cheeks hurt from this onset blush and he would rather die than admit it was caused by anything close to Hanbin being Hanbin.

Can you tell he’s an avoidant?

Darting eyes away from Hanbin’s gaze, Hao tries to guide the conversation in another direction, “Anyways,” He racks his brain to the earlier topic, pulling anything possible out to steer it away from any conversation about his racing heart or blushing face, “Isn’t it like, blasphemous to use her name in vain?”

Hanbin looks half as affected as Hao, relaxed and absentmindedly crossing his arms as he shoots back, “What is she, Jesus?”

“I don’t know the specifics,” Hao huffs loudly, a more whiny and petulant front coming on, he’s losing and he knows it, “ You’re the one in a religious studies class this semester anyways. And why are you of all people Ares?"

Hanbin whistles lowly under his breath, “You pay a lot of attention to my schedule for someone who so-calls hates me.” 

“I—”

The floorboards creak underneath Hanbin’s steps as he draws closer, a hand coming up to Hao’s mouth to silence him in response. It’s their antics that Hao seamlessly goes along with, even though it clearly disrupts the dynamics Hao’s currently set in his mind of themselves.

“I’m Ares because you’re Aphrodite,” Hanbin begins, “And everyone never really understood how Ares and Aphrodite would work together."

“So now we’re together.”

There’s that expression on Hanbin’s face, like Hao had stated something plainfully obvious. Hao would like to preface that this wasn’t an absolute nor an obvious statement and he’s already very much terrified of the direction Hanbin was taking this.

"Oh yes we are, baby. After all, " Hanbin pauses and gives a flying wink, "All is fair in love and war."

Hao freezes, hands stuck to the table and limbs locking in place. Love and war? Love? And war? The implications are worse than his state of mind or body, the fact that this toes the line of their friendship, enemy-ship, or whatever the hell they have going on. It’s poetic in a sense, Hao will give him that, but he swallows, mouth growing incredibly dry as his eyes dart around the room to seemingly not focus on the word used in the former.

Love…

Ignoring the incessant use of the pet name, Hao picks up the pen and angrily stabs it against the paper in front of him, “Enough of you,” He jabs a finger in the other’s direction with a pointed glare, “Back to this before you started distracting me.”

Hanbin holds his hands up in mock surrender, “Not my fault.”

“Absolutely your fault.” Hao bites back, brows drawn as the irritation crawls under his stomach. This was supposed to be proactive, academic at best. They needed rules, like all their competitions that stretched throughout their university years. A box of what they could and couldn’t do, what dictated a winner, Hao needed those things. 

As much as he hated the other, what they had was far more thrilling than any form of academic validation. Hao likes to describe it as dreaming something that you’ve always wanted and waking up the next morning to realize that all of it was tangible and very much real. Competitions with Hanbin always existed as something within his mind and when their worlds had met, suddenly it all had left the realms of impossibility.

Hanbin was real and he was competing with Hao. 

“Though,” Hanbin’s voice breaks through Hao’s string of thoughts, the man casually humming as he examines the white board that Hao had brought with him that was discarded to the side, “I don’t exactly get what the point of that is.”

Hao bristles, “It’s a scoreboard,” His hands leave the pen and table, diving for his white board and holding it up proudly, “To keep track.”

The white board is ripped from Hao’s grasp, the culprit—Hanbin—looking at it up and down as if it had terribly wronged him, “We don’t need it. Just keep track,” Hanbin looks up at Hao and taps his own temple, “Right here.”

Tearing the white board back into his hands, Hao vehemently shakes his head, “I couldn’t tell you who’s winning or losing based on memory, keeping track like that is just plain ridiculous—”

“516 to 512.”

Hao glares at the other for interrupting him before registering the words, “What?”

“516 to 512.” Hanbin repeats, not even blinking,  “We’re 516 to 512, I’m winning by four rounds.”

Hao splutters, the white board dropping in his grasp, “As I was saying, I can’t remember based on memory. Plus, if that were the case, I’m pretty sure I’d be the 516,” He directs his stare at Hanbin, eyeing the other as menacingly as possible, “There’s no way in hell you’re ahead right now.”

“Oh but I am.” Hanbin concludes. 

All Hao would like to do in that particular moment would be to crawl over the kitchen island and brawl it out with Hanbin right then and there, hair-pulling and everything. He would do anything in his power to wipe that look off Hanbin’s face. But he’s a civilized human being despite his thoughts, so he crosses his arms instead and physically turns his body away in annoyance, giving Hanbin the literal cold shoulder treatment.

“No you aren’t.” Hao refusing to look back at Hanbin, “And that’s the whole point of the scoreboard. Proof so you can’t just pull numbers from your ass and cheat.”

“Fine.” Hanbin caves, Hao still turned away and he can’t read the other’s expressions, “Now on with your rules, we haven’t got all day.”

Still keeping a petty shoulder turned to block Hanbin from his peripheral vision, Hao begins scrawling out words onto the blank sheet of paper as quickly as possible. The pen screeches against the paper with some uncomfortable noise and Hao passes the paper towards Hanbin’s direction when he’s done writing.

“Rules to our arrangements,” Hanbin reads aloud before looking up towards Hao, “You only wrote one?”

“I write one and then you write yours,” Hao explains, “Our terms and conditions.”

“One, no feelings involved,” Hanbin reads from Hao’s writing, “That’s fair.”

“Oh, so you’re capable of saying something nice huh?” Hao muses, amusement laced in his voice as Hanbin promptly ignores him, crouching over to begin on his own rules.

Silence engulfs them as Hanbin begins writing, Hao counting down the seconds with a tap of his pointer finger against the surface of the kitchen island. He’s antsy, Hanbin’s been writing for a second too long to be considered normal and Hao’s almost regretting for giving Hanbin any kind of free will in this component. 

The paper slides back.

“Two,” Hao squints at the paper, deciphering through the handwriting of the other, “No seeing other people in the three months of the bet.”

He draws back to give a questioning stare at Hanbin, “And what do you mean by this?” He holds up the paper and points at the new clause.

“I don’t need some confounding variable in this bet,” Hanbin replies easily, “I know you’re a repressed college student and don’t get much action anyways, so if anything, I’m not too worried.”

“Excuse me?” Hao exclaims, his voice higher than intended, “I am very experienced, thank you very much!” He snaps, not quite realizing the weight of his words. His mouth snaps shut as he looks up at Hanbin with a frantic gaze, it flickers between the four walls around him before finally focusing on the other.

Curse him and his stupid mouth.

It wasn’t a lie. Okay, fair, don’t give him that look, it was a bit of a lie. Hao wouldn’t say he’s entirely inexperienced, it comes hand in hand with going to college and the wild adventures one delves into when given such unrestricted freedom. A handjob at the back of a frat party bathroom, maybe a kiss that went on a bit too long that it would seem almost vulgar, sprinkles of things that Hao would say would suffice as experience. But experienced? He was far from a campus bicycle and if that was the new persona he had to put on to make his argument sound, so be it.

“Are you?” Hanbin smoothly shoots back, his teeth biting back a smile, “If you’re so experienced, it looks like this bet will be a breeze for you.”

Hao’s skin prickles, “It will be,” He hates himself for how far he’s taking it, “And I’ll prove it to you in these three months, you’ll see.”

“Wow,” Hanbin marvels aloud, the sarcasm dripping like sodden sheets of honeycomb, “I cannot wait to tell the world of my first-hand experience with Mr.Zhang Hao-ssi.”

Hao snatches the paper back from the other, quickly scribbling out the next rule, “No telling other people,” Stabbing the tip of the pen onto the paper so harshly it splutters splats of ink, “This stays between us.”

There’s a soft chuckle that comes from the other, a stupidly charming one for that matter, “Looks like I hit a nerve.”

“Be glad I’m stabbing the paper and not you.” 

The paper slides back into Hanbin’s grasp, Hao positively fuming in his seat. In his recollection, Hanbin is the one to set off all of the random bets and claims Hao’s been spewing in the past 48 hours. If he thinks about it a bit harder, he would realize the words he says are completely up to his own jurisdiction and if anything, he’s the one who’s been digging his own grave.

Might as well lay in it.

Hanbin finishes scratching out his next rule after a moment of sitting there and staring at the paper. Hao would’ve yelled at him to hurry up if it weren’t for the fact the other seemed to be in deep consideration of what to write and wasn’t just stalling time to tick him off.

He looks up when he’s finished, pen being playfully spun around his fingers, “Fourth rule.” Hanbin swallows a bit harsher than usual, a queasy feeling entering Hao’s stomach.

Hanbin’s always been an enigma to Hao, some stupified phenomenon that he never really understood. It was this curveball that Hao would spend forever trying to figure out what he really meant. Yet to some odd extent, Hao would grow particularly good at reading the body language and expressions of the other, like some cosmic force were decoding it all for him right in front of his face.

The pinched look between Hanbin’s brow and the purse of his lips, whatever he plans to say is much more loaded than he lets on, Hao inevitably feeling a sense of dread flood his senses.

Maybe he had finally realized this situation was plain ridiculous for two grown adult men to be arguing over, much less writing a set of rules about. Perhaps he wanted to call it off. Hao would be next and they’d never banter and speak again.

Hao’s stomach lurches. No, he doesn’t like that thought one bit.

Instead, Hanbin clears his throat as he reads aloud, “Nothing changes between us.”

For a fraction of a second, it’s silence between them. Hao simply stares at the other, his heartbeat loud in his ears in a syncopation that he deems unfamiliar. Hanbin moves first, sliding the paper over the kitchen island towards Hao, the pen trailing after.

“It doesn’t change what we have right now,” Hanbin clarifies, his ears reddening by the minute which Hao knows as he’s either getting flustered (unlikely) or embarrassed (more likely), “Even when this bet is over.”

Hao momentarily forgets how to swallow, bursting into a coughing fit as he nods. He hides his face from the other, ducking it lower than usual as he manoeuvres the paper to be right underneath his hands.

“Okay.”

He doesn’t allow himself to say anymore, too afraid of how much his voice might waver in response. A small part of him was convinced that this secret he held, the small flicker of joy he got around Hanbin, was something that was only budding in his heart. Yet the words from the other served as a confirmation, one strong enough that Hao’s sure if he looked up to meet the other’s eyes for the umpteenth time of the night, he’d reveal more about himself than he even knew about his own self. 

To break the current air around them, Hao quickly writes out the next and likely last rule. He thinks they’ve touched every base possible (At least to himself), finalizing the paper with a capped pen and rolling it over the kitchen island.

“No forehead kisses?” Hanbin echoes, his voice feathery light as he picks up the paper.

Hao finally permits himself to look up from the marble of the kitchen island he’s been tracing with his eyes the entirety of the few beats of silence, only to see Hanbin smiling at him with the paper in hand. He waves it around for a second and makes a look asking for an explanation.

“It’s peak intimacy.” Hao replies, voice still a bit tight and restrained, “We said no feelings involved, this clause,” Hao taps the capped pen on the table as he speaks, “Makes sure of it.”

It’s sad, maybe a bit vulnerable, to admit it aloud, watching Hanbin murmur it under his breath as he reads it to himself like he’s trying to commit it to memory. In order to prevent any of that from happening, Hao grabs the paper before Hanbin reaches the end of the sentence, snapping the sheet of paper onto his whiteboard with a kitchen magnet and holds it all up to show the other.

“There,” Hao hops out of his seat and displays the whiteboard propped onto the kitchen island, “We’re all finished.”

Hanbin studies the board with a hum, “Okay, you should add in the margin our current rankings.”

“What?”

“The 516 to 512,” Hanbin clarifies, “Wait, 517 to 512.”

Hao’s grip tightens on the board, head cocked to the side as he asks, “Since when did you gain another point?”

Hanbin springs into position, finger pointed in Hao’s direction as he cheers, “So you do admit it!” He grabs a dry erase marker lying on the island and scribbles out the numbers onto the whiteboard, “I’m the one with the higher score.”

As if to push his agenda even further, Hanbin writes his own name out underneath the 517 and Hao’s under the 512.

“I didn’t admit to anything ,” Hao wrenches the marker from Hanbin’s grasp, quickly erasing the labeling of their names underneath with his sleeve, “Now you’re just making things up.”

Placing the whiteboard well out of Hanbin’s grasp, Hao holds up his hand, pinky outstretched in that practiced manner they always have, “Promise to play fair?”

Hanbin locks his pinky with no hesitation, a glint in his eyes as he nods, “I always play fair, can’t say the same for you.”

Hao tightens his grip of his pinky over the other, “Say you promise,” He grits out through his teeth, “Or it’s all off.”

“I promise.” Hanbin curls his hand around, pressing their thumbs together into a tight stamp, “You’re on, Zhang Hao.”

Hao uses their interlocked hands to his advantage, pulling Hanbin closer to him with a small tug. The other stumbles over his feet, catching his balance with an arm caged around Hao, pressing onto the kitchen island behind him.

“May the best player win.”

The whiteboard hangs in the back, scribbles and streaks of marker messed all over its once pristine surface. In the middle is a large sheet of computer paper, their five rules listed in numerical order in their shared handwriting. A gentle reminder to what they’ve gotten themselves into, the board continuing to live on but instead in Hao’s bedroom, hanging on the side wall like some poster of a rockstar.

────────────────────────────────

The violin is loud and clangy in Hao’s arms, a particularly off-pitch and high-keening sound resonating around the room like a forlorn echo. He winces at the noise, a sore arm coming down to rest at his side as he stares at his piece for a beat too long, the musical notes across the 5 bands of a score have begun to grow three legs and too many heads.

He sighs loudly, exactly the same way a damsel in distress would, seating himself down into the plastic chair beneath him as any flicker of hope of wanting to practice dwindles into nothing.

He can’t seem to get this piece correctly, a stubborn thorn in his side that makes him want to bang his way too expensive violin against the stand in a loud clamor.

It wasn't just the music piece that he was particularly frustrated with. Matter of fact, the origin of the problem would probably come even further from his violin than he thought. Since after all, the problem wasn’t his ability, that he knows—he’s confident in his ability with the violin. Rather, something else nags in the back of his mind.

It has him running his fingers through his hair, legs kicking out in frustration before dejectedly packing up his instrument with more care than his thoughts.

The bet.

It ruminates in his mind. It’s been a week and nothing has happened. In a more quaint sense, this is a good thing for him. Since he was the one to run his mouth, this should be a good thing.

He’s seen Hanbin a handful of times. When hanging around their shared group of friends, at a bar throwing back drinks as they play a game of truth or dare with an empty wine bottle. They hadn’t so much so crossed eyes, eye contact vain in such a busy area, bustling with people and music so loud it would drown either of their voices. 

He’s seen Hanbin in class, still seated a couple rows ahead of him, head down as he naps through a lecture. Or at lunch, where Hao sees him asleep again, head resting against Matthew’s shoulder, Hao almost feeling worried from the plethora of new naps taking place in these public places. But it’s Sung Hanbin and suddenly all feelings of pity or empathy evaporate into the thin air.

A random bet spoken from impulse, an empty pinky promise. He’ll live.

Hauling the violin over his shoulder, Hao quietly flicks the lights off  in the practice room, keys jingling in his hand as he prepares to lock the door. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Hao practically jumps out of his skin, his violin case falling from his arms and papers fluttering to the floor as he drops it all to physically clutch at his chest. When he realizes he recognizes not just the voice, but the man standing beside his practice room, does he finally relax, shoulders sagging as his expression adjusts. An onset glare, lips pouted as he shakes his head in pure disbelief that the other even came close to scaring him.

He was not scared of Sung Hanbin.

“And what do you think you’re doing here?” Hao tuts, ducking down to pick up the keys that had fallen with all his items, “If I’m remembering correctly, the dance department is halfway across campus.”

“Oh I’m hurt,” Hanbin’s head drops as his hands clasp at his chest as if he’s been shot, “I can’t come looking for my sweet senior?”

Hao scoffs, scooping the papers into his arms before standing back up, “Sweet? Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“I think I was perfectly clear.” Hanbin takes a step closer, Hao taking a step back in succession. The thud of his back against the door makes his spine tingle, the cool wood running down his entire body in a shiver.

A hand up to Hao’s face, bypassing and resting at the door, “My sweet senior.” Hanbin reiterates.

Suddenly, the support behind Hao’s back caves, the practice room’s door swinging open and the two of them are stumbling into the dark. Hao can’t see, fingers fumbling for the switch as his feet hurry to catch up where his body is falling towards.

Arms are around him, strong and emitting waves of heat as he crashes against a solid wall. When the lights flicker on, he realizes that he hadn’t crashed into a wall, and the wall he had presumed was against him had suddenly morphed into the body of none other than Hanbin.

The air smells sweet, a mix of sandalwood and persimmons, and Hao almost finds himself sinking into it when it occurs to him that the scent is coming from the very body standing in front of him.

“You know,” Hanbin’s too close for comfort, Hao almost pushing him away until his eyes focus on something closer, “The practice rooms here are soundproof .”

Hao shudders, Hanbin’s in a tank top . It’s practically see-through from its sheer material, hot and sticky with the aftermath of sweat from what Hao presumes to be dance practice. A baseball cap pushes all his hair back, thick brows on display that almost counter his astronomically long lashes that kiss the breadth of his cheek with every blink. His cheeks are naturally flushed and Hao has to fight back and swallow harshly when he watches a trail of sweat trickle between his collarbones where three tattoos sit.

They balance one another out, a show of the sun, the moon, and the stars.

Fingers are at Hao’s chin, tipping his head up to meet Hanbin’s searching eyes, “Hey,” He clicks his tongue, voice smug, “My eyes are up here.”

Hao’s fingers crawl at his side. He should, in theory—if he wanted to have the upper hand—push Hanbin’s hand away and physically distance himself from the other. But it’s hard, so incredibly so, when the same fingers on his chin are no longer just tipping his gaze upwards, but acting as a guide for when their lips latch onto one another.

Hao’s eyes are blown wide open, the pillow softness of Hanbin’s lips on him, hot and chasing. Hanbin’s full hand is on his face, tracing his jaw before cupping it into something to deepen it.

Something snaps and the dam breaks.

Hao’s hands are in Hanbin’s hair, tugging at the strands as his eyes close and his body succumbs to the sensation. It’s a race, one against the other as their mouths envelop one another in something where the slide is so wet, tongue sliding into each other’s mouths, hands all over one another.

Hanbin swallows every sound that threatens to escape Hao’s lips, every whine, every whimper, even every breath, stolen with every move he makes. Hao can’t breathe, eyes prickling with tears as Hanbin tilts his head back as if hunting for every possible point in Hao’s mouth that can make him cry.

It’s coiled, all in the base of Hao’s stomach and to his horror, he can feel himself growing hard with every stroke against his face, every touch to his waist, every time it registers in his mind that it’s Hanbin that’s on him.

Experimentally, Hao follows, tongue darting in and sliding it against the other as he sucks Hanbin’s lip in his with every waking breath. To his joy, he hears a low groan, Hanbin’s hands stuttering as they grip tighter against Hao’s jaw.

They both pull back to breathe, their shared panting echoing in the quiet practice room. Hao watches, eyes stuck open as Hanbin licks his lips as if to catch another touch of Hao in his mouth.

Hao’s cock twitches in earnest.

“I—” Hao flounders around his words, struck out of his daze of the kiss, head swinging back and forth to spot his things, “I—I maybe—I have to go.” He manages to spit out, scooping everything he possibly can with shaking fingers.

In his hurry, he drops a page of his sheet music. But he avidly tries to ignore it, any second longer he would risk looking up to meet Hanbin’s eyes. He would see the glee of what Hanbin accomplished, the fact he had caught Hao off-guard, so much so that Hao was turned o n from it. This was horrible.

With one last ounce of courage, Hao flees from the room, not before forgetting to adjust his shorts ever so slightly to make them more comfortable.

“Don’t trip on your way out baby doll!” Hanbin calls from the room.

He would get Hanbin back for this one, he absolutely would. He grits his teeth as he recalls the other’s words—all is fair in love and war .

This was war.

If he stayed a minute longer, perhaps had just a little more tenacity to lift his head, maybe he would’ve seen the look of hunger in Hanbin’s eyes. Or perhaps he would’ve perceived the pure wanton desire that came from the other, straining in his pants as he calls after Hao’s retreating figure.

518 to 512.

────────────────────────────────

“There’s highlighter on every single line.”

Hao squints at his notes, reading glasses sliding down the tip of his nose as he scrutinizes the paper, looking for what exactly was the problem of the situation. When he can’t seem to find the issue, he turns towards Hanbin, confusion etched across every syllable that comes from his mouth.

“And what about it?” It’s heartbreaking, really, because Hao truly sounds like he doesn’t have a single clue on what could possibly be wrong with the paper.

Hanbin sighs out loud, leaning back up from the paper as he points at the entire sheet, “The entire thing is highlighted. Don’t you know you’re only supposed to highlight the important parts?”

They’re in a study room, shades drawn and three other friends sitting opposite them as they stare at a page of notes—Hao’s notes mind you—studying for an upcoming quiz in class. Their knees obnoxiously knock against one another beneath the table, sitting too close for comfort, but the only avid way for both of them to look at the paper. After all, Hao vaguely remembers Hanbin being awake for less than 25% of the lectures.

“That’s the point,” Hao deadpans, fanning his hands over his carefully written and painstakingly color-coded notes on his paper, “The whole thing is important.”

“No,” Hanbin shoots back, “It’s not.”

Hao throws his hands up and slides back in his seat, legs kicking out as he directs his attention elsewhere. He couldn’t be bothered to bicker with Hanbin for any allotted time. He had to study, even with a meager quiz like what they were tackling at hand. Interim exam results would drastically change their rankings, but it also didn’t mean the smaller quizzes wouldn’t also contribute to that overall score. He wasn’t going to slip up, at least not here.

It also frustrates him considering the fact it’s been almost twenty-fours since their time spent in the practice room and Hao hasn’t found any openings to get back at the other. He’s been swamped, surrounded by classes because he had been possessed and willingly signed up for eighteen credits this semester and on top of that, the only glimpses of Hanbin had been thoroughly swarmed by their mutual friends.

He should’ve put more effort into stopping their friend groups from merging. 

Hanbin’s back in his peripheral, tapping his finger along lines of Hao’s notes as he lets out a loud sigh, “Look here,” He runs his finger along four lines worth of notes, “These are all just random shit our professor likes to run his mouth off on.”

Sliding the paper to sit beneath his hand, Hanbin effectively scribbles out three lines of words, “The only thing useful on this sheet is this formula,” He underlines it with his ballpoint pen, “That’s it.”

Genius. 

Though Hao wasn't going to admit that out loud, or let that thought brew for a second longer for that matter. Instead, he snatches the paper back and lets out a small wail.

“You evil conniving man,” Hao seethes, “Why would you do that in pen? Now my notes look really fucking ugly.”

“Not my problem,” Hanbin tuts, “Your fault for writing so much unnecessary information.”

“I’m going to hit you with my car.” Hao sniffs, hands running up and down his notes as dramatically as possible.

Hanbin snorts, audaciously loud, “As if you have a license."

Hao debates it. Grabbing a pen from his pencil case and effectively stabbing it through the man sitting beside him and desecrating him in their library’s west wing. But he’s a civil man, folding his hands in his lap as he curses Hanbin out enough that he’s sure it amounts to three of his bloodlines.

A pen flies by them, landing with a clatter between their two seats, diverging their attention to the three friends who look absolutely and thoroughly exasperated. Their faces all mirror one another, a reprimanding reminder that they were still indeed in the room.

Hao crosses his arms, ignoring their gaze as he turns his shoulder away from Hanbin, even using an arm to cover a majority of his notes sheet as he snatches it away from his wandering gaze.

“Can you believe this guy?” Hanbin’s voice is crystal clear, teasing and very much directed towards Hao. 

Hao can’t help but steal a glance back, watching Hanbin animatedly talk about him—while he’s literally in the room—to Matthew who looks like he’d rather be having a conversation about a paint-drying competition than hearing out his friend’s complaints.

He’ll take that as a win. 517 to 513.

“Can you guys just make up?”

It’s Jiwoong who’s speaking, arms folded over his chest and hoodie collar pulled over his mouth. His gaze flickers between Hanbin and Hao, like he’s carefully weighing the consequences of his own words, lips pulled into a thin line.

“Yeah,” Ricky agrees, “They say to hug it out or something.”

A lightbulb flashes in Hao’s mind, watching as Hanbin doesn’t move, only staring at the two like they’ve suggested some horrible crime to commit. He didn’t want to hug it out with Hanbin either, thank you very much, not when his stomach was hot from a bickering anger.

Standing back from his chair, the material screeches loudly against the polished floor. Hao pushes his weight up with his palms and scoots his entire body weight over to the right. All in one direction. Closer to Hanbin.

“What are you doing—”

Hanbin’s words fall out with a loud breath as Hao seats himself in the other’s lap, a smug amount of confidence on his lips that tremble to hold back his laughter of glee. Hanbin effectively stiffens beneath him, words drying up to nothing more than a gasp of a breath. It only fills Hao with more pride when he glances to the side to watch Hanbin’s hands fail to pinpoint where they should lay, hesitatingly drawing closer to Hao’s waist only to drop pathetically at his side.

Hao’s hands clasp together, a resounding noise that captures everyone’s attention as he positively beams, “Problem solved!” He almost sings it, joy too evident with every movement of his body.

A getback to Hanbin. He’s been thinking about it quite possibly the entirety of the day, debating when he would be able to trap the other alone and literally and physically pounce on him. But the time would never arise, not during this small exam season, therefore his best bet was right then and there, right in front of everyone.

He was going to watch Hanbin crumble.

A coy glance from Ricky, questioning all of Hao’s actions with a simple brow raise.

“What,” Hao crosses his arms, weight shifting ever so slightly to get more comfortable, “You guys said to make up…”

The three exchange glances, a conversation of eye contact that Hao wasn’t exactly expertised in paired with sighs and smiles that seem all too familiar, Matthew being the first to break the wall of silence.

“Anyways,” Matthew scrolls on his computer, the screen flashing brilliantly against his face, “I was looking through our emails and they sent out a poll about the school-wide trip before exams.”

Jiwoong hums in agreement, own fingers clacking against his keyboard, “Don’t know why they’re doing all that right before the next interim exams.”

“Something about school morale, school spirit?” Ricky chimes in, “Heard our school ranked last for a sense of community on the forums.”

Jiwoong sighs, “And they still keep up the ranking system.”

They all look towards where Hanbin and Hao sit, glancing at their ties they adorn across their necks despite being able to freely dress between class periods. It’s important to note just how the ties sit on their clothing, Hao’s perfectly buttoned with a folded down collar right around the nape. Then there’s Hanbin, uniform a bit crumpled and looks like it would run from the mere mention of being ironed, the tie hastily thrown around itself, desperately hanging on for dear life.

Ricky’s gaze lingers for a moment longer, watching Hanbin whisper something in Hao’s ear, lips so close they brush by the shell of Hao’s ear. He’s smirking as he speaks, Hao turning his head away in defiance.

With a shared look with Matthew, Ricky shakes his head, this was hopeless. They were hopeless.

“How long do you plan on sitting here?” Hanbin whispers. His voice is ghostly, Hao almost jumping out of his newly claimed seat before there’s two bruising hands enraptured to his waist, stuck like glue, pressing him down and keeping him from escaping. Hanbin asks quite the loaded question for someone who seems so keen on not letting go.

Hao wiggles around, grabbing Hanbin’s hands from his sides and locking them all the way around to the front of his stomach, “Until you surrender.” He presses his back flush to Hanbin’s chest, catching the rush of blood flowing straight to Hanbin’s face from his peripheral vision.

Conversation continues in front of them, like the view of Hao sitting on Hanbin’s lap was the buzz of a background noise. But the two are both restrained, faces abnormally flushed.

“Suit yourself.”

Hands that felt hot and heavy on Hao’s stomach disappear, reaching forward to grab the computer on the table, opening it and typing on it. It was as if Hao hadn’t sat on Hanbin’s lap, that he wasn’t blatantly trying to prove that he does affect Hanbin. The other even has the audacity to rest his head on Hao’s shoulder to get a closer look, face so close Hao swears he could feel the other’s breath bristling by his neck.

“Suit myself ?” Hao echoes back, voice abashed and incredulous, eyes instantly flickering over to Hanbin’s face. He’s smug, all too much of it, lips almost looking squiggly from holding back a look of satisfaction.

Hanbin whistles under his breath, casually typing into a new document of a report he has for class, Hao seeing the familiar PSY376, developmental psychology. 

Unaffected, stoic, and if anything, too calm. 

Hao’s stomach churns, he has to win. Especially considering how the other had planned an utter under-handed attack that had caught Hao off-guard. 

As if to skim the waters, Hao shifts in his weight, shifting forwards until he’s directly above Hanbin’s crotch.

A hitch in the breath. Bingo.

He grinds, soft and slow with his hips, swaying them in a loop and as subtly as possible. Hanbin stopped typing at this point, hands frozen and hovering above his keyboard with every movement of Hao’s hips.

“Hm?” Hao whispers, eyes darting to make sure their friends weren’t focusing on them—which they weren't, thank God, “Did you forget how to type there, Sung Hanbin-ssi?”

“No,” Hanbin grits through his teeth, a hard swallow that follows, “I’m fine .”

“Oh really?”

This time Hao really puts effort into it, abdominal muscles clenching as he works his hips in another agonizingly slow roll. He knows the friction isn’t enough, just teetering between the realms of giving Hanbin what he wants, but pulling back right before he gets it. It was as if he were dangling something sweet in front of a dog, waiting for Hanbin to go stupid from how bad he yearned for it.

He hits the nail on the head. It’s the fingers curling into fists on the table, knuckles turning white from how hard Hanbin’s clenching his hands. It’s the shudder against Hao’s back, one that travels through Hanbin’s body that Hao can feel at every point their bodies are connected. It’s the way he can physically feel Hanbin chubbing up in interest, hot and hard beneath the cleft of Hao’s ass.

A soft gasp leaves Hao’s lips when he realizes just how big Hanbin is.

Almost as if to delve deeper into this new discovery Hao’s made of Hanbin, he swirls his hips around, sliding and grinding with low effort beneath the table.

“It’d be so embarrassing if you were loud here.” Hao whispers under his breath, each stroke of his hips fattening Hanbin’s cock through his pants. It’s crude, the fact he’s saying such a thing when he knows their friends are literally in the room. But it’s victorious when he glances at Hanbin, teeth gnawing on his lips as if fighting back any escape of noise.

“You wouldn’t want that hm?” Hao eggs on, doubling down on his words when Hanbin’s chin disappears from Hao’s shoulder, head thrown back like the motion will stop his body from reacting, “In front of all our friends and they’d all find out how I’m the one making you this way.”

“Stop.” It’s breathless the way Hanbin speaks it, drawn between his breaths and caught as a lie to Hao. 

“Oh?” Hao marvels, “You’ve gotten harder, does that turn you on?” Hao swivels his hips, riding Hanbin with four layers of clothing between them, the friction deliciously sweet, “You secretly like that, don’t you?”

It’s all teasing words, but Hao knows that he’s equally turned on by it. Listening to his friends chatter as his own cock springs from his own words, the fact that Hanbin’s so aroused by him, it clouds his mind as he lets his body let loose to what he feels is right.

“Stop saying that.” Hanbin’s hands are back on his waist, desperately clutching on as he buries his face into Hao’s back, burrowing while he shakes his head.

“Why? You don’t like the truth—?”

“ Stop .” Hanbin’s voice is sharp and it almost stills Hao in his actions. But he’s only spurred on, the devilish idea that Hanbin’s grown so weak, so breathless, that Hao can’t stop.

A rustle and Hao freezes.

Hao’s teeth clamp down onto his own lip this time, painful and bruising from how quick and snappy he does it. It’s pathetic, hands scrambling for purchase at the table or fisting at Hanbin’s pants from beneath him. He doesn’t know what to do, spine tingling as a quiet whimper, so soft and whispered, manages to scrape out of his mouth.

Hanbin had thrust up, so minorly so, but entirely mirrored by the grind of Hao’s hips. It works in tandem with Hao, rolling his hips up as Hao’s full body jostles from above him. The only thing keeping him in place and preventing him from falling are Hanbin’s arms that stay securely around him.

“What are you doing?” Hao hisses, the words melting into another breathless gasp.

“Payback.”

Hanbin thrusts his hips up again, the friction turning Hao’s mind delirious as he sits almost completely still above him. He wishes he could do more, tease Hanbin even further and make him a moaning mess. But he’s spending way more energy on holding his own noises back, moans lodged in his throat like a lump he can’t swallow.

It’s torturous .

“I—”

Matthew’s computer snaps shut, the noise loud enough that they both jump in their seats. Hao immediately flushes, looking down at his lap before precariously placing his hands over his crotch in a pitiful attempt of covering the aftermath of their situation. Their friends looked unfazed, completely oblivious to what they were doing from across the table.

“Ricky wants to grab some coffee, you two coming with?” Gyuvin cheerily asks, slinging his bag over his shoulder. In their moment of dazed sexual tension, it seemed their friends had all packed away their things without them noticing a thing.

The two answer at the same time, frantic and a bit too quick to be considered normal, “No!”

A brow raise and it comes from Ricky, “I know Hao-ge’s not that big on coffee, but Hanbin-hyung too?”

“I–” Hanbin’s voice falters behind Hao, “I’m going to finish this paper and I’ll meet you guys there.”

Ricky looks at Hao, something that looks like you’ll be explaining this later .

Hao only shrugs, growing even more uncomfortable under his close friend’s scrutiny. He’s sure if Ricky looked at him a minute longer, he’d notice the flush on his neck mirrored in Hanbin’s. Or even the way his legs are positioned to make it seem like he doesn’t have a complete hard-on in a study room for goodness sake.

“If you say so.” Matthew sings, opening the door of the study room to exit.

“Then I’ll see you in a bit hyung.” Gyuvin follows Matthew, Ricky in succession.

When the door finally slams behind them, they both slink back, Hao falling onto Hanbin’s chest with a thud.

“That was a close one.” Hao murmurs, still sitting uselessly on Hanbin’s lap. He would get up if it weren’t for the fact his legs feel like jelly and he’s scared that Hanbin would notice just how much his body had liked all of this.

Hanbin sighs, “As if you hadn’t started this.”

They sit like that for a minute, the clock in the room ticking endlessly behind them. When Hao peels his body off the other, he’s softened to the point where if he shifts in his pants ever so slightly, no one would notice the imprint.

“Let’s make sure we don’t do this again.” Hao sits in his original seat, turning his attention towards Hanbin whose eyes are trained on him like he’s watching Hao’s every move.

He knows he started this. But it was too risky, almost breaking one of their rules they had come up with. A rule he had suggested himself. It was a haze, mindless judgement, he can’t have this happening and everything between him and Hanbin is discovered by the people closest to him.

Though he does have an inkling they already know.

Hanbin nods, “Like you said, this stays between us.” His pinky’s up, like he had predicted exactly where this was going.

Hao smiles, a genuine one, something that hurts his cheeks and makes his eyes crinkle. He can’t seem to remember the last time he smiled like this, let alone to Hanbin. But it’s instinctive, something he can’t control. There he is, sliding his pinky into the others and stamping their thumbs like the way it’s almost been.

He’s staring at their conjoined hands before his gaze settles on Hanbin. 

It almost startles him. The look on Hanbin’s face, the way his eyes widen and the way he swallows. The blush on his cheek that Hao can’t discern if it had started to grow because of their antics or something else. The look of hesitance and shock, something Hanbin doesn’t wear very often.

Hanbin coughs, “I–I think I should—” his gaze refuses to look back at Hao, stuttering through his every word before finally settling on,  “I’m going to go meet them.”

Hanbin places his computer into his bag, missing a grand total of three times before sliding out from his seat and straightening his clothes.

“You sure?” Hao’s lip quirks to the side, a laugh threatening to fall as he eyes the other.

“What do you mean?”

Hao points a finger at Hanbin’s groin, “You look like you have quite the problem.”

Hanbin’s a lot bigger than Hao and even with the added time they had spent calming down, he still has a considerable bulge in his pants, protruding and sticking out like a sore thumb.

Hanbin groans into his hands, hair falling forward as he makes a noise akin to a kicked puppy, “I’m heading out.” He manages to get out, the words muffled.

He scurries out the door as if a thief caught behind the counter, movements so rushed he almost bangs into the door on his way out.

“I can help you out if you need to!” Hao calls after him.

“I’d rather take a cold shower.”

Hao huffs, listening as the door clicks behind him.

He can’t really say anything. Not when he also has a raging problem that’s very much alive in his own pants.

He’ll count this as his win. 518 to 514.

────────────────────────────────

The lunchroom is loud and bustling, insistent in Hao’s ears as he shoves a spiteful spoon of rice into his mouth. He’s enraged, full of wrath, and completely seeing red as he glares at the specks of rice in his tray.

“It’s my win.” Hanbin declares from across the table, a couple seats away. Hao had purposefully sat himself further away but unfortunately he can still hear the other.

“It’s because,” Another harsh stab into his food, “You cheated.” Hao seethes, pointing an angry finger in Hanbin’s direction.

Prior to this, Hao had found himself racing the other to the lunchroom from their shared class. He had taken the route they always took, through the lower C-hallway of the building and down the path with the estranged, yet weirdly befitting fountain to their dining hall. But Hanbin had disappeared from his peripheral vision to which Hao had naively assumed was the result of him leaving Hanbin in the dust.

No. The other had found a shortcut without telling Hao.

“You cheat all the time.” Hanbin takes a casual bite of his food, chewing slowly as if to savor not just the taste but also his own victory.

“No I don’t.” Hao whines, catching how Hanbin crosses his arm and gives him a pointed look.

“I—” Hao tries again, Hanbin only looking harder.

He lets the conversation go.

At least he hadn’t bet anything on the race.

“You two are still fighting?” Taerae muses, sliding into the empty seat beside Hao, “If only our club president could spend the same amount of time on our school festival panel.”

“Fuck.” The spoon’s halfway to Hao’s mouth, pieces of rice falling from the utensil as he turns his head to look at the other, “When was that again?”

President of the music club. One of the millionth extracurriculars Hao had picked up throughout his entire college career. In his defense, he had been so busy with everything going on in his life (Hanbin), that he had completely let the thought slip his mind. Mentally he slaps himself, he was the one who had signed their club up for it anyways.

“Are you kidding me?” Taerae deadpans, his voice high as he peers at Hao with the most judgemental look a man could muster.

“It’s the day after tomorrow.” A voice adds. Yujin, a freshman Hao had seemingly collected through one of his general education courses he’s been putting off until his senior year.

The spoon falls with a clatter from Hao’s hand, all heads turning to stare at him from the noise. There’s a singular grain of rice stuck to his lip but he can’t seem to bring it in himself to wipe it off when his mind reels at the news.

How could he have forgotten?

A loud tsk sounds from the same direction and Hao doesn’t even need to look up to know who it’s coming from, “What can I say,” Hanbin declares loudly, “I’ve always prepared the dance team well in advance.”

In theory, their clubs should work in favor of one another. A music club and a dance club, the perfect combination to pull off a joint performance that would suffice for the school festival. If it weren’t for the grimy little fact that the president of the opposing club is none other than the smug bastard sitting three seats away.

“Get a load of this guy,” Hao isn’t speaking to anyone in particular, throwing a thumb over his shoulder towards Hanbin’s direction, “Do you remember when his team fell flat on their faces in the sports section last year?”

“A fluke!” Hanbin calls from behind to which Hao promptly ignores him.

Hao directs his attention towards Taerae instead, “So,” He lets out a sheepish laugh, unsteady and eyes pleading, “What should we do?”

He asks Taerae mainly because he’s the vice president of the club, maybe he had something he had conjured up while Hao’s brain was getting wrapped and looped around into a tight knot. Hao crosses his fingers underneath the table for extra measure.

When he sees Taerae bite his lip followed by the furrow of his brows, Hao lets out a sigh. They were doomed .

“Hanbin-hyung’s club is doing dance karaoke,” Yujin chimes in from the side, “Something about spinning a wheel and doing a random dance with your designated partner.”

Oh Hao’s sweet sweet junior. Hao’s never been so thankful to befriend someone almost four years younger than him, practically on the verge of tears as he gives the other a thankful nod and a grip of the hands. His handsome, kind-hearted and sweet junior. Did he mention sweet?

He could totally rip it off with actual karaoke, exactly the same premise, but have the music club members Hao deems as the most good-looking show up. There’s some sophomore named Wonbin in his club that he’s sure the girls at his university had started a forum to discuss his looks about. This was an utter success, he would overshadow Hanbin with the man’s own idea.

“Hey,” Hanbin glares at Yujin, yet he can’t manage it for long considering how much of a kid the boy is, the naivety of the youth, “I thought that was a secret between me and you.”

Despite the words not even being directed at him, Hao wipes the rice from his lips and gives Hanbin as menacing of a glare as possible, “So now you’re keeping secrets from me?”

“I keep a lot of secrets from you, Hao.” It’s a bit too sincere when he says it, Hanbin looking straight into Hao’s. For a second, they both hold it, not saying a word as Hao rolls the words around in his head. It’s a loop, endless looks of Hanbin flashing through his head like a montage of his top ten moments before death. But nothing compares to this one, honesty crippling his features.

Hao was not going to fall for one of the oldest tricks in the books.

He scoffs loudly, crossing his arms and holding his chin high, “So do I, Sung Hanbin.”

Hanbin jabs a finger in his direction, “You’re just mad that it’s a good idea.”

Dammit. Hao seethes under his breath, did Hanbin see right through his plan? 

Ever since Hao was young, his mother always said that his face was like an open book, which according to her was a fatal flaw. From whatever he thought to whatever he felt, it was always written point blank period on his forehead with a glaring red light. Since moving so far from home, the first perception had always fallen short of what his mother had said, many of his peers and classmates being completely unable to read him. Perhaps his mother was right (?) Hao wasn’t too sure anymore.

Deciding to drop the topic, for the sake of his pride and ego, Hao chooses to ignore Hanbin once again. He stands up abruptly before loudly stating, “I’m going to the vending machine to get a snack.”

“Wait,” Hanbin darts up as well, “I’ll come with.”

They share a look and Hao’s smiling before he can stop it, “Whoever’s first pays?”

“You’re on.”

They flee before their friends can comment on it, Hao’s heartbeat drumming in his ears. The noise of sneakers squeaking against newly polished floors echo throughout the entire dining hall, and perhaps to the rest of the university, the two look utterly insane racing for a vending machine. But it’s glee, a shared one that they both wear in worn smiles and a brow bone full of sweat.

With a thud, Hao lands a fraction of a second behind Hanbin. Doubled over and panting, he places a hand on the vending machine as if it were his life support, crouched over his knees as he dry heaves a bit into his mouth. His mother was wrong, athleticism was definitely his fatal flaw.

“Not.” A pant coupled with a haggard wheeze, “Fair.”

“How so?” Hanbin’s perfectly fine, leaning leisurely against the machine. He hadn’t even broken a true sweat. Curse that dancer's body of his. Hao’s sure if he was actually a head taller than Hanbin and not a handful of half centimeters taller he would’ve won. Actually, he isn’t that sure, he takes that one back.

“You have long legs.”

Hanbin purses his lips, “You’re taller and,” He waves at Hao’s body, staring for a second too long that even Hao catches it, “Your legs are longer.”

Giving himself a second to breathe, Hao straightens his posture and presses his lips into a thin line. It’s petty, everything he does and says when he’s around Hanbin, but like he’s said about a million times before, he simply can’t help it, “I’m not sport-inclined.”

A soft chuckle, Hanbin’s face is buried into the side of the vending machine, Hao watching as his chest rises and falls with the rhythm of his laughs. 

He thinks this is funny? Humorous? Does he feel a great joy in seeing Hao so thoroughly exhausted? What a demon.

“That sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” Hanbin manages to get out at the end.

Fine. It’s all fine. He’ll pay for these stupid snacks on his own stupid bet. Hao squints his eyes at Hanbin as he pulls out his wallet, fingers begrudgingly sliding his card into the slot as he mutters at Hanbin to hurry up and pick his items.

519 to 514. He’ll kill Hanbin.

────────────────────────────────

Hao always thought if he were to make a list of things he hated the most, Hanbin would be listed first and random jumpscares would come after. Right now in the beating heat, Hao would like to put Kim Gyuvin at the very top and a gargantuan gap between him and Hanbin.

As one knows, nothing’s ever fucking funny when there’s sweat dripping down every crevice of your body. 

Hao wants to scream, maybe pull out the other’s hair as he climbs Gyuvin’s body like a bean pole while simultaneously launching him down the football field.

If it couldn’t have been any worse, he and Taerae had painstakingly come up with a panel for their school festival, his absolutely genius (not) vice president insisting on a confession booth. Taerae should’ve known better, no, Hao should’ve known better.

He goes to Seoul National University for God’s sake. He could split the student body population into three groups, the socialites which consisted of anyone who pertained to Greek life, the nerds who haven’t spent a day under the sun in hopes of studying for a moment longer, and his friend group. He should’ve known the only people showing up to a school festival would be the second group.

They took ‘confession’ quite seriously, Hao having to sit there and hear people out like he were a pastor at a literal confession booth. Confessing how they cheated on a test in the third grade and how that led to their crippling imposter syndrome in college. Or the girl he remembers from his computer science class that confessed that she was the one who flooded the gym bathrooms. She hadn’t exactly gone into what caused the flooding, but that’s besides the point.

He had spent the entire morning sweltering, practically melting in that sauna of a booth, and here Gyuvin was, thinking of the most ingenious things on the planet like Hao wasn’t three seconds away from decking him.

“You did what ?” Hao swears his blood pressure is rising through the roof, raising a fist as if to pummel him. Gyuvin doesn’t flinch but Hao swears he was that close to actually swinging.

Gyuvin rubs at the back of his neck, a sheepish look written all over his face, “We thought it’d help you guys make up.”

“We?” Hao’s voice grows louder and higher, he’s going to get a tension headache at this point.

For some context, Hao had just discovered the news of how he’d be spending his afternoon. A segment of the school festival he’s never participated in before, the sports section. He’s been on the sidelines, laughing with his friends as he watches people stumble over each other. But he’s never been the one to be on the other side of the fence, actually in the races. All in all, while he’s also partnered with…

“Sung Hanbin?” Hao shriek-shouts, a mix of the two as his voice grows shrill, “You idiot! You freaking moron! I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”

Two hands hook underneath Hao’s arms, physically lifting in the other direction and steering him away. All the threats dry up in his mouth when he sees who it is, stupidly grinning as he drives Hao further away from Gyuvin who looks ready to burst into laughter.

“I still have to sort out my gripes with him before I butcher you, Hanbin.” Hao grumbles, feet dragging along the field as he gets pulled further and further away.

“It’s not that bad,” Hanbin seats Hao a couple feet away on a small campus bench, crouching down and dusting off Hao’s shoes with a quick hand, “Guess you’ll have to see my handsome face for a bit longer on this beautiful day.”

Hao makes a pointed look at his own clothes, “I’ve been sweating all morning and you’re here to tell me it’s a beautiful day.”

Hanbin smiles, all soft and genuine, “ Correction , beautiful day for me.”

“Egotistical brat.”

“The only brat here is you.”

Hao asks though a small part of him already knows the answer, “How so?” Because he’s curious, how does Hanbin see him? Is it the reflection Hao sees in the mirror or does Hanbin see something different altogether?

“Have you seen yourself?” Hanbin looks incredulous, lips left ajar as he studies Hao, “You in the practice room, you in the study room. Have you seen yourself?” He asks the question again, a small smile on his lips and Hao knows he’s making a face already at Hanbin’s words. He knows he’s getting under Hao’s skin and it makes him bristle.

Hao wouldn’t be affected by such a meagre attack on his character, “Yeah. And he’s better looking than you.”

Hanbin shakes his head with a sigh, “Those dorm mirrors have really been warping people’s perception of themselves.” He’s pacing back and forth in front of Hao’s vision, the man swatting at the air between them as if it could get Hanbin to stop.

“Excuse me?” A string of curses load in the front of Hao’s mind that he’s ready to shoot at the other. He’s simply waiting for a trigger from Hanbin.

“You heard me,” Hanbin pauses, “Say, if we manage to snag first place in these events tonight, I’ll treat you to hotpot.”

Hao’s mood positively improves, all of the horrible comments he had evoked getting stuffed into the back of his mind. Melting like the memories of a hot broth in a nice and cold air conditioned room, his favorite sauces and side dishes next to him. On top of that, not even having to bring his wallet since Hanbin did say after all, his treat.

“Oh you’re so on. But I get to order everything. You don’t get to touch that ordering IPad.” 

Hanbin’s hands fly up in surrender, a shake of his head as he grins at the other, “Fine by me.”

A loud whistle sounds from behind Hanbin, the two’s head both swiveling to peer at where the noise is coming from. It’s shrill, a voice hidden underneath the static of a megaphone calling over for the sports section. Students fly by Hao’s vision, some he recognizes working the panels with him this morning from other clubs, others being participants he saw at his own booth.

Hanbin throws a hand back in the direction, “Sounds like our call—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, Hao pelting ahead of him with a petty brush of the shoulder. He was not going to be left in the dust again by Hanbin, once on the way to the dining room and another at the vending machine was two too many.

But Hanbin’s on his heels, a small lilt of laughter coming from the other as he paces himself beside the brisk walk Hao’s kept up, “You’re quite easy to bribe, aren’t you?” Hanbin teases, his words nestling in Hao’s ears like an insistent little bumble bee that flits all around him.

“I’m not easy to bribe,” Hao denies, pout forming on his lips as he lets out a small noise of defeat, “But you can’t use hotpot against me.”

“I know,” it’s absolute in the way Hanbin says it, “I know all your weaknesses.”

That he does, and it should anger Hao to some extent. Strangely enough, he’s not as bothered about it as he had thought. Hanbin had been the one to find him in his junior year, snot and tears staining his chin and cheeks as he fought with his parents over the phone, cooped up in a small study room he had booked for its soundproofing abilities.

It wasn’t like he had a bad relationship with his parents, but it was, hm, he would put it as simply strained . Being so many miles away from home, it was easy for them to fight over something so small. Hao forgetting to call back, his parents not picking up when he called and needed their support. It was something both parties kept to themselves, even Hao knew that, that it would all bubble in a pot of burning tension that eventually comes to a snap.

That night it had been the very day where the pot wouldn’t stop spilling, Hao saying some words he hadn’t meant and his parents spitting back something equally as venomous. It was during the height of his final exam season and resulted in him landing in second place going into his senior year. 

They hadn’t exchanged much of a greeting when Hanbin had stumbled into Hao’s booked study room. If it were anyone else, he would’ve likely yelled at them to leave since his name was clearly booked for the time slot. Hao hadn’t turned on a single light in the room, but Hanbin hadn’t questioned it, or pried for that matter.

Simply placing his bag on the table, he had slid down the wall to seat himself on the floor next to Hao, offering a water bottle and silence as a partner. Hao had rested his head on his knees, staring at the floor as if it were the biggest interest of his life and counting the different scuff marks that had begun to litter his shoelaces.

“What are you doing?” Hanbin had whispered, leaning his head back and resting his arms on his knees as well, “Hm?”

When Hao hadn’t answered, Hanbin asked another question, “You okay?”

That night was the ugliest Hao had felt in a while. Sleeves that rubbed his eyes raw, a thud in his heartbeat as his breathing failed him in many more ways than just once, hiccuping through his explanation as he cried himself sore in a study room multiple buildings away from his own dorm. He hated having to be vulnerable, wearing his heart on his sleeve as he explained a situation he had lived through his entire life, a situation where he was told countless times by his parents how selfish it was for him to leave.

He was tired of being told he was too much, too sensitive, too reactive. He really wished he weren’t any of it, but his frustrations built in a household where it hurt to stay, but took too much in him to leave. 

But instead of any coaxing words, looks of pity, or reassuring gestures, Hanbin had dragged him to a dance room. Placing random bets as he taught Hao a fairly simple routine that he had made on the spot. He had laughed the most that very night, spinning and tripping over his own feet as he stared at his layer of limbs in the mirror. From there, their bets had grown from just simple jabs at each other, to, maybe, just maybe, a reason to stay for a minute longer.

Though Hao would never admit that. God forbid Hanbin would discover another weakness of his.

“What are you thinking about?”

The field comes into view, Hao staring down at his hands as he’s brought back to the present. A knuckle taps against his forehead and he sees Hanbin’s hand tapping on the skin there like he could stun Hao awake.

“Nothing,” Hao shakes his head, hoping the lingering warmth in his chest doesn’t blossom and spill out, “Let’s own this stupid sports event.”

The view in front of them when they skid into the where the event is held has Hao debating if he should run back and truly stuff Gyuvin six feet under. He doesn’t know how their university had earned such a funding, and perhaps this was why the air conditioning in the dorms was always broken.

What Hao can make out is a line of foam poles, sticking up from the ground on what looks to be what they’re supposedly racing down. There’s a machine on the side that gurgles and spits out a plethora of bubbles in fifteen second increments. Worst of all, the end segment is a plastic tarp, covered in what seems to be a mixture of soap and water.

A pair of dice appears in Hanbin palm stretched out in front of him, the other much less engrossed on the trail than Hao and actually listening to the organizer of the event.

“It’s a princess carrying event with a twist,” It’s Keita speaking, a classmate of Hao and Hanbin’s who’s wearing a ridiculously bright orange vest over his clothes, “Roll the dice and you call odds or evens. Whoever wins picks the roles, a princess or the knight.”

Before the teams begin rolling, Keita makes a loud noise, “Ah, not so fast,” He waves at a white tent behind him, “The last three teams have to wear actual costumes of the princess and knight so pick your roles wisely.”

Surely it’s not too late for Hao to transfer out of this school, right? He’s almost done with his senior year, a final stretch before he gets that godforbidden diploma, but he's okay graduating a semester later if it means he doesn’t have to do this.

“You ready?” Hanbin shakes his enclosed fist, the dice rattling against each other in a plastic syncopation, “Make your call.”

“Even.” Hao says it so quickly he almost doesn’t catch how Hanbin laughs. Loud and crystal clear, wiping a tear from his eyes as if for extra effect.

“What?” Hao huffs, “It has more combinations. Odd and odd or even and even. Odds only get a combination of odd and even.”

Hanbin grins, “Oh we’ll see.”

The dice roll out in front of them in the grass, muddling the flash of the number of dots on the surface. Hao’s mumbling every prayer he can remember from his religious class he took in his sophomore year for extra credits, even making up some of his own. He had to be a knight, God, being a princess sounds like a public humiliation trial if they lost. It already sounds bad enough without the added punishment, getting carried for an entire race? Public execution. 

He knows he doesn’t exactly have the best arm strength to accommodate holding on Hanbin for more than three seconds let alone an entire pathway. But he’ll drag Hanbin down with his own two arms if he has to, he is not going to be a princess, he’s sure of it.

“Six and three,” Hanbin cheerily announces, pointing his finger at the two dice, “It’s odd.”

Fuck. 

Hao looks over at Hanbin with the most innocent expression he can possibly give as a six foot grown male, lips pouting immediately and swinging his body from side to side. He laughs awkwardly before leaning forwards in Hanbin’s direction, “Sir Sung Hanbin-ssi, is it possible if I were the knight—”

“Keita!” Hanbin’s voice interrupts Hao before he can get the desperate plea out, “I won, I’ll be the knight and Hao’s the princess.”

Oh Hao was going to boil him alive. Cook him over a grill afterwards and serve him on a platter for his dance team, all with a coriander garnish.

“You think you can lift me?” Hanbin looks over at Hao as he hands a tag from Keita, passing the bright pink one with glitter that says ‘princess’ over to Hao.

Reluctantly, Hao grabs it from Hanbin’s hand, pinning it somewhere where it seems as inconspicuous as possible, “Who knows, I could’ve been secretly training in my bedroom for this exact moment.”

Hanbin rolls his eyes at his words, “And who exactly are you planning on princess carrying?”

Hao crosses his arms, “My dog back at home weighs very much if you would like to know. I’m training to carry her. ”

Hanbin lets out a low laugh, “You were just telling me how you weren’t sport-inclined.”

“You cling to my every word Hanbin,” Hao leans in closer, a small smile playing on his lips, “Are you obsessed with me or something?”

Hanbin doesn’t miss a beat, leaning closer and skimming the tip of his finger over Hao’s nose, bumping it at the very tip, “And what if I am?”

The touch is hot, something that Hao never remembered would burn so easily. Hanbin’s so close, too close to Hao for something that he himself had started, and for a moment, it’s all Hao can hear in his ears. Just Hanbin.

Hao coughs, feeling the same warmth spread to his ears and to the base of his throat, “Get in line then.” Almost as if to ward off Hanbin and the weird fuzzy feeling growing in his chest, Hao pushes the other back firmly, two hands pressing into his shoulders.

Hanbin doesn’t budge, “Ooh, feisty.” He whistles it, and Hao can feel him pressing forward as if to challenge Hao. The devil reincarnated.

“I’d like to let you know that the people obsessed with me are in line from here to the heart of Tokyo, Japan.” Hao doesn’t usually speak like this, an air of arrogance that would probably earn him a hard smack from Taerae as he yells at Hao for sounding like he peaked in high school. But it’s Hanbin he’s talking to and the only way he knows how to defeat the man is matching the other’s ego.

Both of Hanbin’s brows raise at this, his face screaming are you being for real right now . But of course, he matches Hao easily, “Looks like I’ll have to book my flight to Tokyo tonight.”

This could go on forever is what Hao learns, Hao shooting some snarky comment that Hanbin deflects like he’s been training for it his entire life. Therefore, Hao decides his best course of action is to give up, letting out a loud sigh and a shoulder slump.

His hand flies up, pinky up like it always has been before any of their promises, “Just promise not to drop me.”

A hook around and a stamp of the thumb, “I promise.”

Promise my ass.

Hao should’ve known to never trust the man, his life being held on by a mere thread of string as he lets out the third shriek since the whole thing started. Hao should’ve insisted on being the knight, begging on his knees and bowing his head in hopes of being anything but the princess.

He’s about three feet in the air, body hovering and held by two arms beneath him. His two arms stretch around Hanbin’s neck, clasped tightly together so that his nails have begun to dig into his skin. He bites his lip as another curse slips through.

“Sung. Hanbin. I am about to lose my life.” Hao moans, burying his face deeper into any fabric that he can find. He wishes he could describe what he sees but he can’t exactly do any of that when his eyes are squeezed shut, darkness swirling behind his eyelids.

What’s even more cunning is the fact that he hears Hanbin laughing . Hao swears he speeds up, feet thudding with a cadence that shouldn’t be possible considering the fact he has a full adult male in his arms.

A whisper by Hao’s ears, ghostly and fanning over the shell of it, “You just like to be close to me, don’t you?”

“Sung Hanbin, my eyes are shut because I’m almost 100% sure you almost hit that pole. What about me leaning in gives you that impression?” Hao’s whining, loud and full of complaints as he squeezes tighter around Hanbin’s neck as his stomach lurches. His organs are tumbling all around his body and he can’t help but wonder if it’s possible that they’ve intertwined amongst themselves.

“I don’t know, maybe by the way you’re holding onto my neck.” 

It registers in Hao’s mind how close he’s pulling himself onto Hanbin right now. He was almost climbing the man, lifting his body that he hovered over Hanbin’s arms, not even letting his full weight drop onto the limbs. He’s hanging completely by his arms that are attached to Hanbin’s neck.

There’s also the factor that what Hao had been burying his face into was none other than Hanbin’s chest, the rhythmic beating of his heart so close that Hao can hear it if he presses his cheek just a hair closer. 

Embarrassment suddenly becomes a fact to Hao, his face igniting like it’s been lit aflame, eyes flying open as his arms free themselves from Hanbin’s neck. His body lands with a low thud, the air getting knocked from Hao’s lungs as he falls into the secure hold of the other on, hands grasping onto his clothes, gripping to keep them balanced as Hanbin continues his jog.

Even Hanbin stumbles a bit from the change of where the majority of Hao’s weight lands, Hao’s body ricocheting around as he scrambles to keep them upright.

A red alarm flashes in Hao’s mind, he was going to die . He can already imagine it on his tombstone and the headline on the newspaper, ‘a broke college student dies in a sporting event before his team even makes it past the bubble machines’. God, that might be even worse than having to wear a princess costume.

Against his worse judgement, Hao latches back on, arms stuck behind Hanbin’s neck like glue.

“Don’t you dare let go again.” Hanbin grits out, hiking Hao up with his arms, jostling Hao around with his movement.

“Then stop teasing me.” Hao whines, face still incredibly warm from earlier.

As if to prove his point, Hanbin swings his arms away from his body, Hao’s hands flailing to keep up and letting go from the force of Hanbin’s movements. He lets out another shriek, this one full of fear as his eyes squeeze back shut as he slams back into Hanbin’s body.

When Hao latches back on, he’s breathless, almost gasping for air, and clinging on for dear life. This time, he weaves his hands behind Hanbin’s head of hair, fingers threading through his strands and securing his hold there.

“Promise me not to let go, please for the love of all things holy, do not do that again.” Hao wails.

“Of course princess, I promise.” Hao makes a face at the nickname that has Hanbin letting out a laugh that comes straight from his chest, Hao being able to physically feel how his shoulders raise with every huff of air that leaves his lips, “Now let go of my hair, I’m going to start prematurely balding from you tearing it out.”

Hanbin’s face has crinkled at this point, Hao being close enough to notice just how he looks when he smiles. Teeth on full display, cheeks dimpling like whiskers, and nose bridge so tall Hao wonders what it would be like to skim his finger along the slope—what was he thinking?

Hao shakes his head, no, he didn’t want to do that. He was just mad, yes that’s exactly it. He was upset because why was Hanbin also stupidly handsome when he smiled as well? It just wasn’t fair, good grades come easily to him and he looks good when he’s laughing? Simply not fair.

Out of spite, which was without Hanbin’s discretion, Hao pulls at his strands angrily, “It’s just a small tug.”

“You stress me out enough to have me prematurely balding without you even pulling on my hair.”

Who was he to talk about stress? Does he have any idea just how much time he spends ruminating in Hao’s mind? If anything, Hao should be the one talking about stress, “I’m already balding because of you.”

There’s a gurgle and thousands of bubbles erupt around them, coating Hanbin’s hair and smearing all over their hair. Hao’s hands are sticky with hair and bubbles, but he refuses to let go, too afraid of losing his life.

“Awh,” Hanbin coos, “We’ll be matching baldies.”

Wrenching a hand free from the tangled mess that was once Hanbin’s hair, Hao pushes his hand against Hanbin’s face, smearing soapy bubbles all over his cheek, “Do not put that energy out into the universe. And who wants to be matching with you?”

Hanbin peers down at him, a momentary flash of fear sounding in Hao’s belly because hello, focus on the path? But Hanbin looks dead serious, panning over Hao’s face with the remnants of bubbles sliding down his cheek, “Watch what you say, I’m literally carrying you right now.”

Hao opens his mouth to retort something back when he’s suddenly reminded of what Hanbin was capable of. He was playing with Hao’s life now, what kind of evil was this? 

Snapping his jaw shut, Hao’s lips screw shut, his fingers making a zipping motion in front of them.

“That’s better.”

Miraculously, they end up winning the entirety of the race. Hanbin wears his victory with a triumphant smile on his face, completely unphased from the aftermath of running an obstacle course while carrying someone else. Hao on the other hand, is the complete and utter opposite.

He had collapsed into the grass like he was the man running the entire time, hands propping his body up as he let out another whisper of blessing for being able to have his own two feet on flat ground. The rest of the students bustle around him, the last three of the race letting out loud groans and having to hustle inside the white tent.

A silent prayer to anything willing to listen, at least it wasn’t him.

Hanbin’s hand enters his vision, palm up and making a quick beckoning motion, “Come on princess, hotpot place stops taking orders after eight.”

Through the haze of the race paired with Hao's thoughts running a mile a minute in his mind, he hadn’t even realized that the sun had begun to set. When he lifts his head to see the view, a blur of orange and red bleeds into one another, the sun setting right behind Hanbin’s head. It almost gives him a halo effect, Hao’s jaw slackening at the view. It’s stunning, a blur of bold colors streaking the palette behind Hanbin, clouds littering the view with a dust of white.

Hao takes his hand, a smile finally spreading across his face to the point his cheeks hurt, “Don’t rush me, I’m coming.”

────────────────────────────────

Hotpot is refreshing with Hanbin.

Hao didn’t think he’d live to the day where he’d put ‘Hanbin’ and the adjective ‘refreshing’ in the same sentence. But he was, stringing them together in his mind along with all the other adjectives he uses to describe Hanbin as he hobbles along the curb.

They had eaten the meal in record-time, the hotpot place closing a mere forty-five minutes after they arrived. In their rushed attempts to snag as much food as possible, their digestion had paid the price, Hao offering to walk Hanbin back to his apartment as repayment.

Crazy, the fact that he offered, he knows.

But Hanbin was the very few, maybe the only one, that Hao had brought to hotpot and hadn’t bat an eye at what Hao ordered. Back home in China, everything he ordered would be deemed quite normal, pigs brain to duck feet. Yet he was met with the harsh reality that the South Korean culture was still vastly different from the one he knows from home. Friends and acquaintances alike make loud judgements of his food choices.

Though, not Hanbin.

The air is considerably cooler when it’s nighttime, the world seemingly coming to a standstill as they brush past another streetlamp. It’s a chill that comes with every season, echoing and rattling through Hao’s every bone. It’s in moments like these where Hao grows extremely resentful of his body’s natural temperature running a bit colder. He’s thankful in the summer heat and in moments like the school festival booth where he wouldn’t be getting a constant heatstroke like his friends. But at night, it’s a groan that itches under his skin.

Simply put, he hates the cold.

Hopping down from the small lip of the sidewalk, Hao makes a grand gesture of jogging ahead of the other who’s walking with his hands stuffed in his pockets, “We’ve arrived.”

The apartment door that Hao’s all too familiar with stands right in front of them, a scrawled 892 across the front.

“I know where my home is,” Hanbin laughs, freeing his hands from his pockets with his keys attached to them. 

For a flickering moment, the thought flashes in Hao’s mind, I don’t want to go home . But he keeps it to himself, stuffing it down his throat and biting back his tongue. Selfish, he was too selfish. That thought wasn’t him, who was he to be asking to spend more time with Hanbin? His absolute mortal-nemesis for that matter?

Hanbin pauses, before looking back at Hao. Something in his eyes mirrors Hao and the breath is caught in the back of Hao’s throat before he can stop it.

“Say, would you like to come in?” Hanbin rocks on the back of his heels, his keys giving a resounding click with every sway of his body. There’s a soft hue pillowing the edges of his cheeks and for the faintest moment, Hao wants to point out the blush and tease the other to no end. But he’s quick to realize that the blush on Hanbin’s face is mirrored on his own and he’s even quicker to switch his narrative.

They were both cold after a hot meal. Nothing to be blushing over. 

Hao raises a brow, his next breath coming up as a curling puff of smoke in the cold air, “To do what?”

“What,” This time, Hanbin’s breath fans over Hao, the soft ghost of something warm against Hao’s face, “Afraid I’ll kidnap you?”

Hao doesn’t want to delve into the innuendo that comes with a situation like that (Kept in a warm tight space together and constantly having to see each other), shaking his head with a slight grin to his lips, “As if you could.”

Hanbin purses his lips, a hand sliding over his doorframe as his relaxed stature slides the majority of his weight against the door, “I’m perfectly capable of locking you up.”

Without a means of it, Hao’s eyes dart across Hanbin’s frame. It’s instinctive, and if Hao weren’t standing right in front of the other he would’ve slapped himself for doing such a thing. But he can’t help it, not when noting the slight difference of their frames, Hanbin’s slightly broader shoulders. Hao’s about a handful of half-centimeters taller than the other, but he’s sure if Hanbin pinned him down, it’d be a struggle to release himself.

Wait, what was he thinking?

Hao almost shrieks aloud when he realizes where his thoughts have run off to, shaking his head as if it could shake off his thoughts as he indulges himself further into their shared banter.

“Oh really?” Hao tilts his head into a teasing smile, “Okay Mr.Kidnapper, lead the way then. Maybe I’ll develop Stockholm syndrome and never leave you alone.”

“Wow, even the fifth circle of hell couldn’t be worse.”

Hao gasps in mock pain, a hand flying up to his chest as he shoots the other as innocent of a look as he could possibly muster. There’s a flutter of the lashes, “Are you saying you wouldn’t like me pestering you?”

A hand darts forward, pushing against Hao’s shoulder as a signal to drop the act. Hanbin looks close to laughing a bit too loudly for a quiet apartment complex well into the night, lips trembling to hold it all back.

“Just get inside, you’ll get sick with all that hot food and cold air combination.” Hanbin murmurs, the door clicking open behind him. With a palm pressed against the wooden material, it swings open, the innards of the apartment something Hao hasn’t seen since they had made their plethora of rules.

“After you, princess.” Hanbin half-bows his body, arm folded over his chest in his grandeur gesture, an arm cast towards the entrance.

An irk of irritation bristles in Hao’s body as he trudges through the door, “Keep that nickname up and I’ll—”

He doesn’t get a chance to, or given the chance to, finish his sentence. By the time he’s walked through the small lip of the door, carefully lifting his foot to not get caught in it, the door slams loudly behind him, body teetering forward as he loses his balance.

Hao would admit he doesn’t have the best balance, which is why he spent such a meticulous time to mind his step through the entrance of the door (Can you tell he’s tripped here before?). What he hadn’t expected is to trip and fall, but not by his own means.

One hand grips at his shoulder and another at the small of his back, pushing him further into the entranceway and straight into the cream-colored wall behind it. His whole body spins in succession, back slamming into the surface, his head rolling back as a result. Something soft is behind his skull to cushion the fall and after a fraction of a second does it register in Hao’s mind that it’s Hanbin’s hand.

It’s all a blur, Hao’s vision coming in and out of focus as he finally sees someone peering straight at him, eyes strained like slits as he studies every feature of Hao’s face. Trailing from his brows to the bridge of his nose and lastly, his lips, where the focus holds there to pause. A swallow, thick and unruly for his nature.

Hanbin.

His arms are propped around Hao’s head, effectively pinning him to the wall, full body caging him in.

Hao lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“What was that?” Hanbin hums, it’s so quiet that if Hao weren’t so close to the other, he wouldn’t have been able to catch it, “You’ll do what?”

A croak, Hao’s voice is failing him. He fumbles for a response, lips catching over the words as his mind works at a million thoughts per second. His fingers twitch at his side, unsure if it should reach up to push Hanbin away or even worse—and the part that wants to take over—is the urge to pull him closer. Catch him by the strands of his brown hair, lacing it through and kissing him swollen across the lips.

“I’ll—” The threat falls flat from Hao’s lips, a different sensation taking over his mouth entirely.

Hao’s fingers dig into the wall behind him like a lifeline and he’s sure there’s either crescent-shaped marks left on Hanbin’s apartment walls or the cream-colored paint stuck beneath his fingernails. Either way, Hao isn’t able to decipher who started it. He knows his head is lifted from Hanbin’s palm, that his body had shifted forward without notice. But he also knows that Hanbin had dived in to deepen it, lips hot like molten lava against his own.

There’s a hand against his chin, tilting his face up to meet Hanbin’s with a more ferocious kind of hunger. Hao’s mouth is salivating, lips sodden with teeth and tongue, a clash of melting honey. He can taste Hanbin on the tip of his tongue, sucking and throttling around his cavern with no notice. It’s filthy, yet still incredibly soft. It surrounds him, from the air to the body around him to finally the taste on his tongue. 

Hanbin is invading him.

The air’s taken from Hao’s lungs when Hanbin pulls back, lips red and cheeks a similar hue. His eyes shine under the light of his apartment, the same sheen coming up from his glistening mouth. It spells Hao all over it, from the peek of his tongue around his mouth as if Hanbin’s savoring another taste of their shared kiss.

He hasn’t pulled far away enough, still breathing softly into Hao’s space. Their breathing is both haggard, out of tempo with each other as Hao catches his breath with a heaving chest. His stomach churns as memories of their first shared kiss spin like woven cobwebs collecting in his mind.

“You know, just because you worked well with me today doesn’t mean the bet is off.” Hanbin whispers, “Or did you perhaps forget?”

The question trails off like a challenge. The corners of Hanbin’s lips quip upwards, a teasing flit of a smile. 

Hao has to kiss him stupid.

Placing both hands on Hanbin’s shoulder, he pushes back, lips back onto the other as they stumble through the living room. It’s all Hao can see, the other’s hair as it falls back from his face from the motion, the heat of where they’re connected, chests pressed into one another in a blazing touch. His fingers lock behind Hanbin’s neck and it’s all he can smell. Hanbin in the air, in his mouth, in his lungs.

Then they’re both going down.

Hao first as his back falls to the soft surface of the couch, thudding against the surface as it pulls them apart from sheer gravity. 

Hanbin’s staring down at him like Hao’s all he can see. His breathing is so uneven that Hao’s afraid there’s something terribly wrong. His arms weigh around Hao’s face, blocking all of his peripheral vision. It forces Hao to only focus on what’s in front of him, or rather, what’s on top of him.

“Sung Hanbin.”

His name falls like a gasp, a soft peck to the side of Hao’s jaw that tingles and lingers. It’s like a blazing heat left in its wake, Hanbin working his way to the shell of Hao’s ear, a soft lick like a kitten. Then there’s the teeth, earning a long drawn out whine from Hao.

“Hm?” Hanbin hums against the skin, “What was it, Hao?”

“Sung Hanbin,” Hao repeats his name, aching fingers trailing over Hanbin’s body as if he could carve it out of his palms, “You have a way of speaking to me that you don’t use with anyone else,” Hao manages to get out between his panting breaths, “What happened to your little goody-two-shoes persona? Where are my honorifics, hm?”

Only to explore further, Hao slides his hand along Hanbin’s chest, a sense of pride filling his chest when he feels the skin twitch beneath his fingertips. The jump of shock, he could memorize that sensation in touch alone.

“And of course I wouldn’t forget. I keep track of everything with my scoreboard.” Hao murmurs, giving another experimental stroke of touch.

“Oh really?” And he’s back, Hanbin’s lips encroaching on every vein like he can set it aflame. His mouth works wonders against the skin of Hao’s neck, his head getting thrown back in pure bliss from every tantalizing touch of lips to skin, “And who’s currently winning?”

To Hao’s horror, he’s trembling in Hanbin’s grasp, squirming his lower body for any form of what his body is practically begging for. His mind is singing, grind upwards, find your pleasur e, but his brain refuses. The juxtaposition lights his mind into pure dust, Hao turning into putty on the couch as Hanbin sucks particularly hard on a spot at the deepest, most sensitive part of his neck.

“Me.” 

Just then, Hao’s body and voice betray him, a loud whimper falling from his lips as his back arches up into the contact. Hanbin’s everywhere, not just against his neck and inside his mouth, but hands over his chest and under his shirt, precarious and cautious. They dwindle where necessary, pausing to knead at skin, and worse, when the rough calloused palms of his hands brush over the tips of his nipple.

Hanbin releases his abuse on Hao’s neck with the soft lapping of his tongue over a spot he had spent a moment too long over, the muscle tonguing to soothe the painful yet pleasurable ache. Hao's eyes feel heavy when he blinks at the scene.

A string of saliva, connecting Hanbin’s parted pink lips to the previous spot he had been suckling with on Hao’s neck. It’s obscene , everything about it that is.

Hanbin’s prodding fingers are at Hao’s neck, swiping at the spot of where the saliva falls. Hanbin lifts his fingers, glistening with his own spit as he swipes the substance over Hao’s lips, the slide so smooth, so buttery, that Hao’s mouth falls open.

Then digits are swirling in his mouth, beneath his tongue and all around it. He’s sucking on Hanbin’s fingers covered in the other’s spit for goodness sake, it shouldn’t feel this good. But it does, even more so since it’s a mix of the two of them, dancing like complimenting flavors across all five of Hao’s senses.

“You should be more honest with yourself.” Hanbin presses his thumb down in Hao’s mouth, flattening Hao’s tongue in his own mouth. His body weight shifts forward and Hao lets out a choked out noise. He would’ve moaned if it weren’t for the pressure in his mouth, building and budding like a volcano about to burst.

Hanbin had pressed a knee to his clothed groin, a constant pressure against his aching cock that has Hao thrashing against the couch cushions. It’s the first amount of pressure that his entire body has been needing, like the first breath of air after drowning from hours, the first sip of water after trailing through the desert.

Hao's eyes squeeze shut, suddenly hit with all of the pleasure at once, knees knocking together as his toes curl against the sofa beneath him. He thinks he might burst, like a tomato getting squeezed and all of its guts spilling from between, the tight coil in his stomach growing even hotter as Hanbin’s mouth connects to his neck like it’s the only place it’ll ever belong.

A finger is freed from Hao’s mouth, “Please,” He’s aware he’s begging, reduced to nothing more than a man on his knees, “Please, I need—” He chokes, Hanbin grinding his knee further upwards in that uncomfortable position.

The friction of his boxers and jeans over his groin is a bit too much, bordering on the realms of pain, but he can’t seem to move his hands or his body in the way he wants to. They either flail beside him, utterly useless, or latch onto Hanbin’s body. It’s almost as if they don’t know anything else.

“What do you need?” Hanbin’s voice rumbles against Hao’s neck, the hairs on the back rising at the sensation.

“I need—” A gasp, “I need it please—” A mewl from another grind, “Just anything.” He’s panting, eyes stricken with wet tears that stain his cheeks, lips bruised and neck long forgotten as Hanbin’s mouth runs down his chest.

Then it’s all gone.

There’s no hands on him, no mouth to his chest, no friction at all. Hanbin ripped himself from Hao’s presence and his entire body arches upwards, honest and vulnerable for more. Hao’s arm drapes over his eyes, embarrassment creeping in from all corners. 

He knows his nipples are hard, straining against the thin material of his shirt and perking through from Hanbin’s ministrations. Even worse, his chest is lifted, as if begging for another touch, one more knead, one more grope, one more of Hanbin on him. His knees are knocked together, pulled up to his body as if afraid that if it parts, it won’t stop, only inviting Hanbin further in.

And his hard-on, leaking and painful, curled right up inside his boxers and pants.

“Don’t—” Hao can’t see, not allowing himself to see the satisfaction of winning on Hanbin’s face, “Please don’t pull away.”

His voice is croaky, hoarse from whimpering and whining like he’s never been touched before. It cracks at the end, humiliatingly so, Hao closing his eyes even with his arm acting as a protective barrier over his vision.

“I—” Hanbin pauses, a hard-grip around Hao’s wrist to peel it back from his eyes. Hanbin’s voice evidently softens at the sight, Hao squeezing his eyes shut to prevent himself from even seeing anything in front of him.

“I won’t,” Hanbin promises, voice heavy with desperation and something even softer underneath, “So please look at me.”

Hao blearily blinks, his vision adjusting from black to the lights of the apartment building. Hanbin’s perched over him, hand resting on his thigh now, fingers prancing across with small soothing taps.

There’s no satisfaction of a win on his lips. Only eyes of concern that flutter all around Hao’s face. There’s a shine of awe on them, like he’s drinking in the image of Hao lying on his back, body shaking with a want for more, committing it all to memory like some computer hard-drive. 

“Can I?” Hanbin breathes, his fingers catching even closer to Hao’s cock.

A small nod.

The sound of the zipper followed by their breathing, Hao’s coming out louder and harsher as his lungs collapse, deflate, and fill with air once again. His skin is static electricity, Hao doing everything in his power to ignore the feeling of all the clothing sliding off his body with the help of his own, jeans and boxers hanging off his knees.

Then there’s Hanbin, tucked between his thighs as he moans aloud to himself at the sight of Hao bare beneath him. Hao’s cock twitches in earnest and he prays the other doesn’t notice.

Hao gasps, back arching like a bowstring when there’s the slide of Hanbin’s hand on his dick. His grip isn’t too tight, just enough for it to easily slide all the way from the base to the tip. The sensation alone isn’t what makes him react, it’s the fact that Hanbin's hand is wet, incredibly so, and it clicks in Hao’s mind that the wetness had come from his own mouth. His own spit, all over Hanbin’s palm from the sucking of Hanbin’s digits from earlier, sliding all over his cock in an earnest glide.

He can’t breathe, chest shaking as he tries to grab his footing. Heels digging into the cushion beneath him, he hears Hanbin let out a long drawn out breath.

“You’re so pretty,” Hanbin whispers, “Even here.” At the end of his sentence, he applies pressure to Hao’s sensitive slit. Hao’s body twitches in reaction, his eyes shutting and opening on default as it doesn’t know exactly how to react. 

Strangely, it’s vulnerable despite the circumstances. Since after all, Hanbin isn’t just looking at him out of lust, it pours in devotion from his gaze, dripping like molasses as it rakes over the entirety of Hao. It’s like he’s seeing Hao whole for the first time, hands splayed over Hao’s thighs rubbing soothing circles with his thumb and the occasional pinch. His eyes don’t just stare at what’s coming next, it flickers to Hao’s face to search for a reaction, a nod to let him continue, and gauging every little noise that leaves Hao’s mouth.

It’s a kind of reverence Hao has never seen before, lulling him in that his hips jerk, a whimper creeping to the edge of his throat.

There’s a flash of fear that sounds in Hao’s head. Loud and blaring as his face glows a prominent red. His shoulders stiffen and suddenly the couch beneath him isn’t that soft anymore. It all comes back to him, bragging about experience to Hanbin, egging him on about how he was going to show him how it’s done. 

But now he’s face-to-face, no more like face-to-dick, with the situation and he couldn’t be more terrified, mollifying to putty.

Like he’s said, he has the experience, well if it counts if you could number all his experiences on one hand. But simultaneously, in a situation that lays him bare, lying on a couch where all the lights are on, he’s not performing a quickie in a frat bathroom, and the fact Hanbin’s staring all too intently at his entire body, Hao’s facade begins to crumble .

This is sex he’s talking about.

A brush of the fingers, soft against his skin and vibrantly hesitant, “I won’t hurt you,” Hanbin whispers, a promise laced beneath it all, “We won’t do anything you don’t want to.” It’s a small tap against his thigh that finally allows him to relax.

It’s Hanbin. The same man he had known sophomore year who had snored so loud in class their professor had thrown a pencil at him to wake up. It’s the same man who walked Hao to a dance room and had him playing Just Dance 2 to the point his feet were blistered. And he’s the same man nestled between his thighs, staring up at Hao with a careful calculated look in his eyes that softens any time it meets Hao.

The confession falls from Hao’s lips before he can stop it, “It’s my first—” He flushes impossibly hard, shame hidden beneath his tongue as he fumbles through the words, “First time in a while. I—”

He hasn’t done it since freshman year and he’s a senior for God’s sake, let him have a moment.

Hanbin’s eyes grow incredibly wider, jaw slackening before he recovers quickly. It’s such a quick switch that Hao almost gets whiplash at how his brows draw in and how his eyes darken. He looks psychotic the moment the words ‘first time’ falls from Hao’s mouth, Hanbin's own lips smirking as he slides out of his own clothing.

A breath is caught in his throat. Hao drags his eyes over the utter meal laid out before him, Hanbin shirtless, shoulders square with years of muscle from dancing, chest defined and chiselled out of pure marble, brown nipples hardening immediately from the cold.

Hao can just imagine the filthiest noises he could evoke from the other from that place alone.

“It’s okay princess,” Hanbin breathes out, dragging his dripping cock out of his own boxers, “We don’t have to do anything penetrative .”

Hao raises a brow at the word. The bet was suggestive, it all was. Perhaps a small part of him was convinced the epitome of it all would have to come down to sex. But something in his gut stirs when Hanbin slides his cock over his, burrowed between the plush of Hao’s inner thighs.

It’s lewd, so incredibly so when he feels the skin of Hanbin touch his in somewhere so intimate. Hao can’t help the gasp that leaves him when he sees Hanbin’s dick in comparison to his in the flesh. It’s a solid inch longer, an extraneous ring of girth around that Hao’s sure would take two hands to wrap around the entirety of it. His own is smaller, more petite and is completely swallowed by the other’s. Beads of pre-cum spurt out of Hanbin’s tip, both letting out a hiss when there’s a slight bit of friction between the two.

“What are you doing?”

Hao’s scrambling to understand what’s going on, Hanbin only shaking his head as he mumbles another promise, “It’ll make you feel good,” acclaim served on a porcelain platter, “I promise .”

He looks to Hao for a nod of confirmation and when the latter gives it, Hanbin places his hands on Hao’s hips like a handlebar and thrusts up.

It’s like Hao’s nervous system was on fire, every square inch of his body hitching up, up, and up , searching for more as his hips cantor upwards. The grip on the skin of his hips burns, deliciously good, Hao imagining that Hanbin is leaving a melding mark of where he’s been.

Fuck, he could cum from this alone, every slide just the right amount of dampness and pleasure that it has Hao’s mind reeling. Hanbin’s grunting with every thrust, the occasional groan coughing up when their tips meet at a fleshy kiss.

It’s sex, but it’s not sex. If anything, it’s worse than sex in the way there’s nothing inside of him, but it has Hao squirming as the pool in his stomach builds in waves of hot coiling tension. It’s so close to sex, every slam of Hanbin’s hips against his leaving a loud slapping noise that echoes around the room, cocks sliding against each other in a mind-numbing pleasure.

But it’s not sex .

Hao’s thrown his head back at this point, throat on full display as a mixture of noises scampers from his mouth, Hanbin’s name tossed in like he’s the taste of a forbidden fruit Hao can’t get off his tongue, “ Nngh , I can’t—” His mouth feels dry, tongue heavy like its layered with sandbags, “Breathe—”

The next thrust jostles Hao around the bed, his entire cock feels like it’s going to burst. Hanbin's tip catches onto Hao's own flushed pink slit, every nerve in his body clenching down and exploding. It sparks like a thread of popping fireworks, Hao tasting blood in his mouth from how hard he clenches down. Everything turns into a blur and out of nowhere, his hands that were once grasping to the couch like it were his lifeline, lose all their grip. His arms fly up above his head, pinned over his head by one hand of none other than Sung Hanbin.

There’s a sheen of sweat on the other’s forehead, his eyes wild as he cups his other hand around their two cocks. It chokes up Hao, the warmth around his dick too much for him to handle. His legs kick up in the air as a loud wail leaves his lips. The sensation is warm, almost like they’re both sliding their cocks into a pocket pussy, a loud squelch coming from the cusp of Hanbin’s hand from a mix of both of their pre-cums.

He’s so close, Hao can taste the stars in his mouth as he bites his own lip. It breaks skin, iron flowing into his cavern as he fights to hold back the noise. He can’t lose his control, not now, not when he’s practically thrashing beneath Hanbin as he slams Hao into the couch, each echo coming from the slap of his balls to Hao’s perineum. 

“Don’t—fuck—don’t hold back,” Hanbin gasps, clearly equally as effected, “Want to hear you– mmh !”

Hao’s growing light-headed from how hard his jaw tightens, shaking his head from refusal. His nipples ache to be touched, and everything from below his neck is twitching in bliss. He’s on the edge of uncoiling the mess of knots growing in his stomach and he’s afraid of what will escape him when he does.

“Your first time, huh?’ Hanbin seems lost in Hao’s earlier words, almost like he was omitting the fact that Hao had clearly said ‘in a while’, “Saving yourself for me, huh?” It’s like he’s chasing a high of staking the claim first, brazen with newfound energy that his hands are gripping even harder right above Hao’s hip bone, slamming him in a downwards motion to meet both Hanbin’s cock and hand. It's the heat of Hanbin's cupped hand and the grind of their two shafts against one another that Hao's eyes roll to the back of his head.

“I—” Hao realizes his mistake from opening his mouth, an instantaneous keening cry spilling out with no bounds. He finds himself lost too in this makeshift fantasy, one that had seemingly bloomed from nowhere as his shoulder muscles begin to burn, “I saved this—just for you.”

It breaks a dam. Hanbin frees Hao’s hands, the older thankful for the release, but the regret pools in when there’s hands all over his chest. Hanbin occupied himself by smoothing his fingers on Hao’s nipple over his clothes, desperation careening as his thrusts grow sloppier.

There it is, the short nail of Hanbin's nail scraping over the most sensitive point of Hao's nipples.

Then it’s white, beneath Hao’s eyelids as they squeeze shut once again, a broken mewl coming from the base of his chest as he cums. Ropes of cum stickying Hanbin’s hands, hips shaking and lifting from the couch as he tries to escape the friction. His cock feels raw and there’s an explosion of ecstasy that’s akin to the addiction of a drug.  It’s new in the way it doesn’t stop, his tip letting out a pathetic spurt of cum as his body falls flat down onto the cushioning of the couch.

But Hanbin’s hand doesn’t stop, stroking in quick flicks of his wrist that has Hao writhing.

“I’m close,” Hanbin’s face contorts, nose scrunching as his orgasm builds, Hao twitching with every touch on his own, “Stay with me princess.”

Hao’s body doesn’t feel like his own anymore, his thighs clamping around Hanbin’s body to keep him there, yet wanting to push away from the pleasure that’s grown painful around his dick. His hips jump, jerking up and meeting Hanbin’s stroke, each touch beginning to burn from how rough it is. 

Hao's body twitches against the sheets, tears brimming his eyes that are quick to be brushed by Hanbin’s free hand, cupping his face as he dives in for his third kiss of the night. It’s messier than before, a clash of teeth and too many bodily fluids, but nonetheless passionate, as Hao struggles to keep up.

“Fuck—” Moaned against Hao’s lips, it’s at the point where his own dick is chubbing up in interest. 

Was his refractory period always this short?

Hanbin’s forehead falls forward, thudding against Hao’s as his breathing comes out uneven and shallow. A sneaky thumb peaks from his enclosed fist, Hanbin rubbing it right over their tips with a circular motion.

For the second time that night, Hao cums again in tandem with Hanbin. Wild and messy, arms locked onto the couch, toes curling into the cushion. Hao’s own cum dances with the other, a mess of white all over his stomach. It’s all Hao remembers before his vision grows black, stars still prancing in the back of his mind.

────────────────────────────────

Morning comes in a light that’s too bright and a bed that’s too soft. Which shouldn’t at all be the case given the fact that Hao still lived in the dormitories as a senior (he’s broke, don’t give him that look) with their rock hard beds, and the one investment he had ever splurged on in his entire college career was a set of high-quality black-out curtains—he’s a light sleeper. Therefore, neither of those two possibilities should be anywhere near his realms.

He yawns, deducing this must be an astounding lucid dream that he’s willing to get drunk off of, rolling onto his back, the sheets tangle around bare legs, soft and pillow-y. He definitely could not afford sheets nor a comforter that feels like this—pure heaven.

The content sigh comes next, sinking as the mattress beneath practically molds to his body. If this was what lucid dreaming was, Hao wants this every night.

With one last heave, the supple pillow beneath caves, and Hao’s falling. This happens in dreams, no? His body jerks and he’ll have a moment where he wakes up. He’s done this before, a practical professional.

But no, his body slams against the floor with a thud, a gust of air knocking out from his lungs.

“Oh God—” Hao groans against the floor, head falling backwards as he grabs at his spine. Were lucid dreams always this realistic?

There’s the smell of breakfast, a little too Korean to be something Hao would be craving and dreaming of, remnants of kimchi stew and hot rice infiltrating his nostrils. There’s a hum of sandalwood beneath it all, cedar and bergamot mixed in the two. It reminds him of Hanbin, the one who spends an annoyingly long time picking out his perfumes. It also vaguely remembers of nosing someone’s neck, lips so soft they envelope Hao’s whole, sucking on Hao’s bottom lip—

Wait. Hanbin ?

It all rushes back, grunting, the way Hao had completely melted in the other’s hands, the kisses, the couch. He gasps, hands flying up to his mouth, what has he done?

He might as well just call the bet off, the amount of noise he had let out enough to wake both the upstairs and downstairs neighbors. Hao smacks a hand against his face, well this was upsetting.

520 to 514 and Hanbin hadn’t even tried.

Hao’s much more awake now, springing up to a sitting position where he once laid curled on the floor. His eyes flash open to stare at the room that surrounds him, one where he absolutely did not fall asleep in the night before. Did Hanbin move him? He glances around the room, noting the random postcards that are taped to his wall, and the comically large desk full of perfumes. 

Shuffling in his position, he’s acutely aware of how the clothes that adorn his body are not his own. It’s only a simple t-shirt, one that Hao recognizes as the white cotton t-shirt Hanbin’s always wearing on his weekends. His bottoms sport a pair of boxers, definitely too large to be his own.

Hao’s been in Hanbin’s apartment, don’t get him wrong. But he’s never been inside the man’s room, seeing no reason to invite himself into Hanbin’s sleeping quarters. After all, he’s never spent the night.

He has some right to snoop, no?

Hao sifts his way through Hanbin’s desk first. There’s a little picture frame, a family of four dazzling in the center. It’s what Hao assumes to be Hanbin’s parents, a younger sister on the right who looked like she was fresh out of the womb, and Hanbin. He looks close to five or six, Hao can’t exactly tell, a bright smile on his face that hasn’t changed despite the years, a short haircut that dots his head like little spikes. His hand is clasped in his sister’s, cheeks round and full.

Surprisingly, Hanbin looks quite nice.

There’s a small card sticking from a stack of books on the other side of the desk, Hao curiously sliding it out to study it. It’s an ID card, maybe from Hanbin’s CSAT exams in high school. His face is considerably rounder, youth springing in from his uniform and name tag in the bottom corner. Hao can’t help but laugh, noticing the subtle blush on his face that still shows today, and of course, that same smile. His eyes still crinkle the same, and his whisker-dimples have only grown deeper.

Another whiff of kimchi stew has Hao’s stomach grumbling, the clang of pots and pans pulling his attention away from the desk. It has to be Hanbin making all that noise, a characteristic “Ow!” getting yelled from what Hao presumes to be the kitchen.

Giggling, Hao finds his phone strewn to the side with a stack of his neatly folded clothes—all fresh and washed—snapping a quick picture of the ID card and fleeing from the room. He convinces himself it’s for blackmail, absolutely not because Hanbin looked cute. Okay, maybe just a bit.

Still, a quiet win for Hao nonetheless, 520 to 515. 

The view that greets Hao is immediate, Hanbin bustling with a pair of grey sweatpants on. He’s completely shirtless except for the fact he has a bright pink frilly apron covering his front. A matching set of oven mitts cover his hands, dropping a stone pot onto the table as he lets out a hiss, immediately grabbing his ears.

“What’s with the get-up?” Hao leans against the door frame of Hanbin’s bedroom, crossing his arms as he eyes the other.

Hanbin jumps a bit, cheeks flushing a hot red that has Hao laughing to himself like he has his own inside joke—images of younger Hanbin and his rosy cheeks flashing in his mind.

“Well good morning to you too,” Hanbin greets, face speckling with dots of red, “I made us breakfast.” As he speaks, Hao swears his gaze is unrelentingly scanning every corner of Hao’s body. From his face, to which Hanbin smiles to, to trailing over his shoulders, where the hem of Hanbin’s t-shirt meets his thigh, and lastly to his bare legs on full display. 

His Adam’s apple bobs considerably, a swallow like he has an impossibly dry mouth.

“Like what you see?” Hao teases, pulling out a seat from the dining table.

Hanbin recovers quickly, shaking his head as he replies back, “I always like what I see.” He smirks with confidence, but this air Hao can see right through. After all, the man’s ears were still red .

Hao snorts, swinging his chopsticks around in his hand that Hanbin had just placed in front of him, “I saw an ID card in your room,” He snags a bit of kimchi and the crunch paired with the explosion of flavors has Hao wondering if he should stay over more often, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop.”

It’s a white lie, but he’s curious, pushing the rice around in the bowl in front of him as he stares down at the grains. What’s the story? Why does Hanbin keep it there? 

Hanbin licks his lips, a shy grin threatening to spill as he looks down at his own bowl, “It’s from my CSAT’s, in my senior year of high school,” He drops his chopsticks, two hands coming to cup at his face, “I was a little rounder back then. All around.” His hand motions at his entire body.

For a moment, it dysregulates Hao. To some extent, Hao thinks he would filter his life into two halves. The first half spent in China, living his life through a ghost of his childhood home. A high school of students who all spoke his mother tongue, water was always boiling hot, breakfast served at a vendor right outside school, biking around his city of Fujian when he fought with his parents.

The second half would begin at the start of college. A new country, fumbling over Korean to the point he was stuttering in his first public speaking event, or accidentally using formal language at a bar when trying to make friends. But he thinks at some point, the second half bled into less of being in South Korea, to revolving his life around Sung Hanbin. 

Was this normal? Probably not. The inkling nudges in him to stop thinking about it, yet it churns, glaringly obvious and somehow a bit too pathetic—he hadn’t started living till Hanbin.

A walking dead man. He devoted the former half of his life to studies, to growing into a man who his parents could be proud of, a man who his mother wouldn’t say wore his feelings on his face. He buried his nose so far into his books he hadn’t even allowed himself a moment to look up . 

But this? Hao having so many friends that they could barely be seated in a singular booth at a restaurant, participating in the sports section of a school festival, getting hotpot on a late night out, these were all new experiences to him. This rivalry, or whatever the hell they had going on, broke him out of his shell for the very first time.

Therefore it’s jarring, the fact that Hanbin had a life before Hao.

There’s a sting in Hao’s chest that he avidly ignores, only soothing it with a hand to his chest and a look towards Hanbin. He’s more curious than he is hurt, questions and comments ebbing away anything that comes with the stabbing ache.

He’ll unpack that another day.

“I was about 40 kg heavier,” Hanbin laughs to himself, like he’s remembering a fond memory, “Didn’t look half as good as I do right now.” He flashes his teeth at Hao, but this smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“I think you looked cute.” Hao murmurs softly, swirling the rice around in his bowl. It registers what he had let slip and his head raises frantically, “I mean you were cute—no–you’re alright—no wait—you’re fine.” Hao gives up, deciding to bury his face into his palms. So much for having the upper hand for approximately half a second.

Hanbin bursts into a laugh, “Thank you.” His eyes shine, mouth hanging open as he shoves a bite of rice and kimchi stew into his mouth.

“Didn’t mean it as a compliment.” Hao, stubborn as ever, huffs loudly.

Hanbin placidly ignores him, face still singing with joy and a soft hue of pink, “By the way, I can drive you to class if you’d like.”

Hao wants to say yes, who in their right mind wouldn’t? Maybe one with a conscience, but that’s not his point. 

He recalls their rules, this was between them. Walking in at the same time with Hanbin sounds like a recipe for disaster. Even worse, they meet all their friends before class too. They’d physically see him getting out of Hanbin’s car and Hao just knows everyone would be able to infer that they had spent the night together.

Hao squints at the other, sharp and full of scrutiny, “Enter the building ten minutes after me.” He points an accusatory finger at the other.

“Why?”

A look, one that screams ‘ are you stupid? ’ before Hao speaks, pointing out the elephant in the room “So it isn’t obvious we were together the night before.”

“So you do remember, huh?” Hanbin drops his silverware with a clatter, a hand reaching forward to grip at Hao’s chin from across the table, “With the way you were acting, I thought you had forgotten.”

It’s a harsh tug, pulling Hao in with the tips of his fingers. The touch runs a shudder down Hao’s spine, memories of the night before spilling like an overflowing basin. Hanbin’s lips are so close, his eyes shining with a desire that Hao knows is akin to a predator devouring their freshly slain prey. He almost lets his eyes close, giving in completely to the wafts of bergamot that practically emit off the other.

Unfortunately, the working part of his brain kicks in for once. He’s not going to give in to Hanbin. 

Hao manages to get a palm under onto Hanbin’s cheek, guiding and pushing the other’s face to another direction, “Morning breath.” He offers as an excuse, “Plus, swollen lips are too telling.”

Hanbin looks back at him, a small gleam in his look as both eyes glance towards Hao’s neck, “I don’t know, those marks seem more telling to me.” He raises a brow, giving a nod in Hao’s direction.

Marks… Marks?

Hao shoots out of his seat, hand instantly slapping across his neck as if it had scandalized him. He regrets it just as quickly, wincing from the tenderness of the skin there. He ignores the laughter that comes from Hanbin, weaving into the other’s bathroom and flickering on the lights.

Rigid. Head to toe, Hao trembles from anger as he views his reflection. 

That wasn’t him. 

That being the sight of Hao, hair tousled in seventeen different directions, t-shirt so large it slips off his shoulder, displaying rows and scatterings of bruises. Blooming from purple to blue, all over his chest, shoulders, and even the shell of his ear. There’s bite marks on his shoulder and when Hao pries the side of the shirt up to view his hip, two large handprints stare right back at him. He looks to be mauled by a bear and hit by a truck twice through.

He really hopes high blood pressure doesn’t run in his family.

His head of hair peeks from the frame of the bathroom door, his voice loud and resonating around the entire apartment.

“Sung Hanbin, I’m going to kill you.”

521 to 515, when was Hao ever going one-up the other?

────────────────────────────────

“Aren’t you hot?”

“No.” Hao bites back, leaning back in his chair as his fingers fumble under his collar. He had stolen a slim black turtleneck from his own closet after a pit-stop at his dorm to pick up his uniform. Courtesy of Hanbin.

Now he’s sitting in the sun, glares hitting the black fabric and his clothes absorbing it all and spitting it back into a heating pack onto his skin. He is miserable, sticky, and all-around ready to throw the towel and rip off this turtleneck. But his ego and pride rise higher, shifting the sleeves around as he eases himself around in the chair.

His friends sit all around him, Gunwook giving him a concerned look and Jiwoong’s eyes flickering between him and Hanbin.

“You two look like you’re dressed for two different climates.” Jiwoong notes, once again, giving one swoop between the two with his gaze.

It irks Hao even more when he glances over at Hanbin. He isn’t even wearing his uniform properly, all buttons propped open with a white tank top beneath. He stretches his arms lazily behind his head, full skin exhibited through his exposed neck and pale arms.

“Right,” Gyuvin chimes in this time, his long arms strewn lazily behind Hanbin and Matthew’s shoulders, “Hao-hyung, aren’t you hot?”

Hanbin tilts his head to the side, a peeking eye with a glint in them as he smirks, “ Yeah , aren’t you hot?”

“Shut up,” Hao shoots back, waving his hand in dismissal, “There was this rabid dog that pounced on me the other day, scratched up my neck and everything.” He lets out a dramatic noise of distress, looking towards Hanbin with as innocent of a gaze as possible, a small pout on his lips, “It even bit me.”

“Oh God,” Yujin gasps, worry flashing across his face as he places his coffee down at their shared table, “Hyung, was it a stray? Did you get it checked at the doctors?”

“Yeah, I had a whole paper on rabies,” Gunwook agrees with a nod, “Terrifying. Once you start getting symptoms you’re as good as dead.”

Oh his lovely juniors. 

Hao shakes his head with a sweet smile on his lips, ““It’s all good. The dog was small, tried to act all tough with all its barking but it really didn’t do much harm.” He lifts up one of his arms and shakes it all around to show that he’s fine, “Didn’t break my skin.”

There’s a screech, the seat beneath Hanbin’s skitting backwards ever so slightly. Hao notices the grip of his fingers resting on his thighs, knuckles turning white as he smiles and chimes in ever so slightly with all of his friends. But there’s that crease in his brow, the one feature on his stoic face that signals to Hao that he’s got Hanbin .

“Like those small runty white dogs?” Hao eggs it on even more, “The one every Asian mom has?” 

Matthew lets out a loud groan, “Yeah, my mom has one,” He taps on Hanbin’s shoulder as he animatedly continues, “Hanbin-hyung, remember her? She was the worst, she tried to rip up our couch three times but her tiny paws did nothing to it.”

“I do remember her.” Hanbin replies curtly through gritted teeth.

Hao nods his head in agreement, keeping his sight trained on Hanbin the entire time “Yeah, the absolute worst.”

521 to 516, Hao’s narrowing the gap and he’s sure he’ll end up on top at the end. He’s sure of it.

“Hanbin-ah,” Jiwoong chirps from the side, phone waving side to side as he regards the other, “School-wide trip dates were finalized, I heard the high-school year ends around then.”

“Yeah,” Gyuvin marvels, “My younger sister’s middle school ends around then, she might come up to campus right before we leave,” He turns towards Hanbin, his coffee sloshing all around in the cup and spilling from the rim, “Did your sister ever finalize if she was coming? She could hang out with mine around the empty dorms and have a place to stay.”

Hanbin shakes his head, “Not confirmed yet, but I’ll let you know.”

Too giddy off the high of his win, Hao ignores the talks of their families as he quietly sips on his (Thank God), ice cold drink. He’s sure his family won’t be coming to visit and he’ll have a blast on the school trip with or without them.

────────────────────────────────

Hao doesn’t feel satiated. 

It’s like a hunger he can’t curb, curling and twisting all up in his stomach that brews like an ugly little monster that shows no sign of stopping. He wants an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

That gathering the morning of humiliating Hanbin with no one else in on their little fiasco had tempered the worst of the flames. But they lick regardless, Hao’s urge for a cunning revenge coming back with a stronger, roaring hunger.

Hao was looking for vengeance .

He had been rendered utterly useless under Hanbin that night in the other’s apartment, consumed whole like it was all his body had to offer. Arms caged up in Hanbin’s grasp, fiddled like a malleable play-doh. In his mind, he had chalked himself up so much that the reality of it all came way too short from his fantasies.

A kick from his lower leg at a rock, quenching out his anger as he stalks his way down the dance department hallways.

He was a man on a mission.

Hanbin likes to practice at night. Hao knows this from countless nights they’ve spent texting, radio silence from the other starting at around eight at night to eleven. He always sends Hao a practice room selfie once he’s done, like some aged routine brewed out of frisky photos. They’ve always done it, a caveat from their usual talk of enemies. 

Hao doesn’t see anything wrong with it.

Regardless, he knows the exact room Hanbin was in at nine on a Thursday night, probably cooped up and least expecting the arrival of a certain someone.

The dance department is relatively empty at this point of night, the lights barely hanging onto staying awake as they flicker overhead. There’s a faint melody down the hall, the very last dance practice room, and the lightbulb snaps on in Hao’s mind once he reaches the door.

The door’s already strewn open, Hao leaning up against the door frame and peeking his head in to catch a glimpse.

Hanbin’s in his natural habitat, the mirrors splayed in front of him as he repeats the chorus of a song on loop on the speaker next to him. His shoes squeak against the polished floors, shedding layers as he continues, reduced to nothing more than a flimsy tank top and his sweatpants. A baseball cap shadows over his face, puffs of air coming out as he runs through the choreography another time.

There’s something serene in watching Hanbin dance, Hao frozen to the spot as he watches the other tirelessly perform a move a complete six times. A frustrated sigh leaves Hanbin’s mouth, removing his cap and running his fingers through his hair, only to place the cap right back on his head and continuing like he hasn’t hit an immense wall.

Hao watches him quietly, finding that watching Hanbin away from all the banter, away from all the flirtatious comments, away from all the sleeping in class, smothers the desire in Hao’s soul.

It’s weird. To some extent, Hao thinks he sees a piece of himself in the other.

They chase two vastly different things. Hao’s more with his violin, practicing and honing the one skill of his that he can truly call his one and only passion. It’s the one thing he can control, the one thing Hao had chosen for himself. He can tell that dance was the same for Hanbin, the way he comes here every night, running himself to the bone for a choreography that an outsider would deem already perfect.

It never really occurred to Hao that they could be so similar.

Hao finds himself humming to himself along with the music, catching on with each replay. 

They’re both terribly passionate about what they enjoy doing. Rankings and grades aside. Perhaps it was both of their flaws, or maybe a virtue, Hao can’t tell. Perhaps that was why he hated Hanbin so much, he hated the mere thought of someone so desperate, so much like Hao, that even he can’t seem to shake off how uncanny it feels. Hanbin’s eyes darken in the mirror, his irritation showing with every gaze, skidding his legs through a complicated set of footwork.

Hao takes it as his opportunity to announce his presence, clearing his throat loud enough that it carries over the music. 

Hanbin’s eyes meet him through the mirror, the cloud lifting and the usual brightness returning to his pupils as his lips careen into a smile. He jogs to the side of the room, fumbling with the speaker to switch off the music before sprinting back towards Hao’s direction.

He skids to a halt in front of a pile of his things—a towel, a small gym duffel bag, and a large water bottle. He takes a swig from his water bottle, skin glistening as he speaks, “What a rare sight. Never knew I’d live to see the day Zhang Hao comes personally looking for me.”

Snagging the towel from the pile of Hanbin’s things, Hao reaches over to dot at the sweat dripping from Hanbin’s forehead and trickling towards his brow bone, “Don’t let it get to your head too much.” When he dabs the center of Hanbin’s forehead, he pushes the other’s head back, a giggle spilling from his lips at Hanbin’s glare of annoyance.

A slow gulp of water, Hanbin spilling some of it down his chin that he wipes with his arm, “So what is it, what had you prowling over in the dance department?”

Putting it simply, Hao replies, voice clipped, “Revenge.”

“Revenge?” Hanbin echoes back, taking another sip from his water bottle. Hanbin’s Adam's apple bobs with the swallowing of his drink, the sweat sticking to the skin there making it even more obvious in the dim lighting. For a mere second, Hao wonders what it would feel like to suck on that spot, lapping his tongue over the structure of it as he tastes the saltiness coming from—

No, he had a purpose for coming here.

Hanbin continues with Hao’s silence, “Need I to remind you that you literally called me, and I quote, a ‘small runty white dog’?”

“You deserved it,” Hao groans, dropping the towel to pull the collar of his shirt further down, “Look.” 

Hanbin’s eyes are already glued to the expanse of unmarked milky skin on display, “I had to try both hot and cold methods to get rid of them. It took me over twenty-four hours and an entire tube of concealer.”

Hanbin drops his water bottle off to the side, a raise of the brow as he questions the entirety of Hao’s actions, “And your plan was to attack me in a dance practice room?”

“I haven’t attacked you,” Hao’s lips curl up in amusement, “Not yet at least.”

Taking the towel from Hao’s grasp, Hanbin lays it over his shoulder. Using the sides, he slides it beneath his cap, wiping away at his sweat, the material darkening from the dampness.

To stop himself from staring, Hao starts running his mouth, conferring to any conversation he can muster, “What dance were you practicing? Didn’t you guys just have a performance?”

A knuckle knocks against Hao’s forehead, “You seem very up to date on my dance team’s performances.”

Hao’s response is instantaneous, smacking Hanbin harshly on the shoulder with a warning, “Quit it.”

“Ow.” Hanbin rubs at the spot on his shoulder, one eye squinting shut as he winces, “No, but you’re right. Couldn’t fall asleep so I came here.”

“Oh?” A flash of concern, it seems to be happening more and more often with Hanbin, something new that’s begun to stir within Hao, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Hanbin shakes his head, “I’m fine.”

There’s something off in the way he says it. Hao can tell by the way he blinks, a bit too slowly that one eye closes first before the other. His nose twitches like he wants to say something more, but the vein running up the side of his neck pops a little and Hao already knows he’s biting it back.

“I know you,” Hao bumps his shoulder against the other, hoping to coax him just a little more, “You’re not fine.”

“You’re right,” Hanbin sighs, abandoning his baseball cap altogether to join his pile of things on the floor, “Just been thinking a lot.”

“About?”

“It’s a lot.”

Hao shoots him a look, pulling Hanbin to the side and sliding to the floor together, sprawling their bodies out onto the shiny floors, “I have the time, so what are you thinking about?”

Hanbin pauses for a moment, “You.”

It’s honest, a little too honest, Hao spluttering on the spot, “What—”

“No, no!” Hanbin exclaims, his hands frantic as he waves them around. He slams his head against his palms resting on his knees, a loud breath coming like a sigh as he collects himself, “I didn’t mean it in a weird way. You just make me think a lot.”

“How so?” It’s odd, knowing that the same thoughts that Hao had just been thinking are mirrored exactly in the other.

Hanbin stretches out his neck, craning his head to one side then the other, “I don’t know, watching how you work and everything has me questioning why I even do this,” He fiddles with his fingers, rubbing the pointer finger of his left between his fingers on the right, “People always tell you it’s skill over talent.”

Hao hums in agreement, nodding his head. He knows it better than anyone, working so hard towards something just to be seen as an equal, he’s experienced it firsthand in every stage of his life. He’d never escape it no matter how far he could run. 

“Sometimes it really feels like the opposite, like I’m chasing some pipe dream,” Hanbin’s head droops, “I’m sorry, this probably doesn’t make any sense to you.”

“To me?” Hao points a finger at himself, “What makes you say that?”

“Hao, you’re a talent. I swear if there’s a talent I’ve seen before, nothing comes close to you.” Hanbin admits, albeit a bit sheepishly, “Your work ethic is a talent in of itself, you’re—fuck—how do I say this,” He whispers the last part out, face burying into his arms as he peeks from a gap between them, “I look up to you, just a little bit.”

Hao stammers, looking incredulously over at Hanbin as his own confession falls from his lips, “You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie about that?” Hanbin shoots back, a frown settling on his face as he peers up at Hao. 

Hao shakes his head, “No, no, you’re the talent.” He jabs a finger into Hanbin’s arm, “I was—am still jealous of you. You’re smart, you’re the dance captain, you seem to get things instantly, and you make friends so easily. You’re the talent between the two of us.”

Hanbin's frown deepens, “Are you trying to flatter me to make me feel better?”

It’s aggressive, the shake that happens with Hao’s head, “No, it’s the truth. Hanbin, you dream big because here,” Hao nestles a hand through Hanbin’s tucked position, patting a hand against Hanbin’s chest, “Lives a faith in yourself that no one else has. You do it alone because that’s all you’ve ever known. But you don’t know how many people’s lives have changed just because you loved a little harder and believed a little harder.”

He alludes to other people, but he knows that in his own words are a fraction of himself. 

To live is an actionable term. To live means that life comes with purpose, some resolve that Hao never had until coming to South Korea and meeting the very man sitting in front of him whose faith in himself is dissolving. It twinges at Hao’s heartstrings, a weakness of his that never seemed to falter since he was young.

Perhaps his mother was right, the fact he wears his emotions so blatantly must be a flaw.

“What if what I love and believe in, I can’t have?” Hanbin asks back, his voice quiet and whispering. For a heartbeat, Hao can hear fear tinged in the noise, something small and fragile and even Hao doesn’t know how to protect it.

Hao wonders if he’s ever had that, that want for something . He has, probably everyone has, right out of grasp, so close his fingers brush against it being able to feel the breadth of it. But when he closes his hands around it, it’s never able to stay in his closed hand, dripping through like running sand.

He thinks about coming to South Korea, a flight send-off with no one from home. Walking in an airport with no one to pick him up. His parents would ask, again and again and again, why are you leaving so far from home?

In his senior year of high school, a part of Hao knew. Nothing he had ever wanted to achieve would be possible in that small city.

So he had left, with no plan, no family, and without a doubt, no friends.

“What’s stopping you?” Hao shoots back, “If it’s right there, what’s stopping you?”

He’s discovered he knows less about Hanbin than he originally thought, basking in a past that Hao had yet to unfold. But he knows whatever Hanbin is carrying in his heart, Hao was too, and maybe in the glowing light of the back of the dance department, they could share that pressing weight.

“I don’t know,” A deep inhale through the mouth, a sigh out with the next exhale, “Fear. Probably fear.”

Hao smiles, oozy and out of character, “It’s always bigger and scarier in your head,” He leans his head back to rest against the wall behind him, “I like to think of it all like a chain reaction.”

A slow nod, a signal that Hanbin was listening.

“An initiation, a propagation, and a termination—nuclear fission,”  He makes a small finger gun with his hands, squinting an eye like he’s staring at a target, “All we have control over is the initiation. Let it fire and see it through,” He looks towards Hanbin, hands now cocked in the other’s direction, “What’s fear when you’ve already set it free?”

It’s a beat of silence. Hanbin’s simply staring at Hao, that same sparkle in his eyes glowing a bit brighter after Hao’s response. A rosy pink sports his cheeks and the corners of his lips are lifting.

Hao can’t help but want to escape that gaze, breaking their eye contact to look at anything other than the two glaring orbs that pierce through his soul. He folds his hands into his lap as he glances up at the ceiling, then at the other mirrors, then back at the floor in front of him, shuffling his feet as if to dispel any of the static silence around him.

There’s a rustling beside Hao, his neck snapping to watch Hanbin unfolding from his curled position on the floor. He stands up, looking down at Hao, face brightened, tongue darting out to dampen the dryness of his lips.

“Would you like to learn something?”

Hao furrows his brows, pointing a finger at himself, “Me?” He disagrees the moment it leaves his lips, “Hanbin-ah, I can’t dance.”

The term of endearment attached to Hanbin’s name slips without either of them noticing, neither of the two batting an eye within the enclosed four walls of the practice room.

“It’ll be easy,” Hanbin extends a hand out in front of Hao, “I can teach you something simple.”

Hao puts his hand in the other’s, threading their fingers through one another as every inch of their bones graze against each other. Hanbin uses it as a grip to pull the other up, immediately laughing as he pulls Hao to the center of the room, lazily spinning them around.

“Remember when I taught you to dance your junior year?” Hanbin chides, “You could dance then.”

Hao shakes his head, letting himself get spun around through a series of random twirls Hanbin throws his body into, “You could barely call that dancing.”

“That’s because you don’t know what dancing is,” Hanbin grins cheekily, bringing Hao closer in with one arm and tipping him back, arms and hands pressing against Hao’s back to support his weight, “I started dancing ever since I could walk on my own two feet.”

They’ve reached the speaker, Hanbin pressing a couple buttons and the sound of music fills the entire room, “I wasn’t good but I knew I wanted to spend my life doing it as soon as I started,” Hanbin continues, dragging Hao along as he directs them to two standing positions in the middle of the room.

“ You weren’t good at it?” Hao asks, emphasizing the pronoun a bit too loudly. It’s odd, thinking there’s something Hanbin isn’t good at.

Hanbin nods, “Of course I wasn’t good. I told you, skill over talent.” He leads through a count of eight, Hao struggling to maintain his balance  and a coherent response.

“My first audition went horribly,” Hanbin shuffles his arms to the right, a loud string of encouragement following when Hao performs as similarly as he can, “But I think it’s what I consider to be dancing .”

Hanbin corrects the position of Hao’s legs, parting them by the thigh with a small hand that has Hao flushing, “You don’t have to be good at dancing to be a dancer,” Hanbin continues, “As long as you can feel the music, feel good about it, and move your body, that’s dancing.”

“I’m surprised,” Hao’s more honest now that he’s grown a bit more tired, panting as he moves through the third eight-count that Hanbin’s run through, “I always thought you were perfect at whatever you did.”

“Did it seem that way?” Hanbin’s face is a bit sad, helping adjust Hao’s arm to be a bit lower, “I think what I’ve always feared is losing my passion for dance.”

“Are you?” They’ve run through the entire dance twice, a set of four eight-counts that leave Hao breathless, “Are you losing that passion?” Hao clarifies.

“No.” Hanbin replies quickly, “I think that you just helped prove that to me.”

Hao collapses to the ground, Hanbin following him laying on his side. Their chests both heave, out of breath, catching what air they can get. Hao stares up at Hanbin who peers over his shoulder at Hao, “I did?”

Hanbin confirms with a nod, “You did.”

Catching their breaths while staring at the ceiling, the moments of the dance still blur in Hao’s mind. For a moment, he sears the touch of Hanbin in his mind, on his thighs, around his arm, the grip to his wrist. A reminder that Hanbin is real, lying right next to him, breathing like they’ve become one.

Hanbin pulls himself up onto his elbows, supporting his body as his fingers begin to prance over the edge of Hao’s clothes. Hao swats the other away, but when Hanbin’s hands come back, he doesn’t push the other away.

Not this time.

“You know, you shouldn’t wear shorts like this.” Hanbin plays with the fray ends of Hao’s shoes that end at his knees, “They’re too flimsy. Rides up really easily.” As if to prove his point, Hanbin slides his hands up Hao’s leg and the fabric bunches and moves easily.

“Who would’ve known you would be a clothes shamer. I’ll make a forum on our university page and expose—”

Hanbin pinches the skin there, a flare of pain instantly snapping Hao’s mouth shut. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but through the dance, Hao had practically been grinding his entire body against the other, trying to follow steps to a choreography Hanbin had made himself. With every instruction, a touch had lingered, a look spent too long scanning each other. Hao had even subconsciously spent too long staring at Hanbin’s collarbones now that he thinks back on it, probably swallowing back a mouthful of saliva while he was at it.

A loose edge of Hao’s shorts break free, the flimsy material of his gym shorts unthreading as if on command, “You know,” Hanbin loops his finger through the hole, pulling it back to watch the fabric slowly snag away, “You shouldn’t go looking for a man in a room by yourself, in a room that locks ”

Propping his hands beneath his head, Hao lifts it up to look at the other. He knows where this is going, just like that damn time in Hanbin’s apartment. This time though, they both seem like they’re on the same page, Hao matching the other’s pace with too much ease.

“And what are you going to do about it?”

“Hao, you may think of me as an enemy”, The string snaps, Hanbin fully sliding his hand to rest on Hao’s upper thigh with no constraints, “But I’m also just a man .”

The music had sizzled to nothing more than silence at this point, their heavy breathing infiltrating all the spaces their shared song had once filled. There’s a heat coming from Hanbin’s palm that touches Hao, emitting in waves that sends shivers and tingles straight to Hao’s core. Hao gulps, pushing his hands onto the floor to better seat himself upward. 

At this angle Hao’s closer to Hanbin’s face, so close their noses are brushing against one another. They both stare for a hair too long, both searching for an answer that burns wildly and crudely in their stomachs. 

Do you want this?

They don’t have to say a single word but it echoes in both of their eyes, the desperation spilling from Hao first.

“Kiss me—”

Hanbin doesn’t need to be told twice, hands already on the back of Hao’s neck as he dives for his kiss. It’s a sweet explosion, tastes of candy on their tongues that neither of the two can get enough of. Hao deepens it with every lick, every swipe of the lip, eyes shut as they collapse over at the edge of the practice room.

Hao quickly learns that Hanbin kisses like he’s starved, trying to evoke every little noise he can, hungry for more. What Hao believed wasn’t satiated yet was immediately staunched by the grunt that leaves Hanbin’s mouth next to Hao’s lips.

It’s music. Even better than what they danced to.

A festering desire. Maybe that’s what Hao would call it. A culmination of emotions, cracking with every whimper he leaves hanging. It’s not like any of their previous kisses, this one a chase to end all time .

A shirt is shed there, maybe a pair of shorts thrown in a corner. By the time their lips draw apart, swollen, bitten, and red from all the clash of teeth, Hao’s only left in his boxers, the other an equal mess of human greed. 

Hanbin’s greedy with his hands, tracing the lines of Hao’s waist and hips. He’s greedy with his eyes, raking over anything he can grab his sights on. He’s even greedier with his lips and teeth, suctioning them on skin that he claims with a hearty groan. It’s like he can’t stand the thought of Hao unblemished, unbranded with the teeth markings of Hanbin’s, the exact indentation of his own canines.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Hanbin breathes, he doesn’t need to touch, but his eyes are like hands that crawl up Hao’s sides in a desperate attempt to claim all that is his, “I want—”

Hao pulls him closer by the neck, the same way he held and clinged onto Hanbin on that stupid sports section of their school festival. But this time with a hunger to devour the look in Hanbin’s gaze, to eat him whole in some aspect. 

His mind is whirling as he kisses Hanbin, a swirl of questions that he’s sure he’ll never get an answer to. But he doesn’t mind, not when Hanbin tastes like an ounce of euphoria, some semblance of freedom.

When Hao pulls away for a breath of air, he expects to inhale. Deeply through his mouth and hurriedly out like a pant. Hanbin’s faster though, thumb inserted in Hao’s mouth and pressing down on his tongue. The short-end of his nail digs into Hao’s mouth, flattening his tongue as he pulls Hao closer by the jaw. 

The spit in Hao’s mouth gurgles, a strangled cry leaving his parted lips. But it’s soon soothed by Hanbin’s lips on his jaw, nosing at parts of Hao’s neck and licking all over his Adam’s apple. It was sin as a person, Hao refusing every nerve in his body to even look , to glance, he wouldn’t give in to the pleasure.

Though in a futile attempt to escape the view right below him, Hao makes the mistake of turning his head to the right, a clear image of what Hanbin is doing to him staring right back at him.

The image is so quick, a fragment of what has happened. But it sears itself into Hao’s mind, rewinding and replaying like a broken record.

His reflection in the mirror.

Hao's lying on the floor, legs splayed out beneath him and Hanbin crawling all over his limp body. His own lips, bitten proof of what Hanbin’s done. There's unshed tears clinging to his eyes, clumping on his lashes and twinkling in the corners. It’s worse than he thinks it is, drool seeping down his chin, wet and moist from all the kisses and licking Hanbin doesn’t seem to want to cease. 

Then there’s Hanbin. Eyes wild, bare chest heaving as he works his way down Hao’s chest. He takes extra time on Hao’s chest, trailing his fingertips around where Hao wants it to be, a funny expression on his face like it’s taking everything in him to hold back.

Hao snaps his neck to look away. He couldn’t bring himself to. That is, if he doesn’t want to cum embarrassingly fast, maybe even without Hanbin touching him.

He sounds like a loser, doesn’t he?

“What are you thinking about?” Hanbin murmurs against Hao’s thigh, all while marking every inch of Hao’s skin he can get his teeth around.

Hao shakes his head, face flushed with Hanbin so close to his cock which strains with all its efforts to be free from his boxers, “You don’t want to know.”

Hanbin leans his head against the inside of Hao’s thigh, looking up through his lashes as he slowly blinks, “I always want to know what you’re thinking.”

He’s still holding back , Hao notes. He can tell by the way Hanbin’s pupils are dilated and the strong grip he has around Hao’s legs. Hao wants to see him snap. He wonders what Hanbin is like without all his control, the one he uses around his friends or when he had received his first place tie, the constraints he has when he’s the dance leader, that control. 

“I was thinking,” Hao almost purrs the words from excitement, his stomach churning with how good this could turn out, “If you’d fuck me right here,” Hao tips a finger beneath Hanbin’s chin, lifting his head away from Hao’s crotch that he keeps nosing at, “In the little practice room you’re always in. You’d never forget it, would you?”

Hanbin shakes his head vigorously. Too passionately.

“You’d think about it, every time you’re here,” Hao continues, watching in awe as the fire in Hanbin’s eyes light aflame, flickering with every word, “And every time you look in that mirror, you wouldn’t see yourself,” Hao studies Hanbin’s face in his hands, “You’d just see what you look like fucking into me —”

Hanbin wrenches his face from Hao’s loose grip, mouthing at Hao’s hard-on through his cotton boxers. The moan escapes before Hao can finish, his head being thrown back as the guttural noise echoes from the base of his stomach. it's a humid hot mouth all over his cock, from his balls to the base of his cock and all the way to the tip. Hanbin seems to just hold it there, breathing over the spot Hao wants it most and giving it a cautionary lick.

There’s a wet patch forming right over his cock, the friction doing nothing more than allowing his hot flushed cock to jump and twitch beneath the thin fabric. It’s not enough, Hanbin’s mouth is hot all over his shaft, tongue trailing out to dampen the mess. It’s not just saliva added to the mix, to Hao’s horror, his own pre-cum is bleeding into the cotton. Now it’s wet fabric moving all over his hard-on and Hao wants to tear his gut out, he needs to cum. 

“What were you saying?” Hanbin hums, the vibrations sending a straight shudder through Hao’s spine, arching off the floor as his own control begins slipping.

“I was saying—” Hao mewls, the noise echoing off the walls, “That I— ngh –Need—” His words fail him, Hanbin grabbing the waistband of Hao’s boxers with his teeth and dragging them downwards, his teeth grazing the length of Hao’s painful and rather pitiful cock.

There’s a string of pre-cum that stretches from Hao’s boxers as they’re pulled away, his confidence shattering as his face turns to the side in humiliation. This was humiliating and Hanbin had barely even done anything.

Hao’s knees knock together on instinct, no longer wanting to be so exposed in front of the other. But Hanbin’s quicker, hands already slotted between Hao’s thighs and pulling them apart. He yanks Hao closer with his grip, Hao sliding over the smoothly polished floors with a shriek, Hanbin’s hands already all over his newly exposed expanse of skin.

A finger tracing the base of Hao’s cock, lingering over his balls and dragging down his perineum. He’s so close, Hanbin even circling the exact spot Hao wants him to be, but even with a kick of his leg, Hanbin only shakes his head. He lets out a low tsk and edges his finger closer to Hao’s hole, teasing it there, letting it flutter over his fingertip before he pulls away, leaving Hao to only clench on air.

“We don’t have lube.” Hanbin astutely notes, his gaze not once tearing from the view.

Hao’s too embarrassed to even look in Hanbin’s direction, already mounting his words as his next escape, “Then it looks like we don’t have to do this, I’m going to—”

“Sit on my face.”

This grabs Hao’s attention, his head snapping to Hanbin as his eyes go wide in shock, “Pardon?”

“Do you trust me?” Hanbin asks instead, beckoning Hao over with his hand. 

Hao considers it. Does he? The obvious answer is no, they’re enemies, have been for so many months and counting. Hell, this all started because of a bet running off the other ones they’ve left unfinished and hanging. But there’s another creeping answer that Hao was beginning to feel. Something that came from Hanbin’s actions and words and how they’ve always matched up. How Hanbin had somehow been also supporting him all along.

So he lets that feeling in, nodding his head as he sits up, crawling over Hanbin’s body who had laid down on the floor.

This he has never done before, not sure how to manoeuvre his body or even if he was supposed to apply any pressure over Hanbin. He’s sure he’s going to crush the other, kill him and suffocate him and Hanbin would die in the top ten most embarrassing ways for a college student to go. But hey, Hanbin had been the one to suggest it therefore Hao shouldn’t be charged with homicide—right?

“Don’t just hover,” Hanbin’s hands are on Hao’s hips, guiding him into position and rubbing small circles into his sides, “You can sit.”

Mortified in the new position, crouched on his knees and thighs shaking, Hao lets out a small cry, “I’m going to crush you.”

“You won’t.” Hanbin reassures, a small tug on Hao’s body, his breath fanning right over the sensitive skin there, a chill shivering through Hao’s body, “I promise.”

“Do you swear?” Hao really wishes he exercised more, his legs close to giving out and actually fully seating himself down. 

He hears Hanbin sucking in a breath, something close to a groan coming from his throat. It’s through Hao’s haze that he realizes Hanbin is enjoying this, maybe a bit too much, Hanbin’s own boxers barely containing his excitement right in Hao’s view.

“I’ll pat your leg three times if I need air,” Hanbin promises, “And I’m perfectly capable of lifting you off of me. Hao, you really don’t weigh much.”

Hao’s legs give out before his mind does, Hao slipping ever so slightly and landing on Hanbin’s face with a soft fall. 

It’s immediate, the tongue that pokes around his rim, slotting itself right against the tight ring of muscle just as Hao moans.

There’s no words that truly explain the pleasure, Hao’s eyes rolling to the back of his head as his whole body falls forward, hips shaking from stimulation, or perhaps to get more, he can no longer tell. Parting his cheeks with a hand, Hanbin eats him out like a man starved, swirling around his rim before diving in, scraping every surface of his walls.

The noises that leave Hao are inhumane, choked around spit, drool, he can’t discern any of it. He simply lays against Hanbin’s lower abdomen, ass in the air as Hanbin consumes him whole, figuratively and quite literally.

Hao quivers in where he lays, hands shaking as he reaches forward to palm at Hanbin’s erection. It’s the least he can do in this position, trembling hands reaching beneath Hanbin’s waistband and freeing the other’s dick from the constraints of fabric.

Hanbin moans against Hao’s hole, the noise making Hao’s back go taut with pleasure as his eyes squeeze shut. A whimper is already leaving his mouth as he tries to regain composure, doing anything to try to get Hanbin to slow down, to give him a second to breathe.

It’s another kind of battlefield, Hao’s fumbling hands sloppily stroking Hanbin’s cock while Hanbin works at his task at hand. Hanbin overpowers him entirely, Hao losing focus as another lick to his winking hole sends him burying his face into Hanbin’s abdomen like it can save him.

Hao’s poor cock rubs in a tight friction between his stomach and Hanbin's chest, tip pressed flush in the mash of their two bodies, sliding with every jostle of Hao’s hips. If Hao lifts his hips, his cock rubs against their hot flesh, but if he were to lower them, he’s met with the relentlessness of Hanbin’s mouth. A two-way pleasure he can’t escape, nails digging into Hanbin’s sides as another shudder runs through his entire body.

“S-Stop–Mmh!” Hao gasps, his stomach coiling too fast for the warning to come through.

With one last suction of Hanbin’s mouth against his hole, Hao cums pathetically between their two bodies, body washing in aftershocks with a twitch and his spine spasming. Ropes of semen explode from his tip, hands gripping so tightly on Hanbin’s sides his knuckles turn white. He can’t control it, wailing as his cock slides with the added lubrication, the touch a bit too much that it sends him into oversensitivity. 

He raises his hips shakily, crawling off of Hanbin’s face as he checks if the other’s still breathing. What if Hao really killed him?

Hanbin wipes the spit off the side of his mouth with the side of his hand, a roaring flame now in his gaze. He looks proud of himself, though no amount of smugness or arrogance bleeds through.

Hao catches his breath through small gasps, still seated by the other since his legs had completely given out. In his moment of post-nut clarity, Hao’s eyes flicker towards the mirror, catching a brief glimpse of his own reflection before returning to stare at the floor.

How was he supposed to do this?

Hanbin is eating him alive and Hao can’t even look up without a stark reminder of what Hanbin’s done. 

As if it couldn’t get any worse, Hanbin seems to catch onto the look Hao gives towards the mirror, catching on despite Hao trying to keep it as a discretive and as quick as possible.

“You know,” Hanbin slides himself behind Hao, running his hands along Hao’s bare waist with a firm hand, “You look beautiful like this,”

A hand strokes past Hao’s ear, singing it with its fingertips, Hanbin’s fingers suddenly on his chin and wrenching it in the direction of the mirror, “Don’t you think?”

It’s a whisper, so soft and quiet right by Hao’s ear. Hao swears he could feel the air ghost by, brushing by his lobe and sending a tingle down his spine. This man was insatiable, Hao ripping his face away, eyes refusing to look. Trying to scoot away from Hanbin’s grasp, Hao makes a desperate flee in the direction of his clothes.

He doesn’t make it far, Hanbin latching an arm around his waist and pulling him straight into Hanbin’s lap. His strength is undeniable, an immaculate amount higher than Hao’s, gripping so hard it could bruise.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hanbin brushes his nose against Hao’s ear, “We’re not done here.”

Hao gulps, “We aren’t?”

What had he gotten himself into?

“Far from it.” Hanbin’s words have been so distracting, Hao hadn’t even realized where the other’s hands had begun to crawl towards. Like some magnetic force, they’re inches away from Hao’s hole, light and teasing with every feathery touch.

“You said I’d remember it, hm?” Hanbin traces his finger around Hao’s puckered hole, clearly enjoying the view from the mirror standing right in front of them that Hao’s too afraid to look up at, “Fucking into you, right here.”

A skim of a touch, Hanbin breaching the ring of muscle with the calloused tip of his finger, “You’re a lot of bark, yet no bite.” He tuts loudly when Hao looks up at him, tears running down his cheeks in rivulets from how bad he wants it. 

Hao doesn’t need to say it, his brain dignifying it as too humiliating to say aloud. But Hanbin understands, finally sinking his first digit in, all the way up to the first knuckle, a loud moan encroaching at Hao’s throat. He swallows to fight it back, but he’s so stretched out, walls clenching and unclenching to ease the tension, the thick swell of Hanbin’s fingers something he’s so unaccustomed to.

Hanbin was about to ruin him.

The squelch of Hanbin’s spit used to aid his fingering adds to the noise that Hao lets out, unfiltered, raw, and so utterly him. He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to look to the side as he balls his hands into fists to prevent himself from looking. He can’t, he simply can’t.

Hanbin moves with a newfound vigor, almost like he wants to draw Hao’s pleasure out in order for him to see his reflection. It’s a slide in, slide out, his joints catching on Hao’s rim as the man lets out a startled cry. The second finger is added with no prior notice, Hao’s legs parting and thrashing to chase the heat that pools in his stomach. 

Hanbin’s fingers are so thick, prodding alongside Hao’s walls and scraping upwards looking for that spot.

“You should see yourself,” Hanbin thrusts his fingers upwards, curling his two fingers in a beckoning gesture from within, “I can’t believe I get to see this.”

Score. It hits Hao with no notice, the spongy spot deep within his core brushed by the next insert of Hanbin’s fingers. Hao’s eyes blow wide open, a moan so visceral he can’t believe he’s made such a noise. 

Hanbin seems spurred on from the noise, his hand slamming back into Hao’s and brushing by the same spot. He catches Hao’s prostate every time, abusing it with every stroke of his fingers, a drive so passionate it makes Hao feel dizzy.

“ Look .” Hanbin demands, “You don’t even know how pretty you are.”

Hao shakes his head, the refusal stronger than his need to cum. It’s too much, experiencing all the pain and pleasure and seeing it happen to himself in real time. He can’t do it, gritting his teeth as his lashes flutter shut once again.

Hanbin lets out a loud tsk, sliding his fingers completely out.

Hao lets out an instinctive whine, immediately grinding his hips down to find the same friction. He’s met with a fleshy kiss, something Hao seems vaguely familiar with. 

In his pathetic attempts to get Hanbin to stuff his fingers back inside, Hanbin’s fat cock had slid between them, resting beneath the cleft of Hao’s ass. 

“Hao..” His name trails from Hanbin’s lips, a desire hidden between every grit of his teeth, “Can I?”

Hao finally opens his eyes, looking back at Hanbin to read his expression. It’s much more than he could ever ask for, a plea for anything ridden in Hanbin’s flushed cheeks and sopping wet lips. He flicks a tongue out in concentration, Hao vaguely registering the other is rutting up and shaking his hips to try to get any friction possible.

He’s holding back, so much so that it’s written all over his face. Hanbin wants this just as much as Hao does.

Hao nods, any moral jurisdiction fading from his mind. He’d sort out his feelings later, the garbled mess he could barely consider as his thoughts.

Hanbin doesn’t need to be told twice, parting both of Hao’s ass cheeks with a soft hand, slowly easing his tip through the tight squeeze of Hao’s hole. 

The stretch burns, Hao gripping onto Hanbin’s thighs beside him, gritting his teeth with every tease of Hanbin. He tries to sink himself down faster, get the burn over with, but Hanbin’s guiding him down with his hands on Hao’s hips, easing him down slowly so that Hao can feel every inch within him.

Hao’s riding Hanbin on the other’s lap, bottoming out with a guttural groan from both of them.

It feels too good, Hao feeling ever so full, his stomach clenching as he tries to accommodate the other’s sheer girth.

“You can move.” Hao murmurs.

“Are you sure?” Hanbin replies back through bitten lips. Hao knows he’s holding back this entire time. Even Hao’s close to snapping, desperate to have Hanbin fucking him into the floor, puffy chest pressed to the polished floors as the other pounds him from behind. 

Hao likes it rough.

“If you don’t fuck me stupid, I’ll go find another man and I’ll—”

His threat doesn’t make it far out of his mouth, a snarl coming from behind as Hanbin snaps his hips up. It jostles Hao’s entire body, his balance staggering as Hanbin thrusts from beneath. He’s big, stretching Hao so thin that he can’t even begin to think.

“Find someone else?” Hanbin muses, digging into Hao’s hip bones with his crushing grip, “When you can’t even look at yourself when I’m this deep inside of you?”

Hanbin’s hands trail over Hao’s stomach, pushing down on the flesh that makes Hao see stars. He might cum from the action alone, willing with all his power that his orgasm stays within his own dick.

A whimper, Hao’s losing control over his own body. Hanbin seems to know exactly how his body works, his thick cock gripping to Hao’s wall, his tip kissing Hao’s prostate with every slide.

“Look Hao,” This time Hao pries his sticky eyes open, Hanbin forcing his head towards the mirror with a grip to his jaw, “Look at where we’re connected .”

In the mirror, Hao stares at the image of pure sin in front of him. Right at the bottom of his view is himself, thighs parted and puffy rim stretched right around the base of Hanbin’s cock. Hanbin’s dick disappears within Hao’s body with every thrust of his hips upwards, mixtures of their bodily fluids dripping to a puddle on the floor beneath them. Hao’s own cock is springing up, well and alive, trembling in the air while his body lays limp in Hanbin’s arms.

Hao’s body is covered in bruises, bite marks around his pert nipples, blooming hickies sporting all across his chest and shoulders, a particularly dark one on Hao’s neck that Hanbin had seemingly spent a minute too long on.

The coil in Hao’s belly tightens, he can’t be watching this. Not when he’s so close to cumming.

“Look how pretty you are,” Hanbin’s fingers are back in Hao’s mouth, traveling from his jaw to beneath his tongue, “You’re just my pretty princess, aren’t you?”

Hao’s voice gurgles around the digit, his face stained with a stream of tears, cheeks reddening by the second, drool seeping out the corners of his mouth. He can’t even process it for too long, Hanbin jabbing harshly at Hao’s prostate from within, his stomach bulging in the mirror from the thrust.

“Come for me princess,” Hanbin mumbles in Hao’s ear, “With me, together.”

His hand reaches forward, sloppily thrusting up as his fingers lace around Hao’s tiny cock. With two strokes, Hao lets out a wail, back arching off Hanbin’s sweaty chest as he comes, over and over again, body trembling as he shoots all across the floor in splatters, even reaching the clear surface of the mirror. It’s too much, the view right in front of him of how his body seems to be in shock, twitching with every move of the younger beneath him.

Hanbin follows soon after, stuffing him to the brim of his cum, grunting and whimpering through the mess as he continues to rut into Hao like a panting dog.

He pulls out with a wince, Hao’s hole clenching and white fluid falling from his hole to the floor in small dribbles. It’s wet, Hao so close to passing out as he tries to maintain his breathing.

They both stare at each other, out of breath and shaking through the aftershocks.

When their eyes meet, it’s a spark. A connection only the two of them can explain, bursting out into laughter that spreads well throughout the building.

Hao doesn’t even know anymore, who was even winning anymore?

────────────────────────────────

It grows even easier after the night spent in the practice room.

A brush to the waist that lingers too long, fingers dipping into the swell of Hao’s waist. It’s a telltale signal that they might sneak into the bathroom, cramped into a damp stall while Hao sucks the other off, desperate and swallowing every last drop while Hanbin’s left trembling against the door.

Other times they’re more obvious, dipping around their friends and disappearing one after another. Sometimes they flee into the night, retiring early and running off into Hanbin’s apartment to the point Hao can pinpoint every t-shirt of the other’s and where they’re inconspicuously stuffed away.

Sometimes it grows too desperate, the two discovering that unused classrooms in the back of different department buildings are some of the best places when on university grounds.

The table creaks from beneath Hao’s weight, almost failing to hold him up as his back flies up into the air from a particularly hard slam.

He’s laying on his back, clinging onto Hanbin’s shoulders with his hands as the other rams into him without a care for the world. Their uniforms are both still on their bodies, hastily unbuttoned with their ties splayed somewhere on the floor of the room.

They both had been too occupied, not even bothering to fully unclothe, Hanbin’s pants rolled to his knees, belt unbuckled that clangs with every pivot of his hips. Hao’s pants are left on one leg, toes curling when his prostate stings from the pure stimulation.

Sweat clings to Hanbin’s forehead, dripping ever so slightly onto the equally wet skin of Hao's chest, a loud moan chorus from their throats.

There’s a hum from outside the door and then hundreds of hurried footsteps. Students had begun to make their way through the building, changing from class to class, talking loudly and gossiping to their heart’s content.

“Hao, I–I can’t stop,” Hanbin whispers, plunging his hips like a deadweight against Hao’s ass, the echo of skin slapping reverberating around the room, “I’m so close.”

“Mmh, you better not stop,” Hao's eyes squeeze shut, his cock spurting beads of pre-cum from how close he was, “Did—Did you lock the— Hah —door?”

“I–” Hanbin stutters through the words, so close to his release that his thrusts begin to turn into some form of rocking, “I’m not sure.”

“Sung Hanbin!” Hao means for it to come out reprimanding, but it doesn’t—far from it. It draws out, high, loud, and keening, punched out breaths keeping him from managing a stern voice.

“You just clenched tighter around me,” Hanbin murmurs, his voice quickly melting into awe, “Does that turn you on?”

Hao flinches from the question, turning his face away from the other as his chest tightens. He bites his lip, staving the whimpers that are begging to be released. He shakes his head with all his might, sweaty bangs flinging droplets all over his brow bone and trickling down the sides of his temple.

“Fuck it does,” Hanbin breathes, “You just did it again.” One of his arms slam into the table behind Hao, the voices outside the classroom growing louder to drown out the smack. Using his body leaning against the table as leverage, Hanbin reaches an even deeper angle, a strangled cry escaping from Hao.

“Imagine someone walking in,” Hanbin grunts, “Only to see you spread eagle for me, legs parted for easy access,” His hands crawl onto Hao’s sensitive chest, fingers rubbing circles on his taut nipples only to suddenly pinch and scrape the tip with his nails, “Just for me.”

The fear settles into Hao’s body, someone actually catching them in the middle of the act. Yet strangely, a darker part of himself likes it. The idea that Hanbin would keep mounting him like a dog in heat, thrusting to Hao’s climax that he can’t control if someone were to walk in. It’s humiliating, the fact that he would be cumming non-stop as a stranger watches in shock. But knowing that the stranger would know just how good Hanbin was fucking into him was enough for the orgasm in his stomach to grow tenfold.

Hanbin leans into Hao’s ear, his breath tickling the other’s ear, “You’d want them to see you huh? Tears running down your cheeks from how good it is,” Hanbin grits his teeth, hand travelling down Hao’s stomach to stroke at his neglected cock, jerking his wrist up and down in a tight hold, “Dirty whore, wanting everyone to see me slamming into your tight hole.”

“You’re so— fuck ,” Hao can’t hold his noises back, despite knowing there’s students flowing in the corridors right outside the classroom. Perhaps that part also relishes in the fantasy of being found out.

A voice outside draws closer, close enough for them to decipher fragments of the student’s conversation, Hanbin’s palm slapping over Hao’s mouth covered in a slick amount of Hao’s own pre-cum.

“You’re so obscene .” Hao whimpers into the palm of Hanbin’s hand.

Hanbin throws one of Hao’s legs over his shoulder, pounding with a strength that shouldn’t be possible on their second or third round, Hao can’t seem to keep track. He’s sure the budding orgasm in his gut will be a dry one, milked completely from earlier. But Hanbin knows his body too well, pinning his prostate with every thrust, hand muffling Hao’s every squeal when Hanbin gets too close to nailing it straight on the head. 

“Quiet,” Hanbin groans, “Or else they’ll hear.”

Hao nods his head, but his sobs only grow harder from how his body slides against the table with each powerful thrust. His head is spinning, a throbbing headache from his spent dick, yet he keeps pushing. 

Whoever is outside the classroom is right by the door at this point, their voices so clear Hao can discern the exact words they exchange amongst each other. His eyes grow wide in shock, wildly spinning his head to try to grab Hanbin’s attention.

“Is this place locked?”

“I could’ve sworn the professor says this room was open.”

Hao opens his mouth to warn Hanbin who looks too enraptured in chasing his climax to notice. Yet his throat chokes up, Hanbin’s hand back on his cock and sliding right over his leaking tip.

The door handle rattles the moment Hao comes, exploding white behind his eyelids as Hanbin lips meet his, kissing him swollen and swallowing every last bit of his cries. He mewls into the kiss, eyes squeezed shut as his stomach wracks through the shock of his orgasm. His stomach squeezes in itself, like a hot livewire, twitching like he’s being electrocuted.

“Let's go, we can grab the key from the spare room.”

Hanbin pulls back, pulling out with a crease in his brow. Hao reaches out a hand to smooth the skin out, running a shaky finger over the lines that slowly meld away as Hanbin twists the condom shut and throws it into the trash can.

“That was too risky.” Hao breathes, allowing himself to be wiped down clean with a pack of baby wipes Hanbin had hurriedly stuffed into his backpack.

“Yeah,” Hanbin agrees with a nod, cupping a hand around Hao’s cheek, thumb brushing the remnants of Hao’s tears away, “Too risky—”

A pair of voices, the inflections too familiar for them not to know, just right outside the door.

“Is that…?” Hao whispers towards Hanbin, flying off the desk he had been previously propped on and pulling up his sticky boxers and pair of slacks.

Hanbin runs a hand through his hair, stress emitting off of him in waves as he scrambles to buckle his belt and button his shirt at the same time, “It definitely is.”

They both look at each other, their faces wearing similar expressions as they confirm their suspicions, “Ricky and Gyuvin.”

Strings of quiet curses leave their mouths, scurrying around the room to grab their strewn clothing and adjusting their ties onto their necks. Hao almost trips twice, Hanbin steadying him with a quick hand that he can only return a nod of ‘thanks’. 

They flee from the scene, hand-in-hand, Hanbin practically dragging Hao’s poor unathletic body down the corridors as they run in the direction they think their friends aren’t at. Hao can’t help but stare, Hanbin pumping his arms a little too roughly from someone who spent the last forty minutes fucking into him in an empty classroom. 

But when Hanbin looks back to check up on him, Hao swears he sees the other glow. Like some halo-effect goes into place, Hanbin smiling with a youthful expression that it doesn’t seem like they had just done something so filthy and running from the crime scene.

Hao’s heart stutters. 

Fuck, does he like Hanbin more than he thought? It couldn’t be possible, not when he’d sworn Hanbin off like a damn oath. Scrunching his nose, Hao deems it to be because he missed a step down the stairs and flew down the steps with a speed way too quick for his uncoordinated body.

“You okay?” Hanbin slows down for Hao to catch his breath, the man letting go of Hanbin’s hand and hunching over the side of the hallway.

“Remind—” A pant, “Me—” A breath, “To never—” Oh God, was he even breathing at this point? “Do that again.”

“Noted.” Hanbin replies cheekily, though his hands work in circles on Hao’s back, patting ever so often every time Hao lets out a cough.

“What are you two doing?”

It’s sharp, crisp, yet far from accusatory. The warmth on Hao’s back disappears, Hanbin’s hand tucked neatly behind his back as Hao tries to straighten himself up.

Speaking of the devil, it’s Ricky and Gyuvin, both staring at Hao and Hanbin, eyes flickering between the two as it scans them from head to toe. Hao swears he sees Ricky counting the hairs that stick up from his head, Hao’s hand reaching up subconsciously to smooth down the stray hairs.

Gyuvin raises a brow, a finger coming up and pointing at their necks. Hao even slaps a hand over his neck in fear the marks from earlier this week hadn’t faded, or worse, Hanbin had left new ones despite the plethora of complaints and nagging Hao had given him prior.

“Your tie colors,” His finger flies to point at Hanbin, “They’ve changed. Was there an interim exam without me knowing?”

Hao turns to look at Hanbin, their fatal green mistake staring straight back at him. Shit, he should’ve put more thought into it when getting dressed, but amidst the chaos, Hao had been too busy in the fear of getting caught he hadn’t even noticed. He had simply grabbed the closest tie (Hanbin’s, unfortunately) on the floor and threw it over his neck in a poor excuse of tying it.

Hanbin offers a sheepish smile, “Department exams…?” He sounds as convincing as Hao when he first went out to drink at nineteen with a fake ID and a baby face that looked closer to sixteen than twenty-one.

It even comes out as a question, Hao mentally slapping himself in his mind. God, this was why he hated Hanbin. Good on him for giving Hao another reason to add to his list of reasons why he doesn’t like the other. Therefore Hao had been wrong earlier, he couldn’t possibly like Hanbin.

“Hanbin-hyung, I swear you were a good bit higher than Hao in your points,” Gyuvin notes, Hao wanting to choke him out for having a decent memory, “I don’t think departmental exams would affect the rankings that much.”

Hao seethes under his breath. Why doesn’t Gyuvin just join the FBI while he’s at it? God, maybe even become best friends with Sherlock Holmes, Hao’s sure that’ll go well.

Ricky narrows his eyes at both of them, “You two are suspicious…”

Gyuvin directs his attention at Hao, bumping and nudging his shoulder against Hao’s with a curious smirk, “So… did it ever change?”

Hao looks at Hanbin, fiddling with the green tie of second place like he’s never seen it before. 

“Yeah,” Hanbin’s head snaps up at Hao’s words, “Just now.”

Hao brushes past Hanbin as he walks away in the other direction, he had just one-upped the other without even trying. Something that he seems to be failing to do when underneath Hanbin, reduced to nothing more than a sobbing mess. But here? Oh he has the upper hand here, swaying his hips with a new pep in his step as he whispers into Hanbin with his words of farewell.

“The bet is still on you know,” Hao pats a hand on Hanbin’s shoulder, dropping his voice low enough that Ricky and Gyuvin can only watch in confusion, “Like you said baby , all is fair in love and war.”

He notices Hanbin’s hands clenching and unclenching, a bubble of glee exploding in his chest as he struts further down the hall.

Ricky turns towards Hanbin, Gyuvin following his direction of attention, “Hey Hanbin-hyung, what was tha—?”

Hanbin rolls his eyes in exasperation, straightening his clothes out with a hand, “Dont.” He grits out through his teeth, “Don’t want to talk about it.”

He walks away in the opposite direction, feet loud and clamoring as he stalks away.

Ricky turns towards Gyuvin, the two sharing a look. Gyuvin shrugs his shoulders, his face saying the hell do I know about this?

Ricky sighs. Again, they were hopeless.

────────────────────────────────

Hao was angry. Words like livid, enraged, or even infuriated wouldn’t be enough to suffice for his anger. It boils underneath his skin, popping and sizzling like the broth of a simmering bowl of hotpot.

The bath sits like a cold stone under his bare ass, bubbles floating around his body as he absentmindedly pops one that flies through the air. He’s resting on the smooth side, able to relax and press his back against the porcelain material.

His back aches, spine tingling with every movement of his body. It’s a sporting pain that shoots up his leg when he tries to adjust his position, shooting another glare at the person sitting opposite him.

He would be more courteous, since after all—he’d be damned if his own dorm bathroom had such a nice bath tub—and considering the fact he was using someone else’s facilities. But quite possibly, Hao fumes on the side, curling his legs up as for the position was the only thing comfortable in his current predicament.

The core of his anger sits across from him, a sheepish smile on his lips and an equally mauled neck from Hao’s earlier anger.

Hao had banished Hanbin to the other side of the bathtub—the side where the faucet knocks against your back and gives you an inexplicable amount of frustration—a solid fist of space stuck between them.

With all his might, and comfortability at stake, Hao turns his shoulder to the side, letting out a loud huff of distress as he hugs his knees. He’s been trying to signal Hanbin’s attention for the past five minutes, but Hanbin only looks bemused, eyes crinkling as he watches Hao let out another distress signal.

“You don’t feel bad for me at all?” Hao grumbles, hands clumping together a group of bubbles then smashing them down underwater, his anger palpable with the weight he slams down on the poor bubbles.

Hanbin sits uncomfortably, legs creaking as he tries to straighten them out, “Not really.”

Hao’s eye twitches, “You broke my back.”

Hanbin turns to look at the side, sighing as he speaks, “That’s not what you were saying earlier.”

Hao throws his hands up in the air, water splashing in Hanbin’s direction as he lets out a small wail, “I’m not flexible you bone-head, you can’t just fold me in half like that.”

“It’s called a mating press.”

“Say that once I’ve pressed your perfume collection flat into the floor.” Hao shoots back, “Sorry I don’t have the latest PhD in sex positions 101.”

Hanbin lets out a soft chuckle, hand flying over his mouth as if to shy the view away from Hao. But he knows from the way Hanbin’s eyes crinkle. Hanbin was laughing at him despite putting him in the worst pain to wake up to. Was this some form of sadism Hao wasn’t aware of?

“I can give you a massage,” Hanbin stretches out his hand as a peace offering followed by a wink, “Free of charge.”

Any other day Hao would’ve taken it. A free massage does sound nice, enough to dwindle and smother the pain in his body for a moment longer. But no, that wasn’t the core of the issue. The core of the issue was much larger than that, so much larger that every time Hao remembers it, his face burns up to that impossible temperature and he just wants to plunge his head underwater.

He smacks Hanbin’s hand away, “You—You—” His hand shakes in frustration before giving up and mumbling his confession, “You kissed my forehead, you thief.” It ends on a whisper, his insult landing more like a forehead flick than a slap.

Hanbin shrugs his shoulders, “You were crying .”

“I always cry when we have sex!”

Hanbin places a hand on his heart, his lower lip jutting out like he’s mocking Hao’s usual pout, “Not my fault I make you feel that good that you’d be moved to tears every time.”

A glare and a shove in Hanbin’s direction, “Not the time.”

“Look, I’m—” Hanbin takes a breath, dropping his act while his hands fall into the water, “I’m sorry. I was scared I hurt you.”

Hao’s posture relaxes, shoulders sagging as he squints at the other, “You can’t hurt me,” He cocks his head at the other, the next question coming out a bit too vulnerable, “Do you want to hurt me?”

The water sloshes around them, Hao watching as Hanbin visibility flinches at such a suggestion, “Oh God no,” He exclaims, like he can’t seem to fathom the thought, “I just want you to feel good. It’s only fun if we both feel good.”

Honesty, sincerity, they all drip from all his words as Hanbin’s eyes grow wider. He breaks out into a tight-lipped smile, beckoning Hao over with a soapy hand, “Come on, I’ll relieve some of that pain.”

Begrudgingly, Hao scoots his way across the bathtub, settling between Hanbin’s legs with his back pressed to the other’s chest. He’s doing this because it’s a free massage, not because Hanbin had given him an answer he liked. Absolutely not that part.

“I’m still mad at you.” Hao blubbers into the water, his shoulders loosening with every small rub right into the cusp of his neck to shoulder blade.

“I know.”

“You broke one of our rules.” Hao points out, Hanbin’s fingers kneading across his back, knuckles pressing deep into the muscles that lay bare.

“I know.”

“That’s punishable by capital offense.” Hao threatens.

A snort, “By whom?”

Hao spins around to face Hanbin, “Me.” He points at himself, flicking water towards the other. Hanbin’s nose scrunches in retaliation, eyes fluttering shut to prevent soap from invading his vision.

“So what’s my punishment?” Hanbin runs his fingers along Hao’s sides, careful to avoid the bruising that had come from their earlier little rendezvous in Hanbin’s bedroom.

Hao turns back around, thumping his back against the other’s chest with a thud. It knocks the air out of Hanbin, his hands stuttering as a breath of air flies out his airway.

“Shampooing my hair.”

“Aye aye captain.”

Hao curls up in the warm water, letting Hanbin run his fingers through his hair as he lathers a sandalwood-scented shampoo through his strands. The scent is so Hanbin, befitting of all the woodsy oak scented perfumes that litter his desk. Even his motions are so Hanbin-like, fingers tugging too hard at the root and Hao’s head ricocheting back as he winces.

“Play nice.” He warns, shuffling his body to get closer to help Hanbin reach.

A gentle hum from the other, “Wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

It’s quiet, an occasional splashing of water and the soothing scratch against Hao’s scalp. Hanbin’s blunt nails are the perfect tool for this, the nails even cut by Hao himself to make sure they wouldn’t hurt going up there .

Every time Hao closes his eyes, he sinks further into the water, muscles loosening and bones melting into a pile of goo. But even with the added relaxation, another abysmal matter has been added to Hao’s list of things to stress over and his eyelids are screening the view from earlier, replaying and rewinding every thirty seconds.

Hao can’t remember much, brief flashbacks of passing out like he always does like some rag doll. Though this time, he deems it to be a bit different.

It was the first time Hanbin was so adamant on missionary, or any position face-to-face for that matter. He kept asking Hao to look at him, to always keep his eyes on Hanbin’s face. Then the very end, the soft lips against his forehead, kissing stars and sweat away from every little wrinkle of his face. It wasn’t just his forehead, no no, Hanbin was strategic. 

Hao almost remembers it as a sketching of his own face left through small soft pecks. Hanbin had seemingly mapped out the moles on Hao’s face, the one on his forehead, to the one by his cheek, the one beneath his eye, the one dipped below his nose, and the last one right below his lip.

It’s like some memorization tactic, a commitment to memory.

A small brush against Hao’s ear brings him back into the present, Hanbin’s voice picking up after the shower head.

“Oh,” Hanbin smooths his finger over the skin right behind Hao’s ear, “You have a mole here too.”

His words confirm Hao’s theory, his recollection of the events from earlier had to be true. Hanbin was trying to remember every feature of his face, like he’s somehow afraid of letting go.

Hao’s heart lurches, a dull ache echoing around his ribcage like a bird desperate to be set free. A new sense begins to fill his stomach, Hao’s heart unceremonially racing at a speed that cannot be healthy. He smacks a hand against his chest, his glistening skin leaving a loud thwack into the bathroom as the horror of his reality sets in.

“You okay?” Hanbin turns off the shower head, “You’re a bit too young to be getting heartburn.”

Perhaps in a different scenario, Hao would’ve laughed, maybe said something in response with his nose held high in the air. But he’s rendered silent, a dry swallow forcing his way down his throat. He wants to eat the feeling back, stuffing it down, down, and down , never letting it resurface. The world seems to be plotting against him, it resurfacing like he hadn’t stomped it down and grinded on the feeling with the base of his foot.

A rush in front of Hao’s mind, memories popping up like wildcards in the very forefront of it all.

His very first meeting with Hanbin, Hao sitting in a class with glasses too big for his face. It flashes towards their first conversation, Hanbin offering to shake Hao’s hand that Hao had never taken. Their first bet, running around the track and Hao cutting every corner. The day spent in the library, Hao ugly sobbing and a pile of tissues that Hanbin had stolen from the poor librarian. The first time Hanbin had kissed him. The dance practice room. 

Like film struck on tape, Hao rewatches it like an out of body experience.

“Hao.”

Hao shakes a bit in his position. He can’t bear to look up. This was much worse than he thought.

In Hao’s mind, his every interaction with Hanbin was a series of small chain reactions. Each set off like a firing of a bullet, unable to stop and running along with the wind. Each time Hao chases after it, Hanbin is always on his heels. He always thought they were small, separate, and independent events from one another.

He bites his lip as the thought strikes him like slipping in the shower room and knocking his head on one of the walls. It wasn’t just a handful of chain reactions, no, it was just one. One that fired the moment Hao laid his eyes on Hanbin, every little thing following was all a part of the propagation.

Now that Hao’s realized it, he knows the termination is near.

“Hanbin-ah, I think I’m going to be sick.”

Hanbin wastes no time in lifting him out of the bathtub, Hao vaguely gesturing his hands around to get him to be seated near the toilet.

Fuck, Hao’s head is spinning, a terminal dizziness with no means of an end.

Zhang Hao likes Sung Hanbin. Maybe even loves—

Hao doesn’t get a chance to process the rest, emptying his stomach contents into the toilet bowl, Hanbin rubbing his hand in circles on Hao’s back.

Through his dazed state, Hao registers what’s begun to tick in Hao’s mind. A mental clock of just how much more time he gets before this chain reaction fully terminates.

────────────────────────────────

The phone hangs up with a click, Hao’s voice hoarse as he sneaks beneath his duvet. He haphazardly throws his slippers to the side, pulling his covers up as high as possible so that it rests beneath his chin.

He’s in his own dorm room for once, his random roommate wearing noise-cancelling headphones the moment Hao had seen who had called.

It’s a routine they’ve developed when barely speaking to each other, something his roommate understands without needing to know Hao that well. Sure, they’ve shared a living space for almost seven months at this point, but they’ve rarely interacted except for Hao’s few reminders to wash the dishes or help with laundry.

But he guesses everyone has their own life and story to tell and though they might not be the best suited to confide in each other, they can both understand with enough empathy that sometimes people just needed space.

They would have enough grace to give each other that.

It was the usual check-up from his mother. Long and drawn out where Hao had given up on sufficient responses and reduced to nothing more than ‘mhm’ and a collection of ‘oh’s’ to appease his mother once he realized she wasn’t listening to what he was saying. 

He shouldn’t have expected anything more.

Then it was even more ordinary. His mother brought up the past, how he had left for South Korea without confiding in her or his father. It had been four years yet it was still the same spiel. They argued, like they always do, how Hao had never seemed to consider how she felt. How she had felt raising him, how she had sacrificed so much. It twinges at his heartstrings for a brief moment, but it’s the same excuse she’s given for the past twenty something years.

The same excuse when she had banned Hao from hanging out with his friends in high school to focus on his grades. The same one she had used when he wanted to pursue the violin. The same damn excuse when she had crumpled up all his music compositions and shredded them right in front of him.

Maybe there was some truth in Hanbin’s words, all is fair in love and war.

At some point he had begun to cry, little hiccups embedded between his words. Then his mother’s response came sharp, the same sigh, the same little noise she made of disappointment.

“Hao-ya. You’re too sensitive. You can’t wear your emotions for everyone to see.”

Another sniffle escapes, Hao’s face glowing as he stares at his phone screen from within the safety of his bed.

His finger hovers over a certain contact, debating if he should press it. The call button, something he would’ve likely reached on instinct if it weren’t for his mother’s words.

She hadn’t said it outright, but a small part of Hao knew. ‘You’re too much for me.’

His phone screen goes black before he can revive it once again. Stuffing the phone beneath his pillow, Hao wills with all his might for his body to fall asleep.

It doesn’t come, his mind is still wide awake even when he tries to lay as still as possible.

He considers it again. Does he call?

In his ears, there’s the ringing of the same words over and over again, “Hao-ya. You’re too sensitive. You can’t wear your emotions for everyone to see.”

He decides against it. He thinks it would be worse, so much worse, if he heard it from the other side of the phone from the person he wanted to call.

Hao thinks he’d rather die than hear Hanbin tell him that Hao’s a little too much for him.

────────────────────────────────

Hao decides to smother it. Like some poorly concealed man hiding behind a small bushel, Hao teeters around his feelings like he’s walking a tight rope.

When he kisses Hanbin, he likes to hover for a moment longer. Lingering in the moment and trying to hold onto it forever. When they have sex—rough, fast and quick—and even when it’s slow and syrupy, Hao clings just a little bit tighter.

He likes to think if he cherishes it long enough, holds it back even longer, maybe he can draw out the termination. 

Self-sabotage, he knows.

But he can’t help it. Not in moments like these, Hao walking with too much care-freeness tethered to his body for someone who realized such an immense feeling, Hanbin trailing behind him as Hao rattled off a list of random words. In theory, his sentences are grammatically correct and well-constructed. The contents of said words? Not much substance.

“You’re on your third try,” Hao hums, swinging his arms beneath the warm after-glow of midnight that comes in the form of street-lamps, “Do you even know me, Sung Hanbin?” He throws in the other’s full legal name. Before it was a means of teasing. Now Hao likes to just say it, roll the syllables over on his tongue and wonder if it’ll always taste so sweet.

Hanbin rolls his eyes, his footsteps thudding in tandem with Hao’s as they walk closer to Hao’s dorm, “I can tell you your favorite dish, class, or chair in our lecture hall. Hell, you’re quizzing me on your favorite word ,” He shoots Hao a glare, “How am I supposed to know that?”

“I’m hurt,” Hao lurches over, movements a bit too dramatic as a small hiccup escapes, “I thought you’d pay more attention to me.”

They’re both a bit tipsy, throats still scorched from the cheap soju they had stolen from Jiwoong’s fridge in his house-warming party for getting a new apartment. Hao stumbles a bit in his step, physically tripping like how in his mind, he trips over the words he actually wants to say.

‘Only look at me.’

But just like his newfound discovery of his feelings, he forces it back down. Word-vomit, a hash of all the things he wants. He’s afraid if one day Hanbin were to find he wanted so much, Hao would be even further from coming close to getting a semblance of what he truly desires.

Even through his blurred vision—courtesy of the alcohol—Hao manages to keep his composure. 

A small pat he gives himself on the shoulder, he’s quite good at this.

“I do,” Hanbin begins to ramble, words spilling into others and bumping against one another, “I mean—I’m always looking at you—no—I—” He sucks in a breath, like it’ll gather his strewn mind, “How can I pay attention to anyone else? You’re already quite the handful.”

Hao feels a rush of pride fill his chest, full-force and much too giddy for his drunken mind. If he had just one more shot, maybe another bottle, he would’ve jumped up and down the street in joy. Embarrassing, but logical (At least to him).

“It’s saccharine, my favorite word.” Hao supplies instead of responding to the question, “Doesn’t it just sound pretty?” Hao skips in front of Hanbin, “Like some word out of a fairy tale. It means something excessively sweet or sentimental. And the consonants hit hard in the middle, it’s just a satisfying word altogether…”

Hao trails off, waiting for Hanbin’s response. 

It never comes.

There’s a low huff, Hao spinning back to glance at what could’ve possibly steered Hanbin’s attention.

In the other’s hand is his phone screen, glowing and bright against his face. He seems deep in thought, pupils traveling left to right over and over again, like he’s reading some long scripture. At the end, Hanbin breaks off into a laugh, fingers tapping away against the glass before looking up at Hao.

He clears his throat, “What were you saying?”

It’s the alcohol. That’s what Hao tells himself as a small seed plants itself in his stomach. A small seed of self-doubt, taking root and blossoming at a speed that shouldn’t be considered normal, a gnarly twist that’s almost sickening right in the base of his throat. 

Hao’s being petty, he knows he is. His head drops before he can get a coherent word out, at least one that doesn’t make him seem so small.

“Nevermind.” Hao shakes his head, fists curling in at his sides as he fights off the feeling, “My dorm’s right over there, I think I’m going to head in for the night.”

This time, Hao doesn’t wait for Hanbin’s response. He flees, legs pumping too quick to be considered a jog, the seed growing into a lump that makes his neck tense. He can’t swallow back this feeling, curling in his entire body and swarming his entire mind.

He roughly registers Hanbin calling his name, but he doesn’t linger long enough to hear what follows.

‘I’m always looking at you’? What a load of bullshit.

────────────────────────────────

Getting jumped on school grounds was the last thing Hao expected an hour from midnight on a Friday night.

Hao stands by the door, getting pushed left and right as a stampede of three people—it’s considered a lot when you factor in the size of Hao’s room—one of them diving straight for Hao’s fridge. A groan of disappointment at the lack of food inside, they settle into the poor mildew-scented sofa Hao had bought for ten dollars off FaceBook marketplace.

“What are you doing here?” Hao rubs at his face, trying to wake some consciousness into himself.

“SOS.” Ricky supplies, crossing his arms and his legs as he seats himself.

“Gossip emergency.” Taerae adds, hands full of grocery bags that he splays all over the coffee table.

“Oh?” Hao’s intrigued and much more awake now, racing to seat himself down next to his friends, rummaging through the bags for a snack worth the conversation, “About what?”

Ricky doesn’t give him a straight answer, only furrowing his perfectly arched brows (Hao needs to know his brow lady) that he pairs with a small frown, “Aren’t you mad?”

Too engrossed in tearing open a bag of durian-flavored chips, Hao doesn’t even fully register the question in his mind, “About what?”

The chip is halfway to his mouth when Taerae drops the bomb.

“You have a thing for Hanbin, no?”

Hao almost chokes in his living room, spluttering as the chip comes back up (whole), coughing and shoulders shaking. His first alarm sounds in his head, the one screaming with its arms waving in the arm ‘they caught you!’. It’s red and glaring, spinning around like a siren. The second one comes not far after, a quick spiral of questions that bleed into one another, ‘was he that obvious?’.

A hand passes him a bottle of water, Hao briefly glancing up to see Gyuvin offering his savior.

Hao chugs down half the bottle before allowing himself to speak, “Where did you get that idea from?’ It borders on yelling, though it draws into something quiet when he remembers he does indeed live in a dorm and has neighbors above, below, and right beside him. 

Good, he’s doing a great job at deflecting.

A flicker in his memory, a brief passing moment of how he remembers Hanbin. His lips pressed against Hao’s forehead in a soft kiss, kissing away his tears and letting his mouth hover.

Hao’s whole face is red before he can provide an adequate excuse.

Ricky shares a look with Taerae, “So…you two aren’t a thing?”

“No!” Hao waves his arms around, hoping the physical action can deter their attention away from his face that grows hotter and heavier with every word, “We argue all the time!”

“Weird,” Gyuvin chimes from the side, “We always just called that stuff you consider arguing as this odd foreplay between you two,” He grabs the water bottle from Hao and finishes it in one gulp, “I even coined the term for it: Haobin foreplay.”

He looks quite proud of himself, not realizing that all three of them—Hao included—have all shot him an incredulous look.

A pillow flies by Hao’s vision, landing smack with a thud against Gyuvin’s face. A groan can be heard from the victim, a low rumble of  “Ricky…” leaving his lips.

“Ignore him.” Ricky waves his hand around like he can wave Gyuvin’s presence away.

Curiosity gets the best of him, Hao leaning forwards and closer to Taerae and Ricky, he can’t help but wonder if Hanbin had asked about him. 

Not like he cares for the answer.

“Why do you ask?” Hao has given up on enjoying his chips at this point, too entranced to give them a moment for him to savor the food, let alone a second thought.

It’s a brief silence. Too many looks exchanged between his three friends that Hao’s stomach churns, any kind of excitement disintegrating into dust. There it is again, that awful feeling Hao had gotten the night before when he had seen Hanbin. That same curling seed. This time it comes with leaves, clogging his lungs and making every next breath a bit harder.

Ricky’s the first to break the static wall.

“I just heard he was seeing someone,” His lips curl inwards at the announcement as if he was unsure if he should’ve said anything, “I was confused because I thought it would take longer for you two dunces to figure things out.”

It’s auto-pilot, “Seeing someone?” Hao echoes it back.

“Yeah,” Gyuvin agrees, albeit a bit oblivious to the shift in mood, “Classmates say he gets all giggly with his phone in class and runs off to some other building other than the dance department.”

“Oh.” Hao’s eyes fall to his own lap. Suddenly, the chips in his hands don’t look as appetizing anymore, a more nauseous and queasy feeling filling the void. The wrapper crinkles in his hand, the food still relatively untouched as Hao places it back onto the coffee table. 

He feels a bit shaky, like if he were to shoot upright at the moment, he’d come close to passing out.

A small nudge at Hao’s shoulder, glancing over to see Taerae offering a reassuring smile, “But what if that’s about you, hm?”

Gyuvin shuts the thought down, still munching on his snacks without a care in the world, “Hanbin’s like an open book. He’d tell someone eventually, especially Matthew since they’ve been friends for so long and Matthew knows who Hao is,” Gyuvin shakes his head like he’s sharing a secret, “That kid can’t keep a secret to save his life, I would’ve known by now.”

As if he had realized it a beat too late, Gyuvin adds, “No, more like if Matthew knew, half the school would’ve known by now.”

Shaking his head, Hao registers that all three of his friends are now staring at him. Their eyes are expectant, like they’re waiting to see just how he’ll react. He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to react given the scenario. After all, him knowing that he maybe—just a little bit—likes Hanbin was something he had just recently found out. It’s not something he’s ruminated, or let himself sit on.

Hao tries to smile, though he knows it looks unconvincing given how Ricky’s lips tighten to a thin line, “Well it doesn’t matter to me anyways, we aren’t even close to being a thing.” He shrugs his shoulders, like it’ll wash away their glances and looks of scrutiny, “Who’d want to be with Hanbin anyways?”

He laughs, voice a bit off and hesitant. This wasn't going to fly, Hao knows just based on the pity look shared between his friends once again.

One of his arms comes to curl around his body, gripping on the sides of his shirt. Hao hates this feeling, like he’s some kind of collateral to some terrible news. He fakes a yawn, stretching his other arm above his head. In his mind, it looks believable. He can only hope it turns out just as well as he imagines it.

“I’m feeling a bit tired, I’m going to head up early.” It’s a logical explanation. 

“You sure?” Taerae reaches for the bag of snacks, the bag loud and crinkly as he pushes it towards Hao, “There’s still some of your favorite snacks.”

Hao vigorously shakes his head, “I’m okay,” It’s less of a response to his friends and more so said in hopes of providing himself a gentle comfort, “I have violin practice early tomorrow morning before our school trip,” He flashes a smile, all-teeth and remnants of what Hao remembers to be a true smile, “Got to get my shut-eye!”

There’s something collapsing in Hao’s chest and if he doesn’t escape this situation any faster, he’s sure it’ll fall to the ground.

Ricky eyes him cautiously, ushering Taerae and Gyuvin out the door with his hands, “If you say so.”

They’re out the door as quickly as they came in, shuffling after each other as they switch from slippers to their outdoor shoes. Before they can make it completely out the door way, Ricky’s head pops in through the frame.

“Hao-ge,” The honorific rolls easily off Ricky’s tongue, bits and pieces of Hao’s home in China rolling in with the term, “If you need me, I’m just a phone call away.”

Hao pulls at his sleeves, pushing the other out with a laugh that almost even sounds real in his own ears.

“I know.”

The door slams shut, Hao left alone in his dorm and too many thoughts to count. He’s always complained about how small his dorm was, a living quarter paired with two sleeping rooms for him and his roommate. They’ve both banged their hips trying to manoeuvre their way around the two spaces, squeezing when trying to get by when both of them are home.

Yet it’s never felt so big and empty, Hao trudging into his room and flicking off the light as quickly as he can. He’s never wanted to crawl under the covers so badly. The leaves in his lungs haven’t left and are growing to be much more alive. Crawling in every vein and artery, an uncomfortability that comes with feeling too big for your own body.

He flips from one side to another, debating if he should or shouldn’t.

It’s too overwhelming otherwise, Hao’s phone flashing on with a brightness that blinds him in the dark. He hastily types in the other’s name and sends the message without looking back.

Hao

Matthew-ah?

Matthew

Yes hyung?

Hao

Ricky told me Hanbin’s seeing someone

Hao watches with bated breath, his fingers flying to his mouth and the nail chipping beneath his teeth. He gnaws on it as his stomach flips sideways, watching the chat bubble from the other pop up and disappear a total of three times.

He decides to send another text, hopefully downplaying the answer he’s searching for.

Hao

Just trying to gather info to blackmail :P 

He hopes the added face makes it less serious than he spins in his mind.

Matthew

LMFAO. You guys are always at each other’s throats

And no, IDK where Ricky got that from. You’re Hanbin’s closest friend if I’m being completely honest so you’d probably know more than me.

Friend . The nail that Hao had been chewing at splinters and digs into his lip. None of it processes in his mind, only the label running like a madman on the forefront. Could he even call himself that? Was it selfish if he wanted to be more than that? Not just to Hanbin, but in everyone else’s eyes. More than a friend.

The chat bubble pops up again, signaling whatever Matthew was saying wasn’t just the end. The tips of Hao’s fingers feel raw and unsteady, yet he still lets himself gnaw the fear away. 

Matthew

There’s a girl that’s been visiting him a lot recently so maybe it’s her? They seem to be closer than usual.

A loud breath leaves Hao’s mouth. He only now realizes his gnawing has broken skin, stinging like a fresh piercing as he stuffs his hands beneath his covers to quell the need to chew anymore.

It’s like a house of cards he had only just begun building. It lies to him that the base is strong, sixteen cards propped perfectly beside one another, leaning towards the other cards for support. But as he places the cards to extend the height, to truly build a home, it collapses in front of his very eyes.

It’s what he feels in his chest. His heart. His lungs. His stomach.

Hao

Okay :) thanks Matthew-ah

Matthew

Of course. Just know it’s just this once that I’m selling out Hanbin-hyung because he ate all my yogurt.

Hao’s hands crawl to his neck, rubbing at the skin there that it grows hot and irritated before trailing to the back of his neck. It’s a kind of panic he only really gets that doesn’t feel real till he pinches the skin there.

He glances to the side of his room and he’s hit with another wave of nausea, this one akin to motion sickness. The scoreboard, numbered and tallied when he had been keeping track. Their five rules are bolded and underlined, Hao mumbling them to himself as he reads through them carefully.

2. No seeing other people

Hanbin had been the one to write that rule down. The man had broken his own rule, the one he wrote first, the one he seemed so adamant about.

At first, Hao’s pitted with a sense of jealousy. Crawling over his skin and burning everything it touches. It yells at him, how dare he? How could the very someone who made the rule break the rule himself? Was that even fair, fair to Hao, fair to their bets, fair to the competition that they’ve brewed for so many years?

Hao doesn’t let it run on for long.

He can’t be jealous. More like, he shouldn’t be allowed to. Matthew had been wrong, calling him and Hanbin ‘friends’ was a far far stretch. They were enemies at best, somehow closer than friends, yet not quite there yet. Their arrangement also didn’t make much sense, Hao not even being able to call them a friends with benefits situation if they weren’t friends in the first place.

It’s dread. A kind of doom that steeps with despair.

Hao hadn’t realized it before, but now it seems so glaringly obvious that Hao wants to slap himself for not realizing it sooner.

A lone tear escapes his eye, spilling onto his pillow and soaking in the fabric. Once the first falls, he can’t stop the second, the third, or the fourth.

He’s a nobody to Hanbin. 

Stupidly Perfect Sung Hanbin. Stupidly naturally talented. Stupidly good at attracting other people. Stupidly handsome. Stupidly smart. Stupidly social. Stupidly attractive.

Hao should've known, he should’ve known better .

Hao hates people like that. After all, that’s what all of this stemmed from, no? Hatred. 

His nails dig into his palms, his hands curling into fists like it would defend him from the very thing he hates most. Hanbin was right to some extent, being—all is fair in love and war. No one asks for war and no one wins in war. Just like love, it is fair .

A palm slaps over Hao’s mouth, a sob wracking through his entire body as he remembers. Like snapshots stolen from his own sight, Hao recalls his worst moments through all of college. Hanbin had seen all of it, from his ugly crying and snot dribbling down his chin, Hao throwing up in Hanbin’s restroom, to his most vulnerable states and wiping up his tears.

All his life, Hao thinks he’s built these walls around his heart. They’re tall and deafening, sealed with cement in the gaps and carved with trenches to surround. He doesn’t let anyone too close, fear of them discovering what’s underneath.

Yet Hanbin, without doing much of a thing, had peeled away each layer. Brick by brick, all with his bare hands, only to see what lay beneath.

Hao had let this happen. He had let Hanbin see the worst of him and now Hanbin doesn’t want it anymore.

When Hao squeezes his eyes shut, tears fall from his eyes with no end. They run down his cheeks, heavy and coated with salt. Every breath makes his throat burn, burrowing his face deeper into his pillows. 

That night he makes a decision. He’ll avoid Hanbin, no matter how much it would hurt to let go. He has to.

────────────────────────────────

“Hanbin!”

His leg bounces faster, a lip drawn in and out of his mouth, raw and blistered from how long he was gnawing on it.

“Hanbin!”

Hanbin’s focus breaks away from his glowing phone screen, snapping his head in direction to a pair of eyes peering right at him. He’s at a bar, the music loud and careening through his ears. He swears he can feel the thudding of his heartbeat, ringing in his ears, and his temple pulses in response. The headache has been ongoing, non-stop and unrelenting.

Clicking the power button from the side, Hanbin places his phone face down onto the table, taking the drink being passed into his hand and takes a cautious sip. It’s beer, some cheap one like Corona, coursing down his throat with a small burn.

It’s a late night after dance practice, Matthew calling him out for a drink at a bar he had originally had no expectations of ending up at. The other had insisted, almost dragging him all the way to the college-town bar with a promise of making him ‘feel better’.

“Are you still thinking about him?” Matthew looks up at him through the glass of his drink, sipping slowly like he’s afraid of Hanbin’s response.

Hanbin shakes his head on instinct, but his words don’t match with the action, “I just—I don’t know,” He palms a hand through his hair, “Where did it all go wrong?”

Matthew points his direction towards Hanbin’s phone, “He hasn’t told you?”

“If he told me, you’d think I’d still be here?” Hanbin replies incredulously.

“Wow,” Matthew raises both of his brows as he shoots the other a look, “You wouldn’t want to cop a drink with your favorite junior?”

“Correction,” Hanbin tips his glass towards the other, scoffing a bit as Matthew forces as pitiful an expression as possible, “ Just junior.”

“Excuse me?” Matthew places his drink down, the glass clinking and sloshing bits of his beer onto the table, “Who’s ranked higher than me? Is it Yujin?”

Yujin. It flashes in Hanbin’s mind, a memory of sitting at a lunch table—all nine of them, Hanbin included—Hao laughing about some absurd comment Hanbin makes towards their junior. He remembers Hao throwing his head back, an uncontrollable fit of giggles spilling through his lips as he squawks an off-handed witty remark at what Hanbin had said.

Hanbin’s shoulders slump, hand flopping to his side and the other resting the drink on his thigh.

“Oh wait,” Matthew waves his hand in front of Hanbin’s face, “I was trying to make you forget but now you’re all up in your head about it.”

Hanbin gives him a weak smile in response, corners of his mouth barely lifting.

“Come on, don’t be like this,” Matthew places his hands over Hanbin’s that was resting on his lap, “There's thousands of people out there—hell, millions. You’ll find someone new asap.”

It’s a beat of silence, the music booming in their ears as a new herd of college kids stumble through the doors, already drunk and close to wasted. They call over the bartender over the noise and for a heartbeat, Hanbin doesn’t want to say a word, fear ridden in his bones that someone in the crowd is Hao. But he knows Hao—too well.

He isn’t here no matter how much Hanbin wants it to be the case.

“But I don’t want anyone else,” Hanbin feels something soft and wet prickle and blur his vision, “Matthew-ah, there’s nobody else for me.”

He places the drink onto the table, knuckles rapting on the surface of the wood and scraping with twinges of splinters. If he were any younger, perhaps he would’ve downed the drink to clear his head. But now that he’s older, known Hao for longer, and he thinks that if he chose to finish the drink, he’d spend the night dreaming of someone too familiar.

Someone with four moles on their face, dotted like stars across the midnight sky. Someone he would like to hold their hand, press his lips to the soft skin of their forehead, and kiss the crease between their brows whenever they grow frustrated.

He’d dream of something he can’t have and just for one moment, he would like to be free.

────────────────────────────────

Avoiding Hanbin is easy.

That’s what Hao tells himself even though it’s been less than twenty-four hours since he’s enacted this plan. 

It’s the middle of the day, afternoon heat coming down in waves that are quickly smothered by the air conditioning that’s running full blast in the bus. The school’s split off by department, Hao and Taerae crammed into the back of the bus as talks of the destination flit around every seat. Everyone is eager, giggling as they whisper amongst themselves.

Hao thinks he sticks out like a sore thumb, unable to bring his spirits up even when Taerae shoots him a look of concern. 

He tried, he really did. After all, the university had picked the seaside of Busan for their school-wide trip, something Hao could only dream of since coming to Seoul. He’s lived his university life, year after year, focusing on studying, maybe the occasional college bar trip, and the hellish walk he makes from his dorm to Ricky’s flat (Does that even count as a trip?). Therefore, he should feel excited, going to the beach and all with some of his closest friends.

But he sighs for the umpteenth time, staring out the window like a forlorn teenager going through their first heartbreak as they listen to their playlist of songs that they’ve hyperfixated on for thirteen days. 

To some extent, he would say the whole thing is a bit too comical. He almost wants to laugh about the entirety of it all, a laugh that would ask ‘ why me ’?

Yet it no longer feels that funny anymore the moment he steps foot off the bus. The people surrounding him are no longer the swarm of his department, filtered through friend groups and cliques alike. Hao’s left to his own devices as all eight of his friends speak animatedly amongst themselves, crowding around him through the masses.

It’s all he can manage, a mere glance in Hanbin’s direction.

The waterworks start, nose sniffling and the stinging in his eyes. 

He hates how emotional he gets with this. He should be palatable, easily stomachable, controlling his emotions and not reflecting his innards outwards. So he flees, easy with excuses to the bathroom and mumbled apologies of his sudden ‘stomach problems’.

Hao manages it in a way it can go unnoticed with his friends. Right beneath Jiwoong’s nose, Hao darting away from a conversation with Hanbin that the other looked eager to start. He whisks by Yujin’s ear, pulling the young junior of his to a random storefront to stare at figurines he hasn’t ever been interested in before in his life the moment he sees Hanbin approaching. He even accompanies Ricky into the fitting rooms, giving opinions for hours as his friend struts out every so often with a new outfit, only because no one else offered to come along and Hao believes it the perfect opportunity to escape.

He sees Hanbin trying, eyes flashing with a flicker of confusion and pain each time Hao slips away from his fingers.

But he can’t bear a second longer around the man, too afraid of what he’ll show, what he’ll bleed , the moment Hanbin speaks to him.

Hanbin’s gaze lingers, like a soft touch following everywhere Hao goes.

A part of him is angry. What right does Hanbin get to care now of all times? Why is it now, when Hao knows there may be someone else in Hanbin’s life and standing where Hao wants to be, that Hanbin is finally looking at only him? Is this what Hanbin meant by all is fair? Is this fair? To Hao? To the mystery woman?

Hao doesn’t know.

Another part of him feels like a child all over again. So incredibly small in the face of all his problems, mumbling incoherent promises to himself in hopes of better days. But they don’t come, some false hope shatters, and Hao’s wondering if it’s even worth it to stay anymore. Just like his home back in China, Hao wonders if he’ll ever achieve what he wants here in South Korea.

It’s like all along he had been running, yet truthfully he hasn’t moved an inch.

Hao manages to make it to the night with a heavy heart and a room to himself. 

The university seemed to have spent all of their tuition money on the school-wide trip. Able to provide single-room hotels and—the best part—single bathrooms that aren’t shared.

Hao would’ve relished in the joy if it weren’t for the fact he had to get up the next morning, stomach churning like butter, heart and throat stinging, to do the same thing all over again.

His nightmare comes true the next morning in the form of Gunwook. Someone he wasn’t particularly close with, yet still friendly with in comparison to all of the friend group. Hao had managed to scrape by with wallowing in his room all up into the near evening, but a knock wakes his third nap in a row and he’s rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he answers.

“Hyung.” Gunwook greets from the doorway. He fiddles with his clothing as if unsure what to say, Hao even glancing around the corridor outside his room to confirm Gunwook wasn’t set up in some elaborate prank to get Hao to leave the room.

“Gunwook,” Hao hums in response, voice groggy and thick with a post-nap kind of exhaustion, “What are you doing here?”

It almost lands accusatory, but with the current state Hao was in—pajama shorts and a large T-shirt with a suspiciously large soy sauce stain on the front—it falls a bit too short.

Gunwook’s head swivels from the left and right, as if checking to see if anyone would be sneaking up on him, before reaching in his sleeves and pulling out nine sticks.

“Those are…” Hao squints his eyes to get a better look.

“Sparklers!” Gunwook finishes the sentence himself, a large gummy smile spreading from cheek to cheek.

Hao licks his lips, an impossible dry texture taking over them from all the sleep he’s gotten. His mouth gapes a bit as he tries to make a face that’ll help signal to Gunwook to explain a bit more. But the younger boy doesn’t elaborate, simply trying to pass one to Hao who accepts it with a confused, yet open hand.

“Ah,” Hao stares at the singular sparkler in his hand, “I see.”

What was he supposed to do with this?

“The firework show,” Gunwook offers, “It’s tonight. You’ll be there,” Gunwook peers down at Hao, the young boy somehow taller than Hao despite their age difference, “Right, Hyung?”

Hao bites his lip, letting the thought ruminate. He could go, appease his friends and grace them with his lovely presence. He could have fun, the popping of fireworks and explosive sound effects enough to drown out voices if someone in particular tries to approach him.

But was he willing to risk it?

Hanbin looked like he wanted to talk. Like he was ready to corner Hao, even if it meant in the public bathrooms that have lines that stretch for miles and are very suspiciously scented, all just to get a word in. Hanbin hadn’t needed to do or say or signal a thing. Hao could feel it in his trained gaze and that was exactly what he wanted to avoid.

It’s not like Hao had a fear of confrontation. He’s done it before, with shitty group project members when they flake on every meeting. He’s quite good at it when he was working his minimum-wage job his first year of university, chewing out his own boss for scheduling him so many hours and cutting his wages. 

Something’s different. This time, it’s something he actually cherishes. Hanbin.

It’s fine if he loses Hanbin by his own means, that would mean he would have no one to blame but himself. If he were to lose Hanbin by the other’s intentions, thrown away like he wasn’t worth more than a short fling for fun in college, Hao doesn’t know what to do with himself. The last thing he would ever want is to ever blame Hanbin.

Ironic, isn’t it? In the past, he had seemed to always blame Hanbin.

When Hao lifts his head to meet Gunwook’s gaze, he’s met with the sight of the younger’s eyes drooping, a small frown on his lips as he waits for Hao’s response. He looks like a puppy kicked to the side of the road, hands still clammy as they grasp around his own clothing and rubbing on the back of his neck.

“Please?” Gunwook tries again, “It’ll be fun, plus you’ve been cooped in your room all day,” He hands Hao another sparkler, “This one is mine, but you can have it as long as you come with us.”

With a sight and an offering like that, what kind of horrible human being would Hao be if he said no?

Hao’s shoulders slump, no longer fighting the mental battle that he’s imposed on himself, “I’ll go. Give me a second to change.”

Gunwook immediately lights up, grinning with all teeth once again as he tugs Hao out the room with a yank so hard that Hao yelps in surprise, “No need! We’re all renting hanboks for the night!”

Before Hao can protest, he’s already being dragged down the hotel corridors and into the streets of Busan, trailing behind Gunwook who animatedly describes the contents of what the group had done the day of.

“There he is!” Taerae cheers in the midst of the crowd, already changed and helping Gunwook in the act of kidnapping Hao from his hotel room, “Go get changed, we’re all waiting for you.”

Hands push and shove against Hao’s body, giving him zero chance of escape or even a moment to breathe as he shuffles into the rental space. Even amidst the chaos, he can’t help but look back, searching through the faces of his friends for certain features. His nose doesn’t catch it, any hint of sandalwood, and much less the brown-hair Hao had grown so accustomed to. He doesn’t see a whisker-like smile or the crinkle that sparkles like diamonds in someone’s eyes.

Hanbin isn’t here.

Hao doesn’t know if he should feel disappointed or let out a breath of relief. Either way, the emotions blend into one another, a blur where Hao can no longer discern between the two, rendered silent as he takes the handfuls of fabric stuffed in his direction.

“Oh look at you handsome boy.” The rental’s owner coos, lips curling to the extent of drawing paper thin. The voice belongs to an old lady smothered in a thick floral fragrance, “You came with the boys who were here earlier?”

She beckons with her head in the direction of Hao’s friend, waving at Taerae when she catches his attention, “Such a good-looking group.”

“Thank you.” Hao flushes as he’s ushered into a fitting room—which is more like four bars and a curtain—unsure if he was supposed to accept such a compliment by himself. Was there a Korean custom about this? He wasn’t sure, not when he’s only interacted with someone elderly about five times in his past four years. Granted, he lives on a college campus and would probably end up killing himself if he tried to get his driver’s license. He would like to state that it was not ageism, thank you very much.

She eyes the clothing in Hao’s arms before letting out a loud tsk, “These—hm—not for you.”

“Pardon?”

She yanks them from his grasp, force a bit too strong considering her frail build, “Another very handsome fellow is in the other room,” She points to the curtains across from them, a rustling coming from behind, “You two look very similar, would you like to match?”

“I—” Hao makes a face at her, unable to conceal how preposterous this all sounds—matching with a stranger? Has she gone senile?

“I think the previous one is fine—” Hao tries to reason, but the owner works like a brick wall. She’s already grabbing a dark blue fabric from the back, shaking her head at Hao with a small glint in her eyes.

“Nonsense,” She keeps pushing the clothing into Hao’s hands even when he protests, “Are you a foreigner? It’s not nice to refuse the elderly here in South Korea,” She chuckles to herself like she’s relishing in some inside joke with herself, “Plus,” Her eyes cast towards the curtains behind her, “Even if you don’t know one another, you can be acquainted starting now!”

With the same overpowering force from before, she pushes Hao into the room and shuts the curtains herself, Hao standing stunned in the middle of the makeshift fitting room.

“Matchmaking handsome people is my speciality,” She cheerily explains from outside the room, “Have some faith in this old woman.”

She hums from outside the curtain, Hao able to deduce that she probably isn’t leaving until he gets changed. If he was going to put up a fight earlier, the passion to hold out is long gone when her voice cracks and he can’t help but let out a small laugh.

The change of pace is nice, despite how startling and absolutely mad the woman seems.

Hao changes out of his sleepwear, tugging the hanbok over his shorts that he keeps on as a safety measure. The chance of flashing someone with so much fabric covering him was slim but never zero.

There’s a small mirror in front of him, muddled with fingerprints and handprints from others who had been here before. He can barely make out his reflection as he secures the belt in the back with cramping fingers from how long it took. But he can make out the cut of the clothing, loose and flowy with intricate detailing around the stitching for his neckline and cuffs of his wrist.

The dark blue is a beautiful contrast to his almost sickly pale skin (Hao makes a mental note to leave the house more often), paired wonderfully with his dark hair. He reaches a hand up, combing through the strands that have been smashed into odd directions, hoping to tame the rat’s nest. It looks presentable enough, clearing his throat with a cough before he announces to the woman outside the curtain.

“I’m decent.”

The curtain snaps open, the woman’s eyes lighting up instantly at the sight of him. Compliments pool out from her mouth that has Hao wondering if South Korea had somehow adapted the tipping system of America. 

“I knew it,” She snaps her fingers, “You look gorgeous in that blue, honey.” She smooths her hands down his arms, straightening out his sleeves as she pulls him out the middle of the store.

“See?” She motions at the other individual who had also just so happened to step out from his dressing quarter, “I told you, handsome faces belong together.”

Hao looks up from his clothing, fingers that were once adjusting his belt frozen in midair.

Standing right in front of him was who Hao wanted to see the most, yet also the last person Hao expected to see. 

Hanbin’s decked in the same deep blue, his cusping on the edge of more of a royal bloom with how the clothing billows out behind him. It’s like a gust of wind had shot through the room, rustling his sleeves where his hands lay, turning the cuffs around to sit better. His brown hair and deep brown eyes glow with the color, his collar blending to a black that folds over the blue. It’s like the midnight sky, where the edges around the moon emit a hue of blue before sinking into the dark sky that surrounds.

Hao forces himself to swallow. She wasn’t wrong, Hanbin looked handsome .

To Hao’s surprise, the other looks equally enamored at the sight of Hao in the hanbok. His eyes trail all over Hao’s body, scanning his hair and his shoulders, biting his lip—drawing it in and out—when he sees the belt that snatches all around Hao’s small waist. A small flicker of waning hope sparks in Hao’s chest that he puts out with his own foot. 

He has to be rational.

Hanbin opens his mouth, almost like he had readily prepared a long speech to Hao, but the other cuts him off before he can continue.

“I’ll see you outside.”

Spinning on his heel, Hao bursts out of the rental store. When he steps back onto the streets of Busan, blended in the crowd of all his friends, does Hao finally let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He inhales deeply through his nose, coating his lungs in that salty air that only comes when you’re so close to the shore, and exhaling slowly through his mouth. His heart is no longer stuttering, offering a smile at Ricky who’s been studying his every move.

“You okay?” Ricky whispers in his direction.

Hao nods his head, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

He wishes it sounded more convincing, but it doesn’t help his case when his voice shakes, Hanbin stepping out of the rental store at the same time. There’s a cheer from Gunwook and a loud whistle from Matthew as he spins around to show the hanbok.

“I’m going to grab some food,” Hao explains to no one in particular, “For the firework show.”

"Wait!"

A hand grabs his shoulder, pulling him into the crowd and he stumbles back. He spins around to see who had possibly stunted his escape route, only to land face-to-face with Yujin. He’s standing with Gunwook, which Hao was pretty sure was on the other side of his swarm of friends, as if he had appeared out of thin air. They’re both glancing between each other, egging the other to speak first.

Hao decides to say something first, crossing his arms as he tuts, “What do you two want? Do you have a specific order?” He points at the food stalls bustling behind him, “I don’t think street food serves gluten-free, lactose-free, oat milk, non-soy, products.”

“That’s not what we stopped you for.” Yujin blurts out while nudging Gunwook at the same time.

Gunwook nods his head, “Hyung, we got you something.”

Splaying out his hands like a sacred offering, a flower hair clip sits in his hands. It’s a daisy, petals white with the inner cores dyed a soft hue of pink. It looks amusingly small in comparison to Gunwook’s much larger hands.

“I—”

Ricky swoops in, snatching the clip from Gunwook’s hands and sliding it into Hao’s hair in one quick motion, “Enough chit-chat, can I get an order of tteokbokki?”

Hao can only giggle as he’s pushed in the direction of the food stalls. Memories of his sudden clash with Hanbin after successfully ignoring him for so long is quickly forgotten. It doesn’t help that the food stalls smell of heaven on Earth, Hao’s stomach grumbling as if on command.

He finds himself in front of the one vendor who smells tteokbokki, his body moving along with the smell to the small stall filled with skewers and other Korean street foods. His mouth waters at the sight, practically dripping with drool as he glances over the sizzling hot food. There’s links of sausage hanging behind the woman working the stand, glistening with oil and steaming hot.

The prices aren’t insane, something Hao can manage and treat all his friends for the night.

He’s about to call out his order when someone bumps into the stall, the woman shrieking as her stall tips forward.

Hao surges forward to grab the sides, passers-by helping to prop her stand back upright. She thanks them all, bowing a complete ninety-degrees and more in every direction as she busies herself back to her business.

A sharp pain erupts from Hao’s hands, the root cause being his bleeding knuckles. He hisses as he glances at the skin there, roughed up like he had thrown a punch—as if he was capable of fighting someone.

He had a bad feeling about this.

He’s ready to order once the lady has gotten back into a rhythm, but he’s struck with the reminder that his wallet was nowhere near him. It was in the pockets of the pants he had worn the day before. He had been so tired, emotionally and physically, that he hadn't emptied his pockets before diving to his bed.

Hao sighs, spinning back around to try to locate his friends, maybe even asking one of them to borrow some money and pay them back when they’ve gone back to the hotel. His panic draws in when he can’t seem to spot a familiar face, scanning the crowd in hopes of seeing at least that familiar head of brown hair. He’s found Hanbin in crowds before, maybe that sickening skill of his would finally be of use.

Even when he pinpoints on looking for Hanbin, it’s utterly useless.

The crowd has grown too heavy at this point of the night, the firework show starting in a close thirty minutes. Hao can’t see over people’s heads, the blurs of what he thinks is his friends’ hairs disappearing even further away. His throat feels a bit hoarse from how loud he called their names, but it all ends in no avail.

Patting at his pockets, another sense of dread fills him from head to toe. He can’t find his phone, the hunk of metal nowhere to be found with every pat he slides down his leg. A small groan leaves his lips, he must’ve left it behind earlier when they had changed into their hanboks.

Fuck, he couldn’t even call them.

Grimacing, Hao presses his lips into a thin line. Busan wasn’t that fun anyways. He’s also seen fireworks before. He could spend it alone.

It’s all okay.

Something scratches in the back of his throat, that familiar itch he gets when he’s getting close to tearing up. But he swallows it back, fighting back the urge no matter how hard it washes over him in those consecutive waves. 

His hair tugs annoyingly against his scalp, Hao immediately reaching up to adjust the flower clip on his head.

“Ow…” He winces, the prongs on the clip scraping too harshly against his skin with the new positioning. It stings, a little too much for such a small clip, Hao pulling it back to see small beads of blood on the very tips.

Had he used too much force?

He isn’t given much time to think, a wet sensation enveloping his entire back. He turns wildly around to find the source, a young boy standing a couple feet away blowing bubbles into the air. It had all hit him smack in his clothes, a mixture of soap and water sticking to the fabric that presses into his back.

“Hey—” He’s about to yell out to the kid, remind him that there are people around, that bubbles like that can easily get into someone’s eyes and cause a major problem. But he isn’t given a chance to, his entire body stumbling forwards as another force crashes into him.

It’s a group of highschoolers, not one looking back to apologize. One rides leisurely with the group on a bike, his tires covered in a sodden muddy water that matches the mess that had just seemingly appeared on the leg of Hao’s clothing.

Was there a cleaning fee for the rented hanboks?

Hao doesn’t want to know, shaking that awful feeling that’s begun to creep into his chest. It was okay he reminds himself over and over again. He could find a clearing, somewhere high enough he could look out and find his friends. Or go back to the rental place, see if they have his phone and dial Ricky or Taerae, who almost always have their ringtones actually on.

It was okay.

Until it wasn’t, someone full-force slamming into his back as he weaves his way through the crowd. It catapults him forward, this time not as lucky as the last. He crashes onto the floor, palms scraping against the pavement. His knees hit the cement next, scraping across the rocks in an attempt to save him from full-face smacking onto the ground.

“Sorry!” The couple who had hit him bows in his direction, faces grim with guilt as they scurry past him.

It snaps.

That feeling that had budded before they left for Busan and hadn’t stopped growing till now. Hao crouches onto his feet on the floor, shielding his body with arms almost to hide his face. He just needs to catch his breath, it’s okay.

It was all okay.

But even the reminders he repeats like a mantra aren’t enough, his teeth grinding into his lower lip when the first tear falls. It’s non-stop from that point onwards and he can’t seem to get a breath in that sounds normal aside from the small gasp that manages to escape. There’s a bubble growing in his chest that had just popped, some rancid fantasy that he was finally going to have something go his way.

Nothing is going his way.

He doesn’t even know what he wants. Did he want Hanbin to do something? To somehow share the same feelings he had back? 

Before he knows it, he’s spiraling in the middle of a street in a city he doesn’t know all that well. He should’ve never left his room, shouldn’t have allowed himself to be pulled into the illusion his dear friends have built that he belongs.

Hao’s in a whole nother city and he’s still thinking of Hanbin.

He can’t blame Hanbin, it’s easier this way. He’s a lot, he knows he is, his parents have told him over and over again. You wear your feelings all over your face . He’s too sensitive and all around too selfish. What had he even come to South Korea for, to find himself? All he’s seemed to find is his first ever heartbreak and maybe a handful of reasons his mother had already told him many times over on why he shouldn’t have left.

It’s odd, Hao’s never doubted himself like this before. But it sinks like some drowning rodent, struggling for air before it sinks in the large open water where they had swam there themselves. Was it possible that the more people got to know him, the less they loved him? Was that it?

Sleeves are a useless commodity in the current scenario, like a ragged mop that’s unable to stop the rush of tears. His cheeks flint to a soft pink from how he swipes across them, trying to collect the waterworks before they fall. But it isn’t much use, pressing his palms against his eyes as if it’ll staunch his tears, plug his spill of emotions, and stop that clenching that’s going on with his heart.

Hao wants to go home .

Not that physical childhood home of his that haunts his memories, seeping in every time summer rolls around and all his friends return to their homes. It probably wouldn’t be his dorm either, a temporary space of living. But home in the figurative sense.

His lower lip trembles, chin shaking as another sob rips its way from his mouth. He doesn’t know where home is anymore.

He thinks he must look laughable, a grown man crouched in the middle of a busy street where students and families alike laugh around themselves and whisper of the excitement bubbling for the fireworks show. He must look even more ridiculous, his dirtied rental hanbok clothing melding to him like a second skin as he curls around himself, trying to make his figure as small as possible.

Another wipe with his sleeve, wishing the floor could swallow him whole.

He hears something akin to a gust of the wind, the voices surrounding him drowning it out completely.

He swears it sounds like his own name, head snapping up on instinct as his nose scrunches with a sniffle.

“Hao!”

Alas, he wasn’t hearing things. He tries to find the source of the voice, loud and careening as it draws closer. The feet around him shuffle, a path in front of him clearing, the people around him stepping away. Hao still can’t find who’s calling him, a mixture of confusion through his tears and the pang in his heart.

“Zhang Hao!”

That was definitely his name, any doubts that the voice wasn't calling for him melting like the blend of winter to spring. He squints his eyes, hoping it’ll help him see as a soft wetness leaks from the corners. His lashes stick to his cheeks, his trembling lower lip jutting out even further when he sees him .

Through the muddle of bodies slamming into one another, Hao sees Hanbin weaving through the crowd, pushing his way between others with his arms, and desperately repeating Hao’s name like some sacred prayer. It’s a kind of distress Hanbin doesn’t wear very often, brows furrowed in concentration as his lips shape in a permanent frown.

Hanbin spots him as Hao’s grip on his own lip releases, full-blown crying in the middle of the street.

It’s surprise that Hao reads on Hanbin's face at first. He can't help but think he probably looks pathetic in the other’s eyes. Yet somehow, it melts into something more earnest, sincere, and maybe even painful. Hanbin’s full on sprinting to get through to him at this point, shoving people out of his way and offering sorry excuses to his actions.

Two sneakers stand in front of Hao, steadying to be planted firmly on the floor. There’s the scuff mark on the upper corner of his right shoe, one Hao had given him many months ago when he purposefully stepped on the other’s foot.

“Hao.” His name comes out as a breath this time, no longer sounding as urgent as before.

Hao looks up at Hanbin, unable to offer anything more through his sniffling other than a mirror of Hanbin’s own words, “Hanbin-ah.”

For a beat, they don’t do much. The crowd pulses around them, passing by in blurs and hashes of different groups of people. Hanbin stares at Hao with a new kind of devotion, the kind that makes you wonder if God created beautiful things for the mere purpose of personal perspective. Hao’s every breath comes with a heave of his chest, wondering, hoping, that what Hanbin had truly come back for was him. Not some puny excuse, but him . They’re like two islands, once connected that have begun to drift apart, a growing immeasurable distance.

A hand outstretched, like a bridge Hanbin is offering between the two of them.

Hao hesitates. Does he take it? What if Hanbin lets him go?

It’s only when he realizes Hanbin’s hand is shaking does Hao fully put his hand in the other’s. It’s a bonding of trust, cemented in the faith they have in one another. The grip on Hao’s hand tightens, and for a hair of a moment, Hao thinks Hanbin also doesn’t want to let go.

This was home.

Hao half-expects to be pulled up, placed back onto his two feet in an upright position and maybe an upfront confrontation right here, right now. His mind is already reeling, trying to box his mess of emotions into something that can be spoken, swallowed, and digested.

To his dismay, Hao doesn’t get another chance to scoop up his thoughts. Matter of fact, his whole body is scooped up, shrieks tumbling from his mouth that interrupt the occasional hiccup. He gets a strange sense of deja vu, his body hanging multiple feet above the air.

“Put me down.” He demands it. It comes out thin and weak, crumbling right in front of him.

“No.”

From this angle, Hao can’t read Hanbin’s facial expressions. The other’s jaw is tense, but outside of that, Hao can’t decipher much. Hanbin’s always been quite stubborn, it comes with being faithful in what he believes in. Yet in moments like these, Hao’s grown quite the dislike for the other’s rigid attitude, kicking up his legs to try to fling himself out of Hanbin’s grasp.

“Let me go.”

Silence is all Hao gets in response, Hanbin’s eyes set forward as he weaves them back through the street. The only indicator Hao is given that Hanbin is listening is the tighter grasp he has on Hao’s waist, finger digging in as if it could hold back what he wants to say.

Hao was tired of this, dancing around each other like there was no escape. He wishes he was braver, that he had more courage to say something. He wants to spill his guts out on a platter, ask Hanbin to choose what he wants, and let the other keep bits and pieces of Hao that he deems worthy. 

“I’m so—” Hao chokes up in his words, the earlier urge to cry crashing in like the waves on the shore, “I’m so tired,” His voice breaks into something frail, “Please let me go.” As his last attempt to break through to Hanbin, he hits a small punch in the other’s chest. His fist lands with a thud, Hanbin’s shoulders tensing at the action.

When the tear rolls down the side of Hao’s cheek does Hanbin finally respond.

“No,” It comes close to a promise, “You can yell at me or hit me all you want but I’m not letting you go, Zhang Hao.” Hanbin pulls Hao close, pressing Hao’s body as close as possible to his own chest, “Not now, not ever.”

A dam breaks, Hao’s tears coming back full force. It’s instinctive, head turning to bury his face into the ruffled hanbok clothes that cover Hanbin’s chest.

“I promised I wouldn’t drop you.” Hanbin adds, voice small as his pace picks up to something more brisk.

They had been here before, this exact position to be exact. During the sports section of the sports festival—though, their faces looked vastly different. In Hao’s memories, he can only remember laughter, loud and startled, shrieking and yelling at one another, and too many soaping bubbles to count. Now, they’re both quiet, faces grim and the occasional shake of Hao’s shoulders as he can barely contain his emotions. The world is silent around them, Hanbin taking them to a quiet park, a bit of a way from the bustling streets by the shore.

Hanbin places Hao on a bench, crouching down on the floor in an attempt to get Hao to look at him.

It’s petty, Hao avoiding his gaze as his lips have formed a permanent pout. But he thinks if he catches the look in Hanbin’s eyes, his lips will part and he’ll start another onset crying session. He’s too scared that the look in Hanbin’s gaze will confirm the worst in Hao, that there’s something terribly wrong with him that makes him not worth loving.

“Talk to me.” Hanbin chides, hands patting down Hao’s body to check if he’s okay.

Hao stubbornly crosses his arms, “No.”

His body betrays him the moment Hanbin’s hands skim by his bruised knees, wincing as a low hiss escapes his mouth. He flinches, catching Hanbin’s grimacing expression, tugging him forwards down the seat of the bench to roll up his shorts past his knees.

“You don’t want to talk?” Hanbin repeats, pulling wads of napkins from his hanbok’s pocket. His fingers are gentle, moving gingerly to dab at the sides of the cuts that have formed from Hao’s trip to the cement floor, soaking up the beads of blood that had formed.

Hao shakes his head, his pout deepening as he breaks the crux of all his suffering, “No. You broke our rules.”

Hanbin sighs, “Fine, I’ll speak.”

“I was confused at first,” Hanbin explains slowly, like he’s rolling the words over his tongue afraid Hao won’t catch them, “And hurt. I didn’t understand what I did wrong, how I ruined this.”

With a harsh yank, Hanbin tears the bottom bit of his hanbok off, wrapping the piece of cloth around Hao’s knees like it’s gauze, “So I talked to Matthew and Gyuvin,” It’s a small knot, even meticulously tying the fabric into a small little bow, just like how Hao likes it, “Do you remember the photos you saw in my room?”

Hao nods his head slowly, still unsure where the other was going with this. His head tips to the side, as if cocking it to one side would help him decode what Hanbin is meaning to get across.

“Areum, that’s my sister’s name,” Hanbin continues, “She was the one in the family photo. Her school ended a bit earlier than us and she was planning on visiting.” He takes time rolling down the pant legs of Hao’s shorts, careful to not apply too much pressure over the wounds, “Matthew must have mistook her, she’s grown a lot since he last met her.”

Hanbin’s no longer crouching, dropping on his knees entirely as he looks up at Hao, “You started pulling away after he told you that, right?

There’s a lot swirling in Hao’s mind. Relief? Fear? Joy? He can’t exactly tell, heart still hammering in his chest at a stuttering beat. It’s a kind of humiliation that follows, the kind of embarrassment when all he had in his head, digging on his shoulders and weighing down with every step, was all some part of his imagination. If only he had spoken up, said something to Hanbin face-to-face. If only he had let Hanbin speak to him instead of running away at every given opportunity. 

He can't even begin to regret it when the question lingers in his mind. Did Hanbin notice all of that? Had Hanbin actually been watching Hao as much as Hao was watching the other?

Hao almost wants to laugh, shaking his head as his banter slowly begins to creep back into his words, “I’m not that petty.”

Hanbin raises a brow, a small smile on his lips, “Oh really?”

“You don’t occupy that much space in my mind.” Hao offers back, voice still hoarse from all his earlier crying.

Hanbin isn’t laughing as he replies, “But you do,” He doesn’t dance around the subject, he isn’t being wishy-washy, he says it with a growing confidence in his voice, “Occupy space in my mind.”

It sounds like a missile, the searing of noise in the background. An explosion follows, fading to nothing more than a flash of lights, Hanbin staring up at Hao from where he kneels. The fireworks have begun to go off, an echoing sound ringing in their ears.

“Hao, it was always you.”

“What?” Hao’s throat crawls, it’s raw and there’s the popping of fireworks sizzling in his eardrums. It’s so loud it almost drowns out the entirety of his hearing, but his heartbeat is louder, thrumming beneath his skin and in every vein and artery.

“It was always you,” Hanbin repeats, his voice the only thing Hao can hear, “I made that stupid bet because I was looking for any reason to stand next to you.”

Now Hao’s hands are crawling. They feel flimsy from where they lay on the bench, not sure if they want to splay forwards and hold on, or if they want to pull away—never to come close again.

“There’s no one else for me. You’re the other half—” Hanbin’s voice betrays him, a crack so unfiltered, so uncollected, so unbecoming of him, “You’re the other half of my soul .” It lands on a whisper, soft and sullen in Hao’s ears.

The words echo around Hao’s mind when he thinks back to all of the moments they had shared from his sophomore year of college where he first met Hanbin to now. He doesn’t think there was a moment he had breathed and it hadn’t contained Hanbin, even if he weren’t in the room. Like in some coiled sense, bouts of DNA, roping amongst itself and shared with every touch. Connected, without any physical medium.

In the universe, mammals and crawling creatures have a tendency to mate for life. Swans and eagles to name a few. To Hao, it clicks in his mind, two pieces sliding into place, that this might be something he wants for life. Something he clung onto in hopes of never letting go. 

“I knew from the moment I saw you,” Hanbin continues, not allowing a second for Hao to ponder on every honest truth he spills from his lips, “I knew that if I didn’t enter your life, I would’ve spent a lifetime missing you."

Hanbin begins to ramble, his words growing sloppy as his own eyes begin to glisten, “So I made all those silly bets, hoping I could get a moment longer with you—God—you don’t even know how much I wanted this,” His hands are digging into his thighs, the blue fabric bunching up beneath his tight grip, “It was so dumb of me, I should’ve—I don’t know—confessed? Like a normal person?”

He lets go of his clothes, resting his hands carefully over Hao’s, “But I ended up hurting,” A small gasp of air, “You.” His touch is warm, like a peace offering, a stalemate to all the chaos the simple bet had caused.

Hao can feel his heart ache, something warm oozing beneath. He’s always regarded Hanbin as a man, a grown adult who always knew how to handle the world. He was smart, talented, good at everything he ever laid his hands on. Yet in the moment, Hanbin had never looked more like a boy. A boy offering up his entire heart in his words, his eyes, and the touch of his fingers.

Another pop of the fireworks, this time closer to them that it leaves a humming noise in the back of Hao’s ears.

“I’m sorry, how can I earn your forgiveness?” Hanbin's face is begging, a lone tear streaking down his cheek, “I don’t know how to go about this—I’ve never loved someone like this before, how can I ask you this?”

Hanbin takes a deep breath, chest rising and falling with the amount of effort it takes to just breathe, “How can I ask you to stay?”

Stay, stay, stay. Like a voice repeating it over and over in Hao’s hearing, stay, stay, stay . It’s quite the conundrum, especially considering Hao never planned on leaving. 

“You don’t have to ask,” It’s a smile that Hao tries to smother, but the apples of his cheeks lift as he promises, without a means of a pinky, nor a stamp of a thumbs, just a verbal promise, “For you I would.”

Instantaneously, Hao frees his hands from Hanbin’s grasp, clasping down on either sides of Hanbin’s red, wet, cheeks, connecting their lips in the ways it’s always belonged. This time it isn’t about lust, the bet of who’s quieter in bed, or some other form of carnal desire. It’s the kind that comes from a shared love, two boys trying to figure out who they are as a person, and where they stand in life.

Hao pulls back first, panting for air as he swipes the tears away from Hanbin’s face with his thumbs, “I’ve already forgiven you dummy,” He knocks the foreheads against each other, finally seeing the light and smile reach every corner of Hanbin’s face, “You said it before, all is fair in love and war.”

Hanbin only laughs, pressing his lips to Hao’s again, and again, and again .

Through the taste of Hanbin’s saliva—the one that Hao’s always missed—he remembers something very crucial.

This is Hanbin, not nuclear fission.

There is no termination when it comes to the man in front of him. Sure, an initiation, maybe a propagation, but never a termination. Every pinky promise was a shot fired, but it sings in the air, hanging over empty space and never falling. Every whispered promise, every lock of their fingers together, every stamp of their thumbs, sealed away to never end.

Hao has never broken a promise with Hanbin. Hanbin has never broken a promise with Hao.

With the last pop of the firework, they continue to kiss, making up for their lost time in hopes of finding it in each other.

────────────────────────────────

Hanbin can’t believe the sight underneath him.

Squirming with every touch, mouth dropping open as Hao’s whimpers leave his mouth with no need to quiet down. Every skim Hanbin presses over the other’s skin leaves his fingertips singing with a need to blend their skin together, morphing into the same body as he presses harder . He doesn’t know what blooms the urge. Maybe it’s the way Hao’s skin blossoms that beautiful purple and blue, but not by any other means, but by Hanbin.

He doesn’t know how he got here, cock so deep the base of his balls nudge the space of Hao’s perineum. But he’s the last person to complain about it.

He had come with an agenda—to some extent—bumbling to Hao’s hotel room well into the night with his outside clothes still on. He had knocked on the door, only wanting to see Hao’s face one last time before the night ended. Hanbin needed another confirmation, some living proof that what had just happened was real.

“What are you doing here?” Hao groggily mumbled, changed out of his hanbok and adorning that T-shirt of his that he stole from Hanbin. He assumed the older doesn’t even remember he had taken it from Hanbin’s closet, considering the small stains that adorn the front from months of use.

Hanbin had to muffle a laugh, standing in the doorway as he held the image of Hao in his brain as long as he possibly could. Hao was in his clothes, grumbling away a crust of sleep, and a small trail of drool had clung to his chin. 

“Wanted to see you,” Hanbin offered, “I missed you.”

Hao raised both of his brows, “You just saw me,” He suddenly looked more awake, eyes so wide Hanbin wasn’t so sure he was just half-asleep a second ago, “Wait, you tore your hanbok right? Did you end up paying for it?”

He eyed Hanbin warily, “I can pay for half. After all,” He glanced down at his knees, still wrapped in that strip of blue fabric, “It was for my medical emergency.”

Hanbin shook his head, mentally cooing at Hao’s descent into panic, “No, I told her that it helped us get together,” He hummed as he recalled what she had told him, “Said something about getting handsome people together was the payment.”

Hao laughed with him, the same one that made Hanbin’s heart race no matter the circumstance. He stepped away from the door frame, motioning inwards with a hand, “Well, don’t just stand there,” Hao grabbed Hanbin’s arm, tugging him inside, “Come in.”

One thing led to another, and in the present moment, Hanbin can’t help but reach forward and wipe the sweaty hair off of Hao’s forehead. He always adored Hao’s face, bending forwards, folding Hao's leg propped on his shoulder, to kiss his face. Hanbin’s mapped these places over a thousand times in his mind, memorized to the point they’re seared to every edge of his mind.

Right on the forehead, that mole that Hanbin always wanted to kiss if it weren’t for that rule Hao had made in the beginning of their bet. Then right by his nose, cheek brushing by Hao’s wet cheeks from tears that have stained his face since the day he met Hanbin. Though this time, Hanbin can decipher the crystalline tears come from a place of joy. He brushes a finger over the one behind Hao’s ear, afraid he’d crush the poor man’s folded leg with what it would take to press his lips there. Finally, the one right below his bottom lip, right on the side of his chin.

Hanbin hovers there, lips grazing the skin ever so slightly, “I love you so much.” He mumbles against the skin, his thrusts turning sloppy from how much he’s feeling all at once. It’s pleasure, it’s fear, it’s joy, it’s love. A chaos of being.

“I—” Hao lets out a small squeal with the pistoning of Hanbin’s hips, “I love you too, you idiot.”

Hanbin giggles into Hao’s skin, leaving a soft kiss on the last mole on Hao’s chin.

“Wait—” Hao squeaks, trying to slow Hanbin down with his hands, “Bin-ah, wait.”

It’s a new nickname. It came sporting after the fireworks, Hao always referring to him with ‘bin-ah!’ this or ‘bin-ah!’ that. To Hanbin, it’s almost like a new form of trust, taking it in stride, listening to Hao’s every beck and call.

“Feels weird,” Hao shuffles beneath, abdominal muscles clenching as he speaks, “Dunno what’s going on, feels weird.”

A small whimper falls from Hanbin’s mouth, rocking from where he lays inside Hao. It’s so warm, his walls clenching down and cinching onto Hanbin, almost like it wants him to go deeper. It’s taking everything within him to not mount the other like a dog, rutting into him like a bitch in heat.

“You okay?” Hanbin moans loudly, no longer worried about the qualms of their bet, the stupid rules they had come up with, “I-I don’t think I can stop.”

He admits it a bit bashedly, ducking his head down as his eyes squeeze shut.

“It’s okay, just feels weird,” A high-pitched wail leaves Hao’s mouth, Hanbin’s face instantly lifting to check his reaction.

It was some kind of ecstatic pleasure, Hao’s eyes rolling to the back of his head as his lips part wide open. Hanbin can’t believe he’s the one doing this to Hao.

Hao lifts his arms, hands opening and closing like a grabbing motion.

Hanbin gets the memo, placing Hao’s other leg over his shoulder and pressing forward. It folds Hao in half, something they’ve done before, his ankles to his ears. Hao wraps his arms around Hanbin’s shoulder, clinging tight as the punched out noises come even louder.

Hanbin never knew Hao could get this loud . To be fair, everything that has happened before, they both held onto some form of restraints. Holding back everything, letting it simmer beneath the surface, but never letting go completely.

This felt like a catharsis, the gates to a flood opening, crashing over them in some overwhelming sense.

Hao twitches violently, back arching so high Hanbin didn’t know it was possible. He bites Hanbin when he thinks he grows too loud, but it will clamor over anyways. Even his breathing is loud, ragged and unable to keep a steady beat.

“I’m cum–” Hao doesn’t get the rest of his warning out, shaking through his orgasm as it explodes between their two bodies. Hanbin can’t help but watch in awe, the man beneath him cumming non-stop, body wracking as his hole clenches almost painfully around Hanbin’s cock. But it’s Hao, everything about it is too beautiful. It fills Hanbin with a warm glow, like he can actually get this for life.

“Just a moment longer,” Hanbin murmurs, chasing his own release with every slam of his hips.

Hao nods his head, moaning through the overstimulation.

When Hanbin cums, he isn’t thinking about the release of the tightness of his stomach, or the cum that fills Hao to the brim. Instead, lust is overcome with an urge to lay next to Hao, holding him close despite how dirtied their bodies have become.

The thought comes and goes, every time he’s seen Hao, all the way from the very first time he saw the older on the first day of university.

Stay, stay, stay.

Hanbin closes his eyes, nose buried deep into Hao’s hair. There’s the crashing of waves coming from the window, a low howling of wind that comes with the air in Busan. But Hanbin finds himself more enraptured in listening to Hao’s heartbeat, pressing his palm over the bare skin of Hao’s chest. Just letting it drum beneath his hand. 

He’ll clean them up later.

────────────────────────────────

Interim exams have just ended.

Hao sighs as he leans back into his chair, his uniform buttoned up to the very top and adjusting the tie around his neck. It’s been a long day, four different exams back-to-back that have taken up his entire day. If he closes his eyes for a moment too long, all the formulas he had just used resurface like some prodigious prophecy, Hao immediately swatting at the air around him.

Students scurry past him, clutching on their backpacks as they make their final run back to their dorms. Some trudge their feet, exhaustion weighing down on the shoulders that come with every drag of their foot.

In the front of the classroom is still the insufferable prick that exists as the bane of Hao’s existence.

“You think you’re winning, Zhang Hao-ssi?” Hanbin calls from the front. He still hasn’t learned, uniform unbuttoned all the way down and looks nowhere close to be ironed. Though, his tie is properly tied this time around.

Hao scoffs loudly, throwing one of his pencils in the other’s direction, “Say that after I take that red tie back home, where it belongs .”

Hanbin rolls his eyes, snatching his bag from the floor and slinging it over his shoulder, “I’ve had it for the past two years, try again buttercup.”

A loud chorus of whistles come from behind, Hao vaguely registering all his friends were seated in the back, watching them argue like it’s a new episode of their favorite TV show.

Huffing loudly, Hao grabs his bag from the floor with equally as much force, slamming into the desks surrounding him as he scoops it into his grasp, “I’ll plaster your CSAT ID photo all over the university forum.” He threatens, stalking to the back of the room.

“Fine.” Hanbin walks in the other direction. The classroom has two entrances, one in the front and one in the back, a set of windows for the corridor line the space between. They both look like they’d rather die than walk out the same door at the same time.

Hao spins around, raising a brow, “Fine?”

“Fine.” Hanbin repeats it with much more force in his voice as he walks out the door. His hands clench into fists at his sides and he digs into the floor with every click of the heel of his foot.

“Fine!” Hao throws his hands in the air, walking out the door at the same time as Hanbin, both loudly making noises of complaint at their exit.

Ricky glances over at Gyuvin, both sharing a long look.

“Give them thirty seconds.” Gyuvin whispers to the other, counting down on his long fingers that he folds down with every passing second.

“More like three.” Ricky shoots back, popping a piece of his after-exam snack into his mouth, munching ever so slowly as he waits.

Seen through the windows on the wall, Hao and Hanbin circle around the exits to crash into each other. Hao giggles as they collide, immediately taking Hanbin’s outstretched hand into his and lacing their fingers together.

It’s like this strange ritual they’ve grown accustomed to. 

Since the return to Busan, Hao’s voiced everything to Hanbin. Most notably, his fear of excessive PDA, especially around their friends. After all, they are dating now. He’s heard Taerae and Ricky talk his ears off on how insufferable they were beforehand, and how (apparently) it was obvious that they liked each other.

Therefore once classes or lectures start, they assimilate the same roles as before. Academic enemies, biting each other’s head off, and yelling snarky remarks across the room to get their point across. The moment the lesson is over, they cling back to each other. Outside of the crawling eyes of their friends, away from other people, living in a bubble of themselves.

“I missed you.” Hanbin bumps his nose against Hao’s, whispering the words with a small smile.

Hao can’t help but throw his back and let out a laugh, “We were just in the room together.”

“But not like this,” Hanbin lifts their enclosed hands up, swinging his arm around as his grip tightens, “Plus, you were really mean to me in there.” He whines his second sentence to Hao, eyes drooping as his face scrunches.

Hao coos at the sight of him, lips curling as he playfully hits Hanbin’s shoulder, “You were being mean to me first ,” He jabs a finger at Hanbin’s chest, “That’s not how you’re supposed to treat your boyfriend. On top of that, I bought dinner last night.” He continues rattling off the other’s offenses, “ And I was the one who did our laundry.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Hanbin bows his head, “I’ll give you a massage as compensation.”

Hao’s eyes narrow, brows drawing in, “Only a massage. No funny business.”

Hanbin grasps onto Hao’s hand that’s still jabbing into him, “No promises.”

Being with Hanbin is easy. They don’t have to call off the bet or crumple it up like it never existed. They don’t just bury their past, pretending it never happened. Instead, they do what they’ve always done, playing by the rules and ending the bet on a better note than how it began.

Hao had laid it all out for them, dragging his scoreboard to Hanbin’s apartment and declaring the bet was void. Hanbin hadn’t needed to say a word, Hao outlining that they had broken every single one of those five rules they had established.

1. No feelings involved → There absolutely were feelings involved
2. No seeing other people → They were seeing each other, so he guesses so?
3. No telling other people → Well, everyone knows now
4. Nothing changes between them → Quite a few things have changed.
5. No forehead kisses → Voided before the bet even ended

Instead, they chose to take the interim test using their own abilities. May the best test-taker win. Either way, if Hao or Hanbin wins, neither of them are keeping track anymore.

A win for Hao is a win for Hanbin. A win for Hanbin was a win for Hao.

Suddenly, Hanbin seems to remember something and pauses in his steps. He turns towards Hao, face schooling into something more serious, “Did you finish the letter?”

Hao nods, reaching into his bag and pulling the envelope out, “I did. I wanted you to read over it before I sent it,” He hands it over, “Make sure I don’t sound passive aggressive.”

After the school’s trip, Hao decided to go no contact with his parents for a bit. It was hard, habitual things he couldn’t shake off like immediately picking up their calls. But over time, there were no more calls, no more texts, and much less fights. It was like a breath of fresh air that Hao needed, a kind of distance where he could work on himself and the goals he had without that nagging voice in the back of his head.

But now that time’s passed and graduation was right around the corner, Hao decided to write his mother a letter. Some words he’s been meaning to say and perhaps an explanation for his disappearance.

Hi.

It’s Zhang Hao and I’m sorry for never returning your calls. I couldn’t bring myself to write this out as a text, and any other kind of phone call always ends up with us fighting, so this was the only way I could think of to reach out to you. 

I’ve been well! I got a job offer two weeks ago and I’ll be moving to permanently live here. I know you think there isn’t much for me to find here, but strangely enough, I think I found a home for myself here. By no means does that indicate the home we share is no longer the one for me.

I think a part of me knew we needed the distance. We thrive in our personal spaces, and sometimes, constantly being around someone isn’t the best solution. We fight, but we always find our ways back to each other and I guess that’s part of the fate of mother to son.

I have a boyfriend now, his name is Sung Hanbin. We’ll be moving in together in Seoul, and our address is stamped to the back. I’d love for you and dad to meet him. If you aren’t ready for that though, I understand.

Despite it all, I wanted to say thank you. We’ve had our ups and downs, but I think a part of me is ready to say that I’m sorry and I forgive you. If you feel the same way, don’t hesitate to call me, I have a new number now.

Always your son,

Zhang Hao.

“Look good to me,” Hanbin closes the envelope, helping slide it back into Hao’s bag, "Let's go home?”

Hao smiles, leaning over and pressing a chaste kiss to Hanbin’s cheek before confirming, “Let’s go home.”

They rearrange their hands like second nature. Hao’s the one who moves first, sliding out of the enclosed grasp, their pinkies staying locked together like a knot on a string. Their fingers stayed laced together in that way, swinging between their bodies as if an unspoken promise.

Some type of eternal pinky promise.

Unbeknownst to them, their seven friends remain in the classroom. They’re slumped over in their chairs, Yujin sipping obnoxiously loudly on his straw, the drink sloshing around as he eyes everyone in the room.

“Do you think they know?” Ricky asks the group, all of them shaking their heads in unison. 

Well, all of them except for one.

Gyuvin stares dumbfoundedly at Ricky, still trying to piece the parts together despite Jiwoong trying to explain and break down the situation to him part by part, “Know about what?”

Gunwook sighs, “Dude, you’re hopeless.”

Ricky smacks Gyuvin’s shoulder, the noise loud and resonating around the entire room as he explains to the other for the umpteenth time, “The part where we lied to Hao-ge.”

“Lied about what?”

This time Taerae sighs, the air coming out loud and annoyed as he shoots Gyuvin a look. Gyuvin only swivels his head between all of them, “What?” Confusion still evident in his voice.

“The part about Hanbin-hyung seeing someone,” Gunwook elaborates, “Matthew was the one who made that part up.”

“Genius, if you ask me.” Matthew replies, chest puffed and a proud grin on his face.

“Except for the fact that you forgot Hao-hyung's a D1 crash-out.” Yujin pipes up from the side, no longer so enamored by his drink.

Matthew splutters, “Hey, don’t give me that look, especially you Jiwoong,” Matthew glares at the older who only shrugs in response,, “It all worked out in the end, did it not?”

“Yeah but,” Ricky glances towards their retreating figures in the hallway, “They’ve been so much worse .”

Gyuvin finally gets it, settling into his chair as he sends a smirk in Ricky’s direction, “That’s what you get for playing cupid.”

Ricky shakes his head, but he’s smiling nonetheless, “Their love is like a war-zone.”

That’s what it was, wasn’t it? The fact that all is fair in love and especially war.