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Zhang Hao is twenty-two years old and in quite the predicament.
The clock above Hao ticked endlessly, his fingers drumming on his thigh as it bounced at an impossible pace.
“So, did you practice the breathing techniques we learned at our last session?” His therapist, a man named Kim Jiwoong, asked. His eyes are squinted, like he’s trying to dissect every last action of Hao’s, and if anything, it only makes his leg bounce faster.
“I did. Before my presentation. I really don’t think it helped.”
Jiwoong nods slowly, glasses sliding down his nose as he looks down at his clipboard to scribble something onto his paper. The action is a little too lengthy for Hao’s liking, mentally cursing himself for giving the wrong answer. Maybe if he said the opposite, the man sitting across from him wouldn’t be writing for so long.
“The last time we talked, you said your roommate helps you a bit when you’re anxious?” Jiwoong inquires slowly, his body leaning to the side as he relaxes into his chair.
Hao hums slowly, like he’s weighing the options. The words bubble at the tip of his tongue, threatening to explode, but he fights it back, nails digging into his thigh, “Hm yeah. He knows I’m afraid of the dark, so he always fixes our bathroom’s lightbulb. It flickers, a lot. We have to fix it every couple of weeks.”
“Do you think that helps ground you a little more?” Jiwoong fires back, the back-and-forthing almost like a tennis match.
Hao thinks, lips pursed as he recounts the last memory of the bathroom lights. They had gone off while his roommate was in the shower, Hao hearing not much more than a loud complaint at their landlord before his roommate had fixed it. He hadn’t really given it much more of a thought, but perhaps that would be considered a good thing. After all, he did have a track record of overthinking things.
“Yeah. I guess so.”
Jiwoong hums, nodding like Hao’s finally given him the correct answer. Hao silently cheers to himself, pressing the palms of his hands against his knees to stop them from bouncing so much. The words are back in his mouth, swimming in his mind as the face of his roommate flashes in his mind for what seems like the millionth time.
“Anything else you would like to add?” Jiwoong chides, almost like he can read every thought.
Hao gnaws at his bottom lip, weighing the consequences. One part of him is convinced that if he tells the scopes of his horrifying reality, Jiwoong could help him navigate it. Maybe give him a trick to forget about it. But the other part of him can already imagine Jiwoong laughing at him. Because really, how does a twenty-two year old man not know how to navigate his own emotions?
The alarm beside Jiwoong’s desk rings, the beeping of a familiar sound that reverberates in Hao’s ears. Jiwoong snaps his papers shut, throwing the clipboard on his desk as he crosses his legs in the manner Hao’s seen every other week.
“Session’s over. For your homework the next time I see you, I want you to-”
Hao blurts it out before he can stop himself.
“I think I’m in love with my best friend.”
-
Hao was nineteen years old when he met Sung Hanbin.
The guy is a spectacle. Hao’s almost sure he is. If Hao had to articulate what he saw in the younger, he would tell you he saw the stars. Maybe even more, maybe he saw the galaxy and the spill of constellations he could trace with the sparkles in Hanbin’s eyes. But he would never admit it out loud, because really, was there even a good way to break the news to your best friend that you’re in love with them?
If you asked him where it all began, it was probably inside the four walls of the apartment they shared throughout college.
Hao was curled up on the couch, an episode from ‘The Rookie’ flashing across his eyes as he shoved a handful of popcorn down his throat. There’s a quiet hum from the fridge in the background, but he’s lived with it the past couple of months of his life, it’s all become a buzz of background noise.
The door to the apartment clicked open, Hanbin stumbling through the doorway with a string of complaints leaving his mouth as he walks in.
“Hao-hyung, you have no idea how bad calculus is,” He grumbles, throwing his backpack down onto the floor as a hand comes up to rub at his temples, “You’d think building a bridge would require less math than a freaking derivative.”
Hao only hums in response, gaze still entirely focused on the TV show in front of him. In Hao’s mighty opinion, he thinks ChenFord might be the only lasting relationship he believes in. Though the plot was cliche, he found himself second guessing himself when he knew he could practically guess the next scene that was about to come on.
“Are you watching episode four without me?” Hanbin practically yells as he grabs the remote to pause the TV show.
Hao’s attention finally falls onto the younger, popcorn paused halfway into his mouth as the show comes to a halt in front of him. He sends an air-kick in Hanbin’s direction, a loud whine falling from his lips.
“I was just getting to the good part,” Hao moans as he curls up closer into the couch’s soft cushions, pressing his back into the soft fabric. He places the popcorn bowl down onto the table in front of him and turns to glare at Hanbin, “Quit complaining and come sit and watch.”
Hanbin sighs in response, throwing his tired body onto the opposite side of the couch, “I’m rewinding. I don’t care that you’ve already watched half of the show, you promised me you’d only watch it when I was home.”
Hao rolls his eyes, waving his hand to dismiss the comment, “Funny coming from you because you practically leech off my Netflix account and I literally saw that you watched the rest of ‘Breaking Bad’ without me.”
Hanbin raised a brow at the comment, “Hello? You fell asleep halfway through the first episode.”
Hao shrugs, “You broke the promise first.”
Hanbin simply ignores him, rewinding the show to start it from the very beginning before pressing play. The sound of the familiar intro drums throughout the room and the faces of all the characters flash onto the screen.
With his attention drawn away from the TV, considering he had practically watched the first thirty minutes of the episode a mere couple of minutes ago, his eyes were drawn to the man who sits beside him. It was odd considering how quickly his eyes left the glowing screen to Hanbin, but to Hao, it wasn’t out of the ordinary.
Hao finally had a moment to drink in the appearance of the other. Dressed in simple slacks and a loose t-shirt, the casual attire was something Hao saw almost daily around the apartment. When Hanbin was cooking, or taking out the trash despite Hao telling Hanbin that he could do it himself, or when their faulty lightbulb acts up in their shared bathroom once again.
But for the first time in a while, Hanbin looked exhausted. The nights of staying up for finals were beginning to wear on his face, the faintest semblance of dark circles were forming under his eyes paired with the tight-lipped expression.
Hao let out a breath, the striking image of Hanbin’s messy hair that had fallen on his forehead was making his heart hiccup, even if it wasn’t the most conventionally attractive sight. He found his hand slowly trail up his heart, clenching the fabric in hopes of mashing the feeling down.
A simple melody began from the TV and Hanbin was completely trained on the scene that played out before him, oblivious to Hao’s obvious staring.
With Hao’s next inhale of breath, his heart stuttered again. In the quiet moments of their binge-watching and the buzz of a shared fridge, the looming reality peered above Hao’s head. The hand clutching his chest was no longer a force strong enough, and the constraints on his lungs broke free.
Ah. He was in love with Hanbin.
The realization wasn’t as scary as Hao thought it would be.
Every time he’s seen it in movies, the reality is sometimes so crushing it sends the main character into a mode of fight or flight. Sometimes they ache endlessly for the other person, accidentally spilling out words to their prospect or even whispering sweet nothings into the void of nothingness, anything to tell the world that they loved the other.
Maybe Hao was just different. He wasn’t even sure if it was love. It was there of course, the yearning for something more. Sometimes he’d see Hanbin, all tired from a night of studying sitting at their kitchen island. His eyes would be puffy from a lack of sleep, lips swollen like they always would be in the morning. It’s in quiet messy moments like those when Hao’s suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss him.
He wants to press his lips against Hanbin’s, once more, and then to repeat it again, and again, and again, and again.
But he’d find himself, fingers clenched into his thigh just hard enough that it wouldn’t break skin, fighting the urge.
He’d chew his lips when the words would threaten to spill, once, twice, and maybe a couple times when they’re out with other friends and a little tipsy. He’d see the rosy cheeks of Hanbin’s, the flush so dear from alcohol, and he couldn’t help the feeling of his heart swelling.
Hao knows that friends like each other. Best friends, like him and Hanbin, liked each other even more. But he knew what he felt for Hanbin was something more than just like, yet somehow a little less than love.
So he bites his tongue, fingers gripping his thigh, because he knows the moment the words leave his lips; he’d be finally admitting that they were real, and very much alive.
The only problem? Living things can be broken. So he’s kept it all to himself. Only to himself, for three years.
-
“You know I don’t get paid for overtime.”
Hao nods, fingers fiddling close together as he stares at Jiwoong. He does his best attempt at his puppy-dog eyes, but he also knows that it’s only really effective on his mom and Hanbin, but he tries nonetheless.
“And I really want to go home.”
Hao nods again, his pout deepening.
“And I really miss my bed.”
Hao now thinks he looks stupid. But he nods again, the motion being the only thing he really knows would be an appropriate response to Jiwoong.
“I’m just going to cut the extra minutes from your next session.” Jiwoong sighs, sliding the clipboard back out and sitting back up in his chair.
“So tell me, what’s with the sudden outburst?”
-
Hao’s twenty when he realizes that his life has begun shifting.
He’s always been relatively independent. After all, the feat of continuing his studies in a foreign country, hauling himself a thousand miles from his home in China to the bustling city of Seoul, South Korea, was no small one.
He could cook food himself. Albeit it didn’t taste that great and there would be a burnt dish here and there, the simple fact he was able to cook for himself still stood true. He was also very capable of doing his own laundry, folding his clothes and putting them all away. He can throw out the trash, do the dishes, and dry them all in a span of fifteen minutes.
Yet here he was, a hand on the small of his back guiding his movements down a flight of stairs he was very much capable of going down by himself.
Hao remembers he had mentioned it in passing, when going through his photo gallery and finding an old photo of him sitting at the bottom of a set of stairs.
He recalls how he had spun the phone around to show the picture to Hanbin, babbling about how when he was younger he had played all these sports because he had poor body balance. His mom was convinced if he built the muscle foundation, he’d stop falling. Clearly, it hadn’t been all that helpful, his knees permanently bruised from a fight with the staircase in their apartment every now and then.
He had said it in retaliation to Hanbin’s claim of him not being sport inclined. Which, to some extent, was very much true. But Hao had a pride to defend, and that was enough for him to start pulling out every sport he had ever participated in.
“I was in softball too. And football, ooh! Here’s one of me in the swimming pool.” Hao continued to scroll through the photos, each time flipping it around to give Hanbin an in-depth gallery show of his childhood photos and the ridiculous sports gear he was shoved into.
“And how many of those sports did you maintain for more than,” Hanbin paused for a moment to think, “3 months?”
Hao stilled at his question as he wracked his brain for an answer, “One. But hey, I was in ballet for 2 months and a half. In terms of mathematics, I should round up, no? So technically speaking, two.”
Hanbin had laughed at the reply, eyes crinkling in the ways that Hao wanted to trace his finger against, shoulders shaking and Hao could only giggle in response. Laughing together was safe, tracing the lines on Hanbin’s face on the other hand? Not safe.
Regardless, here they were. Their feet clambering down a flight of stairs that Hao’s grown twenty year old self should be able to handle. He’s independent, a strong-willed man; yet with the help of Hanbin, Hao had successfully climbed down the steps of their ancient poor-excuse of an apartment while they were running behind for a lecture without landing face first into the concrete floor.
It happened again after that, and each time, Hao could feel his back stiffen at the contact. His heart would skip a beat, and then two, and then at a certain point, Hao would even compare it to potential heart palpitations. Though, one glance at Hanbin, and Hao already knew his answer to his aching questions.
The thing is, Hanbin was nice. He wasn’t just nice, he was the embodiment of nice.
One look at Hanbin’s smooth look, like everything he does is second nature, and that’s when it clicks. Hao fights the urge to scream to see the look of nonchalance on the other’s face when the simple action, that he may or may not have romanticized in his head, was sending his heart into haywire.
And then there’s that other problem: Hanbin’s just nice to everyone .
So each time Hao feels that large palm on the base of his back, he swallows back each beat of his heart and silently prays he won’t die of a heart attack by twenty-five.
-
Hao finishes explaining, eyes looking up expectantly at his therapist. He breathes in once with his nose, holds it for two seconds, before exhaling slowly through his mouth, “I think he’s too nice. Like way too nice. I don’t think it’s normal, at least to treat me like that. Maybe he’s just overly kind and I’m just overthinking it and he secretly dislikes me.”
Jiwoong looks taken aback. It’s Hao’s first time saying so much. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. He doesn’t like how Jiwoong’s looking at him right now, and if anything, that just confirmed whatever he just said to be true, even if the man in front of him will try to convince him otherwise.
“Hao, I believe we’re overthinking again. Just not on the right things.” Jiwoong pauses before leaning over the table, “Have you ever heard of catastrophizing ?”
Hao shakes his head. The way the man says it, it’s enough to convince Hao that something must be horribly wrong with himself. Maybe he should listen to his mom and actually take those vitamins every morning that he says he does.
“It’s a cognitive thought process,” Jiwoong taps at his temple as he explains, “Meaning one may automatically assume the worst possible outcome.”
“Oh.”
Hao thinks about it for a second. Perhaps he was jumping the gun a bit too early, I mean, Hanbin cooks him breakfast every morning. That must mean he likes him, even a little bit as a friend, doesn’t it? He also remembers his favorite coffee order down to how much sugar he likes, he picks out his cilantro from his noodles, and lets Hao eat all the onions from his dishes because he himself doesn’t like it. That all counts for something right?
“Remember those breathing techniques we talked about earlier? If they don’t calm your nerves, maybe try that when our brain feels like a whirlwind.”
The reply is so professional Hao suddenly remembers he isn’t talking to just some friend of his to give him advice on this tantalising truth that has been haunting him for the past three years.
“But Hao, I hope you know you’re worthy of kindness. It’s not a give or take situation, people are allowed to be nice to you just because they want to.”
Hao nods again, his mouth feeling dry as he looks down at his hands. They’re no longer gripping into his legs, and his knee is no longer bouncing. He lets out a breath he doesn’t even realize he’s holding before turning his focus back up towards Jiwoong.
“Anything else you’d like to share?”
-
“You know, I love to eat fruit.” Ricky, Hao’s closest friend, sighs as he slides down the side of Hao’s couch.
The two were huddled in the living space, Hanbin off to class and Hao’s rare day off. He had invited Ricky over to play games, but realistically the two would both soon give up once they discovered the instructions for the game were more than a page long.
Hao rolls to the side of where he’s laying, on the floor, and entirely questions how their conversation had ended up at this point. Perhaps twenty is the age you have to reach in order to have this level of intellectual conversation.
“But I’m not going to lie, I’d rather be caught dead than buy the fruit from our grocery stores.”
Hao hums in agreement, the prices were insane. The collegetown grocery stores seemed to be milking the students for their money. Almost like they were mocking them for only being able to take the buses that were littered around campus. Without personal transportation, they were left paying ten dollars for a slice of fruit, and maybe a couple more for marinated meat.
“I think it’s because I’m too lazy.” Ricky continues, “I was craving oranges the other day, but the store only had navel oranges. Navel. God, the idea of peeling them has my head spinning.”
“Just cut them?” Hao suggests, raising a brow at his friend who is entirely focused on his intense game of battle royale on his phone.
“Funny you think I’m going to cut them. If I’m too lazy to peel them, what makes you think I’m going to get out a cutting board, then a knife, and cut them? Now there’s more dishes for me to do.”
Hao rolls his eyes, about to bite back a comment about his friend's laziness but ultimately decides against it. After all, he was laying on the floor beside the couch where he could be seated but opted against simply because he just didn’t want to get up. Now that was true laziness.
“You know, back in China, everything they sold was pre-cut. They get people like me.” Ricky comments off-handedly, throwing his phone aside as a ‘You Lost’ chimes from his phone.
“I think they do sell them. Pre-cut ones I mean.” Hao points out.
“Nope.” Ricky’s lips leave a popping noise at the ‘p’, an annoyed look coming over his features, “I’ve checked every store. I say I’m qualified to answer this because I simply have not eaten fruit since the semester began.”
“No, I’m pretty sure they do,” Hao frowns as he tries to think about the last time he ate fruit. Quite frankly, he doesn’t remember that clearly since he wasn’t in a fruit drought like Ricky, that is, “Like peeled oranges and pomegranate seeds.”
“Pomegranate seeds? Getting those babies out is pretty messy, what kind of fruit vendor is this and is it from the black market?” Ricky teases, throwing a pillow at Hao’s head who swiftly dodges it.
“I don’t know, Hanbin usually just gives me a bowl-”
Hao’s voice dies in his throat as he thinks back. He remembers taking out the trash last week. He remembers how he had distinctively complained to Hanbin that their trash can was a mess. It reeked of citrus peel, but also the bloody mess of what looked like a murder scene. Pomegranate seeds. Bloody mess. Ah.
So that’s what it was. Those fruits didn’t come hand-cut and peeled from the grocery store. No. Hanbin was peeling oranges and prying apart pomegranates from an overly-expensive grocery store this entire time. The entirety of the past two years.
“So they don’t sell pre-cut ones?” Hao tries again.
Ricky simply shakes his head.
-
“But he could do that for practically anyone.”
Hao thinks they’re going in circles at this point. Jiwoong looks exasperated as he massages the point between his brows.
“But he didn’t. He did them for you .” Jiwoong reasons for the umpteenth time. Hao isn’t thoroughly convinced as he squints his eyes at the man sitting in front of him. Man, was he even listening to him?
“But he’s also really nice. Really nice.” Hao enunciates. He continues to stare at Jiwoong, clearly he isn’t getting the same things as Hao’s getting it. It’s right in front of him, spelled out for him practically. He also literally just told him a couple minutes ago, Sung Hanbin was nice.
Jiwoong sighs, Hao thinks it’s the millionth time he’s done it in their session and it only makes the queasy feeling in his stomach grow even larger, “Just because someone is inherently nice doesn’t mean he can’t go out of his way to make your life better.”
Jiwoong settles on really looking at Hao. If eyes were the windows to the soul, Hao’s pretty sure Jiwoong’s peering inside and can see the flashes of Hanbin’s face. His dimple-like smile. And oh, the words, the thoughts, the love that Hanbin has for the world. The all-around reasons for why Hao thinks he’s in love with Hanbin.
“Hao, let’s take a moment to reflect on this idea that you feel you don’t deserve kindness. It sounds like you’ve been carrying this belief for a while, but I wonder—if Hanbin was feeling the way you’re feeling right now, would you ever hesitate to be kind to him?”
Hao’s answer is instant, “No, of course not.”
“Then why is it any different for you?”
Hao pauses for a moment, his fingers splaying out in front of himself. He thinks the answer is obvious, plain sight, even a kid trying to decipher a four by four crossword puzzle could find it.
“Because I’m not Sung Hanbin.”
-
At twenty-one, Hao’s character is questioned.
“I don’t know why you pack so much.” Taerae’s voice is piercing, the man flashing a judgemental look towards Hao who’s holding on not just a bag, but also a suitcase cluttering behind him.
Hao puts his nose up in defiance as he fails to hide the fact he’s struggling to keep himself upright with all his luggage, “You just don’t quite understand the tactics of a fashionista.”
“It’s a three day trip.” Taerae points out instead of actually replying to Hao’s words.
To be fair, he was probably packing way too much. But Hao was indecisive, one second he liked an outfit, the next second he would deem the collar to be a little too funky for everyday wear. But at the same time, what if he woke up the next morning and the collar was just what he needed? What would he do then? It’s not like he could just drive three hours back and grab the shirt, now that would be a real dilemma.
Hao decides against sending a snarky comment back, silently arguing with Taerae in his head.
It’s about five minutes into walking to the train station that Hao instantly regrets his decisions.
In his defense, he’s always packed a lot. In his everyday bag that slung across his shoulder as he ran around campus, there were a plethora of keychains (too many to count) that jingled with every step he took. He also always carried the essentials of life as he calls it: A notebook just in case he needs to write something down (he has a phone that can serve this exact purpose but he thinks the notebook is just a little more classy), a travel sized perfume (he always leaves the house drowning in it, so would he really need it?), a box of tissues because what if he had a runny nose (spoiler alert, he hasn’t used it once in the past two years), his headphones in case his airpods die (he always charges them the night before), his wallet, and a small lip balm (this one he actually uses). Therefore, overpacking was no stranger to Hao.
There he was, out of breath while battling the worst enemy of his life, a hill, doing his best to keep up with Taerae’s already slow pace.
“We’re about five minutes away.” Taerae says into Hao’s phone. Hanbin was on the other line who rang Hao’s phone but Hao was too occupied lugging his luggage to free a hand to pick it up.
Taerae passed the phone to Hao for him to say something, Hanbin’s voice getting carried through the static.
“Hey Bin-ah,” Hao panted between breaths, “I may or may not have packed a little much.”
There’s a light laugh from the other side. Even in his sweat-drenched exhausted state, Hao can’t help but appreciate the noise. For half a second, Hao almost forgets he’s dragging half of his body weight in clothes up a hill. If this was the sacrifice he had to pay to hear that angelic noise, he’d do it a million times over.
He’s rudely reminded of his circumstances when his balance teeters a little bit and he can feel himself falling backwards.
Hao yelps as his head jerks forward in an attempt to stabilize himself, knocking into Taerae’s hand and subsequently hanging the line up. Despite his flailing attempt, Hao falls backwards nonetheless, his backpack acting like an anchor to the concrete.
Hao groaned at the contact of concrete to his elbows that tried to soften his fall. He hears Taerae laughing and he finds himself laughing too in spite of the tears that were prickling at the corner of his eyes.
The fall was bemusing, and unfortunately a little too painful for comfort, but Hao momentarily thanked himself. For the first time in the past six minutes, Hao had finally gotten a chance to stop moving, the weight on his bag and the other tugging at his hand were all gone.
“My bones ache,” Hao moans as he blinks blearily at the sky in front of him, “And maybe you can be right. Only sometimes.” His elbows sting a little bit, and the two muscles in his arm that Hao actually uses more than once to play the violin feel like they’re on fire. Maybe he should try weight-lifting for his New Year’s resolution next.
Taerae peers over him, a dimpled smile on his face as he looks down at him. His lips are pressed together and Hao already knows what he’s suppressing.
“If you laugh in my face, I’m going to sneak into your apartment and cut all your limited edition bags with a pair of safety scissors.” Hao threatens, holding a shaky finger up to point at Taerae’s face.
Taerae laughs nonetheless, doubling over with the empty threat, “I told you to pack less. But hey, it’s your senior trip so I don’t make the rules. You do.”
“Be thankful I’m even inviting you,” Hao teases, pulling his body into a sitting position so he’s no longer staring at clouds, “Plus I’m finally twenty-one. I think that should be a feat celebrated alone.”
“Yeah, maybe make ‘looking both ways before you cross the road’ a new life goal. And packing lighter.”
Hao sighs as he dusts his hands off from the gravel, “You’re still on about that?”
“You almost walked into ongoing traffic because you were too busy playing Pokemon Go… I think I have a right to still nag you about that,” Taerae tuts, “Be glad Hanbin-hyung dragged you back before you walked out.”
“Blah blah, you don’t know about that! What if I had secret superpowers and could control traffic?” Hao suggests, groaning louder inwardly when he sees his suitcase far from beside him. From his little trip to concrete land, he had let go of its handle, the little boxed item with wheels sliding back down the hill he had just painstakingly climbed.
Taerae snorts at Hao as he offers a hand to pull him up, “Okay Traffic Cone Hao.”
“Can you be more creative than that? I was thinking something fun and spunky like Signal Sentinel. Doesn’t that have a nice ring to it?” Hao suggests, splaying his arms in front of him to make the name seem more grandiose than it seems.
“There’s no way you’re actually debating this with me right now,” Taerae mumbles to himself, well, is it really mumbling if Hao can hear every word? “Hanbin-hyung, please save me.”
“Hanbin can’t save you, you’re stuck with me-”
Hao’s words get cut off by the sound of shoes slapping against pavement, the haggard breath that sounds all too familiar, and a hand lurching forward to pat down his body.
“Are you guys talking about me behind my back?” Hanbin says as his eyes stay focused. He’s patting Hao's entire body, lifting his arms to check if anything’s broken and quickly whispering, “Are you okay?” to Hao.
“Hyung? How’d you get here? We didn’t even tell you where we were?” Taerae asked. Hanbin’s too preoccupied by the hiss that Hao lets out when his fingers run by his sleeves which peels the fabric off Hao’s elbows.
Hanbin’s rolling up Hao’s sleeves to assess the damage while the older stands still, obviously looking a bit too used to the whole process, “You guys rely on Google Maps too much. I just put Taerae’s apartment into the app and just followed the path it gave me.”
Hanbin tsk’ed at the damage, already pulling out band-aids from his bag and a pre-packaged alcohol pad, “Did you lug all this stuff to Taerae’s apartment yourself?”
Hao stands proudly, moving his arm that wasn’t currently getting bandaged by Hanbin to set it against his hip, “Yup. All the way from our apartment to Taerae’s. A whole fifteen minute walk.”
Taerae snorts out loud, “Are you really that proud of that? I’m pretty sure it’s all flat-ground.”
Hao lets out a noise a mix of a hiss and a whine as Hanbin dabs the pad against his elbow, the man entirely too focused on trying to be gentle as Hao barks back a reply, “You try carrying my stuff from your apartment to mine, then let’s talk.”
The last plaster had been placed, Hanbin straightening his posture after tucking all his supplies back into his bag before putting a hand on both of their shoulders, “Enough. From both of you. Gyuvin and Ricky are still waiting at the station. We’ve got to get moving or we’ll miss the next train.”
Taerae quickly nods, already reaching over to dust off Hao’s backpack that’s still attached to the man, helping him remove the small rocks and pieces of gravel that have found their home on the item. Hanbin steps away, Hao looking over his bandaged elbows with a little too much attention.
Hanbin returns moments later, Hao’s suitcase in hand and a smile on his face, “Let’s get going. Jeju island awaits! We’ve still got a train and ferry to ride.”
Hao hums in agreement, the weight from his back lifting as Hanbin heaves Hao’s backpack over his own shoulders.
For a moment, Taerae shoots the two a look that Hao seems to see a little often for his comfort, “What?” Hao questions.
“Does he always carry your stuff like it weighs like nothing?” Taerae points at Hanbin’s back who’s begun walking ahead of them, phone in hand with directions to the station.
“Is this your way of insinuating I need to hit the gym?”
-
“So he does this every time?” Jiwoong questions. He quirks a brow as he speaks and Hao wants to throw up into his mouth from how the words land into the air. Was that a good or bad thing?
“Uh-huh. He’s done it for as long as I can remember,” Hao taps at his chin as he ponders over the question a little longer, maybe Jiwoong needed more context?
“He carries my backpack to class even though his own class is on the other side of campus, but he says it’s because I fall too often, which to be fair, isn’t wrong. He also carries my luggage around, but it’s because the wheel is a little faulty ever since it went haywire down that hill,” Hao counts the moments off his fingers, “To and from the grocery store, he carries everything. But I also dropped a carton of eggs once so,”
Hao kicks his legs back and forth, the previous bouncing of his knees not giving him enough room to fidget as he sits under Jiwoong’s stare.
“And why exactly is this a problem?”
The question rings in Hao’s ears, the man himself even a little bit confused, “Well, hm, it’s not really a problem. It’s more like there’s something wrong with me. Like my anxiety works up when it happens. I mean—it’s nice? I think? Or maybe it’s not. I don’t know. It just—” He exhales, frustrated by his inability to articulate what feels like a mess of tangled emotions. “It’s just all too much.”
“Too much, as in overwhelming?” Jiwoong continues to ask. It’s in moments like these where Hao doesn’t particularly enjoy their sessions, but it’s not like he can swallow his words back. He doesn’t like the idea of putting his feelings into words, let alone admitting them out loud. It’s almost as if he’s running from what’s real and what’s been in front of him this entire time, and Hao doesn’t like that, not one bit.
“I guess. You said last time, when I talked about the presentation and how I got nervous before it. It’s kind of like that, like it’s all that’s on my mind..” Hao’s voice trails off a little as the next bit comes out like a whisper, “Hanbin that is.”
“So how does that make you feel?”
What is this? A sixty minute in-depth interview? Well, yes, because it’s Jiwoong’s job and Hao pays him after every session to practically ask him these questions bi-weekly, but Hao was getting antsy since Jiwoong has never been so forward with looking for an answer.
“My heart races, like it’s going to leap into my throat. Sometimes I think I’m going to throw up, or like my stomach does that thing where it flips all around like you’re on a rollercoaster? You know what I’m talking about?” Hao rambles, fingers feeling clammier than they did at the beginning of their session.
Jiwoong sighs, “Hao, I know what a rollercoaster is.”
“I’m just checking.” Hao mumbles, “Well, I feel all hot and then my heart skips a beat, it gets harder to breathe, and then I’m just left thinking. Like was what he did just something nice that friends do for each other? Or am I just overthinking that too?”
Jiwoong’s lips twitch, like he’s fighting a smile. “Sounds a lot like anxiety. But you’re telling me this happens specifically when he’s around or does these things for you?”
“Yeah, precisely!” Hao exclaims, clapping his hands together. He believes Jiwoong’s finally getting it, “He’s just too nice. Maybe I should suggest you to him so he can work on that. You know, I think it’s pretty dangerous for him to be roaming the streets ready to give anyone he interacts with an anxiety attack.”
“ That’s what you’re focused on?”
-
The breeze is a little too much for fall. Hao can feel the hairs on the back of his neck rising before they’ve even left the building.
“They should put a cover over the entire university and get a huge heater for the colder months.” Hao remarks as he and Hanbin step out the front doors of their shared apartment complex.
“And our tuition costs would double for those electricity bills.” Hanbin muses as he pushes the door open. The two are on their daily late night walks, the ones they do before they go through a series of hours of complaining and studying.
Hao hums in response, “Well, I’m cold. I don’t see the 20k I’m paying every semester coming in to save me from this cold front.”
Hanbin laughs, his eyes crinkling in the way that Hao’s always loved. The dimples on his cheeks rise with the motion, the ones that make him look like a cat and also the ones that Hao just wants to smash his face against. But again, he’s a man with the self-constraint of Buddha, so he doesn’t do the action his body is aching to do. His hands are balled in fists to prevent them from doing something he regrets, nails digging into his palm.
They walk in a silence that fills the space, eerie for others, but comforting for the two of them. Hao has his hands in his pockets now, hoping the other doesn’t see his balled fists, also for the added benefit of warmth against the swarming cold.
Hanbin moves with poised ease all of a sudden when they stop by the fountain intricately placed in the middle of the campus. His hands are already unzipping his own jacket before Hao can get a word out.
“Aren’t you cold?” The words come out a little jumbled as Hao’s teeth have begun clattering. There’s a chill that goes down Hao’s spine that makes him shudder, a breath leaving his mouth.
“Not really. You know that I run really hot.” Hanbin replies, shrugging the jacket off his shoulders and passing it over to Hao’s, “I was just wearing it to warm it up along with the pockets. Cheap and effective. Now you don’t even have to buy those hot packs.”
Snuggled in the warmth of not just his own jacket, but now the addition of Hanbin’s, Hao can feel his shoulders relaxing. The tension from trying to keep his body warm has begun to melt away, leaving Hao the space to breathe and for another moment, think.
The night twinkles as a soft breeze circles through the courtyard. It’s oddly quiet for a Friday night, the only noise is really the deep hum of the lights that illuminate their path. They’ve walked it a countless amount of times all starting from the day they began rooming together three years ago.
“You’re graduating at the end of this semester.” Hanbin eventually points out. They’re weaving through a small path they discovered when Hao was a sophomore and Hanbin was still a freshman, leading them through a small thicket into a clearing. There’s the soft splash of the river and they already know they’re going down the correct path.
Hao nods slowly, already noticing the mellow turn their conversation has turned, “Don’t miss me too much.”
Hanbin hums lightly, though he doesn’t provide a direct response. They continue down the path, a dirt road coming into view that runs adjacent to a coursing river. The water looked clearer than it did when they previously had visited, the wilted flowers slowly coming back out of their shelters and preparing to blossom.
“You know, some part of me thought that I’d room with hyung forever.” Hanbin mumbles, his eyes cast far-away at the night sky. His almond-like eyes shine under the moonlight. Hao’s eyes trained at the beauty that lay before him. He felt a pang in his heart, and then that ache again. His fingers had already found the fabric at his chest, hoping some physical pressure against it could squash the feeling down.
Hao’s never been that selfish. He’s never really wanted anything to the point his soul was pouring out his eyes and quivering in his stomach. But now he aches with a need to want, and all he’s ever wanted was to dance across the galaxies he’s traced among the shimmers in Hanbin’s eyes.
“Well,” Hao turns his head away from the view of Hanbin, unable to focus on his words and the man beside him at the same time, “Good things don’t always have to be forever. You know, I never really liked that word, forever.”
Hanbin turns to look at Hao, his curiosity obviously piqued. If it were anyone else, the startling glare and sudden eye contact would make Hao shudder away and cast a look elsewhere. But Hanbin’s not just anyone, so Hao meets his eyes. A strange sense of comfort, one that’s almost like the comfort of a home-cooked meal, swarms his hazy mind.
Hao doesn’t need any words from Hanbin to know that he wants him to continue. Weren’t they always like that? They knew each other so incredibly well, two halves of a coin as some of his friends have called it.
“Forever insinuates for eons and eons. Like even when we’re rotting in our coffins, bodies all shriveled up and gross,” Hao crinkles his nose and he effectively gets a chuckle from Hanbin, “I don’t like that. What if our souls have outgrown each other? What if it’s not what you wanted? We’re already planted under the same tombstone. How could we escape that?”
Hao knows he’s probably spilling a little more than he wanted to. Maybe he wasn’t all that different from those TV show main characters after all. Desperate for something, or even someone, to know how badly they wanted something.
“So I like the phrase, ‘As long as we want to’, more. Even if that time means forever, eons and eons, at least it’s something we both wanted. So it’d all be worth it. Forever just seems like an empty promise.”
Hanbin nods slowly, considering the thought before a smile replaces his stoic expression, “Okay then. How about we room together, as long as we want to?”
Hao smiles in response, the warm feeling in his stomach blooming across his entire body. If he felt cold before, now his whole body was on fire.
“Of course. I’d love to.”
-
Jiwoong looks wildly disappointed at the new anecdote, foot tapping against the floor as he gives Hao a deadpan expression.
“What.” Hao shoots towards him, “Do you still not get it?”
Jiwoong shakes his head, “I don’t think I’m picking up what you’re putting down. You’re in graduate school, Hanbin’s in his senior year and you still live together. What exactly am I supposed to be getting at?”
Hao sighs as he looks at Jiwoong. That degree he had gotten must’ve been terribly unuseful considering he wasn’t able to tell what the problem was. Wasn’t that what therapists should easily be able to do? Why does Hao have to decipher it all for him?
“How do I know if he actually wants to though? Like, he could totally just be acting super nice because I don’t really have any other roommate options other than him. What if he just pities me?” Hao interjects. He thinks it’s clear as day but clearly Jiwoong wasn’t a close listener.
“Like I said earlier, catastrophizing. We’re jumping to conclusions again.” Jiwoong gently reminds him. The clock beside them ticks a little louder and Hao has a sudden moment of clarity where he realizes just how much he was talking about Hanbin.
“Hm. Okay.” Hao decides, placing his hands underneath his legs and smashing them against the seat.
Jiwoong leans his head to the side, almost as though he sees right through the momentary action, “How about this: Do you have any proof of these conclusions?”
Hao bites his lip as he considers the question. Does he? He thinks back to all of the moments he’s shared with Hanbin, all of the ones that would seem just a little too nice. Has Hanbin ever said he didn’t want to do them?
“No.” Hao sighs dejectedly, hanging his head a little lower, “But what if he’s just not showing it to me?”
“You’ve known the guy for three years Hao, you live with him. He definitely would’ve exhibited some kind of distaste if that was what he was feeling.” Jiwoong replies, arms crossing over his chest, “I want you to consider this. Is there any evidence that can back up the idea he’s simply just not showing this ‘dislike’ to you in person?”
A beat of silence.
“Well.”
-
If Hao could become an electrician right now, he would.
The lights in the apartment building’s bathroom have been flickering non-stop for the past twenty-four hours. Hao sometimes believed the apartment complex had reached the end of its lifeline. Modern day apartments should have elevators let alone working bathroom electricity. It’s almost like the city grid had kept the electricity for every facility on but just so happened to turn off the one in Hao and Hanbin’s bathroom.
It wouldn’t have been such a big problem if it weren’t for the timing . Usually, Hanbin would fix the light, saying it’s practice for some lesson he had in his engineering class, (what those classes entail, Hao has no idea). It would just leave the faulty light as some nagging problem that could be easily resolved.
But it’s Chuseok, the mid-autumn harvest festival in South Korea. Hanbin’s visiting home in Cheonan, a regular tradition for most Korean families, and Hao’s alone in the apartment they shared. Hao was planning on booking a roundtrip ticket to Fujian, China, his hometown, but Chuseok was only a three-day break from their rigorous college schedule. He was also in his first year of graduate school, meaning he couldn’t just randomly take days off like he did in undergraduate school.
Hao sighs as he leans his head against the back of the couch cushions. He needs to shower, specifically while standing upright. It’s been a full day of washing his hair in the kitchen sink and he’s seriously getting neck and back problems from the pose he has to hold. The cold faucet was barely high enough, forcing him to contort like an origami figure just to rinse the shampoo out.
Now if Hao wasn’t desperately afraid of the dark, maybe he’d feel a whole lot better about the whole situation.
One time, when he was younger, he had accidentally locked himself into the bathroom of his aunt’s bathroom. It was one of those twist-locks, the one with a knob that you twist an ungodly amount of times before it would click and lock.
The frame of the lock was already aged, frayed through time and mildew. So Hao, at the ripe age of eight, turned the lock a bit too many times, getting it stuck in its shut position. The power had gone out in the minute of his realized panic and he had spent the rest of the afternoon locked inside a bathroom with soapy hair, since there was no hot water, and spent what felt like hours screaming and pounding on the door, his small chest heaving with sobs.
When his mom and aunt had returned from their day out, they had to pry open the door with a pair of metal pliers to get him out, and ever since then, Hao has despised the dark. It sounds stupid, but it was enough for him to fear it, especially in enclosed spaces.
The phone rang once, then twice, all going to voicemail.
What was this? Were all businesses closed on Chuseok?
Hao scrolled on his computer, staring at the fliers of phone numbers from electricians that littered his screen. Each number he dialed would either just send him to the classic voicemail message, or a jolly song paired with, “Happy Chuseok. We will be available beginning at seven in the morning on October 8th.”
The list of red phone numbers on Hao’s phone has his mind spinning. Does this mean he has to stand over the sink again to wash his hair?
His phone rings again, this time a familiar melody filling the room. A flash of a baby photo on the screen signaling who was calling was all Hao needed to know. He picked up in a flash, fingers tapping in his phone passcode at lightning speed.
“Bin-ah!” He exclaims into the phone.
“Hao.”
Hearing his voice was all Hao needed to be reminded of the man’s absence. In their quiet apartment filled with the memories they’ve accumulated over the past three years, the rooms had grown strangely empty. The usual view of Hanbin’s back in the kitchen as he prepares breakfast was no longer the sight that greeted Hao in the morning. Instead, it was the takeout that Hao had haphazardly ordered in his morning sleep-like state.
Hao presses the cool screen of the phone against his cheek, hoping the contact of glass to skin would be enough to suffice for how badly he missed Hanbin.
“Have you been watering our plant?” Hanbin asks, the sound of rustling coming from Hao’s phone speaker.
Hao lets out a dramatic sound, “Is that all you called me for?”
“Yes I miss you too. Yes, I gave my mom that letter you wrote for her. No, I did not forget to take pictures for you. And no, I did remember to grab your favorite snacks from the corner-store.” Hanbin replies in one breath.
“I didn’t even say anything?” Hao splutters back, tottering over to their kitchen sink to grab a glass of water because he totally forgot to water their plant.
“Is our plant dead?” Hanbin asks instead, the quiet noise of his family in the background.
Hao rolls his eyes despite Hanbin unable to see his expression, “It’ll live. I just watered it,” Hao pads back to the kitchen to place the glass down, eyes catching a glint of his shampoo bottle by the counter, “Speaking of watering things, guess what.”
“Hm?” Hanbin mumbles in reply. Knowing him, Hao just knows he’s laying in bed trying to avoid the chaos of his family. Hanbin’s family reunions on Chuseok were always the most chaotic, Hao often getting told the wild stories like how his younger sister had once flung a fork across the room that got stuck in the wall. That wall still had indents of the teeth of the fork.
“The bathroom light is broken again . Even worse? The electricians in all of Seoul don’t work until Chuseok is over. That’s in two whole days.” Hao complains.
There’s more rustling on Hanbin’s end and Hao can only guess he’s moving to an upright position, “Please tell me you’re not just going to go on a shower-strike.”
“Ew no. I’ve been bending over our kitchen sink to wash up. I’m literally 180cm, it feels like I’m in some yoga class,” Hao narrows his eyes at Hanbin’s words that have finally processed in his brain, “Hey, I’m more particular about cleanliness than you. You sleep without showering after working out, hm? Let’s talk about that.”
“Let’s not.” Hanbin groans, “Are you okay though?”
“Okay? Bin, I have the most insane back pain from these showering positions. It's insane. Can I get scoliosis from that? Wait, no, don’t answer that, don’t freak me out.” Hao rambles.
There’s more noise from Hanbin’s side and the sound of Hanbin’s name getting repeatedly yelled by someone far-away from the phone.
“Oh, I don’t want to keep you from your family for too long. Have fun, come back soon, I miss you.” Hao quickly rattles off before hanging up the phone in quick succession.
Now Hao should’ve known better about his complaints. Next thing he knows, it’s the following morning and the doorbell has been ringing nonstop since the crack of dawn.
“Ricky, just because you’re also stuck here during Chuseok doesn’t mean you can violate my ears so early in the morning.” Hao yawns as he trudged to open the door, muttering out a string of curses to his friend.
“Hao.”
Now Hao was awake. Standing in front of him, hand held on a small dark blue suitcase and ruffled dark hair was Sung Hanbin. His chest rises and falls a little quicker than normal, almost like he ran his way up the stairs. There’s a soft look in his eyes when he sees Hao, and for a moment, the odd arrival of Hanbin a day before Chuseok ends isn’t even all that odd. It just simply felt right.
Hanbin’s eyes rake over Hao’s attire and suddenly Hao feels a little more conscious about his matching white linen sleepwear set and fluffy panda slippers.
“Sung Solutions top rated electrician is here, reporting for duty.” Hanbin salutes at him before pushing his way through the door. He opts against any teasing comments of Hao’s bedhead and clothing, which he usually does. Instead, he’s already rummaging through the cupboards where they keep their spare light bulbs.
“What are you doing here?” Hao wonders aloud, a bit confused and muddled from his sleep. It was almost like he was dreaming, how Hanbin just magically materialized out of thin air. Maybe he was dreaming, spending too much time thinking of that lightbulb and how a small (big) part of him really missed the other.
Hanbin’s already marching to the bathroom, toolkit and light bulb box in hand as he replies, “I’m here to fix the bathroom lights.”
“Chuseok ends tomorrow right? Oh God, did I sleep through the 7th and it’s actually the 8th today?” Hao moans into his hands as he rubs them against his face. Albeit, he did have a good night’s rest, perhaps he had dreamt too well and completely slept through the whole day.
Hanbin laughs from the bathroom, Hao following closely behind, “No silly. I just-” His hand shot up to wrench out the flickering light bulb, “Left early. That’s all.”
Hao blinks, still trying to make sense of what’s happening. Hanbin? Here? During Chuseok? If there was one thing that Hao knew for sure about Hanbin, it would be that he’s a family man. Hanbin had told Hao that when he discovered his sister’s middle school graduation was going to be on the same day as his high school one, he tried convincing his mom for him to miss his own graduation just to watch his sister walk the stage.
The memory of Hanbin telling the story was a fond one. He had gotten too excited and worked up, rambling non-stop while giving Hao photos of each family member to match a name to the face. His eyes had lit up at the mention of his mom and what she did when Hao asked about it, excitedly showing photos of the cafe his mom had opened.
“But–why?” Hao finally vocalizes his thoughts, arms crossed over his chest as he watches Hanbin fumble a couple times with the light bulb to get it attached.
Hanbin simply shrugs, “Because you don’t know how to change the light-bulb.” He replies like it’s the most simple answer he could think of, the idea that Hao simply needed him, therefore he had to return to their home.
“And you’re not exactly the best at handling things on your own."
“Excuse me?” Hao places his hands on his hips, ready to argue, but Hanbin cuts him off with a pointed look.
“The plant could’ve died, Hao. I’ve seen corpses that are better hydrated than that poor thing.”
“That’s slander.” Hao shoots back while Hanbin steps to the side. Hanbin’s fingers work against the light-switch, flipping it up and down, and once he confirms the light is working like normal again, he works to clean up his tools.
“There, good as new.” Hanbin stands up proudly, patting himself on the shoulder before trotting back to the cupboards to place the toolkit away and throw the now emptied box of the light-bulb away.
Hao giggles to himself at the action, calling after Hanbin in a teasing voice, “You seem way too proud of this. You know that I’m not going to pay you, right?”
“I think there’s a train to Cheonan this afternoon.” Hanbin checks his watch on his wrist.
“Wait, no, I take that back. What payment do you want?”
Hanbin purses his lips while rolling his suitcase into the room, “Hm.”, he looks at Hao with a glint in his eye and a fond smile on his lips, “I want to have the gracious Zhang Hao’s precious time and have him spend some of it on me this afternoon.”
Hao looks at him, his lips tugging into a matching smile. His chin quivers as he tries to hold back from his cheeks rising and a laugh that’s bubbling at his chest. Hao thinks it feels like when he drinks too much soda and that fizzy feeling is all up in his lungs, threatening to spill out in a hiccup.
“I can do that for you. But you have to tell me honestly.” Hao watches as Hanbin sits himself down on their living room couch, attention entirely focused on Hao and his many demands. Hao loves that about Hanbin. His undivided attention without ever having to ask.
“Go on.”
“Be honest. Why are you home so early? Did something happen in Cheonan?” Hao approaches the couch slowly, sliding an arm over Hanbin’s shoulder tentatively. They’ve always been touchy, but ever since the revelation of Hao’s feelings, he’s been cautious to not tiptoe too much over the line between friends and lovers. So he stops himself, only keeping it as a friendly touch to the shoulder.
Hanbin in turn decides to spin to face him, pulling Hao in by his arm and giving his waist a tight squeeze, “Can’t I just miss you? There’s nothing to do in Cheonan anyways, I’d much rather spend Chuseok with you.”
He’s smushed a little too close to Hao’s stomach, nose brushing the fabric that lays across Hao’s belly. Perhaps if this situation were any two people dancing around their feelings, it would also fall into Hao’s category of ‘things friends do not do’. But they’re not just any two people, they’re Hao and Hanbin. So it falls into ‘things okay to do with friends’, and Hao toes over the line between friends and lovers anyways.
“Fine. I’ll make us dinner and we can watch a movie.” Hao thumbs his fingers through Hanbin’s hair as he snuggles in closer. His heart does the thing again, where it flips and turns sideways, drumming an unsteady beat. Hao sighs as he looks down at Hanbin’s fluff of hair, he pats it down and twirls a strand between his fingers.
“By the way, how’d you get here so early? Isn’t the train ride an hour and a half?” Hao murmurs, the two still impossibly close and pressed against one another.
Hanbin awkwardly laughs, the sound a mix of a cough and a chuckle, “I actually booked my ticket after you hung up,” His voice sounds sheepish and quiet, almost like he didn’t want to admit it aloud, “Wanted to surprise you.”
This time Hao doesn’t fight back the smile. It breaks across his face at an impossible speed, his face muscles even aching from how hard he was grinning.
Oh, how he had missed Sung Hanbin.
-
“Do you think this is separation anxiety?” Hao asks Jiwoong, clearly rethinking the entire interaction. Perhaps he was too attached to Hanbin. Maybe that’s why his heart was racing so bad around him, maybe it wasn’t love, just anxiety.
Jiwoong almost throws his hands up in exasperation, “More like separation anxiety on his end.” he whispers to himself.
Jiwoong clears his throat as he regains his composure, “Thank you Hao, for confiding me in these experiences. I think you and your roommate have a lovely bond, and I know you may feel anxious or unsure of the exact implications of when situations like these happen between you two.”
Hao nods, his eyes focusing on the clock that gently reminds him an entire hour has gone by.
“For your homework, I want you to try talking to Hanbin. It doesn’t have to be monumental. Just, instead of keeping your thoughts up here,” Jiwoong points to his temple, “Use your words and ask Hanbin something. Start with something small, see what his response is, and hopefully that’ll help ease the mountain-load of questions that tend to fire off in these kinds of moments.”
“Okay.”
“It’s hard, I know. Especially with differentiating between anxiety and love. Love is a concept hard to grasp, you don’t just feel it, you know it. I know it all sounds cheesy,” Jiwoong waves an arm at his words, “But I believe a conversation with Hanbin is all you’ll really need to understand.”
Hao raises a brow at the comment, did Jiwoong know something he didn’t? (He doesn’t.)
“Does that mean you’ve been in love before?” Hao asks curiously. He lurches his body forward, eyes wide with the expectancy of an answer.
“And that’s the end of our session! See you in two weeks Hao.” Jiwoong smiles with his eyes but it doesn’t quite translate to the rest of his face.
“You have? You’ve been in-”
“I said see you in two weeks.”
-
There’s a silent hum that buzzes around the entire living room when Hao gets home. The door clicks with ease, his keys sliding through the item with a deftness that hasn’t been there for as long as he had been living in the apartment.
The view that greets him is even better. There’s a pot on the kitchen stove, bubbling and boiling with the fragrant smell of home, spices and aromas that have surrounded the apartment’s kitchen table for the past three years. It makes Hao’s heart swell, knowing there’s someone there to welcome him home, even if the person has yet to make an appearance.
Hao throws his keys onto the table, unraveling his scarf and begins to walk into the living area. The TV is on and glowing. The people on the screen are having a conversation, a black blur of hair on the couch shaking as the sound of laughter envelopes the cozy room.
“Bin?” Hao calls over the noise, sliding off his shoes by the side of the room and into his slippers.
“Hao!” Hanbin calls from the couch, a hand shooting up in the air to wave at him, “How was it today? You stayed out a bit longer today, everything okay with Jiwoong?”
Hao stalks over to the couch, not even bothering to shed his coat off. He throws his body down next to Hanbin who looks like he’s found a home on the couch, nestled into the plush cushions.
“Yeah. Just wanted to talk longer today.” Hao replies, cocking his head to the side when Hanbin exits out of the video he was watching, “You can keep it on.”
Hanbin shakes his head, fingers fumbling over the buttons on the remote, “You were so excited to see that movie, I’ll put it on for us.”
Hao hums in response, kicking his legs up and over Hanbin’s lap. It’s a position they take every time they’re curled up on the couch. To Hao, the warmest memories of his college life were between those four walls, all in the safety of the presence of Hanbin. He likes it like that, intimate, quiet, and private. It’s moments like those where Hao gets to keep Hanbin and his feelings all to himself, all swimming within his heart, brain, and stomach.
“I made kimchi stew, it still needs to simmer for another half hour. You said you were craving it, weren’t you?” Hanbin pats his hand softly against Hao’s legs that are over his laps, simple rhythmic movements to ground them in the moment.
“Mhm.” Hao replies, his eyes are completely too focused on Hanbin. The other is too preoccupied with typing in the movie title into the TV’s search engine to notice.
Hao wishes they were closer. Considering his legs were already splayed over Hanbin’s lap and their bodies seated as close as they can be to be comfortable in their position, yet he still wanted to be even closer. That’s the thing with Hao. He wants Hanbin in a way the universe can’t exactly contain into words or actions. He wants to merge their souls together, to be intertwined in every shape and form. If there was another universe, Hanbin would be the sun, Hao the moon. In another dimension, Hanbin would be the stars and Hao the night.
Sometimes Hao gets too greedy and wants them to be all of that, but in this universe.
The intro of the movie begins to thud through the room, the ‘20th century fox’ flashing across the scene. Though, Hao isn’t even looking. Instead, he’s looking at Hanbin, casting quick shy glances towards the other. Each time he drinks in the view he’s admired for too many days to count.
Nose so tall Hao could trace it like a ski-slope. His lashes curl in the way that Hao yearns to know how soft they’d feel fluttering under the pad of his finger. Then there’s his ears, a flushed permanent pink that Hao already knows would be malleable and easy to pinch.
Hao’s heart lurches again.
Jiwoong’s voice is ringing in his head, ask him . But Hao’s left considering the timing. Was it appropriate to ask for things that Hao truly wanted? Was it okay to ask for those things in the quiet walls of their shared apartment? Was it okay to even ask for them at all? Was it okay to want?
The questions swirled in his head as the beginning of the movie began to play. Hao forces himself to turn towards the screen, away from his silent pining.
Hao can feel a pair of eyes on him the moment he turns away, and he doesn’t even have to turn his head to know it’s Hanbin’s.
“Hyung,” He whispers softly, hand still patting lightly on Hao’s legs, “I have a gift for you. I was going to give it to you after the movie but I want you to see it now.”
Hao reaches over the table to grab the remote, effortlessly pausing the movie that he was already barely paying attention to. His breathing feels a bit labored, Jiwoong’s words still swimming at the front of his mind.
The TV that occupied much of the room’s noise had been reduced to nothingness, all that’s left to fill its void was the noises of boiling water from the kitchen stove. It’s almost like the world had gone silent, gone silent for them.
“Close your eyes, and put your hands out.” Hanbin instructs, amusement weaving between his words as he tries to move his hand to cover Hao’s vision.
“I’m closing them. You can trust me.” Hao laughs in return, squeezing his eyes shut.
Hanbin chuckles in response, the noise only amplified from Hao’s loss of sight. The warm feeling was beginning to pool at the bottom of Hao’s stomach, though this time, it’s sizzling hot.
“You can open them in, one, two…” Hanbin draws out his words when he sees Hao getting impatient, whole body fidgeting in anticipation, “three!”
The softness on Hao’s hands is imminent as he opens his eyes. Across his palms is a raccoon plushie, small in size and fluffy all around. There’s a loop around the end by its tail, a reminder of its use: a keychain.
“It reminded me of you when I was walking to class,” Hanbin rubs at his neck, a nervous habit of his, “Thought you might like it.” The last part of his words are mumbled so quietly that Hao almost doesn’t catch it. The silence of the living room helps amplify it, the smile on Hao’s face stretching with every word.
“Thank you Bin-ah, I-” I love you . Hao shakes his head. The words almost leave his parted lips and he immediately peels them back, lips curling inwards and teeth biting down to prevent it from spilling, “I appreciate it.”
Hanbin’s eyes sparkle at his comment. The moment is so quick, Hanbin breaking the spell between them by reaching for the remote and beginning to press play.
The words knock around Hao’s head, Jiwoong’s words almost running around his mind like a mantra: Ask him.
Hanbin presses play, sinking back into the couch with a relief that wasn’t there before. The light from the TV prances around his eyes, swinging in joy.
Ask him .
Loud music accompanies what’s playing on the TV, an action scene straight from the beginning. The character runs, takes a leap of faith, and soars over a series of cars stuck in a traffic jam. He mumbles under his breath, the camera zooming into his mouth as he speaks, “Start small.”
Ask him.
Hao turns towards Hanbin. His heart feels impossibly full, full of so many things he’s ever wanted, things he’s had the luxury to dream of.
Ask him .
The words fall out of his mouth, tumbling like a dam breaking free. The water crashes past the wall that’s been built to hold it back from years, the only difference being, Hao was the one who pried every plank away to wash the dam away.
“Why do you spoil me?”
A crash from the TV.
Hanbin’s eyes that are trained on the TV don’t make much movement, though his hand that was patting on Hao’s leg has stopped its movements. It only makes Hao’s stomach churn, not in the same way that Hao would hope is love, but in the way it does before a presentation or before making a monumental decision. Did he make the right choice?
“Hyung,” Hanbin turns to glance at Hao, the light from the TV reflecting off the side of his pupils as he stares, “Isn’t it obvious?”
Hao shakes his head, the movie completely forgotten.
“Because I like you.”
The answer is so simple, so easy, that Hao feels his world stop. Hanbin had turned away from Hao at this point, back to watching the movie. He looks as if he were just updating Hao about the weather, as if he didn’t just open a gateway of Hao’s heart to fill to the brim with hope.
“But, why?” Hao asks, his voice sounding a bit confused, but the pure joy that boils at the surface underneath seems to be peeking through.
“Because,” Hanbin turns back to Hao, there’s something in his gaze that Hao notices for the first time. It’s always been there, just too natural to really pick up on, “You’re you. I like the way you laugh, like when your cheeks rise up towards the sky and turn into those round apples. I like that you go quiet when you think too much, your lips pursing at every thought. I like that you wear my clothes, or give me a shoulder to lean on. I spoil you because I want to, because I like you.”
He says them with practiced ease, like he’s said it a million times to himself in his head, or perhaps to his friends. There’s a smile on his lips that he always gives Hao, the one that’s reserved for them in their apartment living room, it’s all for Hao.
“But what if I’m not me?” Hao doesn’t even know if he’s making sense at this point, his mind jumbling all his earlier perceptions into a giant ball of mush. The doubts, the questions all melting away, “Like if I didn’t do all those things. Or if I looked differently.”
“Then I’d look for you,” Hanbin replies quickly, not even a single drop of hesitation in his words, “I’d recognize you even if you looked completely different, acted differently. I know you Hao. I’d know it’s you.”
Hao can feel it all begin to shed from his heart. The little barriers and lines he’s drawn while top-toeing around the lines of friendship or more are all scribbled over in bright red marker. It streaks across the blank slate of his mind, rendering it into nothing more than a simple phrase, I love you .
When he looks at Hanbin’s careful eyes, he sees it all without Hanbin having to say anything. Haven’t they always been like that? Hao always knew, in the deepest parts of his mind and heart, that a piece of Hanbin was buried inside of his soul, always there to keep.
“I love you too.”
The words fall like a line of dominos out of Hao’s mouth, his eyes widening in shock and a hand slapping over the parted lips as if it could suck the words back in.
“I’ll love you as long as you want me to.” Hanbin murmurs back, hand resuming its slow patting motion on Hao’s legs.
Ah, the phrase from over a year ago that Hao had told him. ‘As long as we want to’. It was never quite ‘we’ was it? To Hanbin, as Hao has come to realize, it was always about how much Hao wanted it. Hanbin wanted everything Hao did, it really was only him.
This time Hao’s a little braver, pressing his body a bit closer into Hanbin’s warmth. The world continues to spin at the same pace as before. There’s a bubbling pot of soup on the kitchen stove, and the TV continues its relentless pursuit of an action movie. The quiet hum runs along the lengths of the apartment, the aged apartment where they had grown, fallen down, and gotten back up in.
At twenty-two years old, Hao no longer thinks he loves Sung Hanbin. No, he knows he loves Sung Hanbin.
-
“I saw this coming.”
“You’re a therapist, not a fortune teller.” Hao bites back as he rolls his eyes.
He’s back in the familiar room. The ticking of the clock above his head doesn’t bother him as much, hands sweat-free and a relaxed expression have all become a new custom of Hao’s.
“I’m guessing from our conversation, you guys worked this out?” Jiwoong smiles at him, one that actually reaches his eyes and makes his brows raise at the motion. A smile so genuine.
Hao giggles to himself as he begins to wrap the scarf around his neck in a practiced manner, the way Hanbin had taught him to prevent it from sliding off his shoulders, “Yep. I’m going to head home a bit early today. My boyfriend made some dinner plans.”
“Oh?” Jiwoong cocked a brow upwards, “Boyfriend. That’s quite quick of you guys. I would’ve expected another couple of weeks of painful pining.”
“You make it sound like I’m slow.”
“I’m not going to lie, I definitely thought about that the last time you were in here.” Jiwoong replies, his hands going up in surrender.
“This has to be breaking some kind of professional wall.” Hao scoffs in response, standing up with his chair screeching ever so slightly from the motion. He’s getting ready to leave, the two no longer having an alarm to dictate the end of their sessions.
Jiwoong simply laughs in response, a relaxed look on his face like Hao’s revelation had taken some semblance of stress off of his own shoulders.
“One last thing, did you guys talk about the whole ‘nice’ persona?” Jiwoong’s words are gentle, like he isn’t trying to pry, but genuinely curious about it. If it were a session from a month or two ago, it would’ve brought some kind of fear to Hao’s mind. A fear of the unknown, a fear of what could be.
But instead, Hao simply smiles and nods.
-
The movie’s long over. The pot from the stove is emptied and cleaned drying on the rack by the sink. Their matching bowls, pink and blue in correspondence to Hao and Hanbin, drip with the water they were unable to dry off with the rag.
The lights are off in all of the apartment, the faint glow from the TV is gone, the one from the kitchen stove is off, consuming its entirety of the void of night. Yet one room still shines. It shines brightly behind a closed door, peeking through the gap underneath the cracked door. Though, it’s not an overhead lamp or desk light, or any kind of man-made light for that matter.
It’s a sliver of the moon, streaking in through a barely shut tight window in Hanbin’s room.
On a bed that’s usually occupied by one, lays two bodies. Their legs are intertwined in a way a rope might. One has his arm strewn over the other, lazily, but almost like it belongs there. There’s something in the way they lay that the connection between them isn’t about their physical intimacy, but perhaps the matching heartbeats that thud under the covers.
Hao lays his cheek onto Hanbin’s chest, the sound of his heart reverberating through all of Hao’s ear canal. It’s bare skin to bare skin, Hao’s flushed cheek even warmer than Hanbin’s already hot body. When he hears the familiar skip, one two, skip, four, of his heart, he already knows. That all-consuming feeling Hao was feeling wasn’t just himself, it was mirrored in Hanbin.
“Bin-ah?” As Hao speaks, he can feel his jaw bump against Hanbin’s chest.
“Hm?” Hanbin replies groggily. When Hao tilts his head upwards, he can see Hanbin’s on the brink of sleep. Each blink takes more effort than it should.
Hao laughs to himself, the sight so endearing he wished he could see it every time he closed his eyes painted right behind his eyelids, “Why are you so nice to me?”
Hanbin makes a noise that sounds like a grumble but also a cough, “I dont know…?” the words come out like a question. Hao can feel himself stiffen a little bit, caught off-guard because he completely expected a concrete answer.
“Not that that’s a bad thing,” Hanbin runs a hand over Hao’s hair, pulling Hao’s face even closer to his chest, “Hao, do you think I have good control over the things I do?”
The question is off-handed, seemingly off-topic, but when Hao feels the familiar thud against his cheek, he knows it’s something Hanbin’s also searching for. Questions and answers he’s also been dying to know.
Hao nods against Hanbin’s skin, feeling a little breathless.
“Well, not always. I think I have pretty good self-control, like when a group of kids are walking in the hallway, swaying back and forth and walking ever so slowly, and I don’t just push into them and get by.”
Hao stifles a laugh.
“Or like when Gyuvin says something really stupid and I don’t pummel him.”
Hao runs his fingers up against Hanbin’s side, feeling his body shiver to the touch but eventually sink into the sensation.
“But I think, being nice to you, it’s not a conscious effort. I don’t have to go out of my way to be nice, to be controlled, to lock it all away. It all kinda just spills out, pours out whenever I see you. Is this too cheesy?”
Hanbin brings a hand to bury his face into. When Hao glances up he can see how Hanbin’s ears and cheeks have taken on their familiar rosy color, even the tip of his nose was in a similar shade. This time, Hao doesn’t hold himself back, bringing a hand up as high as possible, squeezing onto Hanbin’s ear and brushing across the whiskers and crinkles on his face.
“No,” Hao breathes out, “Never. Thank you Hanbin.”
“For what?” Hanbin’s back to being as tired as he was before, head lolling to the side. He’s squeezed his eyes shut, almost looking asleep if it weren’t for the blush across his entire face that hasn’t quite gone down yet.
“For coming into my life.” Hao whispers, closing his own eyes in return and snuggling into the other’s chest. Hao feels content, the answer being enough to silence the rest of the questions and unease that have been churning in his mind since the day they had met.
The lights are off in their entire apartment, the dishes stored away and the silent hum of the fridge is enough to consume the entire building. The bathroom lights are off, yet the sound of flickering buzzes across the walls. The night has grown long, a mix of quiet noises that have always echoed within the walls of their apartment.
Though this time, there’s a soft breathing that accompanies the rest of the quiet noise. Two to be exact.
-
Hao keeps the moment to himself. Jiwoong’s eyes glazed over in understanding at the look and smile on Hao’s face. His lips part, ready to make a teasing comment, but Hao’s already ready.
“That reminds me. You never told me if you were in love.”
Jiwoong’s mouth snaps shut, his eyes narrowing, “I can’t disclose personal information about myself like that, I’m sorry Hao.”
“Think of it as payment, from saving you from a couple of sessions of my pining.” Hao shoots back, hands on his hips to seem as threatening as possible.
“See you in two weeks Hao!” Jiwoong exclaims instead, already trying to usher him out the door to his office.
“Hey, no! You haven’t given me an answer, it’s so simple. Just yes or no-”
“See you in two weeks.”