Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Autumn shifts into winter almost overnight. The vibrant oranges and reds that once dot the streets fade away, replaced by stark branches and a blanket of pristine white snow. Hao’s boots crunch against the icy ground as he steps out of the car, the frosty air biting at his cheeks. His breath comes out in visible puffs, and he instinctively pulls his coat tighter around himself, muttering under his breath.

Why does it have to be so cold?

The Sung family home stands in the distance, a cozy haven amidst the frost. Warm lights spill out of the windows, casting a soft glow on the snow-covered front yard. A neatly shoveled pathway cuts through the snow, guiding Hao to the front steps like an invitation. Hao feels a pang of bittersweet nostalgia as he drags his suitcase along the cleared path. This house has been a second home for most of his childhood—a place filled with warmth and laughter. But now, it feels like stepping into the past, a fleeting glimpse of a simpler time he isn’t sure he can reclaim.

The door swings open before he can knock.

“Haohao!” Mrs. Sung’s familiar voice greets him, bright and welcoming as ever. She hurries out, her cheeks flushing from the cold, and envelops him in a warm hug. “Oh, it’s been too long! Look at you—you should have come to see me sooner!”

Hao smiles faintly, her enthusiasm the same as always. “It’s good to see you, Mama.”

Her face lights up even more, her hands reaching up to cup his cheeks as she looks him over. “Oh, Haohao, you’re too thin! Have you been eating properly? Never mind, I’ll fix that right away.”

Hao shakes his head dramatically, mock fear on his face. Typical mom behavior—she’s already planning to feed him, whether he needs it or not.

“You must be freezing, go inside. Jiwoong’s waiting for you,” Mrs. Sung says with a smile, gesturing toward the warmth of the house. “Your mom and I will chat for a bit.”

His gaze shifts toward his own mother, standing a few steps away. Mrs. Sung has pulled her into a hug as well, and from the corner of his eye, Hao notices something—her expression is soft but tinged with sadness. The sight makes his chest tighten. Mrs. Sung grips his mother’s arm as if trying to comfort her, but his mother’s shoulders sag slightly under the weight of her friend’s sympathy. Hao swallows hard and turns away, dragging his suitcase into the house.

Jiwoong greets him with the same unbridled energy he always has.

“Finally!” Jiwoong exclaims, practically bouncing down the hallway to meet him. “I thought you were never going to get here. I’ve been waiting forever, man! We have so much to do—this whole holiday is going to be epic. Drinking, eating, and just chilling. You’re not allowed to leave until we’ve done everything we discussed over the phone.”

Hao chuckles despite himself. Jiwoong’s enthusiasm is contagious. “It’s good to see you too, hyung. I’ve missed you.”

Jiwoong grins, throwing an arm around Hao’s shoulders. “Missed you too. It’s been way too long. So, tell me—how do you feel about literally living in our house during the holidays? Instead of, you know, coming from your own house every day? And why aren’t you spending it at home, anyway?”

Forcing a smile, Hao ignores the first question—it feels strange to be excited about staying at their house under the current circumstances.

As for the second question... Hao hesitates, glancing at Jiwoong. Their friendship has always been easy, full of laughter and teasing, but not the kind where they delved into personal matters. Jiwoong is his closest friend, but serious conversations just weren’t part of their dynamic. Opening up about what’s going on feels... out of place, like stepping onto unfamiliar ground.

He brushes the question off instead, keeping his tone light. “No reason. Mom’s just busy. Can’t a guy spend time with his best friend who he hasn’t seen in forever?”

Jiwoong nods, not pressing further. He’s glad that Jiwoong just let the moment pass, even if there’s a part of him that wishes he could say more.

Hao can’t help but think back to their shared history as Jiwoong leads him deeper into the house, his easy laughter echoing through the familiar hallways. The Sungs have been part of Hao’s life for as long as he can remember, woven into his earliest memories like a constant thread.

His family’s journey to South Korea began long before he was born, spurred by his father’s ambition. A businessman with a sharp eye for opportunity, his father had packed up their lives in China almost overnight, seizing the chance to expand his thriving enterprise.The branch his father opened focused on the import and export business, bridging the bustling markets of Korea and China. It was a whirlwind move, one that left Hao’s mother navigating an unfamiliar country while heavily pregnant. The nature of the job meant that while his father spent most of his time managing operations and building a network in Korea, he frequently traveled back to China to ensure the smooth flow of goods which meant less time with his family.

In those early days, Mrs. Sung had been a lifeline. Their mothers met not long after Hao’s parents arrived in Cheonan, and their bond was immediate. Despite the language barrier, Mrs. Sung had been endlessly kind, helping Hao’s mother settle into a new culture, find her footing, and even prepare for motherhood. Hao’s father was often busy with work, so Mrs. Sung’s steady presence became a source of comfort. She attended prenatal appointments, shared tips on raising children, and introduced her to local markets and traditions.

When Hao was born, their families were already inseparable. He and Jiwoong were practically raised together, spending endless afternoons in each other’s company. Jiwoong, two years older, naturally fell into the role of Hao’s protector and guide.

To Hao, Jiwoong wasn’t just a playmate—he was an older brother in every way that mattered. Jiwoong had been the one to teach him how to ride a bike, to stand up for himself when kids teased him about being different, and even how to tie his shoes properly after countless failed attempts. They shared toys, secrets, and an unspoken understanding that they would always have each other’s backs.

Of course, being so close also meant they squabbled like siblings. Jiwoong had a knack for teasing Hao, calling him “little prince” whenever he refused to eat vegetables or complained about getting his hands dirty. But even those moments of bickering felt like a testament to their bond—no matter how much they annoyed each other, they always made up within hours.

As they grew older, their relationship shifted but never wavered. Jiwoong remained a steady presence in Hao’s life, someone he could count on for advice, support, and an occasional dose of tough love.

Walking through the Sung household now, Hao feels the weight of that history settle over him like a warm blanket. This house, with its familiar smells and comforting chaos, isn’t just Jiwoong’s home—it is his, too.

As Jiwoong rambles about all the things they’ll do, a loud voice interrupts from the other end of the hall.

“Hao hyung!”

Before Hao can fully process the blur rushing toward him, he is scooped up in a bear hug that lifts his feet clean off the ground. He lets out a startled laugh, his hands reflexively clutching at the broad shoulders holding him up.

“Hanbin?” Hao manages, somewhere between bewildered and amused.

When Hanbin finally sets him down, Hao takes a moment to steady himself, looking at the younger man properly for the first time in a while. His trademark whisker dimples are on full display, paired with the same sparkling eyes Hao remembers so well. But, there’s something different.

“When did you get strong enough to lift me like that?” Hao asks, his tone teasing but edged with genuine surprise.

Hanbin grins, stepping back with his hands on his hips. “Gym life, hyung. I’ve changed.”

Changed is an understatement. The little, shy boy Hao remembers from his childhood is long gone, replaced by someone taller, leaner, and undeniably confident.

Then, there’s the tank top.

Hao blinks in surprise, his attention snagging on the black fabric. In the middle of winter, with frost clinging to the windows and a biting chill in the air despite the warmth of the home, Hanbin is the only person he’s ever seen comfortable wearing just a tank top. It clings to his frame, accentuating the definition in his arms and shoulders—details that make it clear the ‘gym life’ isn’t just casual talk.

And the tattoos.

Hao’s eyes are drawn downwards to the ink on Hanbin’s chest—a design of the sun, the moon, and the stars arranged in an intricate pattern. He’s, honestly, a little surprised Hanbin didn’t go for something playful, like butterflies which matched the cheerful energy of the child he once knew. His gaze trails downward, catching another tattoo snaking across Hanbin’s arm. The lines are wavy, deliberate, but he can’t quite make out the words.

When did this happen? Hao wonders, unable to suppress his curiosity. How many does he have?

“So, hyung,” Hanbin begins, leaning against the wall, “why are you here for the holidays? I’m happy to have you, of course—it feels like old times.”

Hao crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow. “What, am I a stranger now? Can’t I just stay like I used to?”

Hanbin laughs.

“Damn,” Hao says, breaking the moment with a smirk. “You’ve really changed, huh? Even bulked up a bit. Been working hard at the gym?”

Hanbin’s cheeks tinge pink at the comment, his eyes darting to the floor. He looks almost bashful, the familiar boyishness surfacing despite the confident exterior.

Now that is the Hanbin Hao remembers—the kid who used to follow him around, eager for approval but quick to blush at the slightest bit of teasing.

Hanbin was born two years after Hao, a fact that had thrilled him at the time. As a child, the idea of having someone younger to look after felt like a chance to step into Jiwoong’s shoes. Jiwoong had always been the older brother figure to him—bossy, protective, and annoyingly good at everything. Hao had envisioned himself doing the same for Hanbin, finally getting the chance to order someone else around.

But, things didn’t turn out that way.

The moment Hanbin was old enough to toddle after him, with bright eyes and a gap-toothed grin, all of Hao’s plans to assert his dominance melted away. Hanbin was the kind of kid you couldn’t help but indulge—sweet, affectionate, and eager to please. Instead of hoarding toys like he’d planned, Hao found himself handing them over without a second thought.

“Here, Hanbin, you can have the red car,” Hao would say, placing it gently in Hanbin’s chubby hands. He couldn’t even bring himself to feign reluctance, not when Hanbin’s face lit up with pure delight.

And when Hanbin tugged at his sleeve, pointing to something new in a store window, Hao didn’t hesitate. He’d pester their parents until they caved, making sure Hanbin got whatever it was he wanted. A new set of blocks? Done. That colorful picture book? Absolutely. Hao never told him “No.”

It wasn’t just about material things, either. Hanbin had this uncanny ability to draw out Hao’s softer side, the part of him that wanted to protect and nurture rather than command. If Hanbin tripped and fell, Hao was the first to rush to his side, brushing off imaginary dirt and whispering, “You’re okay, Hanbin. Don’t cry.”

Looking back, Hao realized he’d never really been an older brother in the traditional sense. He hadn’t scolded or teased the way Jiwoong had done to him. Instead, he’d played the role of Hanbin’s biggest cheerleader, the person who always made sure his little brother-like companion had whatever he needed.

Even now, as Hanbin stands in front of him—grown, confident, and so different from the boy he used to be—Hao can’t help but feel a flicker of that old protectiveness. Hanbin might have changed, but to Hao, he would always be the same kid who used to tug at his hand, asking him to play.

The living room buzzes with warmth, both literal and figurative. Hao is struck by the faint scent of cinnamon lingering in the air, likely from Mrs. Sung’s habit of brewing spiced tea during winter. The faint hum of the radiator blends with the occasional creak of the old wooden floorboards, adding a lived-in charm to the space.

The walls are lined with framed photographs spanning decades—Jiwoong and Hanbin as toddlers, awkward school portraits, and even a few candid shots of Hao from his younger years. A slightly worn but still vibrant rug covers the floor, its pattern an intricate mix of blues and reds that seems to brighten the space no matter how dim the lighting.

On the coffee table sits a stack of well-loved books, their spines cracked from years of use, alongside a small tray with coasters that look handmade. The Sung family’s attention to the little things is everywhere—embroidered cushions on the couch, a patchwork throw draped over the armrest, and the faint but familiar scent of lavender fabric softener that seems to cling to everything.

“Let’s get your stuff to the guest room,” Jiwoong says, grabbing Hao’s suitcase. Hanbin quickly takes it from him, rolling it towards the room with exaggerated ease, as if to show off his strength.

Hao rolls his eyes but can’t help smiling. “I can carry my own bag, you know.”

“I’ve got it, hyung. I could even carry you now,” Hanbin replies cheerfully.

“Fine, show-off,” Hao mutters, trailing behind them.

As they pass the living room, Hao catches sight of his mother by the front door. Her face is drawn, the faint smile she wears barely masking her exhaustion. Mrs. Sung stands beside her, nodding as they exchange hushed words. Hao slows his steps, his heart sinking at the sight.

Jiwoong notices his hesitation and nudges him lightly. “I know you miss her, but she’ll be okay, you know. My mom won’t let her leave without enough food for a week.”

Hao manages a weak laugh, but the weight of his worry lingers. By the time they reach the guest room, Hanbin has already plopped his suitcase onto the bed, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.

Their parents’ voices drift into the house as Hao settles into the room. He can’t make out the words, but the tone is unmistakably heavy. Hao bites the inside of his cheek, a familiar ache settling in his chest.

“I’ll be here for New Year’s, okay? Take care of yourself.” His mother’s voice echoes in his mind, the memory of her parting words fresh and raw. He had wanted to fight her on it, to insist that he stay by her side, but she had been firm.

“You have to enjoy your holidays, Hao. I don’t want to bring you into this.”

The divorce, a forbidden word between them, a silent storm that had been brewing for months. Hao doesn’t blame her for wanting to shield him from it, but it doesn’t make the distance any easier to bear.

“You good?” Jiwoong’s voice breaks through his thoughts.

Hao looks up to see Jiwoong leaning casually against the doorframe, concern flickering in his dark eyes. “Yeah,” Hao says quickly, forcing a smile. “Just tired from the trip.”

Jiwoong nods, though his expression suggests he doesn’t entirely believe him. “Alright. You should rest anyway.”

Mrs. Sung knocks on his door a few minutes later, just as he is unpacking, her signature warm smile radiating through the room.

“Haohao,” she says softly, wrapping him in a hug that smells faintly of lavender and laundry detergent.

“Thank you for having me,” Hao replies, his voice quieter than usual.

Mrs. Sung pulls back, looking at him with kind eyes that don’t pry. She doesn’t mention the sadness clinging to him like a remora to a shark, nor the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Instead, she places a hand on his shoulder and waves a hand in the air, showing the room.

“You settle in, okay? And if you need anything—extra blankets, snacks, anything at all—you just let me know,”

“Thank you, Mama,” Hao says, bowing slightly.

“No need for that,” she replies with a laugh, patting his arm. “We’re family, Hao.”

Her words are simple, yet they make something inside him ache. She leaves the room, closing the door behind her, and Hao turns to face the bed.

The exhaustion hits him the moment he sits down. The hour-and-a-half train ride from Seoul to Cheonan wasn’t grueling by any means, but it had been enough to sap what little energy he had left. He flops onto the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight, and closes his eyes.

For a moment, he thinks about how quiet the house feels compared to his usual surroundings in Seoul. It’s peaceful but unfamiliar, a stark contrast to the chaos he’s left behind.

He pulls out his phone, expecting silence but finding a barrage of texts waiting for him. His heart sinks as he opens the notifications.
Let’s meet up.
I’m sorry.
Zhang Hao, pick up.

His thumb hovers over the messages before exiting the app entirely. The last thing he wants is to rehash old wounds, especially now.

He opens his conversation with his dad, his eyes landing on the last message, still sitting unread. Without a second thought, he throws his phone across the bed, letting it land somewhere among the sheets.

Sleep carries him away before he can think about it any longer.

****

When Hao wakes up, the room is dim, the faint glow of the streetlights outside casting long shadows on the walls. He sits up groggily, rubbing his face. It isn’t late—still evening—but the early winter sunset makes it feel much later.

The familiar weight of seasonal melancholy settles on his chest as he stares out the window. Everything looks so still, suffocated under the heavy blanket of snow. The barren trees, the lifelessness. It seems to mirror the stillness inside him, the way he’s been avoiding his problems, locking them away somewhere he can’t bear to look.

He isn’t ready to confront any of those thoughts yet. Not tonight. His throat feels dry, the faint craving for water giving him a reason—an excuse—to move. Pushing himself to his feet, he steps out of the room.

The house is quiet as he makes his way toward the kitchen. The faint hum of the television drifts from the living room, accompanied by the low rumble of a newscaster’s voice.

Hao pauses at the entrance, peeking in to see Mr. Sung seated on the couch, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he watches the news.

“Uncle,” Hao greets softly, stepping into the room.

Mr. Sung looks up, his expression breaking into a wide smile. He stands and approaches Hao, wrapping him in a firm hug.

“Hao-ya! It’s been too long,” he says warmly, stepping back to look at him. “You’ve grown even taller, haven’t you?”

Hao chuckles lightly. “I don’t think so, Uncle. Maybe you’ve just gotten shorter.”

Mr. Sung laughs, the sound hearty and genuine. “Careful now, or I’ll tell Jiwoong to wrestle you like the old days.”

Hao shakes his head with a grin. “I think I’ll pass on that. It’s nice to see you again, Uncle. How’s everything been?”

“Oh, same as always. Busy, but good. And you? How’s school? Still attending that fancy music academy?”

Hao nods. “Yes. It’s going well—just a lot of work. We had a big performance recently, and I was part of the ensemble for a major recital.”

“That’s wonderful! I’m sure you were amazing,” Mr. Sung says proudly.

Hao smiles, the warmth in Mr. Sung’s voice easing some of the tension he’s carried all day.

“Well, I won’t keep you. I know you’re probably tired from the trip,” Mr. Sung says, patting Hao’s shoulder. “Make yourself at home, okay? And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Hao says, bowing slightly.

As Mr. Sung returns to his spot on the couch, Hao continues toward the kitchen.
The faint sounds of movement draw him toward the kitchen, where the unmistakable scent of butter and eggs fills the air. He rounds the corner and pauses at the sight before him.

Hanbin stands at the counter, a spatula in one hand and a frying pan in the other, humming softly to himself. He wears a simple apron over his tank top and joggers, looking far too comfortable for someone cooking in the middle of winter..

“Hyung, do you need something?” Hanbin asks enthusiastically, noticing Hao lingering by the doorway.

“Just water,” Hao replies, stepping further into the kitchen.

“Got it.” Hanbin sets the spatula down and reaches for a clean glass, filling it with water before handing it to Hao. His smile is wide and infectious.

“Thanks.” Hao takes a sip, leaning against the counter. His gaze flickers to the pan, where the golden edges of an omelette peek out. “So... Little Hanbinnie cooks now?”

Hanbin lets out a playful scoff, gently nudging Hao’s arm. “Hyung, I’m not little anymore.”

Hao laughs, setting the glass down. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Rolling his eyes, Hanbin flips the omelette with a practiced motion. “Do you still like omelettes, by the way? I’m trying to make it the way my mom makes it.”

Hao blinks, momentarily caught off guard. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do.” Hanbin doesn’t look up from his task, but there’s a fondness in his voice. “You always said it was your favorite when we were kids. Mom would make it for you whenever she babysat.”

The memory rushes back—sitting at the Sungs’ kitchen table, swinging his legs as Mrs. Sung placed a fluffy omelette and a steaming cup of hot chocolate in front of him. It had been a small comfort during those long afternoons when his parents were too busy to pick him up.

“Wow, you’re a lifesaver,” Hao says with a smile. “I’m starving.”

Hanbin grins. “Then sit and wait. It’ll be ready in a minute.”

Hao makes his way to the dining table, settling into one of the chairs. “So, what’s the occasion? Cooking for me this late in the evening?”

“Mom and Jiwoong went grocery shopping,” Hanbin explains, returning to the stove. “Figured I’d do something useful while they’re out.”

“Useful, huh? Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Hyung,” Hanbin whines, shooting him a mock glare.

Hao chuckles, resting his chin in his hand. “Okay, okay. I take it back. You’re very capable. I’m impressed.”

Hao leans forward slightly. “How’s uni going for you?” he asks, his tone casual but genuinely curious.

Hanbin turns with a grin. “It’s great! Way better than I thought it would be. My friends make it really fun.”

Hanbin’s enthusiasm is infectious as he launches into stories about his three closest friends—how they keep him laughing through late-night study sessions, drag him out to parties, and make everything about university life feel like less of a chore.

Hao listens, a faint smile tugging at his lips, though his mind briefly wanders. He remembers how Mrs. Sung used to call him when Hanbin was preparing for the CSAT, her voice a mix of worry and hope. “Hao, give Hanbin some tips, will you? He needs to do well enough to get into a good university.”

Typical Korean parents. She wasn’t asking, not really. Of course, Hao had obliged, spending hours over video calls or during visits, explaining study techniques and sharing the strategies that had worked for him.

“That’s good to hear,” Hao says finally, his voice soft but sincere.

“Oh, and guess what? I got a winter job at the ice skating rink. It’s with my three best friends, so it’s going to be awesome. Can you imagine working and having fun at the same time?”

Hao chuckles. “That does sound like a good deal. You’re lucky to have them.”

“Yeah, I am,” Hanbin says brightly, though his expression softens when he looks at Hao.

Hanbin sits down beside him at the dining table, his energy unwavering as he places the plate of omelette and a steaming cup of hot chocolate in front of Hao.

“What about you, hyung? Do you have close friends in Seoul?”

Hao pauses, his fork hovering over the omelette. Friends. The word feels complicated. Sure, he’s had people to hang out with, but most of them had come as part of a package deal with his boyfriend—now his ex. And ever since he started ghosting his ex, those so-called friends have all but disappeared.

“They’re... fine,” Hao says vaguely, forcing a small smile.

Hanbin doesn’t press, instead nudging the plate closer to Hao. “Well, dig in before it gets cold. You need to eat.”

Hao smiles at the gesture and takes his first bite. The omelette is simple but comforting, much like the boy sitting across from him.

“How’s uni though? I bet it’s a whole different vibe there. Tell me everything—parties, nightclubs, all the fun stuff!”

Hao hesitates, his fork hovering over the plate. “I mean... It’s fine. I wouldn’t really call it fun.”

“Why not?” Hanbin asks, tilting his head.

Hao exhales slowly, leaning back in his chair. “I went out a lot, but it wasn’t really my thing. My boyfrie—ex was the one dragging me to all those parties.”

“What about you, hyung? Did you have a favorite place to go?”

Hao blinks. “Huh?”

“You know,” Hanbin says, his tone light, “like, your favorite bar or club? Somewhere you actually liked going to.”

“Oh.” Hao frowns, thinking it over. “There was this one place in Itaewon. The drinks were awful, but I guess that’s what made it fun. And the music was good. Once, I got so drunk there that I fell asleep in the booth and woke up when the staff was cleaning the next morning.”

Hanbin laughs, though there’s a touch of concern in his voice. “How did you get home after that?”

“My ex dragged me into a taxi. I think.” Hao smiles faintly at the memory. “It was a rough night. I’d just failed a course for the first time, and I didn’t know how to handle it.”

Hanbin’s expression softens. “That sounds tough, hyung. But failing once doesn’t mean you’re not good at what you do.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hao says, shrugging. “Still sucked, though.”

They fall into a comfortable rhythm, Hao eating while Hanbin asks more questions.

“So, did you drink anything other than the alcohol served?” Hanbin asks, grinning.

“Not really. I’m pretty basic when it comes to drinks. Beer, soju, whatever’s available,” Hao replies.

Hanbin nods. “What about food? Did you find any cool places to eat? Seoul has everything, right?”

“Yeah, there’s a lot,” Hao says, laughing. “I tried a few good places, but most of the time, I just went for street food. It’s cheap and fast.”

As Hao continues talking, Hanbin listens intently, his gaze warm and focused.

Hao finishes the omelette, but the conversation with Hanbin flows so naturally that he remains at the table, talking and laughing. The warmth of the kitchen, paired with Hanbin’s easygoing energy, eases some of the tension in his chest.

The sound of the front door opening pulls their attention, followed by a familiar voice.

“We’re back!” Jiwoong calls, his voice muffled by the rustle of grocery bags.

Hao stands instinctively, but before he can make his way to the door, Mr. Sung appears, moving swiftly to greet his wife. He reaches for one of the bags, but not before leaning in to kiss her on the cheek.

“Welcome home,” he says warmly.

Mrs. Sung swats him playfully, her cheeks flushing. “Not in front of the kids!” she scolds, though her smile betrays her amusement.

Hao finds himself smiling, too. Watching them reminds him of all the times he’d witnessed their affectionate banter growing up. As a kid, he would scrunch his nose in exaggerated disgust at their displays of affection, but now, as an adult, he finds it endearing.

They’re still so in love after all these years, Hao thinks, a faint pang of wistfulness tugging at his heart. Moments like these make him believe that love—real, enduring love—is possible if you find the right person.

“Ugh, gross,” Jiwoong mutters dramatically, wrinkling his nose as he steps past them with a bag in each hand. He turns to Hao with a grin. “Come on, let’s get these into the kitchen.”

Jiwoong drops the bags on the kitchen counter with a huff. “I don’t know why Mom insists we buy so much. It’s like she’s feeding an army.”

Hanbin, already at work organizing the groceries, glances up. “Because there’s a lot of us, genius. And you eat like two people on your own.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jiwoong says dismissively, grabbing another bag to unload. His eyes land on Hao’s empty plate at the table. “Wait a second. Did you cook?”

Hao shakes his head, suppressing a grin. “Hanbin made it for me.”

Jiwoong freezes, his expression a mixture of shock and betrayal. “You cooked for him? Are you kidding me, Hanbin? You never cook for me!”

Hanbin rolls his eyes. “You have hands, don’t you? I’m not your maid.”

Jiwoong scoffs, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. “Unbelievable. My own brother. You’re a traitor.”

“Cry about it,” Hanbin shoots back, wincing as Jiwoong lightly kicks him in the shin.

Hao can’t help but laugh at their antics. “I missed this,” he says, leaning back in his chair.

“Missed what?” Jiwoong asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Your endless bickering,” Hao replies with a grin. “It’s nice to know some things haven’t changed.”

Jiwoong smiles at him.

“By the way,” Jiwoong says, turning to Hanbin, “what’s the plan for tonight? Mom mentioned something about dinner.”

“Yeah, she wants to do hotpot,” Hanbin replies, placing a carton of eggs into the fridge.

“She said it’s a welcome-home thing for Hao hyung.”

Hao blinks in surprise. “You don’t have to make a big deal out of it.”

“Of course, we do,” Jiwoong says, grinning. “You’re returning, remember? Besides, it’s been forever since we’ve all had dinner together.”

Hanbin nods in agreement. “Mom’s been planning it all week. She even bought those fancy mushrooms you like.”

Hao feels his chest tighten slightly at their words, though not in a bad way. It’s overwhelming sometimes—the way the Sungs treat him like one of their own.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with gratitude.

Hanbin looks up, catching the expression on Hao’s face. He smiles softly, his usual playful energy momentarily replaced by something gentler. “You don’t have to thank us, hyung. You belong here.”

Jiwoong groans dramatically. “Alright, enough with the sappy stuff. Let’s finish up before Mom comes in and yells at us for doing it wrong.”

The moment passes, but the warmth lingers as they work together, the kitchen filled with the sounds of clinking dishes and lighthearted banter.

****

The dining table is a feast of ingredients laid out for hotpot, with bowls of thinly sliced beef, plates of fresh seafood, and trays piled high with colorful vegetables. There are stacks of glass noodles, tofu in every form imaginable, and delicate mushrooms that look like tiny umbrellas. The centerpiece is the steaming pot of bubbling broth, fragrant with garlic, ginger, and a hint of chili that makes Hao’s mouth water. He missed home made food.

“Sit, sit!” Mrs. Sung insists, practically pushing Hao into a chair.

He smiles, letting her fuss over him as she places a pair of chopsticks in his hand. Mr Sung, Jiwoong and Hanbin are already seated, Jiwoong piling his plate high while Hanbin quietly stirs the broth, his other hand resting casually on the table.

“Shall we start?” Mr Sung said, starting his usual challenge with Jiwoong over who could eat the most. “I hope you’re ready to lose again.”

“You’re too slow, Dad. I'll always be faster than you,” Jiwoong teases, grabbing a slice of beef and dropping it into the pot with exaggerated speed.

“Alright, bet”

Hao laughs, shaking his head, he missed this too.

Just as he’s deciding what to grab first, Mrs. Sung slides into the seat beside him, her chopsticks already moving with precision. “You’re not eating fast enough,” she scolds gently, piling his plate with vegetables before he can protest.

“Eat, Hao. You’re too thin,” she says, her tone firm but affectionate.

“I’m fine, Mama,” Hao protests, but it’s no use. She’s already dropping a piece of fish into the broth and scooping out tofu to add to his growing plate.

Across the table, Hanbin chuckles, his dimple deepening. “Just give up, hyung. She won’t stop until you’ve eaten half the table.”

Hao shoots him a mock glare but can’t help smiling. He picks up a piece of cabbage, dipping it into the broth before taking a bite. The warmth spreads through him immediately, the flavors rich and comforting in a way that feels healing.

The atmosphere is lively, as it always is in the Sung household. Jiwoong recounts a story about a mishap at the grocery store, his dramatic reenactment sending everyone into fits of laughter. Hanbin chimes in occasionally, his comments dry but perfectly timed, earning groans and laughs in equal measure.

Hao lets himself relax, leaning into the hum of conversation and the clinking of chopsticks against bowls. It’s a symphony of comfort, one that feels both familiar and precious.

“You’re not eating enough,” Mrs. Sung says suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“I’m eating plenty,” Hao insists, holding up his half-empty plate as proof.

She doesn’t look convinced. “You need more protein. Hanbin, pass me the shrimp.”

“Mama,” Hao starts, but she silences him with a look, her chopsticks already reaching for his plate.

Hanbin snickers as he hands over the shrimp. “You’re doomed, hyung.”

“Stop enjoying this.”

Despite his protests, Hao eats more than he intends to. The broth is too good to resist, and the constant stream of food from Mrs. Sung leaves him no choice.

By the time the meal winds down, Hao is leaning back in his chair, chopsticks resting on the edge of his bowl.

“I’m full,” he says, hoping the declaration will save him from another round.

“You’re young. You can eat more,” Mrs. Sung replies, waving him off.

Jiwoong laughs. “Give him a break, Mom. He’s practically falling asleep over there.”

“Fine, fine,” she relents, though not without sneaking a final piece of tofu into Hao’s bowl.

Hao takes the bite without complaint, smiling faintly to himself. He does feel full, but it’s not just the food. It’s the laughter around the table, the way Jiwoong teases his dad and Hanbin about how much they’ve eaten, the light touch of Mrs. Sung’s hand on his shoulder as she asks if he wants more broth.

Sitting here, surrounded by the Sungs’ chatter and care, Hao feels something he hasn’t in a long time: content. The weight of being alone, of a house filled with silence, feels far away. Here, there’s warmth. Here, there’s family.

Chapter Text

Hao sits on Jiwoong’s bed after dinner, staring at the ceiling and feeling the weight of boredom settle over him. He napped earlier, so there’s no chance of falling asleep anytime soon. Jiwoong, sprawled on the chair at his desk, swivels around to look at him.

“You look so bored, Hao,” Jiwoong says, clearly up to something. “Wanna go out tonight? Do something?”

Hao rolls onto his stomach, propping his chin on his hands. “It’s cold. Where would we even go?”

Jiwoong shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “There are places. We could hit up a bar, maybe see if anyone’s throwing a party.”

Hao sighs, his reluctance obvious. The thought of braving the cold night or being around a crowd of strangers feels like too much effort. “I don’t feel like going out.”

Jiwoong raises an eyebrow, studying him for a moment. “Alright, we’ll stay in,” he says casually, spinning back to his desk. “We can play games or something. Trade your boredom for losses.”

Hao laughs faintly, but instead of moving, he flops down fully on the bed, his arms spread out. “I don’t wanna get up.”

Jiwoong snorts. “You’re so dramatic.” He pauses, glancing at Hao again, and his tone softens. “By the way... is everything okay? You seem... I don’t know, off.”

Hao freezes for a moment, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. The question feels heavier than Jiwoong probably intended, and for a split second, he considers telling him the truth. Everything’s not fine. My entire life feels like it’s falling apart.

But based on the type of conversations they’d had before, Jiwoong wouldn’t know what to do with that kind of honesty, and Hao doesn’t want to make things awkward.

He forces a smile, sitting up halfway. “I’m fine,” he says lightly. “Just tired, I guess. Let’s play something.”

Jiwoong seems relieved, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Thank goodness. I was worried something bad happened.”

If only you knew.

Jiwoong grabs a controller from his desk and tosses it onto the bed beside Hao. “Alright, sit up. I’m gonna kick your ass tonight.”

Hao picks up the controller, settling into a cross-legged position. “You’re awfully confident for someone who gets salty when he loses.”

“That’s because I never lose,” Jiwoong retorts. He grabs his own controller and plops down on the floor in front of the TV. “Let’s do Mario Kart. I need to remind you who’s boss.”

The first race is a disaster for Hao.

“Seriously?” he groans as Jiwoong zooms past him on the final lap. “How did you even—what shortcut did you take?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Jiwoong replies smugly, his character crossing the finish line as fireworks burst across the screen.

Hao throws his hands up. “You cheated.”

“You just suck,” Jiwoong says, grinning.

They settle into a rhythm, bickering and laughing through race after race. Jiwoong’s victory streak is relentless, but Hao knows he’s definitely cheating somehow. This is what happens when he doesn’t play Mario Kart in a while, the old tricks no longer work, and Jiwoong is so mean, not even letting him win once.

During one of the races, Jiwoong turns to Hao, his expression casual, clearly trying to make small talk. “So, how’s your boyfriend?”

Hao’s stomach twists at the question, and he winces before he can stop himself. He hasn't told Jiwoong about the breakup yet.

He hesitates, weighing his options. He could tell Jiwoong the truth and risk breaking down right here in the middle of a game, or he could stick to the lie he’s been telling for the past three months and deal with it later.

The breakup itself doesn’t sting anymore—he’s over his ex, that scumbag didn’t deserve him anyway—but it’s everything else that came with it. The betrayal of finding out his ex had cheated was one thing, but the aftermath hurt more than he’d expected. The way his so-called friends, people he thought would stay, started disappearing one by one. He’d realized, too late, that they weren’t his friends—they were his ex’s. Not one of them worried about him, they all stayed by the side of the cheater.

That part still stings.

He forces a smile, gripping the controller a little tighter. “He’s fine. He went to his family home for winter break, and the Wi-Fi there is terrible, so we haven’t talked much.”

It’s a well-crafted lie, one inspired by the exact excuse his ex had given him months ago when he ghosted him. Jiwoong nods, seemingly satisfied. “Makes sense. I guess you’ll catch up when he’s back.”

“Yeah,” Hao says quickly, eager to change the subject.

Jiwoong nudges him with his foot. “Alright. Pick your next character. I’m not letting you off easy tonight.”

Hao exhales, his tension easing slightly as the conversation shifts back to the game. He focuses on the screen, determined to claw back at least one victory.

The night stretches on, filled with the clattering of buttons, shouts of victory, and groans of defeat. Jiwoong remains undefeated for most of the night, and he makes sure Hao knows it.

“Come on, Hao. Is that the best you’ve got?” Jiwoong teases, laughing as Hao’s character spins out on a banana peel.

“You’re a terrible person,” Hao mutters, though there’s no real heat in his voice.

It’s after midnight by the time Jiwoong throws his controller onto the desk with a triumphant sigh. “Alright, I’m calling it. You’re not getting your revenge tonight. Get out so I can sleep.”

Hao chuckles, standing and stretching. “You’re just scared I’ll win if we keep going.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” Jiwoong says, and Hao makes a face at him before leaving the room.

Hao makes his way down the stairs to his room, the faint creaks of the old wooden steps echoing in the quiet house. The layout of the Sungs’ home is familiar after all these years; Jiwoong and their parents’ bedrooms are upstairs, while his temporary room is downstairs along with Hanbin’s. The thought makes him smile—Hanbin’s room has always been on the same level as the guest room, and he remembers Hanbin coming to play in his room whenever he was staying the night.

Just as Hao reaches the bottom step, a door creaks open, and Hanbin steps out of his room, a water bottle in hand.

“Oh! Hyung, you’re still up?” Hanbin asks, his tone surprised but cheerful.

Hao grins. “Yeah, I was playing games with your brother.”

Hanbin chuckles. “Let me guess—he wiped the floor with you?”

“Unfortunately,” Hao admits with a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “What about you? Where are you off to at this hour?”

Hao’s eyes drop to the water bottle in Hanbin’s hand, and Hanbin catches his glance. “Night run,” Hanbin replies casually, lifting the bottle slightly as if to emphasize his point. “I couldn’t sleep, and it helps sometimes.”

“A run? At this hour?”

Hanbin shrugs. “It’s peaceful. No one’s around to bother you.”

“Sounds nice, but I’m not much of a runner,” Hao says. “Maybe a walk, though.”

Hanbin’s face brightens. “A walk sounds good. Want to come?”

Hao thinks about it for a minute, it’s not like he will actually sleep once he gets to his room, probably just lay down with his thoughts until he dozes off.

“Sure,” He agrees, already turning toward his room. “Give me a minute to change.”

Hao rummages through his suitcase, pulling out a pair of gray sweatpants and a simple white shirt. He changes quickly, running a hand through his hair to make it somewhat presentable and grabbing a jacket before stepping back into the hallway.

When he emerges, Hanbin’s eyes immediately drop to his outfit. The look lingers a beat too long, and when Hao clears his throat, Hanbin snaps his gaze back up, looking slightly flustered.

“Is there something on my pants?” Hao asks, with concern as he looks down at himself.

“N-nothing,” Hanbin says quickly, turning on his heel. “Nothing at all. Let’s go.”

Hao bites back a smile, amused by Hanbin’s reaction, and falls into step behind him. Cute, he thinks to himself, though he keeps the thought private.

The cold night air greets them as they step outside, crisp and quiet under the faint glow of streetlights. The world feels still, like it’s holding its breath, and their footsteps crunch softly against the paved pathway.

Hanbin walks ahead, but he turns slightly to glance at Hao. “Remember that alley over there?” he asks, pointing to a narrow street lined with closed shops.

Hao looks over, his expression softening as the memory surfaces. “Yeah, that’s where we used to play tag, right?”

“Uh-huh. You always won, though,” Hanbin says, a mock pout crossing his lips..

“That’s because you’d always stop to laugh whenever someone tripped,” Hao teases, nudging him lightly.

Hanbin laughs, his dimples flashing. “Okay, but what about there?” He points to a small patch of asphalt near the park entrance. “That’s where you tried to teach me how to ride a bike and I fell. Twice.”

“Three times,” Hao corrects, grinning. “And I bought you candy to stop you from crying.”

Hanbin laughs, his cheeks turning faintly pink. “You didn’t have to. I was just being dramatic.”

“Pretty sure half the town could hear you wailing,” Hao says with a smirk.

Hanbin groans, covering his face with one hand. “Stop bringing that up. I was, like, seven.”

Hao chuckles. “Fair enough.”

They continue walking, passing familiar landmarks that spark more shared memories. At one point, Hanbin gestures toward a dark alley. “And there—remember when those middle school kids tried to mess with me? You showed up like some action hero and scared them off.”

Hao raises an eyebrow. “Action hero? They had water guns, and I just told them to leave you alone. You’re acting like I fought off a gang or something.”

“You were very amazing that day,” Hanbin says, looking genuinely impressed. His cheeks flush slightly as he adds, “I never forgot that.”

Hao feels a warmth spread through him at the sincerity in Hanbin’s voice, but he brushes it off with a casual shrug. “Well, someone had to look out for you.”

Eventually, they reach the park. It’s quiet, the playground still and the swings swaying faintly in the breeze. They find a bench near the fountain and sit down, the chill of the metal seat seeping through their clothes.

Hanbin takes a sip from his water bottle before glancing at Hao. “So, hyung... why are you staying at our house during your break? Don’t you usually spend it at home?”

Hao hesitates, the question hanging in the cold air between them. He fiddles with the hem of his sweatpants, debating how much to say. Finally, he exhales softly, looking out at the darkened park.

“Have you ever felt like... things aren’t going the way you expected?” Hao starts, his voice quiet. “And you can’t help but blame yourself because you think maybe you did something to cause it?”

Hanbin turns to him, his brow furrowed, concern evident in his eyes. He doesn’t speak, but the look on his face says enough—he’s listening.

Hao notices the sadness in Hanbin’s expression and quickly forces a smile, standing up from the bench. “I shouldn’t bother you with boring grown-up problems,” he says lightly, brushing his hands together.

Hanbin stands up from the bench too, brushing snow off his pants before walking further into the park. Hao follows him. The swing set creaks faintly as he grabs one of the chains and sits down, the metal seat clearly icy beneath him. He looks over his shoulder at Hao with a grin.

“Push me,” he says, his tone light and playful.

Hao blinks at him, raising an eyebrow. “What are you, five? Who plays on a swing in the middle of winter?”

Hanbin pouts, the expression exaggerated but undeniably effective. “You used to push me all the time when we were kids. Come on, hyung. For old times’ sake?”

Hao sighs but he walks over to the swing anyway. The metal chains are freezing to the touch, and his fingers tingle as he grabs hold. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“Push harder,” Hanbin says, laughing as Hao gives him a light push.

The swing moves gently at first, but Hao pushes a little harder, sending Hanbin higher. The rhythmic squeak of the chains blends with the quiet of the park, and despite himself, Hao feels his mood lighten. His mind is still heavy, but the simple act of pushing the swing feels... grounding.

“Better?” Hao asks after a while, his voice soft.

Hanbin tilts his head back to look at him, his face flushed from the cold but his smile wide. “Yep. You?”

Hao pauses, realizing that he does feel a little better. “Yeah. Thanks.”

As Hanbin swings, Hao’s thoughts drift to another memory.

Years ago, in this very park, he had been sitting on the same bench, tears streaming down his face after another fight between his parents. He hadn’t known where else to go, so he’d ended up here, burying his face in his hands and trying to keep quiet.

Hanbin, maybe seven or eight at the time, had found him.

“Hyung?” Hanbin’s small voice had been laced with worry. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” Hao had muttered, sniffling and wiping his face.

Hanbin had stood in front of him, his round cheeks flushed from running around the park. “You’re lying.” He had paused, looking thoughtful, before suddenly pulling a ridiculous face—his mouth stretched wide and his eyes crossed in an exaggerated expression of shock.

The absurdity of it had caught Hao off guard, and a laugh had escaped before he could stop it.

“There!” Hanbin had said triumphantly, grinning. “Now you’re not sad anymore.”

Even back then, Hanbin had noticed things about Hao that most people didn’t. Hao wonders now, as he watches Hanbin swing back and forth, why they hadn’t stayed in touch when he went to university. It wouldn’t have been hard—just a call, a text. Something to let Hanbin know he hadn’t forgotten about him.

The thought fills Hao with a pang of guilt. Why didn’t he reach out?

But deep down, Hao knows why.

At some point during their teenage years, Hanbin had started acting… different around him. The way his cheeks flushed at every little thing Hao said, the way he laughed a little too hard at even his worst jokes—it wasn’t hard to figure out. Hao isn’t dumb; he knows what a crush looks like.

Hanbin was just a teenager then, barely stepping into adulthood. It made sense he’d have an infatuation with someone he looked up to.

Hao didn’t want to encourage it or give Hanbin any false hope, so he quietly put some space between them. Instead of going straight to their house to see Jiwoong or Mrs Sung, Hao started meeting Jiwoong outside, and visiting Mrs Sung at her cafe.

Hao knew whatever crush Hanbin had would pass eventually and putting distance made it easier. That’s what Hao told himself, anyway.

Eventually, Hanbin drags his feet in the snow to slow the swing, hopping off and brushing his hands against his pants. “We should probably head back,” he says. “It’s freezing out here.”

Hao nods, falling into step beside him as they start walking home. The cold bites at their faces, but their pace is steady, their breaths visible in the frosty air.

When they reach the house and stop in front of their rooms, Hanbin turns to Hao, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

“Hyung,” he says, hesitating for a moment before continuing, “when I said you were cool for saving me from those bullies... I meant it. But, I also still think you’re incredible even now.”

Hao blinks, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. “What?”

Hanbin scratches the back of his neck, his cheeks pink—though whether it’s from the cold or something else, Hao can’t tell. “I mean it. You went to Seoul all on your own, worked so hard, and—” He hesitates again, meeting Hao’s eyes. “Hyung, you’re like my role model. I look up to you. And no matter what you’re going through, just know... I’ll always have this image of you. You’re the best, no matter what.”

The sincerity in Hanbin’s voice hits Hao like a punch to the gut. He opens his mouth to respond, but the words catch in his throat.

“Goodnight, hyung,” Hanbin says, offering a small smile before slipping into his room and closing the door behind him.

Hao stands frozen for a moment, staring at the closed door. The lump in his throat grows, and he quickly retreats into his own room, shutting the door and leaning against it as his composure crumbles.

He sinks onto the floor, burying his face in his hands as tears spill over. He doesn’t see himself as incredible or admirable—not even close. If anything, he feels like he’s barely holding himself together, pretending to be strong when he’s breaking apart inside.

It’s hard.

But hearing Hanbin’s words, knowing that someone sees him that way—it’s both comforting and overwhelming at the same time.

Hao doesn’t know how long he sits there, letting the tears come, but eventually, the weight in his chest feels a little lighter. He wipes his face, takes a deep breath, and walks to his bed, crawling under the blankets.

For tonight, at least, he lets himself feel the warmth of being cared for, even if he doesn’t think he deserves it.

****

The next morning, Hao stirs awake to the sound of his door creaking open. Jiwoong’s voice cuts through the haze of sleep.

“Get up, lazybones. Breakfast is ready.”

Hao groans, rolling over to bury his face in the pillow. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Jiwoong says firmly, stepping further into the room. “You’re under the Sung roof now. Breakfast isn’t optional. Plus, you don’t want to miss Mom’s pancakes.”

At the mention of pancakes, Hao sighs and sits up, rubbing his eyes. “Fine, fine. I’m coming.”

“Good.” Jiwoong smirks. “You look like a mess, by the way. Fix that.”

Hao throws a pillow at him as Jiwoong ducks out of the room, laughing.

By the time Hao joins the family at the dining table, the spread is already impressive. There are fluffy pancakes, neatly sliced fruit, bowls of steaming rice, side dishes, and even a pot of soup. The Sungs sit in their usual spots, chatting and passing plates to one another, and the lively energy of the room instantly makes Hao feel lighter.

He takes a seat, murmuring a polite good morning, and Mrs. Sung immediately starts piling food onto his plate.

“Eat up, Hao.” she says, placing a pancake in front of him with a motherly fuss.

“Good morning to you too, Mama,” Hao says, amused.

Breakfast at the Sungs’ has always been one of his favorite things. At home, breakfast was usually quiet—just him and his mom when she wasn’t traveling, or him alone if she was off on one of her many trips. His dad was rarely around, and even when he was, they never sat down together as a family.

But here, at the Sungs’ house, breakfast feels alive. The table is filled with laughter, teasing, and the kind of warm chaos that Hao always thought family meals should have. It’s no wonder this place feels more like home to him than his own house ever did.

“Hanbin-ah,” Mrs. Sung says, pointing her chopsticks at her youngest son. “Instead of getting a job at the ice skating rink, why didn’t you come work at my cafe? I would have paid you, you know.”

Hanbin snorts, reaching for another pancake. “Would you, though?”

Jiwoong bursts into laughter. “Yeah, right. Like you paid me the last time I worked for you.”

“That was different!” Mrs. Sung protests, swatting Jiwoong lightly on the arm. “I’m your mother. You were helping out the family.”

Hao can’t help but laugh, remembering the time Jiwoong called him in a fit of frustration, complaining about his “work no pay” situation.

“You were so mad,” Hao says, grinning at Jiwoong.

“Wouldn’t you be?” Jiwoong replies, shaking his head. “I busted my butt for weeks and didn’t see a single won.”

Hanbin laughs, shaking his head. “It’s not about the money, though. It’s about loyalty. Matthew, Gyuvin, Taerae, and I decided on the rink job together. I couldn’t ditch them.”

“Ah, so it’s the power of friendship, huh?” Jiwoong teases.

“Exactly.” Hanbin nods, completely serious.

Mr. Sung chuckles, standing and pushing his chair back. “Alright, son, have fun at the rink. I’m headed to work.”

“Eat some more before you go, yeobo,” Mrs. Sung says, nudging a plate toward him.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Mr. Sung says, smiling fondly as he leans down to kiss her cheek. “You take care, okay? Bye, everyone.”

As the table settles back into a steady rhythm of eating and chatting, Mrs. Sung turns her attention to Hao. “What about you, Hao? What are your plans for today?”

“I’ll hang out with Jiwoong hyung,” Hao replies without missing a beat.

“No, you won’t. I have work at the community center today.”

Hao gasps, setting his chopsticks down dramatically. “You traitor! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jiwoong shrugs. “You can come with me if you want. I’ll even let you help me with my share of the work.”

“Absolutely not,” Hao says, crossing his arms. “I’d rather stay home all day.”

Jiwoong laughs. “Suit yourself. But you’re going to get bored.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Hao retorts, sticking his tongue out.

“Alright, alright,” Jiwoong says, grinning as he gets up from the table. “We’ll hang out in the evening, then.”

“Don’t forget! You promised,” Hao says, narrowing his eyes.

Jiwoong waves him off, disappearing toward the stairs.

As Hao finishes his meal, Mrs. Sung places another pancake on his plate, despite his protests.

“Mama, this is too much,” he complains, though he doesn’t stop eating.

“Eat, eat,” she insists, her tone leaving no room for argument. “If you get bored in the house today, come by the cafe. I’ll put you to work.”

Hao laughs, shaking his head. “You’re determined to keep me busy, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” she says with a smile, ruffling his hair as she clears some of the empty dishes from the table.

****

The faint creak of the front door closing echoes through the quiet house. Hao hears it from his room, followed by the muffled sound of voices as everyone says their goodbyes. First, Mrs. Sung leaves for work, then Hanbin heads to the ice skating rink, and finally Jiwoong leaves for his job at the community center but not before asking Hao once again to join him—to which Hao said no, of course.

When the last sound of the door closing fades, Hao realizes the house is completely silent.

He sighs, lying back on his bed and staring at the ceiling. “Great. Just me.”

After a few minutes of aimless scrolling on his phone, he decides to get up and do something, anything. A bath, maybe. That’s productive enough.

The bathroom on the lower floor is cozy, with pale tiles and a faint citrusy scent that Hao associates with the Sungs. It’s the one he shares with Hanbin, and he smirks faintly at the neatly folded towels on the rack. Of course, Hanbin’s are all in neutral tones, perfectly stacked, while his own towel—a soft blue—stands out like an uninvited guest.

He fills the tub, the sound of water filling the space offering a brief reprieve from the silence. Once it’s ready, he sinks into the warm water, letting out a contented sigh. His mind wanders as he soaks, replaying bits of last night’s conversation with Hanbin.

You’re the best, no matter what.

The memory brings a soft smile to his lips before he shakes his head, splashing the water lightly. Stop thinking too much, Hao.

After his bath, he wraps himself in a towel, heads back to his room, and changes into comfy clothes—a pair of black joggers and a light pink sweatshirt that smells faintly of fabric softener.

Skincare is next. Hao sets his phone on the bathroom counter, selecting his girl group playlist. The upbeat intro of a familiar song fills the room as he applies cleanser to his face, humming along before breaking into a full lip-sync performance.

“I’m the main dancer, the main vocalist, the visual,” Hao declares to the empty bathroom, striking a pose as the song swells.

He dabs toner onto a cotton pad, holding it like a microphone. “You’re amazing, Zhang Hao,” he says dramatically, pretending to interview himself. “How do you manage to look this good every day?”

“Oh, you know,” he replies in a lower voice, spinning the toner bottled in his hand like a microphone. “Just good genes and a ten-step routine.”

The song transitions to another track, and Hao twirls, catching his reflection in the mirror. “I should’ve been an idol,” he says with a sigh, applying moisturizer with exaggerated flair.

By the time he finishes, his skin glows, but only an hour has passed.

“Ugh,” Hao groans, dragging himself back to his room. What now?

The hours crawl by, dragging Hao along with them. He sprawls on the bed, propping his chin on his hand as he scrolls through his e-reader, trying to make progress in the danmei novel he’s been obsessed with lately.

The story is gripping—a complex love triangle, forbidden romance, and enough angst to keep him hooked. He’s devouring chapter after chapter, eager to see how it all resolves. And then, just as he reaches the end of the latest chapter, he’s greeted by a dreaded author’s note.

I’ll be back soon with the next update! Thanks for your patience!

“What?” Hao sits up, staring at the screen in disbelief. “That’s it? That’s where you’re leaving me?”

He groans loudly, flopping back onto the bed and holding the device above his head. Why do I always do this to myself? I should’ve checked if it was completed first.

Next, he turns to movies.

Hao scrolls through endless recommendations, clicking on trailers and reading summaries, only to reject one after another. Too boring. Too sad. Too romantic.

He finally settles on a rom-com he’s seen at least three times.

Halfway through the movie, though, his attention begins to waver. The characters are in the middle of an argument about whether they should confess their feelings, but Hao is already zoning out, scrolling through his phone absentmindedly.

He flicks through Instagram stories, catching up on the latest K-pop updates from creators he follows. It’s his usual comfort routine—something familiar and mindless to pass the time. But as he taps through the stories, one catches his attention, and his chest tightens.

It’s from one of his old friends in Seoul.

The story is a series of videos from last night: the entire friend group at a club, laughing, drinking, dancing together. Hao’s stomach twists. They look like they’re having the time of their lives, as if he never even existed.

He keeps scrolling, even though it stings. He can’t help himself. It’s like pressing on a bruise, knowing it’ll hurt but doing it anyway.

Then, he comes across a video that makes his breath catch.

It’s his ex. Kissing one of his friends—no, ex-friends—Jaehyuk. The same ex who, just yesterday, had texted him asking to meet up, like he’s been doing for months now.

The video is loud and chaotic, but the image is clear: Jaehyuk and his ex at the club, tangled together like they’re the only two people in the room. In the background, the girl recording the video, Eunbi, is cheering them on, hyping them up like it’s the most romantic thing she’s ever seen.

Hao feels a sharp sting in his chest.

Jaehyuk. He thought Jaehyuk was one of the good ones. Back when Hao first joined the group, Jaehyuk was the one who made him feel included, who went out of his way to make him laugh and feel at ease. And now? He’s here, kissing the same person who cheated on Hao, looking like he couldn’t care less about the history between them.

Eunbi’s words from months ago echo in his mind: You and your boyfriend look so perfect together. Now she’s recording his ex locking lips with someone else, acting like nothing ever happened.

Hao’s thoughts spiral, and he feels the sting of tears building. His thumb hovers over the screen, but before he can fall deeper into the rabbit hole, he exits Instagram and shuts off his phone with a shaky breath.

Fuck them.

He won’t cry. He refuses to.

Reaching for his laptop, he pauses the movie he isn’t even watching anymore and tosses it onto the bed beside him. This isn’t working.

By mid-afternoon, Hao is sitting on the couch in the living room, staring out the window. The snow outside glows faintly under the pale winter sun, the sounds of cars moving fills his ear. He sent a text to his mom asking how everything is but still no reply. He knows she’s probably busy.

He sighs again, thinking to himself. I should’ve gone with Jiwoong. At least then I’d have something to do.

But the thought of doing community center work doesn’t exactly fill him with enthusiasm. Instead, he grabs a blanket and wraps it around himself like a cocoon, flipping through channels on the TV.

The ache in his chest lingers but for now he focuses on keeping warm, at least till someone comes home and distracts him.

Hours pass, and by the time the front door finally creaks open again, Hao almost jumps off the couch.

“Hao?” Jiwoong says and relief washes over him.

“Finally,” Hao mutters, stretching his arms. “I was starting to think I’d be bored forever.”

“You won’t believe the things I went through today,” Jiwoong says, stepping inside with a dramatic sigh. He shrugs off his coat, his hair slightly windswept from the cold. “The kids I had to babysit at the community center nearly drove me insane. Do you know how hard it is to organize an indoor dodgeball game when no one listens to you?”

Hao glances up, smirking. “Sounds like your dream job.”

“Ha ha,” Jiwoong says flatly, tossing his coat onto the couch. “Seriously, I deserve some kind of medal for patience after today.”

“Poor Jiwoong hyung,” Hao says, crossing his legs. “So, what are we doing tonight? More dodgeball?”

“Haha, so funny.” Jiwoong rolls his eyes, pointing at Hao. “Get dressed. We’re going to a party.”

“A party?” Hao repeats, raising an eyebrow.

Jiwoong nods. “Yeah. You’ve been moping around the house all day. I’m not letting you stay cooped up another minute. Trust me, it’ll be fun.”

Hao crosses his arms, leaning back slightly. “What kind of party are we talking about here? Your school friends crammed into someone’s house, trying not to wake the neighbors? Or a restaurant where everyone’s drinking and eating until they pass out?”

Jiwoong snickers, shrugging. “You’ll see. Just go get ready. You’ll thank me later.”

Hao eyes him skeptically but the memory of his long, uneventful day makes the decision for him. “Fine,” he says with a sigh. “But if it’s boring, I’m coming straight back home.”

“Deal,” Jiwoong says, already heading for the stairs. “Just don’t take forever. We’re leaving soon.”

Hao heads to his room, standing in front of his suitcase hands on his hips, debating what to wear. If he’s going to a party, he doesn’t want to look like the mess he feels inside.

He finally settles on a pair of baggy brown jeans and a soft pink sweater, the fabric loose enough to feel comfortable but stylish enough to make a statement. Pulling them on, he smooths out the sweater and glances at himself in the mirror.

Not bad.

But not enough.

He sits at the small desk in his room, pulling out his makeup bag and setting his phone up to play some music. A soft melody fills the air as he reaches for his foundation. Dabbing a light layer onto his face, he watches his reflection carefully, covering the faint shadows under his eyes with practiced precision.

He forces a light smile out, hoping it doesn’t show how miserable he truly feels. The person in the mirror looks very sad—nothing like him.

He keeps staring for what feels like forever before shaking himself off and focusing on blending the foundation seamlessly. Next, he dabs a soft peach blush onto his cheeks, adding a bit of life back into his face.

“Are you done yet?” Jiwoong’s voice cuts through the quiet, muffled by the door.

“Almost!” Hao yells back, his tone edged with annoyance. He grabs his eyeliner, steadying his hand as he applies a precise wing to each eye.

He steps back to admire his work, finishing with a swipe of lip balm that leaves his lips looking soft and natural. Reaching for his favorite perfume, he spritzes it lightly onto his wrists and neck, the familiar scent grounding him.

Standing in front of the mirror, he adjusts the hem of his sweater and runs a hand through his parted hair. Okay. Let’s do this.

When he steps out of his room, Jiwoong is waiting by the door, his foot tapping impatiently.

“Finally,” Jiwoong says, exasperated. “We’re going to be late.”

Hao rolls his eyes. “Relax. I’m sure the party is just starting.”

Jiwoong smirks, swinging his keys. “You’d be surprised.”

The drive to the outskirts of Cheonan feels longer than it probably is, the dimly lit roads stretching endlessly ahead. But Jiwoong keeps the mood light, turning up the volume on the car stereo and singing along to their favorite songs.

“Remember this one?” Jiwoong asks, grinning as he cranks up the volume on an old pop anthem.

Hao laughs, the familiar melody tugging at memories of summers past. “Of course. You played it on repeat for months.”

“And you loved every second of it,” Jiwoong says smugly, bobbing his head to the beat.

“Debatable,” Hao replies, though he can’t help smiling as the chorus kicks in. He joins in, their voices filling the car as they belt out the lyrics together.

By the time they pull up to the house, Hao feels energy buzzing through his veins, his usual sluggishness temporarily lifted. Jiwoong parks and turns off the car as Hao glances out the window to see where they are.

The house is large, its windows glowing with warm light, and the faint thrum of music can already be heard from outside. It’s in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and quiet roads—no wonder they can make as much noise as they want.

“Come on,” Jiwoong says, hopping out of the car and slamming the door shut behind him.

Hao follows, wrapping his arms around himself as the cold night air bites at his exposed skin. The faint pulse of music reaches them even before Jiwoong presses the doorbell.

He stands in front of the small camera above the door, waving once before there’s a faint click, and the door swings open.

“After you,” Jiwoong says with a grin, stepping aside to let Hao go first.

The moment Hao steps inside, he’s hit with a sensory overload.

The house is packed, bodies swaying to the heavy bass of the music blasting from unseen speakers. Fairy lights crisscross the ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the crowd, and the air is thick with the mingling scents of alcohol, food, and perfume. The noise—the chatter, the laughter, the occasional screams—fills every corner, leaving no space for quiet.

It’s exactly what Hao expected and yet somehow more overwhelming.

“Alright,” Jiwoong says, clapping Hao on the back with a grin. “Have fun. I’m going to find someone.”

“Wait—what?” Hao turns to him, startled, but Jiwoong is already weaving through the throng of people, his figure disappearing in seconds.

“Traitor,” Hao mutters under his breath, his voice drowned out by the music.

He takes a cautious step forward, clutching the strap of his bag for comfort. The party is in full swing, with groups of people around his age laughing, drinking, and swaying to the music. Hao tries to blend in, but the noise and the sheer energy of the room feel like they’re closing in on him.

His chest tightens as he scans the crowd, trying to find a corner where he can breathe. Groups of strangers press closer, their conversations indistinct but loud enough to rattle his nerves. Hao steps to the side, leaning against the wall to steady himself.

He’s trying to calm the rush of anxiety when he suddenly notices a figure cutting through the crowd.

Hanbin.

It’s like everything else disappears.

The noise, the crowd, the overwhelming energy of the party—all of it fades into the background as Hao’s attention locks onto Hanbin. His broad shoulders seem to part the crowd effortlessly, his movements unhurried but purposeful.

Hanbin’s presence feels almost larger than life, commanding the space around him without even trying. His posture is relaxed, his head tilting slightly as he greets someone in passing, and when his gaze shifts toward Hao, a dimpled smile spreads across his face.

The tension in Hao’s chest eases seeing Hanbin, one person he knows.

“Hyung,” Hanbin yells as he approaches, his voice cutting through the noise like it was meant just for Hao.

For a moment, Hao doesn’t respond, too focused on the way Hanbin’s smile lights up his face. The energy of the room is still there, pulsing and chaotic, but it feels muted now, like Hanbin is the only thing Hao can see clearly.

“Hyung, are you okay?” Hao thinks he hears Hanbin say.

Chapter Text

“Hyung, are you okay?” Hao thinks he hears Hanbin say.

“What?” Hao shouts, leaning closer to catch the words.

Hanbin steps even closer, his lips almost brushing Hao’s ear as he repeats himself. “I said, hyung, is everything okay?”

“Oh,” Hao says, startled by the closeness but quickly recovering. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I just... don’t know anyone here.”

Hanbin steps back slightly, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You know me.”

The words are simple, but the way Hanbin says it makes Hao smile. Before Hao can respond, Hanbin reaches out, taking Hao’s hand in his own.

“Come on,” Hanbin says, tugging lightly. “Follow me.”

Hao lets himself be pulled through the crowd, Hanbin’s hand steady and sure around his. The noise and chaos of the party blur into the background, and Hao focuses on the feeling of Hanbin’s palm against his.

I should be the one taking care of Hanbinnie, Hao thinks, his gaze fixed on the back of Hanbin’s head as they weave through the throng of people. But maybe... maybe it feels nice being led like this.

They finally stop at a staircase tucked into a quieter corner of the house. Hanbin releases Hao’s hand and sits down on one of the steps, patting the space beside him.

Hao sits down, stretching his legs out slightly and leaning against the railing.

“Where’s Jiwoong hyung?” Hanbin asks, looking around as if expecting him to appear out of nowhere.

Hao rolls his eyes. “He abandoned me the second we got here. Classic Jiwoong behavior.”

Hanbin frowns, his expression darkening. “He just left you? When he was your ride and everything?”

“It’s not that serious,” Hao says quickly, noticing the way Hanbin’s jaw tightens. “He probably just assumed I’d be fine. You know how he is.”

Hanbin doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he relaxes slightly, leaning back against the steps. “Still, he shouldn’t have done that.”

Hao studies Hanbin for a moment, realizing something. “Wait a second—what are you doing here? Baby Hanbinnie at a party?”

Hanbin glances at him, his brows furrowing slightly. “I’m not a baby, hyung.”

Hao laughs at the deadpan response, but when Hanbin doesn’t join in, his laughter falters. He looks down, pretending to find the tile pattern interesting.

“So, why did you come?” Hanbin asks, smoothly redirecting the conversation.

“Jiwoong invited me and I was bored,” Hao replies, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Why? Is seeing me so surprising?”

Hanbin tilts his head. “A little. I didn’t even know Jiwoong hyung was here.”

“Apparently he is,” Hao says with a shrug.

Hanbin mutters something under his breath, but Hao catches it anyway. “Taerae must have invited him.”

“Taerae?” Hao asks, intrigued.

Hanbin sighs, his expression shifting into one of exasperation. “Taerae is one of my friends. He’s working at the ice rink with me too, I told you, remember?”

Hao nods. Hanbin mentioned the ice rink and his friends, yeah.

“He has this massive crush on Jiwoong hyung, so he’ll do anything to be in the same space as him. It’s exhausting.”

Hao chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, I get it. It’s like your best friend having a crush on your brother. That must be so weird for you.”

He turns to look at Hanbin, expecting him to laugh along, but Hanbin’s face is serious, his gaze fixed on the floor, avoiding eye contact.

“What? No reaction?” Hao’s smile falters. “You used to laugh at everything I said.”

Hanbin looks up, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes that makes Hao feel like he’s missed something important. The silence stretches for a moment before Hanbin stands, brushing invisible dust off his pants.

“Come on,” Hanbin says, offering a hand to help Hao up. “I’ll introduce you to my friends.”

Hanbin leads Hao deeper into the house, past clusters of people laughing and shouting over the music. A living room comes into view, where a group of five boys are sprawled across a large couch, deep in conversation and drinking.

The first thing Hao notices is the tall guy in the middle of a heated back-and-forth with a strikingly pretty blonde. Their voices rise above the din of the party, the tall one gesturing wildly while the blonde smirks, clearly enjoying whatever argument they’re having.

Next to them, a dark-haired guy with a mature air about him has one hand casually slipped under the shirt of a shorter boy seated beside him. The shorter one doesn’t seem to mind—he’s too busy laughing at something he’s saying to another boy with the most adorable dimples Hao has ever seen. The dimpled guy is grinning so wide it’s contagious.

As soon as the tall one spots Hanbin, he jumps up and rushes over, throwing his arms around Hanbin’s shoulders. “Hyung! Where have you been? Ricky’s being mean to me again!”

Hanbin pokes the taller boy’s cheek with a wide smile. “Baby, I’m sure you started it.”

Hao freezes, his mind stuttering over one word. Baby?

His gaze flickers to Hanbin’s hand, which is now resting comfortably on the tall guy’s waist. He feels a momentary shock ripple through him. Wait—Hanbin has a boyfriend now?

Why didn’t Jiwoong mention this? Then again, it’s not like Hao ever asked about Hanbin... which makes him feel a twinge of guilt.

Hanbin, seemingly unaware of Hao’s inner turmoil, turns to the group and starts introducing everyone. “Hao hyung, this is Ricky, we’re in his house,” he says, gesturing to the pretty blonde who nods in acknowledgment.

“This big baby here,” Hanbin continues, patting the butt of the tall one still clinging to him, “is Gyuvin.”

Hao stares. So this is Hanbin’s boyfriend.

Hanbin moves on, pointing to the dark-haired guy with his hand still under the shorter boy’s shirt. “That’s Gunwook, and his boyfriend, Matthew.”

Hao’s eyes flick between the two, trying not to laugh at how blatantly Gunwook is groping Matthew in front of everyone.

“And that’s Taerae,” Hanbin finishes, gesturing toward the guy with the dimples, who’s smiling so warmly it feels like a hug.

Hao exchanges a quick glance with Hanbin, who gives him a faint smile. Ah, Hao thinks. So this is the one with the crush on Jiwoong.

“And this,” Hanbin says, turning to the group, “is Hao hyung. He’s my childhood and family friend.”

At that, all five faces light up in recognition, but it’s Matthew who speaks first, leaning forward with an excited grin. “Zhang Hao?”

Hao blinks, confused. “Uh... I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

Matthew shakes his head, his grin widening. “Nope, but I know you.”

The way he says it, coupled with the weird smile on his face, makes Hao feel slightly self-conscious. The rest of the group snickers, clearly sharing some inside joke Hao isn’t privy to.

Hao turns to Hanbin, silently questioning him with a raised eyebrow.

Hanbin, however, is glaring at the group, his jaw tightening as his eyes narrow dangerously. It’s a sharp, intense expression that seems completely at odds with the usually sweet and easygoing Hanbin. For a split second, the shift in his demeanor makes Hao pause.

Damn, Hao thinks before he can stop himself. He looked kinda hot just now.

When Hanbin turns back to Hao, though, his expression softens into a sweet smile. “Don’t mind them, hyung,” Hanbin says smoothly.

Before Hao can reply, Taerae suddenly perks up, his dimples deepening. “That means you’re Jiwoong hyung’s best friend, right?”

Hao nods. “Yes, I am.”

Taerae’s face lights up, and before Hao can process it, Taerae is on his feet, grabbing his wrist and dragging him toward the couch. “Come sit!” he says enthusiastically, gesturing for Hao to take a seat beside him.

Hao can’t help but find it amusing. Taerae’s warmth is infectious, and Hao feels himself relaxing. He notices how everyone else seems paired off—Hanbin and Gyuvin, Matthew and Gunwook—leaving just Ricky and Taerae. Ricky seems shy, barely making eye contact, but Taerae’s friendly energy makes Hao feel at ease.

As soon as Hao sits, Gyuvin plops down beside him, his long legs stretched out as he leans closer.

“How’s Seoul?” Gyuvin asks eagerly. “What’s your school like? Is it as crazy as people say?”

Hao blinks, caught off guard by the rapid-fire questions. “Um—”

“Gyuvin-ah, free him,” Hanbin interrupts, rolling his eyes as he sits down across from them.

Gyuvin pouts, but Hanbin leans forward, his expression softening as he glances at Hao. “He’s like an excited puppy, isn’t he? Isn’t he cute?”

Hao chuckles, nodding. “Yeah, he’s cute.”

Gyuvin perks up immediately, a bright smile spreading across his face. “See, hyung likes me!”

Hanbin shakes his head, clearly amused, before standing up. “I’m going to grab drinks. Be right back, hyung.”

As Hanbin disappears into the crowd, Hao leans back against the couch, already feeling a little overwhelmed by the group’s energy. The group turns their full attention to Hao, their curiosity almost palpable. Hao can feel their gazes settling on him, and he shifts slightly in his seat, not used to being in the spotlight like this.

“So, what’s your course of study?” Gunwook asks, his tone polite but genuinely interested.

“Landscape Architecture,” Hao replies, sitting up straighter.

Gunwook’s face lights up immediately, his eyes widening with excitement. “No way! I’m studying Architectural Engineering!”

Hao’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “Really? That’s pretty close to my field. A lot of overlap, actually.”

Gunwook nods enthusiastically. “Exactly! If I’d gotten into Seoul National University, we’d probably be in the same department.”

The sincerity in his tone makes Hao smile. “Well, if you ever need notes or anything, just let me know. I’d be happy to help.”

“Baby, look at you,” Matthew says, patting Gunwook’s arm with a fond smile. “Finally, someone as smart as you. You can get SNU notes now.”

Gunwook blushes slightly, nudging Matthew’s hand away. “Stop that.”

Hao chuckles. “Really, though. You can ask anytime.”

“Noted,” Gunwook says, grinning.

Matthew turns to Hao next, resting his chin on his hand like he’s about to ask something scandalous. “So, do you have a partner?”

The question catches Hao off guard. His instinct is to deflect and lie like he has been doing since he broke up with his ex, but he hesitates. He already told Hanbin about his ex, so there’s no point in lying.

“No, I don’t have one,” Hao says simply, his tone neutral.

Matthew perks up, his expression brightening in a way that feels oddly deliberate. “Oh, really? That’s good to know.”

Hao narrows his eyes slightly, feeling like there’s an ulterior motive in Matthew’s excitement.

Ricky, who’s been quiet so far, leans forward, studying Hao curiously. “You’re Chinese, right?”

“Yeah,” Hao says, nodding.

“Me too,” Ricky says, his voice soft but confident. “Are you fluent in Mandarin?”

“Kinda,” Hao replies, thinking about it. “I picked it up from my mom speaking to me when I was growing up, but I don’t really use it much. Mostly just with my parents, so it’s pretty dormant.”

“Well,” Ricky says with a small smile, “now you know a Chinese person. You can practice with me if you want.”

Hao smiles back. “I might take you up on that.”

As the conversation shifts, Hao glances around the room, taking in the luxurious surroundings. The furniture looks expensive but comfortable, the decor over the top yet warm, and the entire place feels far more upscale than he’d expect for a group of students.

“Damn,” Hao says, turning to Ricky. “Your house is really nice.”

“Thanks,” Ricky says, his tone casual.

Ricky must be so freaking rich, Hao thinks, eyeing the room again. How else could he throw a party like this?

Almost as if reading his mind, Taerae chimes in with a teasing grin. “Ricky’s the richest one here, so we basically turn his big-ass house into our personal club here in Cheonan.”

Ricky side-eyes Taerae, rolling his eyes. “I just like parties. Be grateful I even invite you.”

Taerae gasps in mock offense, clutching his chest. “Wow. After all we’ve been through? The betrayal.”

Hao laughs at their dynamic, quickly warming up to the group.

Taerae turns to Hao with a bright smile. “So, did Jiwoong come with you?”

Hao rolls his eyes, remembering his earlier irritation at Jiwoong for ditching him. “Yes, he did. Though I haven’t seen him since we got here. He abandoned me the second we walked in.”

Taerae’s smile grows even wider at the mention of Jiwoong, and Hao mentally files away the confirmation: Yeah, he definitely has a crush.

Gyuvin, who hasn’t spoken for a while, suddenly pipes up. “Why would you leave fun, exciting Seoul to come back here for the holidays? There’s not much to do in Cheonan.”

The others nod in agreement, waiting for Hao’s answer.

The question makes Hao’s stomach tighten. He opens his mouth, but the words don’t come easily. “Well, I’ve lived here all my life...”

His voice trails off as he tries to think of what else to say. The truth feels too heavy for a casual party conversation, but coming up with a convincing excuse on the spot is proving difficult.

Before Hao can spiral, Hanbin appears with a tray of drinks, his timing impeccable.

“We just got him back, and you’re already trying to get Hao hyung to run away?” Hanbin says, his tone light and teasing as he places the drinks on the table.

The group laughs, the tension dissolving instantly.

Hanbin then glances at Gyuvin, who’s seated beside Hao, and nudges him with a playful shove. “Move over. I want to sit there.”

Gyuvin pouts but slides over, making room for Hanbin.

As Hanbin settles beside him, Hao smiles at him in gratitude.

The conversation drifts into lighthearted banter when Matthew suddenly springs to his feet, clapping his hands together like he’s just had the best idea.

“Let’s play a drinking game!” he announces, his enthusiasm drawing everyone’s attention.

Gyuvin perks up immediately, turning to Hao with a bright grin. “Hyung, tell us some drinking games you play in Seoul!”

Hao freezes, the sudden spotlight making him feel like a deer caught in headlights. His mind scrambles for a response, but the truth is, he’s never really participated in those games. Sure, he’s been to a few parties with his ex, but he always found drinking games either too boring or too intense, with people getting competitive in ways that didn’t sit right with him.

The silence stretches for a moment, and Hao feels the embarrassment creeping in, his cheeks warming. But before he has to say anything, Hanbin steps in.

“Let’s just play Never Have I Ever, like we always do,” Hanbin says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Ricky groans dramatically, leaning back against the couch. “Ah, that’s too childish, Hanbin hyung.”

Everyone else murmurs their agreement, but Hanbin crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Do you have another idea?”

The group falls silent, their complaints quickly fading.

“Exactly,” Hanbin says, his voice steady. “Then we’re playing Never Have I Ever.”

Hao watches the exchange with quiet amusement, unable to stop the small smile tugging at his lips. When did Hanbin grow into this person? he wonders. When did he become the one everyone listens to?

“Wait, wait,” Matthew says, holding up a finger. “If we’re playing Never Have I Ever, we need stronger alcohol for this.”

With that, he gets up and heads toward the kitchen, leaving the rest of them lounging around. The energy in the room shifts slightly, the chatter quieter now as they wait for him to return.

Hao glances around, noticing the way everyone seems so at ease with one another. It’s a kind of effortless camaraderie that feels natural, and he doesn’t even need to try hard to fit in.

Hanbin shifts closer to him, leaning in just enough that Hao can feel the faint warmth radiating from him. “Hyung,” Hanbin whispers, his voice low enough that only Hao can hear. “Are you comfortable?”

Hao turns to him, surprised by the question. The genuine concern in Hanbin’s eyes catches him off guard, he shifts his gaze between both eyes trying to find out the cause of his concern.

“I’m fine,” Hao says softly, offering a reassuring smile. “Really.”

And it’s true, as he sits there, he realizes he hasn’t thought about his looming life problems once since arriving here. The constant weight that’s been pressing on his chest for weeks feels lighter, almost like it’s disappeared entirely for now. That’s... nice. Really nice.

Hanbin doesn’t move back after getting close. Hao notices the proximity, the way Hanbin’s shoulder is just barely brushing his, and his mind briefly flickers to the thought that maybe this isn’t entirely unintentional. But it feels nice, so he says nothing and doesn’t attempt to move away.

When did you grow up like this, Hanbinnie? Hao thinks to himself, watching the way Hanbin smiles faintly as the others chat.

Matthew returns with bottles of soju and a handful of shot glasses, setting them down on the table with a grin. “Let’s get started!”

Gyuvin is the first to pour a shot, already buzzing with excitement. “I’m going to win this game.”

“Gyuvin-ah, there’s no winning in Never Have I Ever,” Ricky says, rolling his eyes.

“There is if you drink the least,” Gyuvin retorts.

“Alright, everyone knows the rules, right? We take turns saying something we’ve never done. If you have done it, you drink. Simple.”

The group nods in agreement, already pouring their drinks. Hao watches as they settle in, their banter bubbling up with anticipation.

Taerae claps his hands together, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh, interesting. I’ll start!”

He looks like he’s up to something, Hao thinks, narrowing his eyes as he studies Taerae’s innocent expression.

Taerae leans forward, his smile almost too sweet. “Never have I ever had a crush on someone here.”

The room starts mumbling, and Hao immediately thinks, Oh no, this is going to be messy.

Matthew and Gunwook drink first, both smiling at each other like they’re sharing some inside joke.

Then, as expected, Hanbin reaches for his glass and takes a shot. Hao notices the slight stiffness in Hanbin’s posture and the way his shoulders seem to draw in, like he’s bracing for something.

Cute, Hao thinks absently, amused by Hanbin’s obvious discomfort. He’s probably shy about his old crush on me. He doesn’t even know I know about it.

Gyuvin drinks next, followed by Ricky, who takes his shot with an air of nonchalance that immediately piques Hao’s curiosity.

Hao raises an eyebrow, his gaze darting around the group. What kind of friend group is this? Do they all just have crushes on each other? He finds himself wondering, in particular, who Ricky had—or has—a crush on.

Taerae, the only one who hasn’t drunk aside from him, grins smugly and sits back. “That’s right!”

The others groan, rolling their eyes at him.

“At least we don’t have crushes on someone out of our league,” Matthew teases, shooting a pointed look at Taerae.

Taerae gasps, scandalized. “Excuse me? Jiwoong hyung is not out of my league!”

The group bursts into laughter as Taerae starts defending himself. Hanbin, who has been sitting quietly next to Hao, finally cuts in. “Let’s just continue,” he says, his tone calm but firm.

Hao notices their shoulders brushing again. When did we get so close?

Gyuvin goes next, practically bouncing in his seat with excitement. “Okay, okay. Never have I ever pissed my pants as an adult!”

The room erupts into laughter again, and Hao glances around, waiting to see who the unlucky victim is.

“It was just one time!” Taerae yells, grabbing his shot glass while the others laugh even harder.

Hanbin leans into Hao, his voice low and conspiratorial. “We went to an escape room,” he whispers.

Hao bites his lip, trying to stifle his laughter. The mental image of a panicked Taerae in an escape room is almost too much.

Next is Ricky, who tilts his head thoughtfully before saying, “Never have I ever stayed within Korea all my life.”

Hanbin and Taerae both drink, while the others stay still.

Gunwook takes his turn after Ricky, smiling as he says, “Never have I ever failed a class.”

Hao picks up his shot glass without hesitation, taking a sip and setting it back on the table. The group falls silent, staring at him in surprise.

“You failed a class?” Gunwook asks, looking genuinely shocked.

Hao shrugs casually. “SNU is tough.”

Matthew and Gyuvin exchange glances before lifting their own glasses and taking a drink. Gyuvin leans forward, pointing at Taerae. “Why aren’t you drinking?”

“I’ve never failed a class,” Taerae says simply, his dimples showing as he smiles.

Even Ricky looks surprised. “Seriously?”

“Seriously, why are you even assuming I've failed a class?” Taerae replies, looking a bit offended.

When it’s Matthew’s turn, he rubs his hands together, clearly plotting something. He pauses dramatically, then glances at Hanbin with a mischievous smile. “Never have I ever had a wet dream about someone here.”

The room ensues into chaos.

Hanbin grabs his glass reluctantly and takes a shot, his ears turning bright red as the others struggle to contain their laughter.

Hao stares at Hanbin, his mind spinning. Wait... what? He looks at Hanbin, who avoids his gaze, his body shifting slightly so their shoulders are no longer touching.

Was it about... me? The thought flits through Hao’s mind before he can stop it, and he shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the room instead of his spiraling thoughts.

Hanbin glares at Matthew, his expression equal parts embarrassed and annoyed. “That was a secret,” he mutters, though his words are drowned out by the group’s laughter.

Matthew just laughs harder. “It’s a drinking game, Hambin hyung. No secrets here.”

Hao notices Hanbin’s discomfort and decides to step in. “Alright, my turn,” he says loudly, cutting through the laughter. “Never have I ever only attended school in Cheonan!”

The group groans collectively.

“That’s not fair!” Gyuvin complains. “We all attend school in Cheonan except you.”

Everyone except Ricky drinks.

“I went to kindergarten in Shanghai before moving here,” Ricky explains, his tone defensive.

“Kindergarten doesn’t count!” Gyuvin retorts. “That’s not real school!”

The argument spirals into playful bickering, with Ricky insisting it counts while Gyuvin vehemently disagrees.

Hao leans toward Hanbin, whispering, “Do they always argue like this?”

Hanbin, who has been unusually quiet since Matthew’s comment, visibly relaxes at Hao’s question. “Yeah, all the time,” he says with a laugh.

Hanbin takes his turn next, a glint of mischief returning to his eyes. “Never have I ever sleepwalked.”

Matthew groans dramatically, picking up his glass. “Hyung!”

Hao laughs and grabs his own drink, surprising Hanbin.

“You sleepwalked?” Hanbin asks, his eyebrows shooting up.

“Yeah, when I was a kid,” Hao replies, setting the glass down.

Hanbin’s face softens into something resembling awe. “I didn’t know that.”

Hao shrugs, feeling a strange cosiness at the way Hanbin looks at him. The night continues, the banter and laughter filling the room, but Hao can’t shake the thought: This is nice. Really nice. Despite the raging party around them—the pounding music, the chatter, the occasional bursts of drunken laughter—there’s a warmth here, a sense of comfort that wraps around him like a favorite blanket. He doesn’t want the night to end.

After one more round of Never Have I Ever, Matthew claps his hands together, his grin wide and playful. “Alright, this is getting boring. Let’s play Truth or Dare instead!”

Hao groans internally. Oh no. This is about to get out of hand.

Matthew grabs one of the now-empty soju bottles and places it in the center of the table, spinning it lightly. “You all know the rules. We spin, and whoever it lands on gets to pick truth or dare. Simple, right? Let’s start with Hanbin hyung.”

Hanbin, seated beside Hao, adjusts in his spot and reaches out to spin the bottle. Hao notices how steady Hanbin’s hands are, even after a few drinks. Of course, he’s annoyingly composed even tipsy, Hao thinks, amused.

The bottle slows and lands on Matthew, who immediately sits up straighter, a mock-serious expression on his face.

“Truth or Dare, Matthew?”

“Truth.”

Hanbin leans back casually, smirking. “Alright, who’s the worst dressed in the room?”

A collective groan rises from the group.

“Hyung, that’s so boring,” Gyuvin complains, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, give us something spicy!” Ricky adds, crossing his arms.

But Matthew isn’t fazed. He strokes his chin dramatically, his eyes scanning the group like he’s deep in thought.

“Just say it already!” Taerae whines, leaning forward.

Matthew grins wickedly. “Fine. Taerae, what are those pants?”

The room explodes into laughter as Taerae gasps, looking down at his pants like he’s genuinely offended. “What’s wrong with my pants? They’re stylish!”

“They’re questionable,” Gunwook teases, earning another round of laughter.

“It’s just a game, Taerae,” Ricky says, smirking. “Don’t take it personally.”

Taerae pouts but spins the bottle, clearly muttering something under his breath. Hao notices the way Taerae spins the bottle extra slowly, his eyes focused on Matthew like he’s trying to will it to land on him.

But luck isn’t on Taerae’s side—it lands on Ricky instead.

Taerae’s pout immediately transforms into a devious grin. “Ricky, I dare you to do aegyo and send it to the group chat.”

Ricky’s face twists in horror. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s just a game, Ricky,” Taerae says, mimicking Ricky’s earlier words. “Do it or drink.”

Ricky sighs and reaches for the soju bottle, pouring himself a shot. “Fine. I’m drinking.”

“Boo! Don’t be boring!” Gyuvin shouts, grinning as the others join in.

Hao laughs so hard he has to clutch his stomach. The image of Ricky—stoic and perpetually cool—doing aegyo is too hilarious to even imagine.

Ricky takes his shot, sets the glass down with a flourish, and spins the bottle. This time, it lands on Gunwook.

Ricky smirks, leaning back. “What’s the sweetest thing about Matthew?”

The room erupts into laughter and exaggerated gagging noises.

Gunwook doesn’t even hesitate. “Everything, Matthew hyung is the best.”

“Lame answer!” Gyuvin shouts.

Matthew pats Gunwook’s head affectionately, clearly enjoying the attention. “You’re such a sweetheart Gunwookie.”

Gunwook spins next, and it lands on Hao. Hao straightens, already bracing himself.

“What’s your ideal type?” Gunwook asks, grinning.

Oh easy. Hao takes a moment to think. “Someone who leads people well, gets along with others, kind, and...” He pauses. “Oh, and strong too.”

I’m done with emotionally unavailable guys, Hao thinks to himself. I need someone who is emotionally strong now.

The group collectively gasps. “Oh, if only we knew someone who fits that description!” Matthew says, his voice dripping with fake innocence.

Hao blinks, confused for a second before realizing they’re all looking at Hanbin, who immediately stiffens. Hao waves them off, trying to steer the conversation back. “My turn!”

Hao spins the bottle, and it lands on Gyuvin.

“Who was your first crush?” Hao asks, leaning forward with a teasing smile.

Gyuvin’s face flushes bright red, and instead of answering, he reaches for the soju bottle. “Nope. Not saying.”

The group laughs, teasing him mercilessly as he downs his shot.

Next, Gyuvin spins the bottle, and it lands on Taerae.

“Truth or Dare”

“I’m not boring like you guys, Dare!”

“I dare you to go out there, switch off the music, and yell something stupid,” Gyuvin says, his grin wide with mischief.

Taerae immediately sits up straighter, his face lighting up with excitement. “Bet,” he replies without hesitation, standing up as the group erupts into laughter.

“No way you’re actually doing it,” Ricky says, leaning back with an incredulous smirk.

“Watch me,” Taerae shoots back, already making his way toward the speakers with a determined stride.

Hao raises an eyebrow, glancing at Hanbin. “Does he always take dares this seriously?”

Hanbin shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Well, it’s Kim Taerae.”

Taerae reaches the speakers, and the music abruptly cuts off, plunging the room into a moment of confused silence. The crowd of dancing college kids stops mid-step, turning toward the speakers with furrowed brows and confused murmurs.

Before anyone can react, Taerae cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “WHO WANTS TO HEAR ME SING?!”

Without waiting for an answer, he launches into an ear-splittingly off-key rendition of a song, his voice cracking dramatically as he belts out the high notes.

The room is stunned for a moment before erupting into a mix of laughter, groans, and booing.

“Put the music back on!” someone yells from the crowd.

“What the hell is this?” another voice adds, followed by laughter.

Hao watches in disbelief, his shoulders shaking as he tries to hold in his laughter. The group around him isn’t even trying to hide their amusement—Gyuvin is practically doubled over, Ricky has his head in his hands, and even Hanbin is struggling to keep a straight face.

“How did he even get the DJ to leave?” Gunwook asks in disbelief.

“Taerae is really something” Matthew shakes his head.

“That’s horrible! Don’t ruin my party!” Ricky yells over the noise, his voice dripping with mock outrage.

“I made it better, you’re welcome!” Taerae yells back smugly, his grin wide as he finishes his performance with a dramatic flourish.

But the crowd isn’t letting him off the hook so easily.

“Turn the music back on!” someone yells again, louder this time.

Taerae looks around, suddenly realizing the consequences of his actions. His confident smirk falters as a chorus of boos starts to rise from the crowd.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry!” Taerae says, rushing back to the speakers. His hands fumble with the controls as he struggles to turn the music back on, his face turning red from embarrassment.

The crowd cheers sarcastically when the music finally blasts back on, and Taerae hurries back to the group, his head down as he tries to ignore the lingering laughter and playful jeers.

As he plops back down on the couch, Gyuvin claps him on the back, laughing so hard he can barely speak. “I can’t believe you actually did it!”

Taerae groans, burying his face in his hands. “I panicked, okay? I thought they’d appreciate the boldness!”

“Boldness?” Ricky says, raising an eyebrow. “That was straight-up chaos.”

Hanbin laughs quietly beside Hao, shaking his head. “You’ve got to give him credit for committing.”

Hao chuckles, leaning back in his seat as the group continues to tease Taerae.

Taerae spins the bottle and, unsurprisingly, tilts it slightly so it lands on Hanbin.

“Truth or Dare?”

“Dare”

“Yay! I dare you to do squats while carrying Hao hyung,” Taerae says with a wicked grin.

Hao blinks, staring at Taerae in disbelief. What?

Hanbin freezes, his face immediately turning red. “What?”

“Show off how strong you are,” Taerae taunts, clearly enjoying himself.

Hanbin reaches for the soju bottle, clearly intending to drink his way out of the dare, but the group erupts into a chorus of boos.

“Don’t be boring!” Gyuvin shouts, clapping his hands like he’s leading a crowd.

Hanbin sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. Fuck it.”

He stands, brushing his hands on his jeans before holding out a hand to Hao. “Come on, hyung.”

Hao stares at him, half-amused, half-mortified. “You’re not serious.”

“I am,” Hanbin replies, smiling.

The group cheers, their excitement only adding to Hao’s growing embarrassment. Reluctantly, he takes Hanbin’s hand and lets him guide him into position. Hanbin’s arm wraps securely around Hao’s waist, hoisting him up with surprising ease.

The others laugh and cheer mixed with the loud music, the sound deafening in Hao’s ears as Hanbin starts squatting.

Hao clings to Hanbin’s shoulders, his cheeks burning from the attention. “You’re insane,” he mutters, glancing around at the group.

But despite his embarrassment, something else catches his attention. Hanbin’s strength.

Am I that tiny and easily scoopable? Hao wonders, startled by how effortlessly Hanbin moves. He’s too self-conscious to meet Hanbin’s gaze, so his eyes flicker elsewhere—to Hanbin’s arm, flexing with each movement. The way the muscles in his forearm shift, the steady grip he has around Hao’s waist—it’s…

Damn, that’s attractive, Hao thinks before the realization slams into him like a freight train. No. No, no, no. This is Hanbin. I shouldn’t think of him like this!

His thoughts spiral as he clutches Hanbin’s shoulders tighter. The cheering and laughter around them only make it worse.

“Ah, Hanbin-ah, that’s enough!” Hao blurts out, his voice a little louder than he intends.

Hanbin freezes mid-squat, looking up at him in alarm. “Are you uncomfortable, hyung? I’m sorry!”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Hao says quickly as Hanbin gently sets him back down, his hands lingering briefly as if to make sure Hao is steady.

Hao smiles at him, trying to reassure him. “Really, it’s fine.”

Hanbin nods, though his expression is filled with guilt as they walk back to their seats. Hao knows Hanbin is probably beating himself up about it now, overthinking the moment as he always does.

As they sit back down, Taerae leans closer to Hao, grinning slyly. “Hanbin is so strong with insane leadership qualities.”

Hao side-eyes him, immediately catching the teasing undertone in Taerae’s voice. These people are crazy, he thinks, shaking his head slightly. Do they not care that Hanbin literally has a boyfriend? Or are they just having fun shipping him with me?

Hao glances at Hanbin, who’s now sitting beside him again, his hand brushing Hao’s arm. His expression looks relaxed again. Oh thank goodness, He thinks.

The game stretches on, the group growing louder and rowdier with each passing round. Hao watches from his spot on the couch, nursing his drink and trying not to get dragged into anything too ridiculous, picking truth whenever it’s his turn, the safe option.

Hanbin, however, isn’t as lucky.

At one point, Hanbin is dared to give someone a lap dance.

The room erupts into laughter, the group immediately leaning forward with eager anticipation. Hanbin sighs deeply, clearly regretting his life choices. “You guys are the worst,” he mutters, standing up reluctantly.

As he rises, his eyes flicker toward Hao for a split second, and Hao’s breath catches in his throat.

Is he going to do it to me? The thought flashes through Hao’s mind unbidden, and his chest tightens as he holds his breath.

But Hanbin’s gaze moves past him, and Hao lets out a silent exhale as Hanbin turns and starts walking toward Gyuvin instead.

Well, obviously. He will choose his boyfriend, silly me. Hao thinks, a pang of disappointment finding its way into his heart.

“Come on,” Hanbin says flatly, stopping in front of Gyuvin.

Gyuvin immediately cheers, throwing his arms in the air like he’s just won the lottery. “Yes! I knew you’d pick me!”

The group collectively groans in disappointment, though it’s half-hearted and laced with amusement. Hao catches Taerae muttering, “Of course he picked Gyuvin,” under his breath, while Matthew shakes his head with an exaggerated sigh.

Hanbin shakes his head at Gyuvin but smirks, rolling his shoulders as if resigning himself to the dare. He moves his hips awkwardly, his movements stiff but exaggerated enough to draw laughter from the group.

Gyuvin plays along with enthusiasm, pretending to fan himself dramatically. “Oh no, Hanbin hyung, stop! It’s too much!”

The room is in chaos at this point, everyone shouting over each other as they laugh.

Hao can’t stop laughing either. Watching Hanbin like this—relaxed, playful, and maybe a little too comfortable with making a fool of himself is endearing.

Hanbin finishes the lap dance and flops back down onto the couch, his face slightly red from embarrassment.

“Happy now?” Hanbin asks the group, his voice dry but good-natured.

Gyuvin grins. “Best lap dance ever. Ten out of ten.”

The bottle keeps spinning, and it becomes painfully obvious that the group is targeting Hanbin. Every time it’s someone else’s turn, they subtly try to angle the bottle toward him, though they don’t always succeed.

When the bottle lands on Taerae instead of Hanbin, everyone groans in unison.

“You’re all terrible at cheating,” Hao says, rolling his eyes as Taerae smirks and takes his turn.

But most of the time, the group gets their way, and Hanbin ends up being the target. They bombard him with questions, and more than once, the topic shifts to his first love.

Rather than answering, Hanbin repeatedly reaches for his drink, taking shot after shot to avoid their relentless questioning. The group cheers every time he drinks, laughing and egging him on, clearly having fun torturing Hanbin. By the time Hanbin downs his fifth—or is it sixth?—shot, he’s visibly drunk.

Hao feels his chest tighten every time. He knows who Hanbin’s first love is—Hanbin doesn’t know that he knows—but watching the way Hanbin squirms under their teasing makes Hao uncomfortable.

When Hanbin’s face starts to turn red for what feels like the tenth time, Hao finally speaks up. “Guys, maybe lay off a bit? You’re clearly making him uncomfortable.”

Matthew shrugs, completely unfazed. “What do you mean? He usually answers these questions no problem. He even brings up his first love unprompted. I wonder why he’s refusing to answer today?” His tone is mischievous, his grin knowing.

Hao narrows his eyes at Matthew but doesn’t press the issue.

Gyuvin is in the middle of a particularly ridiculous dare—sitting on Ricky’s lap and acting like a puppy—when Hanbin starts slurring. Hao glances over, noticing the way Hanbin’s head droops slightly, his movements sluggish.

Hanbin rests his head on Hao’s shoulder, his breath warm against Hao’s neck as he mumbles something incoherent.

“What?” Hao asks, leaning in slightly to hear better.

Hanbin shifts, his lips brushing close to Hao’s ear as he mumbles again. “Hyung... your lips... so nice... so plump...”

Hao freezes, his heart skipping a beat. He stares straight ahead, hoping he heard wrong. He’s drunk. He doesn’t mean it.

He clears his throat, gently patting Hanbin’s arm. “Alright, Bin-ah. Let’s get some water in you.”

Before he can move, the group spins the bottle again, this time blatantly tipping it toward Hanbin. Hao watches Taerae push it with one finger, not even trying to hide the cheating.

“Really?” Hao mutters, rolling his eyes.

But Hanbin, too drunk to notice, lifts his head slightly when Taerae grins and says, “Truth or Dare, Hanbin hyung?”

“Is it my turn?” Hanbin slurs, blinking blearily. “Truth.”

Taerae’s grin widens. “Hyung, how would you ask out your crush if you could?”

The question hangs in the air, and Hanbin glares at Taerae, his flushed face on display. Without answering, he starts to pour himself a drink.

Hao frowns, confused. Why didn’t he just answer? Isn’t he dating Gyuvin?

But before Hao can dwell on the thought, Hanbin’s face goes alarmingly red. He looks like he’s on the verge of passing out.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Hao says firmly, taking Hanbin’s glass from his hand. “I’ll drink for him. He’s done.”

The group protests weakly but doesn’t argue, and Hao downs the shot in Hanbin’s place.

Hanbin leans back against Hao, mumbling again. “Hyung, you’re so amazing. You’re the best...”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Hao says, patting his arm awkwardly as the others laugh.

But Hanbin doesn’t stop. “You’re... so cool...” he mutters again, his voice trailing off as his head lolls against Hao’s shoulder.

And then he’s out cold.

Hao stares at him, equal parts amused and exasperated. “Seriously?”

The group bursts into laughter as Hao adjusts Hanbin’s weight, trying to keep him from sliding onto the floor. Of course this is how the night ends, Hao thinks, sighing as he looks at the group.

“Alright,” he says, standing with some effort, Hanbin still leaning heavily on him.

“I’ll take him home,” Hao announces, tightening his grip around Hanbin’s waist to keep him steady.

“Get home safe!” Matthew calls, raising his drink in a mock toast.

Taerae grins at him. “Don’t let him throw up on you, hyung!”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Hao mutters under his breath, shaking his head as he maneuvers Hanbin toward the door.

After a chorus of goodbyes, Hao steps outside, the chilly night air hitting his face immediately. It’s a relief after the warmth and chaos of the party. He adjusts his hold on Hanbin, who groans softly but doesn’t resist as Hao leads him out of the gate.

A taxi waits nearby, its headlights cutting through the darkness. Hao manages to get Hanbin into the backseat, muttering a quiet apology to the driver as he slides in beside him. Hanbin leans heavily against Hao, his head dropping onto his shoulder again.

The taxi ride is mercifully short, but Hao is already bracing himself for the next challenge: getting Hanbin home without alerting his parents.

As they approach the entrance to their street, Hao taps the driver’s shoulder. “Can you stop here, please?”

The driver pulls over, and Hao helps Hanbin out of the car, paying the driver before turning his attention back to the very drunk Hanbin.

“Come on,” Hao says softly, looping Hanbin’s arm around his shoulders. “Let’s get you something to drink.”

There’s a small convenience store just down the street, its neon sign flickering faintly. Hao guides Hanbin inside, navigating the narrow aisles as Hanbin stumbles beside him, mumbling incoherently.

Standing in front of the refrigerated drinks, Hao glances over at Hanbin, who’s leaning against the shelf like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

“Water or something sweet?” Hao asks, already grabbing a bottle of sports drink.

Hanbin doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks up at Hao with glassy eyes, his expression soft and unguarded.

“Hyung...” Hanbin starts, his voice quiet and a little slurred.

“What?” Hao says, capping his concern with an easy tone, hoping to keep things light.

“You’re so awesome,” Hanbin mumbles, his words dragging slightly. “I’m glad you came back.”

Hao pauses, the bottle in his hand hovering mid-air. He swallows hard before responding.

“I’m glad I came back too, Hanbinnie,” he says softly, nudging Hanbin’s shoulder with his own. “Now drink this before you pass out completely.”

Hanbin takes the bottle, though he doesn’t seem interested in drinking it just yet. Instead, he looks at Hao again, his brows furrowing slightly.

“Hyung...” Hanbin’s voice is barely above a whisper. “You stopped caring about me.”

The words hit Hao like a punch to the gut.

“What?” he asks, his voice softer now.

Hanbin leans closer, his face scrunching up like he’s trying to articulate something difficult. “You stopped paying attention to me. You don’t... care about me anymore.”

Hao freezes, his heart twisting painfully. He knows Hanbin is drunk, but the rawness in his voice feels too real to dismiss.

“I never stopped caring about you,” Hao says firmly, his throat tightening. “I... You don’t need me as much anymore. You’ve grown up, Hanbinnie.”

Hanbin shakes his head, his grip on the bottle loosening. “No, hyung. I still need you. Show me more attention, please.”

Hao lets out a soft laugh, though it’s tinged with guilt. Hanbin looks so vulnerable, so heartbreakingly earnest, and Hao can’t help but feel responsible for the distance that’s grown between them.

“Alright,” Hao says quietly, reaching out to ruffle Hanbin’s hair. “I’ll make it up to you. We’ll hang out more this holiday. I promise.”

Hanbin smiles faintly, his eyes fluttering closed as he leans heavily against Hao again.

By the time they make it back to the house, Hanbin is barely conscious, mumbling incoherently as Hao guides him toward the door.

Carefully, Hao sneaks him inside, avoiding the creaky spots on the floor as they make their way to Hanbin’s room. The house is quiet, the faint hum of the heater the only sound as Hao helps Hanbin onto the bed.

As he pulls the blanket over him, Hanbin stirs slightly, his hand reaching out to grab Hao’s wrist.

“Hyung,” Hanbin mumbles, his voice barely audible.

“What is it?” Hao whispers, leaning closer.

“You’re the best,” Hanbin says, his lips curling into a sleepy smile.

Hao smiles despite himself, gently prying Hanbin’s hand off his wrist. “Go to sleep, Hanbinnie.”

As he leaves the dark room, Hao feels a strange warmth in his chest. He doesn’t know what to make of it yet, but one thing is clear: he’s going to keep that promise.

Chapter Text

Hao wakes up earlier than usual, the faint light of morning streaming through the curtains in his room. His body feels heavy with sleep, but he snaps awake at the sound of Hanbin’s door opening.

Perfect timing, Hao thinks, quickly throwing on a hoodie before stepping into the hallway.

Hanbin looks tired, his hair sticking up in all directions as he sluggishly makes his way toward the kitchen. Hao follows him quietly, observing the way his steps drag just a little.

He’s definitely feeling last night, Hao muses, suppressing a smile.

In the kitchen, Hanbin starts rummaging through the cupboards, his movements sluggish, probably due to his fatigue. Hao leans against the doorway, watching as Hanbin eventually pulls out a small bottle of painkillers.

“Rough morning?” Hao asks, stepping forward to grab the jug of water on the table.

Hanbin doesn’t look up, pouring two pills into his hand. “You could say that.”

Hao fills a glass and slides it across the counter toward Hanbin. “Here.”

“Thanks, hyung,” Hanbin mumbles, swallowing the pills and immediately letting out a soft groan. “Ugh, my head is killing me.”

Hao watches as Hanbin flops down into one of the kitchen chairs, dropping his head onto the table like it’s too much effort to hold it up.

“And you’re working today, right?” Hao asks, raising an eyebrow.

Hanbin groans again, his voice muffled against the table. “Yeah. Sundays are the worst—everyone comes to the rink, and it’s always so crowded.”

Hao pulls out the chair across from him, sitting down and resting his chin on his hand. “Well, maybe don’t drink that much next time,” he says, his tone light but teasing. “It’s bad for your health, you know.”

Hanbin lifts his head just enough to glare at Hao half-heartedly. “You sound like Mom.”

“Maybe Mama’s right,” Hao quips, smirking as Hanbin sighs dramatically and flops back down.

Jiwoong enters the kitchen then, his steps loud and unbothered as he stretches and yawns. “Morning,” he says casually, grabbing a mug for coffee.

“Morning,” Hao replies, his tone less enthusiastic as he remembers last night’s betrayal.

Jiwoong doesn’t seem to notice the edge in Hao’s voice. “Mom and Dad are still asleep. You know they love their lazy Sundays.”

Hao narrows his eyes at Jiwoong. “Care to explain why you ditched me last night?”

Jiwoong turns, coffee mug in hand, and looks genuinely confused. “What?”

“You left me at the party,” Hao says pointedly. “I didn’t know anyone there!”

Jiwoong scratches the back of his head, looking sheepish. “Ah, sorry about that. I thought you’d be fine.”

“Hyung!” Hanbin suddenly cuts in, his head snapping up from the table. His face is a mix of annoyance and disbelief. “You thought he would be fine? What if I hadn’t found him? He doesn’t know anyone!”

Hao glances at Hanbin, surprised at the intensity in his voice. Soft-spoken Hanbin yelling is a huge surprise.

Jiwoong frowns, his tone defensive. “Okay, calm down. I saw him hanging out with you and your friends later in the night. He seemed fine.”

“That’s still irresponsible!” Hanbin shoots back, glaring at his brother. “He’s your guest, hyung. You’re supposed to take care of him.”

Jiwoong sets his mug down, crossing his arms. “Don’t be rude, Hanbin. Apologize.”

Hao watches the tension between the brothers, feeling like he’s caught in the middle of a brewing argument. Sensing things could escalate, he speaks up. “Hanbin-ah, apologize,” he says gently, though he feels a pang of guilt for stepping in since Hanbin was defending him.

Hanbin stares at him in disbelief before muttering, “Sorry.” It’s half-hearted at best, and Jiwoong rolls his eyes but lets it go.

Jiwoong turns back to Hao, looking cheerful. “Good! Now, Hao, since I don’t have work today, we can spend the whole day together. What do you want to do?”

Hao hesitates, still feeling irritated at Jiwoong’s nonchalance mixed with the guilt he feels from making Hanbin apologize. Without really thinking, he blurts out, “Actually, I already have plans with Hanbin.”

Both brothers turn to look at him in surprise.

Hanbin blinks. “What plans?”

Hao improvises quickly. “Last night, when you were drunk, you promised to take me to the ice skating rink.”

Hanbin stares at him, clearly confused. “I did?”

Hao nods firmly. “You probably can’t remember.” Of course he can’t remember, since it never happened.

Jiwoong looks mock-offended, placing a hand over his chest. “So I’m supposed to hang out alone? That’s cold, Hao.”

Hao shrugs, feigning innocence. “Not my problem.”

He grabs Hanbin by the wrist and pulls him toward the hallway. “Come on, Hanbin-ah. Let’s get ready.”

They walk to their rooms and Hao feels a mixture of satisfaction and guilt. He did say he wanted me to pay more attention to him, Hao thinks, justifying his little lie. How else can I do that if we don’t spend time together?

As they reach the front of their rooms, Hanbin immediately turns to Hao, his brows furrowed slightly in concern. “Hyung,” he starts hesitantly, “what else did I do yesterday that I don’t remember? Did I say anything... weird?”

Hao blinks, caught off guard by the question. His mind drifts to last night, to the moment Hanbin mumbled, Hyung... your lips... so nice... so plump... His cheeks warm slightly at the memory, but he quickly shakes it off, forcing a laugh.

“What could you have possibly said?” Hao teases, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry. I won’t make fun of your little secrets.”

But Hanbin doesn’t laugh. His expression remains tense, his shoulders stiff as he looks at Hao like he’s bracing for impact.

Hao’s smile falters. He’s serious.

“Hey,” Hao says gently, his voice growing softer. “You didn’t say anything weird, okay? I promise.”

Hanbin lets out a breath he seems to have been holding, his shoulders relaxing. “Thank goodness,” he mutters, his voice tinged with relief. “Thanks, hyung.”

“Now go get dressed,” Hao says, grinning to lighten the mood. “You don’t want to be late to work.”

Hanbin nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Give me one hour.”

Back in his room, Hao takes his time picking out his outfit. He doesn’t know why he’s fussing so much—it’s just a trip to the ice rink—but he finds himself wanting to look good as always. He realizes he will meet some of Hanbin’s friends there and smiles to himself. They were so chaotic and fun last night. He settles on a cream sweater layered under a thick navy coat, pairing it with dark jeans and a scarf.

When he’s ready, he knocks on Hanbin’s door.

Hanbin swings the door open almost immediately, his damp hair sticking up in places—evidence of a quick shower in an attempt to shake off the hangover. He’s dressed in a black puffer jacket and gray joggers, casual yet slightly disheveled, but somehow still effortlessly put-together. If you didn’t know he had a rough night, his appearance wouldn’t give it away.

“Let’s go,” Hanbin says, stepping out and closing the door behind him.

As they head down the hallway, Hanbin gives Hao a once-over. “Hyung, you get cold easily, right?”

Hao tilts his head, confused. “Yeah... why?”

Hanbin doesn’t answer. Instead, he stops abruptly, his eyes lighting up like he just remembered something. “Wait here,” he says, darting back into his room.

Hao watches, puzzled, as Hanbin re-emerges a minute later with two heating packs in hand. Without a word, he heads to the kitchen and pops them into the microwave.

Hao leans against the counter, raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll see,” Hanbin replies simply, watching the timer on the microwave.

When the heating packs are ready, Hanbin pulls them out carefully and hands them to Hao. “Here,” he says, his voice casual.

Hao blinks down at the heating packs in his hands. “What about you?”

Hanbin shrugs. “I only had two left. You can use them for both hands.”

Hao stares at him, incredulous. “Are you serious? What kind of person would I be if I let you freeze?” He tries to hand one back, but Hanbin steps away, shaking his head.

“I don’t get cold easily,” Hanbin says, flashing a grin as he opens the door and steps outside.

Hao huffs, following him. “Still, that’s not fair.”

They walk a few steps in silence, the chill of the morning air biting at Hao’s cheeks. Finally, Hanbin lets out a soft laugh and stops, turning to face him.

“Alright, fine,” Hanbin says just as he’s forgetting about the heating pack drama, reaching out and taking Hao’s left hand in his.

“Let’s share. You know, I really shouldn’t freeze.”

Hao freezes instead.

It’s not from the cold.

He feels electricity as Hanbin effortlessly slips their joint hands—still holding the heating pack—inside Hao’s coat pocket. Their hands are warm, nestled together around the heating pack, but Hao’s mind is spinning. His thoughts spiral as he processes the quiet intimacy of it, the way their fingers brush, the way Hanbin’s thumb absentmindedly strokes the back of his hand.

A quiet tremor runs up Hao’s spine at the gesture.

Hanbin doesn’t seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it, simply walking beside him as if this—this—is nothing at all.

“You could’ve just taken one for yourself,” Hao mutters, his voice quieter than usual.

Hanbin shrugs with a boyish grin. “This works too, right?”

Hao glances at their hands, then back at Hanbin. He thinks about protesting a bit more but decides against it. What’s the point?

“Fine,” Hao says softly, trying to focus on the path ahead as they start walking again—anything but the way their hands fit, like they’ve done this a thousand times before. Hao has held Hanbin’s hands in the past—to cross the road, to guide him when they are playing—but it has never felt like this.

He sneaks a glance at Hanbin, noticing the way his lashes catch the morning light and the way his breath clouds faintly in the air. His cheeks are round and tainted with the faintest blush; it makes him look so innocent.

Before Hao’s thoughts can spiral further, Hanbin pulls out an AirPods case and points it, gesturing for him to take one.

Hao reaches out—not to place it in his own ear, but to lift it to Hanbin’s ear, gently tucking it in place.

Hanbin stills, staring at him in surprise.

Hao swallows, his fingers brushing against the curve of Hanbin’s ear for just a second too long before he pulls away. He busies himself with placing the other earbud in his own ear, ignoring Hanbin’s stare.

“What are you playing?”

“Something chill,” Hanbin replies, tapping his phone. Hao almost chuckles at how he struggles to operate it. Hanbin could easily take his other hand out of his pocket, but he doesn’t.
And, if Hao is being honest with himself…

He doesn’t want him to.

A soft melody fills Hao’s ear, the kind of music that makes you feel like you’re floating. It’s calming, the perfect soundtrack for their quiet walk to the rink.

Hao smiles faintly, enjoying the music. They don’t say much for the rest of the way, but the warmth of Hanbin’s hand in his pocket and the shared music create a perfect harmony.

****
The walk to the rink is shorter than Hao expected. He’s driven past this place a dozen times over the years—it’s right beside the community plaza, an indoor space that transforms with the seasons. During the warmer months, it’s a hub for festivals and concerts, but in winter, it becomes a lively ice skating rink, the heart of the town’s seasonal activities.

When they arrive, the crisp morning air is already filled with the distant sound of cars driving by, laughter echoing in the distance. The rink is still mostly empty, but Hao spots two familiar figures already setting up inside.

Matthew and Taerae.

Taerae notices them first, his face lighting up in surprise. “Hao hyung?!”

Matthew glances up from where he’s adjusting some equipment, a knowing smile creeping onto his face. “Of course, Hanbin hyung brought you here.”

Hao raises an eyebrow at the way he says it, but before he can question it, Taerae bounds over to greet him.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Taerae says, practically bouncing with energy. “How was getting Drunk-bin home last night?”

Hao smirks, stretching his shoulder exaggeratedly. “My shoulder still hurts from carrying all of his weight.”

Hanbin, who had been pulling on a pair of gloves, suddenly stiffens. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, ducking his head slightly.

Hao chuckles, nudging him playfully. “I’m kidding. Don’t worry about it.”

Hanbin clears his throat and quickly changes the subject, stepping into his usual composed demeanor. “Alright, let’s get started. There’s a lot to do before we open.”

Hao watches as Hanbin seamlessly shifts into leader mode. It’s subtle, but the difference is there—in the way he carries himself and the way his voice takes on a firmer edge as he directs Matthew and Taerae. When did baby Hanbinnie become so responsible?

“Hyung, sit for a bit,” Hanbin tells him before joining Matthew to finish setting up.

Hao follows Taerae toward the counter. As Taerae starts unlocking the storage cabinets, pulling out rows of ice skates in different sizes, Hao offers, “Need help?”

Taerae pauses mid-motion, considering it, but then shakes his head with a grin. “As much as I’d love your help, Hanbin hyung would scold me if I let you do my work.”

Hao raises an eyebrow. “Scold you?” The thought of Hanbin actually scolding people is so foreign that he almost laughs.

Taerae chuckles, setting down a stack of skating equipment. “Yeah, hyung. The rink owner basically put Hanbin in charge. He only comes by every once in a while to check on things, but Hanbin’s the one running the show. He’s basically our manager.”

Hao takes that in, glancing toward where Hanbin and Matthew are working with the resurfacing machine, keeping the ice smooth. Hanbin moves with practiced ease, inspecting the rink like it’s his personal responsibility. Manager Hanbin, huh?

Before Hao can dwell on it too much, the front door swings open with a loud bang.

“Morning, losers!”

Gyuvin strides in, his tall frame practically radiating energy despite the early hour. He’s warm—like sunshine on a cold winter morning, the kind of warmth that lingers, making everything feel a little less harsh. The second he spots Hanbin and Matthew, he immediately launches himself at them, wrapping an arm around each of their shoulders.

Matthew groans, trying to shake him off. “It is too early for you to be this excited.”

“You love me,” Gyuvin teases, then turns his attention toward the counter. His eyes land on Hao, and he pauses mid-step.

“Oh! Hyung, what are you doing here?”

Hao leans against the counter, smirking. “Do you always wake up this excited to work?”

Gyuvin puffs out his chest dramatically. “Of course. This rink would be nothing without me.”

Taerae snorts. “The delusion is strong today.”

Hanbin, from across the room, calls out, “Gyuvin, stop bothering them and come help.”

Gyuvin groans, dragging his feet dramatically as he walks toward Hanbin. “So bossy,” he mutters, though there’s no real bite behind his words.

Hao watches as they all fall into their respective roles, the efficiency of their teamwork becoming clear.

By the time they finish setting up, the rink is officially open for the day. Everyone steps into their designated roles.

Hanbin mans the equipment station, handing out skates and helping customers put them on if needed. Matthew stands near the rink as a guard, ready to assist anyone struggling to stay upright on the ice. Taerae and Gyuvin take charge of reservations and payments, alternating between handling customers and playfully bickering behind the counter.

Hao, for his part, stays near the counter, watching as the visitors of the day trickle in.

About one hour in, a family walks through the doors—two parents with their excited kids bundled up in thick coats and mittens.

Hao greets them with a polite nod as Taerae starts processing their rental requests. The kids press their faces against the glass barrier of the rink, their breath fogging up the surface as they watch some skaters already gliding across the ice.

The whole scene feels... peaceful. There’s a rhythm to everything—the sound of blades scraping against ice, the laughter of children, the occasional call from Hanbin as he directs people to their lockers.

Hao leans back against the counter, taking it all in.

It’s different from his usual fast-paced life in Seoul. Slower, quieter.

Whenever the rush slows, he finds himself talking to Gyuvin and Taerae, both of whom have no shortage of stories to tell.

At some point, his curiosity gets the better of him.

“Hey, Gyuvin,” Hao asks, leaning back in his chair. “Where did you even meet Hanbin?”

Gyuvin brightens immediately. “Oh! It was my first day at university. I was completely lost—like, beyond lost. I didn’t know where any of my classes were.”

Hao raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t check beforehand?”

“I did!” Gyuvin insists, groaning. “But I got confused, and the campus is huge, okay? Anyway, I ran into Hanbin hyung, and he was nice enough to help me out.”

Hao listens as Gyuvin animatedly recounts the story, gesturing wildly with his hands.

“He didn’t just point me in the right direction—he literally walked me to every single one of my classes for the day,” Gyuvin says dramatically, like he’s talking about some kind of life-saving event. “And not just once. I mean, he waited outside for me and took me to the next one.”

Hao’s lips twitch into a small smile. That’s so Hanbin-coded, he thinks. The overly nice guy, always going above and beyond.

Gyuvin sighs wistfully. “I was so grateful that I got his number and told him I’d treat him to a meal.”

“Let me guess,” Hao says, smirking. “You followed him around after that, didn’t you?”

Gyuvin gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “Hyung, I’m not like that. What is this first impression you have of me?”

Hao chuckles, shaking his head. “I mean, did you?”

Gyuvin pouts but nods. “Yeah, kinda. I texted him almost every day. At first, he was super polite and formal, but after a while, he relaxed. And one day, he took me out for dinner instead.”

Hao tilts his head, intrigued. “So that’s how you got close?”

Gyuvin grins, nodding. “Yup. That pretty much cemented our friendship. After that, he introduced me to Matthew and Taerae, and we started hanging out.”

Hao hums, processing the story. It’s... cute. The way Hanbin always seems to collect people, unintentionally drawing them in with his warmth. It’s something Hao has always known about him, but hearing it from someone else feels nice. Hanbin is a good person, and everyone thinks of him that way too.

“I met Ricky in class,” Gyuvin adds casually.

Hao smirks, sensing another story. “Let me guess, another victim of your following around?”

Gyuvin groans loudly. “Hyung! I’m not that bad.”

Taerae, who has been quietly listening while organizing reservations, suddenly chimes in. “Yes, you are.”

Gyuvin whirls on him, scowling. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

Hao watches, entertained, as Taerae merely shrugs with an innocent smile.

“Anyway,” Gyuvin huffs, crossing his arms. “Ricky loves me like this. He just won’t admit it.”

Hao catches the way Gyuvin suddenly blushes, his expression softening in a way that’s almost out of character for his usual loud personality.

Hao narrows his eyes slightly, but he doesn’t read too much into it.

Instead, he turns his attention back to his phone, flipping through apps and playing a few rounds of a mobile game while absently watching people skate.

The rink is lively now, full of movement and energy. Kids wobbling on their skates, couples gliding hand in hand, and groups of friends laughing as they stumble around the ice.

Hao finds himself watching Hanbin more than he intends to.

It’s not like he’s doing it on purpose—his eyes just seem to naturally drift toward him, catching glimpses of the way Hanbin moves, the way he interacts with people.

Hanbin is in his element here, effortlessly switching between assisting customers and managing the rink. Hao watches as he hands out skates with ease, helps a little girl tie her laces, and laughs at something Matthew says before jogging back toward the counter.

Despite the cold air circulating around the rink, there’s a light sheen of sweat on Hanbin’s skin.

Hao notices the way Hanbin pauses for a second, exhaling sharply before fanning himself weakly with his hand.

Without thinking, Hao reaches into his bag, pulling out the water bottle he packed earlier. He stands and walks over to where Hanbin is leaning against the counter.

“Here,” Hao says, extending the bottle.

Hanbin blinks at him before smiling, his dimples appearing. “Oh, thanks, hyung.”

He unscrews the cap and takes a few gulps, sighing in relief. “I needed that.”

Hao crosses his arms, watching him. “You look exhausted. Are you sure you don’t need a break?”

Hanbin grins. “Can’t afford one right now. Sundays are busy.”

“Uh-huh,” Hao mutters, unconvinced.

Hanbin glances at him, tilting his head slightly. “Are you having fun, at least?”

Hao exhales dramatically. “Gyuvin is talking my ear off. That kid is really something.”

Hanbin laughs, his eyes crinkling. “Yeah, he does that; he is adorable.”

Hao studies Hanbin for a moment, sensing the warmth in his tone. He shifts his weight slightly before saying, “You really seem to love him.”

“Yeah, I do. He’s one of the most important people in my life.”

Hao nods. That makes sense. Hanbin is the kind of person who loves deeply. Of course, he will feel this way about his boyfriend.

But for some reason, hearing Hanbin say it so openly sends a strange feeling twisting in Hao’s stomach.

He’s about to go back to his seat when his eyes catch something—a drop of sweat trickling down Hanbin’s temple.

Before he even realizes what he’s doing, he reaches out.

His fingers brush against Hanbin’s skin, catching the drop before it falls.

Hanbin stills instantly.

Hao doesn’t pull away. Instead, he starts wiping at Hanbin’s forehead with his palm, his movements slow and unthinking. His focus sharpens, and suddenly, it’s like the entire rink fades into the background.

When he finally looks up, Hanbin is already looking at him.

Their eyes lock, and Hao forgets to breathe.

There’s something unreadable in Hanbin’s gaze—something faint but undeniably there. It makes Hao’s fingers hesitate against Hanbin’s skin, his touch slowing unconsciously.

For a brief moment, all of his senses narrow down to just this—his palm against Hanbin’s face, the warmth of his skin despite the cold air, the way Hanbin doesn’t move away.

Hao’s gaze flickers downward.

To Hanbin’s lips.

He exhales harshly, and he quickly snaps his eyes back up—only to realize Hanbin definitely saw him looking.

The second that realization hits, Hao retracts his hand like he’s been burned.

His heart is beating too fast. What the hell was that?

Hanbin smiles, as if nothing just happened. “Thanks, hyung.”

Hao forces himself to nod, turning on his heel and walking back to his seat. He doesn’t dare look back, doesn’t trust himself to.

He sinks into his chair, pressing his palm against his own face. His skin feels weirdly warm.

What is wrong with me?

His fingers twitch slightly, remembering the feeling of Hanbin’s skin against his.

And that thought unsettles him more than anything else.

Am I that horny? That I would even get attracted to Hanbin?

No. That’s ridiculous.

But the guilt seeps in just as quickly. Hanbin has a boyfriend. Meanwhile, Gyuvin is still talking about Ricky beside him, completely unaware that Hao is attracted to his boyfriend—or of the storm brewing in his head.

Why am I touching a taken man like that?

He shakes his head, exhaling sharply. He needs to get a grip.

Hao is half-listening to Gyuvin, nodding absentmindedly as he scrolls through his phone. It’s not that the story isn’t interesting—it’s just that it’s the fifth one Gyuvin has told about Ricky in the past hour.

Gyuvin, however, is completely unaware of how obvious he’s being. His face lights up as he talks, his hands gesturing wildly. “And then, Ricky—he was so mad, hyung, like, I swear I thought he was going to start throwing hands—”

Hao tunes back in, raising an eyebrow. Again?

This guy never shuts up about Ricky. They must be ridiculously close, Hao muses. Or Gyuvin just likes talking about him that much.

Before he can poke at that thought, Taerae sighs loudly, shaking his head. “Okay, okay, enough about Ricky,” he says, waving Gyuvin off. Then, turning to Hao with a too-sweet smile, he asks, “Hyung, what about Jiwoong? Does he have a partner now?”

Hao sighs internally. Here we go.

Before he can even open his mouth, Hanbin suddenly comes jogging over, wiping his hands on a towel. “Finally! I have a break.” He leans against the counter, glancing at the three of them. “What are you guys talking about?”

Taerae smiles way too innocently. “None of your business.”

Gyuvin, however, immediately betrays him. “He was asking if your brother has a partner.”

Taerae’s jaw drops, eyes widening in absolute betrayal. “GYUVIN—”

Hanbin doesn’t even hesitate. “Come here. I should really beat you up.”

Taerae lets out a very undignified shriek as Hanbin lunges at him, tickling him mercilessly. Taerae squirms and gasps between laughs, trying to escape, but Hanbin is relentless.

Their laughter echoes across the rink, and despite himself, Hao finds his lips curving into a smile. They’re actually so ridiculous.

As the chase dies down, Hanbin straightens, clapping his hands together. “We should order food,” he announces. He cups his hands around his mouth and calls out across the rink, “Mashu! What do you want to eat?”

Matthew, who is helping a kid lace up their skates, barely looks up before shouting, “Chicken!” with a bright grin.

Hanbin nods in satisfaction, making an okay sign with his fingers.

Gyuvin, still catching his breath from laughing, mumbles, “We ate chicken last time too…”

Unfortunately for him, Taerae hears that.

“Matthew!” Taerae yells dramatically. “Gyuvin hates your choice in food!”

Gyuvin’s head snaps up in horror. “I never said that—”

But it’s too late. Matthew gasps like he’s been personally betrayed, hand over his heart. “Gyuvin-ah,” he says, looking at him like he just lost all faith in humanity.

“I love chicken,” Gyuvin insists. “I just meant—”

Taerae, ever the menace, grins before taking off in a sprint. “BYE!”

Gyuvin lets out a frustrated groan before immediately chasing after him.

Hao watches the chaos unfold, shaking his head with a small laugh. Poor Taerae.

Hao laughs harder seeing Taerae getting tackled again.

“Hyung, your cheeks are like apples when you laugh,” Hanbin says, giggling softly. “It’s so cute.”

Hao blinks, caught completely off guard.

He becomes suddenly aware of the way his cheeks must look—flushed, round, stretched with laughter. He stops laughing immediately, pressing his lips together.

Hanbin notices, tilting his head. “Why’d you stop?”

“...no reason.”

Hanbin pouts, nudging him. “It was a compliment, hyung. I love it.”

Of course, of course he says it so easily, so casually, like it’s nothing. Meanwhile, Hao is sitting here feeling so self conscious, not knowing what to do with himself.

To cover his awkwardness, he clears his throat and teases, “Ah, where did you learn to use such sweet words?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I just say what I feel.”

Hao doesn’t have a response to that, so he lets it go.

Hanbin then switches gears, asking if Hao is okay with chicken before placing their order. He doesn’t just get one type, though—he orders three different sets, making sure there’s something for everyone.

When the food arrives, Matthew takes a break to eat with them, keeping an eye on the rink just in case anyone needs assistance. Taerae, ever the responsible one, places a “Lunch Break” sign on the door and locks it temporarily before plopping down with them.

As they dig in, Gyuvin suddenly turns to Hao, grinning. “Hao hyung is my favorite now. Hyung, you should come hang out with us every day.”

Hao chuckles, picking up a piece of chicken. “What, so you can talk my ear off some more?”

Gyuvin gasps in mock offense. “I’m being nice, and this is how you treat me?”

Hanbin, laughing beside him, picks up another piece of chicken with his chopsticks and holds it out to Hao. “Hyung, try this one.”

Hao hesitates for a fraction of a second. It’s not like they haven’t shared food before, but accepting it from Hanbin’s hand feels… it’s different. Besides, they are in front of his friends—and Hanbin’s boyfriend.

But Hanbin offers it so casually, without a second thought. He and Gyuvin must be so secure in their relationship that something as intimate as feeding someone else means nothing to them.

So why does Hao keep seeing something more in these actions?

Why does it feel different to him?

Still, he leans in and takes the bite, his lips brushing slightly against the chopsticks. As he chews, savoring the flavor, he catches something in his peripheral vision.

Hanbin is watching him.

Not just watching—fixating.

Hao can feel Hanbin’s gaze following the movement of his tongue as he licks a stray bit of sauce from his lips. The attention makes his skin prickle, his throat suddenly dry.

What the hell?

Hao shifts slightly, pretending not to notice, but it’s impossible to ignore the way Hanbin’s eyes linger. Does he even realize what he’s doing?

His first instinct is to brush it off, but something gnaws at him. Hanbin isn’t doing this with Gyuvin. Shouldn’t he be acting like this with his boyfriend instead?

Curious, Hao turns slightly to look at Gyuvin—only to find that Gyuvin isn’t paying attention at all.

He’s happily chatting away with Matthew, completely unbothered.

Hao narrows his eyes. He’s not the jealous type, huh?

If it were him— if he had a boyfriend like Hanbin, constantly paying attention to other people—wouldn’t he feel at least a little possessive? A little annoyed?

That thought makes Hao pause.

Wait. What?

He pulls himself back, shaking his head slightly. Why am I even thinking like that? Hanbin isn’t my boyfriend and he will never be.

Just as he’s trying to push the thought away, heat suddenly burns at his lips.

Oh. Shit. It’s spicy.

The chicken must have had a stronger kick than he expected because his lips tingle almost instantly, growing plumper from the heat. He reaches for his drink, taking a sip, but it does little to soothe the sensation.

Hanbin notices immediately. “Hyung…” he says, frowning. He rummages through his bag for a second before pulling out a small tube of lip ointment.

Hao raises an eyebrow. “Why do you just carry that around?”

Hanbin waves off the question. “You always get chapped lips in the cold. I figured you might need it.”

Since when is he paying that much attention?

Before he can react, Hanbin moves closer, gently gripping his chin. “Here, let me put some on for you.”

Hao freezes for the third time today as Hanbin uncaps the ointment and brings a finger to his lips.

His finger presses lightly against Hao’s lower lip, gliding across it with careful precision. Hanbin’s face is close—too close.

Hao’s breath stutters. He glances at the others and sees that no one finds anything unusual about what Hanbin is doing. They aren’t even looking at them, hunched over Taerae’s phone, watching a video as they eat. But Hao—Hao is deeply affected.

It’s… too much.

His body tenses as he watches Hanbin’s focused expression, his lips slightly parted as he concentrates on applying the ointment.

Why is this affecting me?

It’s just lip balm. Just Hanbin helping him. Then why does he feel this strange heat curling in his stomach?

Unable to take it, Hao suddenly grabs Hanbin’s wrist, stopping him mid-motion.

Hanbin looks up, startled. “Hyung?”

Hao swallows, his voice coming out steadier than he feels. “I can do it.”

Hao takes the ointment from him, but before he can apply it himself, he notices something.

Hanbin looks… almost hurt.

Like he was disappointed Hao didn’t let him finish.

Hao feels bad. He doesn’t want Hanbin to feel like that—not after Hanbin said he thought that Hao no longer cared about him.

So, after a brief hesitation, he sighs and relents. “Ah, but I don’t even have a mirror. You can help me, Bin-ah.”

The second Hanbin hears that, his face lights up again.

He smiles—one of those warm, genuine ones that make his dimples deepen—and leans back in. This time, his touch is even gentler, his fingers barely ghosting over Hao’s lips.

Hao watches him carefully, heart beating a little too fast.

This is a recipe for disaster.

When Hanbin finally pulls away, Hao realizes something.

It’s been a long time since someone took care of him like this. Since someone paid attention to the little things without him having to ask.

And as much as he wants to brush it off, the warmth in his chest lingers.

He meets Hanbin’s gaze and, without meaning to, smiles back.

Because, for some reason, this moment makes him strangely happy.

By the time 6 p.m. rolls around, the rink is nearly empty. Most families had already left hours ago, their laughter and excited chatter fading into the evening air. Now, only a few college students remain, gliding lazily across the ice, their conversations blending into the quiet hum of the rink.

“We stopped letting new people in at 5,” Taerae explains, stretching his arms behind his head. “Makes it easier to clear them all out when it’s time to close.”

Hao nods, watching as Taerae steps out from behind the counter and strolls toward a small group of guys still skating. Instead of scolding them to hurry up, Taerae effortlessly falls into conversation, laughing and dapping them up. The energy shifts instantly—they respond to him like he’s one of them, throwing playful shoves and cracking jokes, their laughter echoing through the rink.

Hao finds himself surprised.

He’s so used to seeing Taerae as the mischievous one in their friend group—the one who teases everyone relentlessly, who stirs up harmless chaos just for fun. He always seems so carefree, enjoying the role of the playful troublemaker. But this version of Taerae is different.

This Taerae is acting cool. He carries himself with a kind of ease that doesn’t quite match the hyperactive energy he usually exudes. He’s casual, smooth—someone these guys clearly respect.

And yet, there’s something telling in the way his eyes shine when he’s being playful, the way he enjoys being the little menace of their group.

This must be the side he only shows his closest friends. The part of him that feels safe enough to be openly chaotic, knowing he’ll always be accepted.

Hao watches him for a few more seconds, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Cute.

Soon, the last of the skaters make their way out, and the rink feels quieter, almost peaceful.

Hanbin emerges from the locker room, having changed into his jacket. He carries another one draped over his arm—Hao’s.

“We should go,” Hanbin says, holding it out.

Hao raises an eyebrow. “Won’t you stay and close up with them?”

Before Hanbin can answer, Gyuvin lets out an exaggerated sigh from beside them. “I lost a bet, so it’s my responsibility to close for the whole week.”

“What kind of bet?” He turns to Hanbin, amused.

Hanbin chuckles, shaking his head. “Just some dumb thing. And honestly, we already let him off the hook for coming in late every morning, so it’s fair.”

Gyuvin glares at him. “You make me sound irresponsible.”

Hanbin pats his shoulder. “Because you are. Nothing to be ashamed of, baby.”

Before Gyuvin can argue, the door swings open, and Gunwook and Ricky walk in.

Gunwook doesn’t even hesitate before beelining straight to Matthew, wrapping him up in a tight hug and planting a quick kiss on his lips.

“I missed you,” Gunwook says, grinning.

Hanbin crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, Gunwook, hello to you too.”

Gunwook pulls away from Matthew just long enough to throw an apologetic smile at Hanbin. “Oh, sorry—hi, hyung.” He then proceeds to greet everyone else properly.

Meanwhile, Taerae strolls over to Ricky with an expectant look. “And what exactly are you doing here?”

Ricky shrugs. “Keeping Gunwook company on the way here.”

Taerae narrows his eyes. “Wait, wait, wait—you walked? Rich Ricky didn’t take a taxi?”

Ricky immediately glares at him. “I already took a taxi to Gunwook’s place earlier today. We just walked from there.”

Taerae snickers. “Mm, so Ricky of you.”

Before Ricky can fire back, Gyuvin appears beside him, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “You’re here to keep me company while I close, right? Even though you specifically said you wouldn’t come when I told the group chat that Ricky would stay with me.”

Ricky sighs, pushing Gyuvin off him. “I changed my mind.”

“Why? You care about me way too much, Kim Ricky.” Gyuvin squints at him, suspicious.

Ricky rolls his eyes. “I just didn’t want you to suffer alone in this huge place.”

Hanbin leans toward Hao, whispering, “Gyuvin’s the real reason he’s here.”

Hao smiles to himself. Ricky and Gyuvin really must be close.

Gunwook and Matthew say their goodbyes, mentioning something about going to watch a movie.

Hanbin nudges Hao’s shoulder. “Let’s go too.”

Taerae tags along with them.

As they walk out, Hao faintly catches Gyuvin’s voice saying, “I love you, Ricky.”

Taerae walks with them, filling the silence with easy conversation. He talks about everything and nothing, making jokes, humming random songs under his breath.

Soon, they reach Taerae’s house. He grins at them, rocking on his heels before giving a dramatic wave. “See you guys later.”

“Night,” Hanbin says, and Hao lifts a hand in farewell.

As soon as Taerae disappears through his front door, Hanbin’s hand finds Hao’s.

“My hands are warm,” Hanbin murmurs, as if it’s the most natural explanation in the world.

There’s no excuse of the heat pack this time—nothing to justify the way Hanbin easily takes his hands. But Hao doesn’t pull away.

Hao looks down at their joined hands, fingers loosely curled together. Maybe he’s imagining it, but Hanbin’s touch feels just as warm as a heat pack anyway.

He exhales softly, allowing himself to bask in the feeling for a moment.

It’s nice.

The winter air is crisp, but with Hanbin’s hand in his, Hao feels slightly warmer.

Chapter Text

Hao wakes up to the sharp buzz of his phone vibrating against the nightstand.

Groggily, he reaches for it, squinting at the bright screen. Mom.

He sits up immediately, swiping to answer. “Mom?”

“Good morning, honey.” Her voice is soft, but there’s a tiredness beneath it that Hao picks up on instantly.

He shifts, pressing the phone closer to his ear. “How are you? Are you eating well?” His concern spills out before he can stop himself. “Did Dad at least get you a nice hotel in Seoul?”

There’s a pause. Then, his mother sighs, a quiet, almost resigned sound. “I’m fine, Hao. It’ll be over soon.”

Her words don’t reassure him at all.

He hesitates before asking, “Did you meet Dad yet?”

Another pause. “No,” she says finally. “It’s mostly his lawyers I’ve been meeting with.”

Hao clenches his jaw. Of course.

Coward.

His father hasn’t even given her the decency of speaking to him directly. Just hiding behind lawyers, like the spineless man he’s always been when it came to family matters.

His grip on his phone tightens. “I can come to Seoul,” he offers. “I can be there by this afternoon—”

“Hao.” His mother’s voice is firm now, cutting him off. “No. You’re not coming here. Stay in Cheonan. Enjoy your holiday with the Sungs.”

“But—”

“No buts.” She exhales, trying to keep her tone light. “I’m okay, sweetheart. Really.”

Hao doesn’t believe her.

But what can he do? She’s made up her mind.

“…Okay,” he says reluctantly. “But call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will,” she promises. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

The call ends, leaving an uncomfortable weight in his chest.

He stares at the phone in his hands, debating for only a second before dialing another number.

His father.

It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

Then—voicemail.

Hao swears under his breath, frustration bubbling to the surface. He dials again. Nothing.

A bitter laugh escapes him. As expected, he won’t answer the phone.

His fingers tighten around his phone before he scrolls to another number—his father’s driver-slash-manager, the man who’s basically been his dad’s personal assistant for as long as he can remember.

This time, the call picks up.

“Good morning, sir—”

“Where is he?” Hao doesn’t bother with pleasantries. His voice is sharp, demanding.

There’s a pause on the other end before the man clears his throat. “Your father is in a meeting, sir.”

Hao lets out a humorless chuckle. “Right.”

Silence.

Frustration claws at his chest, tightening his throat. “Tell him to reply to my texts or call me. He’s ignoring me, and I’m sick of it!” he practically yells.

“I will pass on the message.”

Hao scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Sure you will.”

He hangs up before the driver can say anything else. He’s not usually this rude but he’s pissed off, and rightfully so.

His pulse is hammering. His head feels too full, buzzing with thoughts he doesn’t want to deal with right now. He needs air.

Pushing himself off the bed, he stumbles out of his room and into the hallway, making his way toward the bathroom.

The moment he reaches the sink, he turns on the faucet, splashing cold water onto his face. The shock of it does little to cool the anger simmering inside him.

He grips the edges of the sink, staring at his reflection.

His chest feels tight. Too tight.

The sound of footsteps approaching barely registers in his mind until Hanbin’s voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts.

“Hyung?”

Hao flinches slightly, glancing up just as Hanbin steps into the bathroom.

Hanbin frowns, immediately noticing something is off. Or, maybe he heard the yelling. “Are you okay?”

Hao tries to swallow the lump in his throat, but it’s lodged there—thick, suffocating. His chest tightens, burning from the inside out. He blinks rapidly, desperate to push back the sting in his eyes, to hold himself together just a little longer.

But it’s useless.

Everything crashes over him at once—his mom’s exhausted voice, his dad’s cold indifference, the sheer helplessness clawing at his ribs like a beast trying to escape. The weight of it presses down, crushing, choking, and for a moment, he can’t breathe.

His breath stutters. His shoulders tremble.

Hanbin doesn’t hesitate.

Warmth engulfs him in an instant, firm arms pulling him in, steady and grounding. Hanbin holds him close, pressing him against his chest like he can protect him from all of it.

Hanbin doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He doesn’t question it or push for answers. He just holds him—trying to shield Hao from an enemy he doesn’t even know.

Hao stiffens—just for a second. But the warmth—Hanbin’s warmth—is immediate and overwhelming. It seeps into his skin, into the cracks he’s spent so long ignoring.

He hadn’t realized how badly he needed this.

His hands shake as they clutch at the fabric of Hanbin’s hoodie, fingers curling desperately, searching for something—anything—to hold onto. His breath comes out in short, broken bursts against Hanbin’s shoulder, and then—

He breaks.

The first tear slips down, hot against his chilled skin. Then another.

And another.

The sobs come silently, but his entire body shakes with the force of them. His chest heaves with every ragged inhale, his breath catching on the way out, uneven, unsteady. His fingers tighten their grip, bunching up the material in his fists as if letting go would mean collapsing entirely.

Hanbin doesn’t say anything.

He just holds him.

One hand smooths over Hao’s back, slow and deliberate, grounding him. The other rests at the nape of his neck, a silent reassurance. No pressure. No forced words. Just his presence.

Hao clings to him, allowing himself to need. To feel.

To be small. To be weak. Just for a moment.

Because right now—this?

This is exactly what he needs.

Time stretches, indistinguishable in the haze of his grief. The world outside the embrace blurs, fades. All that exists is the quiet, the trembling of his own body, and the steady, unwavering comfort of Hanbin against him.

He sobs until he’s empty. Until exhaustion weighs down his limbs, until his fingers ache from how tightly they’ve been holding on.

Eventually, when Hao’s sobs quiet down to sniffles, Hanbin pulls away slightly, just enough to look at him. His eyes are soft, filled with concern, but he doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he gently takes Hao’s wrist, guiding him out of the bathroom and into his room.

“Hyung, sit here,” Hanbin says, easing him onto the bed. “I’ll be back, okay?”

Hao nods wordlessly, watching as Hanbin disappears out the door.

The moment he’s alone, the weight of what just happened crashes over him. He groans, dragging his hands down his face. God. He just broke down in front of Hanbin.

His eyes must be swollen. His face, blotchy and red.

He turns to the mirror hanging on the wall, and yep—he looks terrible. Embarrassment floods his chest as he hurriedly grabs a tissue, dabbing at his face in an attempt to make himself look somewhat normal.

By the time Hanbin returns, Hao is still sitting there, waiting awkwardly.

Hanbin stops in front of him and—out of all things—hands him three lollipops.

Hao blinks. “Uh…?”

Hanbin grins, plopping down beside him. “It’s because you used to give me candy whenever I cried.”

Hao stares at the lollipops in his hand, trying to dig through his memory. It’s vague—something he must’ve done without thinking much of it. But Hanbin remembers.

A sudden image flashes in his mind—little Hanbin, cheeks red and tear-streaked, sniffling as Hao stuffed a lollipop in his mouth to stop his crying.

Hao chuckles, shaking his head. “That was when you were a baby.” He looks over at Hanbin with a teasing smirk. “I’m not a child, so why—”

Hanbin pouts. “I just wanted to do something for you.”

Hao immediately shuts up, feeling a pang of guilt.

He sighs, giving Hanbin a small, appreciative smile. “Okay. Thank you, Bin-ah.”

He peels the wrapper off one of the lollipops and pops it into his mouth, his eyebrows raising slightly as the familiar taste hits his tongue.

Raspberry crush.

He turns to Hanbin, who is already watching him with a knowing smile.

“You still like this one, huh?” Hanbin muses.

“It’s my favorite.”

Hanbin grins wider. “I know. It’s my favorite now too.”

Hao pauses mid-lick, staring at him. “Wait… what?”

“You used to give it to me a lot,” Hanbin explains, his voice light. “I guess I got attached.”

Hao finds himself smiling; he has that much impact on Hanbin even down to his favorite candy.

To test the theory, he wordlessly holds out one of the lollipops to Hanbin.

But instead of taking an unopened one, Hanbin reaches for the one already in Hao’s mouth.

Hao freezes.

His mind flashes back to when they were kids—Hanbin, bright-eyed and innocent, had once tried to share a lollipop with him the same way. Hao had instinctively told him no, worried about germs, only for little Hanbin to pout and ask, “Why can’t I do it?”

The last thing Hao wanted was to make him sad, so he hesitated before sighing, reluctantly taking the lollipop Hanbin had been holding between his lips. “Don’t take lollipops from anyone’s mouth,” he’d warned, voice serious.

“I shouldn’t?” Hanbin had asked, tilting his head in curiosity.

Hao had nodded, ruffling his hair. “Just do it with only me, okay? It’s fine if it’s me.”

The way Hanbin’s entire face had lit up back then had been adorable.

Now, years later, as Hanbin wraps his fingers around the stick, pulling it from Hao’s lips to his own, he murmurs with a small smile, “It’s okay if it’s you, right?”

Hao swallows hard, suddenly feeling too hot despite the cold morning air. His brain short-circuits.

Did—did Hanbin just—?

He chokes on absolutely nothing, coughing as Hanbin’s eyes widen in alarm.

“Hyung, are you okay?”

“I—I’m fine,” Hao rushes out, waving him off.

Hanbin nods, seemingly unfazed as he continues licking the lollipop like nothing just happened. Meanwhile, Hao is sitting there, his entire system malfunctioning.

That was an indirect kiss.

He forces himself to grab another lollipop, unwrapping it with trembling fingers and shoving it into his mouth before his mind can go any further down that road.

They sit in silence for a while, sucking on their lollipops.

Eventually, Hao clears his throat. “Um… can you not tell anyone about this?”

Hanbin tilts his head. “About what?”

Hao hesitates before clarifying, “About me crying. I don’t want Jiwoong asking questions. And I don’t want your mom worrying either.”

Hanbin nods immediately. “Of course, hyung. I won’t say anything. It’s a secret.”

For some reason, that reassures him more than he expected.

Hanbin shifts beside him. “Oh, by the way—Mom is already making breakfast in the kitchen.” He gives Hao a once-over, tilting his head slightly. “You should probably wash your face before coming out.”

Hao sighs, rubbing his fingers under his swollen eyes. “Is my face that bad?”

Hanbin hesitates for a second before muttering, “You still look handsome… even when you cry.” He shifts on his feet, looking awkward. “You’re a pretty crier, hyung.”

Hao blinks. His brain stutters for a response, but nothing comes. Lightheaded, he just stares at Hanbin, who quickly turns around before he can say anything else..

“I’ll see you outside,” Hanbin says, disappearing through the door.

Hao stands there for a moment, dazed. And then, without thinking, he smiles to himself—

For no reason at all.

His mind flickers back to the lollipop incident, but he aggressively shoves the thought into the deepest corner of his brain.

Nope. Not thinking about that.

Instead, he heads to the bathroom, determined to push everything else aside for now.

****

Hao takes his time in the shower, letting the warm water wash away the last remnants of his eventful morning. His emotions still feel raw from earlier, but he pushes them aside as he gets dressed, choosing a comfortable sweater and jeans.

By the time he makes his way to the kitchen, he feels a little more like himself—until the moment he steps inside.

The second he walks through the doorway, three pairs of eyes land on him at once.

Jiwoong. Hanbin. Mr. Sung.

Hao freezes.

What the— Why are they all looking at him like that?

Panic bubbles in his chest. Did Hanbin tell them? Did they know he cried his eyes out less than an hour ago? His stomach twists at the thought. He’s about to turn around and walk right back out when Mrs. Sung’s voice saves him.

“Haohao, come eat,” she calls warmly. “How was your sleep?”

Hao exhales a quiet breath of relief. Okay. Hanbin didn’t tell them.

He schools his expression into something neutral and steps further in. “Good morning.”

Mr. Sung, already dressed for work, gives him a nod. “Morning, Hao.” He checks his watch, then quickly stands. “I have to get going. See you all later.”

Mrs. Sung wipes her hands on a dish towel as her husband leans in to press a quick peck to her cheek before rushing toward the door.

The boys watch as he waves at them and disappears.

Jiwoong stretches in his seat. “Damn, he didn’t even finish his meal.”

“Your father is a hard worker,” Mrs. Sung replies, shaking her head fondly before setting a fresh bowl of rice on the table for Hao.

Hanbin, already halfway through his own meal, pats the seat beside him. “Hyung, sit here.”

Hao doesn’t hesitate, settling in next to him as Jiwoong leans forward, an eager glint in his eyes.

“We should go to a game room after I finish work,” Jiwoong announces.

“That depends. Are you going to abandon me again like last time?”

Jiwoong puts a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “That was an accident. I’ll be a better friend this time, I promise.”

Hanbin snorts, clearly unconvinced.

Mrs. Sung finally joins them at the table, serving herself as the conversation flows around them.

Then, out of nowhere, Hanbin quietly breaks off a piece of fish and places it onto Hao’s rice, his signature wide smile stretching across his face as he does so.

Mrs. Sung immediately notices.

“Ohh, Hanbin is so sweet,” she coos.

Hanbin groans. “Mom, stop it.”

Jiwoong jumps in, ever the instigator. “You like Hao more than me. That’s not fair, I’m nice to you too.”

Hao smirks, picking up his chopsticks. “Hyung, stop being jealous. I was always the better hyung.”

Mrs. Sung hums playfully, giving Hanbin a sly look. “Well, Hanbin has always been very fond of Hao…”

Something about the way she says it makes Hanbin stiffen beside him.

Jiwoong catches on instantly, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, yeah! Remember when Hanbin cried and said he wanted to marry Hao when he grew up?”

Hao freezes, chopsticks hovering mid-air. “What?”

Hanbin immediately turns red. “I never said that!”

But Mrs. Sung is already laughing, nodding along. “Oh, you definitely did.”

Jiwoong leans in, grinning wickedly. “He kept saying ‘Hao hyung is the coolest person in the world! I’ll marry him when I’m older!’”

Hao stares at Jiwoong, utterly shocked. Marriage? Hanbin liked him that much?

Jiwoong continues, relishing in his younger brother’s suffering. “And when I told him he couldn’t, he threw the biggest tantrum.”

Hanbin groans, covering his face. “Hyung, stop it.”

But Jiwoong is relentless. “He cried until Mom told him he could—if you agreed.”

Hao turns his head slowly, staring at Hanbin in disbelief.

Hanbin is already shaking his head aggressively. “It’s not true. Mom, tell them I never said that!”

Mrs. Sung just smiles knowingly, sipping her tea.

Hao should probably say something, but he’s too busy processing to find the words.

He tries to read Hanbin’s expression—flustered, hiding behind his hands, ears bright red.

That’s… crazy.

After breakfast, Mrs. Sung offers to drop Hanbin off at the ice skating rink.

Jiwoong immediately perks up. “Mom, drop me off too.”

Mrs. Sung raises a brow. “You have your own car, son.”

Jiwoong groans dramatically. “Yeah, but it’s covered in snow. I’ll have to wipe it all off.”

Hanbin smirks, seizing the opportunity for payback. “So you’re just too lazy?”

Jiwoong glares at him. “Shut up.”

Mrs. Sung shakes her head, unimpressed. “No ride for you, clean your car or walk.”

Hanbin snickers, disappearing into his room to get dressed. Meanwhile, Hao stays in the living room, sinking into the couch as he waits.

A few minutes later, Hanbin reappears, freshly dressed in warm layers and his hair styled. Hanbin is very good looking on a normal day but he looks even better when dressed up.

Hao stands, stretching before turning to Jiwoong. “See you later, hyung.”

Then, without a word, he follows Hanbin and Mrs. Sung to the car.

Hanbin stops mid-step, blinking at him in surprise. “You’re coming?”

Hao pouts dramatically. “You don’t want me to come?”

Hanbin immediately looks flustered, opening and closing his mouth like he wants to say something but ultimately just sighing. “That’s not what I meant.”

Mrs. Sung, watching the exchange with amusement, shakes her head and gestures for them to get in.

The drive to the rink is unusually quiet.

Hao glances at Hanbin from the corner of his eye. Hanbin, who is usually chatty, sits stiffly in his seat, staring out the window like Hao isn’t even there.

Hao frowns. What’s his deal?

The tension lingers the entire ride, and by the time they pull up to the rink, it’s clear Hanbin is actively avoiding him.

The moment they step inside, Hanbin briskly walks off to the back, immediately busying himself with setting things up.

Hao watches him for a moment before sighing and heading toward Taerae and Gyuvin at the counter.

Gyuvin notices him first, “Hyung? You came again today?” he says, excitedly.

Hao nods distractedly, still watching Hanbin.

Taerae follows his gaze. “Why is Hanbin not fussing over you like always, did you fight?”

Hao sighs, leaning against the counter. “No. He’s just… he’s been avoiding me.”

Gyuvin frowns. “Why would he avoid you?”

Hao hesitates, not wanting to bring up the breakfast conversation. Hanbin would probably kill him if the others found out. “Something embarrassing happened this morning,” he says vaguely.

Gyuvin perks up, eyes gleaming. “Did it involve you?”

Hao nods.

Taerae and Gyuvin exchange a glance.

It’s quick, but Hao catches it—like they both know something he doesn’t.

He narrows his eyes. “What?”

Taerae just waves him off. “Nothing.” He smiles, tone reassuring. “Hanbin will come around. Don’t worry too much.”

Hao stares at him suspiciously before glancing back at Hanbin, who still hasn’t looked his way.

Hao watches as Hanbin avoids the counter again. That makes it the third time today.

At first, he let it slide. Maybe Hanbin was just busy. Maybe he genuinely didn’t have a reason to come over. But after hours of watching him take the long way around just to avoid interacting with him, Hao has had enough.

So when he catches Hanbin slipping into the locker room alone, he follows.

The door clicks shut behind him, and Hanbin turns in surprise, eyes widening slightly when he sees Hao standing there, arms crossed.

Hao doesn’t waste time. “Okay. What’s your deal?”

Hanbin blinks. “Huh?”

“You’ve been avoiding me all day,” Hao states plainly. “I want to know why.”

“I’m not avoiding you,” Hanbin says quickly, a little too quickly.

Hao scoffs. “Oh really? Then why haven’t you come to the counter once? You even walked the long way around just to avoid passing me.”

Hanbin shifts on his feet, looking away. “…Coincidence.”

“Bullshit.”

Hanbin winces at his tone.

Hao sighs, running a hand through his hair. He softens his voice. “Look, if this is about the whole… marriage thing, you don’t have to be weird about it. I don’t mind.”

Hanbin finally looks at him, eyes widening slightly. “You don’t?”

Hao shakes his head. “You were a kid. You probably didn’t even know what you were saying back then.”

He watches as Hanbin’s expression shifts—something flickers across his face, something subtle but unmistakable. Hopeful for a moment. And then, suddenly, deflated.

Watching Hanbin’s face fall like that unsettles him.

Hao clears his throat, forcing a light chuckle. “Besides, you saw me cry this morning, so let’s just call it even.”

Hanbin’s lips part slightly, like he wants to say something, but in the end, he just nods.

Hao exhales, relieved that the conversation is over. But as he watches Hanbin standing there, shoulders tense, eyes downcast—he can’t help but feel like he just said something wrong.

Was Hanbin hoping for something else? What was he hoping for? He wonders.

He’s been noticing it a lot lately—the way he keeps saying the wrong thing. The way Hanbin’s expression falters for just a second before he quickly masks it. Hao feels guilty, even though he doesn’t know what, exactly, is wrong with his words.

The workday winds down, and just as the last set of people leave, the door swings open.

Gunwook strolls in, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, scanning the rink until his eyes land on Matthew.

“Baby!” he calls, grinning.

Matthew immediately perks up, practically bouncing over to him. “You’re late,” he complains, but it’s without any real bite as he pulls Gunwook into a hug.

Gyuvin, who had been lazily leaning against the counter, perks up. “Where’s Ricky?”

Gunwook shrugs. “I dunno.”

Gyuvin narrows his eyes. “He always hangs out with you during the day, you’re his second favourite friend.”

“So?”

Gyuvin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Call him if you miss him that much,” Gunwook teases.

Gyuvin flushes immediately. “I don’t—Shut up.”

Hao, watching the exchange, hides a small laugh behind his hand.

Gunwook turns to Hao then, eyes lighting up. “Oh! Hao hyung, you came today too?”

Hao nods. “Yeah, I was here all day.”

Gunwook beams. “We should do something soon. I’m so bored lately.”

Hanbin, standing beside Hao, hums in agreement. “Then talk more in the group chat. You always leave us on read.”

Gyuvin snaps his fingers like he just had the best idea. “Oh! We should add Hao hyung to the chat, so he knows about whatever plans we come up with.”

Hao blinks. Their group chat?

Taerae immediately nods. “Good idea. We need a smarty brain like him to hang out with us. It’s tiring spending all my time with these losers.”

The glare he receives from the rest of the group is instant.

“What does that mean?”

“Who are the losers?”

“You know if anyone is a loser here, it’s you.” Gyuvin says, making a face at Taerae.

“What? You need a beating, Gyuvin-ah.”

Hao grins, watching them bicker, but a nice feeling settles in his chest.

He hadn’t expected to be included like this.

But he kind of likes it.

Hanbin walks him to the game room where he agreed to meet Jiwoong in. The walk is quiet at first, the cold winter air making each breath visible in the space between them. Hanbin’s hands are tucked into his coat pockets, and Hao wonders if he’s cold and wants to hold hands, but before he can ask, Hanbin turns to him.

“So, you’re really into arcade games?”

“Your brother is into it. He practically dragged me here.”

Hanbin chuckles. “Typical Jiwoong hyung. I think he just wants to spend time with you in any way he can.”

Hao hums in agreement before shifting the topic. “It’s also nice spending time with you and your friends, they are really nice people.”

Hanbin looks at him, like Hao just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. “Obviously.”

“And your boyfriend too,” Hao adds absentmindedly.

Hanbin stops walking.

“My what?”

Hao turns to him, confused. “Gyuvin? Isn’t he your boyfriend?”

For a second, Hanbin just stares at him, processing. Then, he bursts into laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. “Hyung, what?”

Hao frowns. “But you two are always together. And you said he’s the most important person—”

Hanbin laughs even harder. “Oh my god. No, Gyuvin’s not my boyfriend.”

Hao blinks, feeling a sense of realization dawn on him. “Then…?”

Hanbin smirks. “You’re seriously so clueless. Gyuvin has a crush on Ricky. Hasn’t it been obvious?”

The puzzle pieces snap together in Hao’s head all at once. Of course. That’s why Gyuvin is always bringing Ricky up, why he keeps pestering Gunwook about him, why he looks slightly embarrassed every time the conversation shifts to Ricky’s love life.

Hao groans, running a hand over his face. “Oh my god. I’m so dumb.”

Hanbin snickers. “A little.”

Hao swats at him playfully before asking, “So… no boyfriend. Or girlfriend?”

Hanbin shakes his head. “Hyung, I’m gay, and no, I don’t have a partner.”

“I really don’t know anything about you anymore.”

“It’s okay, we’re hanging out this holiday after all.”

Hao nods, processing that before asking, “Wait, so if Gyuvin has a crush on Ricky… then does Ricky have a crush on him too?”

Hanbin lets out a sigh, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets. “It’s painful to watch. Everyone knows it except them.”

Hao suddenly gets an idea.

A ridiculous, impulsive, possibly genius idea.

“We should set them up,” he says.

Hanbin stops walking again, staring at him like he’s grown two heads. “You’re joking.”

Hao grins. “No, I’m serious. It’ll be fun, playing matchmakers you know.”

It’s not just for fun—though the idea of playing matchmaker is amusing. If he’s being honest, a part of him feels slightly useless this holiday. Everyone around him has a routine, a purpose. Meanwhile, he’s just drifting, caught in the chaos of his life, unable to do anything about it.

Maybe this could be something. A distraction. A little mission to focus on amidst the mess. And besides, Gyuvin has been so welcoming since he got here. He’s been nothing but friendly, always engaging him in conversation, making sure he feels included. It wouldn’t hurt to do something nice for him in return.

Hanbin laughs, shaking his head. “Hyung, I really think they’ll figure it out on their own.”

“But what if they don’t?” Hao argues. “We could just give them a little push. Nothing crazy.”

Hanbin sighs, but the amused glint in his eyes tells Hao he’s considering it. “Fine. Whatever you have in mind, we can try. But I really doubt it’ll work.”

Before Hao can respond, his phone starts vibrating in his pocket.

He pulls it out, glancing at the caller ID.

His stomach twists.

His ex.

The screen keeps ringing, his ex’s name glowing persistently, as if demanding attention.

Hao frowns and ends the call.

Not even three seconds later, the phone vibrates again.

“Why is he calling me?” Hao mutters under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

He looks up to see Hanbin trying to peep into his phone, curiosity flickering across his face before he quickly looks away.

Hao exhales sharply. “It’s my ex.”

Hanbin nods but doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t ask, even though it’s obvious he wants to.

Hao is strangely grateful for that.

Soon, they reach the game room.

Hanbin gives a small wave. “See you at home, hyung.”

Hao watches as Hanbin turns and walks away, his hands still deep in his pockets, his steps slower than usual.

He stays still for a moment, watching Hanbin disappear down the street, before finally stepping into the arcade.

The game room is packed with people, bright neon lights casting a glow over the machines. The air is thick with the sound of clinking tokens, beeping buttons, and the occasional triumphant yell from players beating high scores.

Hao spots Jiwoong easily, standing by a row of arcade machines with his hands in his pockets, looking smug like he already knows he’s about to win.

“There you are,” Jiwoong greets, tossing him a token. “Took you long enough.”

Hao catches it, rolling his eyes. “I had to walk here, you better make my time worth it.”

Jiwoong just grins, clearly unbothered. “Consider it your warm-up to lose.”

They start with racing games, Jiwoong talking a big game about his skills only to end up crashing into walls while Hao speeds past him. Jiwoong groans loudly each time, punching the air dramatically.

“You’re cheating,” Jiwoong accuses after his third consecutive loss.

Hao snorts. “How exactly does one cheat at a racing game?”

“I don’t know, but you’re doing it.”

They move on to shooting games next, standing side by side with plastic guns aimed at the screen. Hao grips his controller tightly, hyper-focused, his body tense.

Too tense.

He knows why.

His thoughts keep drifting—back to his phone, back to the missed calls, back to the lingering frustration that’s been eating at him since this morning.

His dad still hasn’t replied. His useless ex is suddenly trying to contact him. His mom is exhausted, caught up in a battle she shouldn’t even have to fight.

Hao exhales sharply and presses the trigger.

The pixelated enemies on-screen drop like flies.

Jiwoong lets out an exaggerated gasp. “What the—? Since when were you this good?”

Hao doesn’t respond. He just reloads and keeps shooting, channeling every ounce of irritation, anger, and helplessness into the game.

His score climbs higher and higher, and Jiwoong—who usually wins these games—keeps dying over and over again.

“Okay, seriously, what’s up with you today?” Jiwoong asks after Hao lands a perfect headshot that sends his character sprawling to the ground for the fourth time in a row. “Did you level up in real life or something?”

Hao forces a laugh, but it’s hollow. “Guess I’m just in the zone.”

Jiwoong eyes him for a second, as if debating whether to push the topic further, but then he just sighs dramatically. “Fine. But if you don’t slow down, I’m never inviting you here again.”

Hao smirks, raising his plastic gun again. “You say that now, but you’d miss me.”

Jiwoong groans. “Unfortunately.”

They keep playing, but Hao’s mind isn’t fully there.

No matter how many enemies he takes down, no matter how many rounds he wins, the feeling in his chest remains—the annoyance, the frustration, the helplessness.

Some things, it seems, can’t be shot away.

****

Later that night, after tossing and turning in bed for what feels like hours, Hao finds himself standing in front of Hanbin’s door.

He knocks twice.

“Come in,” Hanbin calls out.

Hao pushes the door open, stepping inside. The room is warm, cozier than he expected. It smells faintly of fabric softener and something distinctly Hanbin—a mix of fresh linen and a hint of cologne. The walls are a soft, neutral color, but there are small personal touches everywhere—neatly stacked books on a shelf, a Polaroid camera sitting on his desk, 4-cut photo booth pictures with his friends, a shelf with a collection of perfumes and tiny plushies leaning against the wall.

It’s lived-in. Comfortable. Him.

Hao’s gaze lands on the bedside table, where a single, unopened heating pack sits inside its packaging.

He walks over and brushes his fingers over it absentmindedly. “You still have one left?”

Before he can pick it up, Hanbin suddenly reaches over and snatches it away.

“I bought a new one,” Hanbin says quickly, stuffing it into the drawer.

Hao blinks at him. “Okay… I didn’t ask, though.”

Hanbin avoids his gaze, suddenly looking very focused on the book sitting on his desk.

Hao narrows his eyes. Wait.

Hanbin had said yesterday that he only had two left—the two he gave to Hao and he didn’t use any today. So how could he have bought a new pack and already used it down to just one?

Realization creeps in, and Hao tries not to overthink it, failing miserably.

Did he do that on purpose? Just so he could hold my hand?

The thought flusters him more than it should.

But he brushes it off, shaking his head and sitting down on Hanbin’s bed, crossing his legs. “Anyway, I came here to discuss something important.”

Hanbin sits beside him, intrigued. “Which is?”

Hao grins. “Operation Get Ricky and Gyuvin Together.”

Hanbin groans immediately. “Oh my god, you’re actually serious?”

“Of course I’m serious.” Hao leans in conspiratorially. “I have a plan.”

Hanbin sighs, but there’s amusement in his expression. “I’m listening.”

“In the spirit of Christmas, we’re going to build gingerbread houses tomorrow after work,” Hao announces proudly. “Matthew and Gunwook will obviously be paired together, Jiwoong and Taerae will be forced to work together, and I’ll invite Ricky so he and Gyuvin have no choice but to team up.”

Hanbin raises an eyebrow. “And where does that leave us?”

Hao shrugs casually. “Together, obviously.”

There’s a split second of silence.

Hanbin looks at him, his lips parting slightly like he wasn’t expecting that answer.

Hao suddenly feels small under his gaze.

But before he can acknowledge it, Hanbin nods, leaning back against his pillows. “Alright. I’m in.”

Hao grins, satisfied. “Perfect, we should text the group chat.”

Hanbin hums and he tries to ignore the way Hanbin is looking at him, like he’s amused, like he’s fond.

Hao leans back against Hanbin’s bed, feeling more at ease now that their plan for tomorrow is settled. But as he exhales, his gaze lands on Hanbin properly—and his choice of clothing, or rather, lack of it.

“Seriously?” Hao gestures vaguely. “A tank top? Again?”

Hanbin follows his line of sight before shrugging. “I get hot easily.”

Hao shakes his head in exasperation but doesn’t press further. Instead, his eyes catch the ink on Hanbin’s exposed skin—dark lines decorating his arm, intricate and celestial.

“Your tattoos,” he murmurs.

Hanbin tilts his head, a little surprised by the shift in conversation. “What about them?”

“They suit you.” Without thinking, Hao reaches out, fingertips ghosting over the ink on Hanbin’s chest, tracing the delicate lines as if memorizing them.

Hanbin stills.

Hao doesn’t notice at first, too focused on the way the ink curves along his skin, the way it stretches over firm muscle. It must have hurt a lot. “What does this one mean?” he asks, gently following the tattoo on Hanbin’s arm, his touch featherlight but enough to make Hanbin shudder.

Hanbin’s voice comes quieter than before, almost hesitant. “It says, don’t regret what you do.”

Hao hums, brushing his thumb over the letters. “Deep.”

The sharp exhale from Hanbin doesn’t go unnoticed this time. It’s controlled, measured, like he’s holding something back. That’s when Hao finally realizes—he’s touching Hanbin. A lot.

His fingers still against Hanbin’s forearm, his own breathing slowing as he becomes acutely aware of the heat radiating off Hanbin’s skin. The way his body is tense, like he’s forcing himself not to react.

And Hanbin—

Hao looks up, only to find Hanbin staring at him, eyes dark, heavy-lidded. His pupils are blown wide, gaze locked onto Hao with an intensity that makes something low in Hao’s stomach coil, tightening like a spring wound too tight.

His throat goes dry.

His fingers twitch, but he doesn’t pull away.

He swallows. “Do you have more?”

For some reason, his voice drops to a whisper.

Hanbin swipes his tongue over his lips before answering, voice barely above a murmur. “No. Just these two.”

The way he says it, the way his gaze flickers between Hao’s eyes and his mouth, makes Hao’s breath hitch.

His words are soft, but the tension between them is anything but.

Hao’s pulse ticks up.

Hao’s tongue darts out instinctively, wetting his own lips. Hanbin’s gaze follows the movement, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. The air between them crackles, charged with something familiar yet undeniable.

Are we—

Hao doesn’t know why he can’t look away. Why his heart is beating just a little too fast. Why he’s suddenly hyper-aware of Hanbin’s proximity, the way their breaths mingle in the small space between them. He doesn’t know why the air in the room suddenly feels thick. He doesn’t know why his fingers won’t move away from Hanbin’s arm.

He does know that Hanbin looks unfairly good like this—skin warm under his fingertips, eyes dark and searching.

Hanbin is attractive. That much is obvious. The tattoos only add to it.

But this is Hanbin.

Jiwoong’s little brother. The same kid who used to trail after him, all wide eyes and eager smiles. The one he used to pat on the head and buy candy for.

The realization jolts him back to reality.

He shakes himself out of it, pulling back just enough to put space between them, air rushing in to fill the void before he overthinks things further.

Hanbin moves too, his expression unreadable as he averts his gaze.

Hao clears his throat, forcing his voice back to normal. “I guess this is goodnight, then. We’ll discuss the plan tomorrow.”

Hanbin hums in agreement, but it’s quieter than usual.

Hao hesitates for half a second before turning toward the door, pushing down whatever the hell just happened.

Because nothing happened.

Right?

By the time he’s back in his own room, lying in bed, he’s spiraling and analyzing everything.

Did I feel relieved when he said he wasn’t dating Gyuvin?

That realization gnaws at him.

Maybe I’m just pent up and Hanbin is the closest person right now?

It makes sense. Sort of.

But then he thinks, if Hanbin weren’t here, would I suddenly find Jiwoong hot?

He shudders. Major ew.

That alone tells him he’s overthinking.

It’s nothing. Just a weird moment. That’s all.

He sighs, turning over in bed.

He won’t read too much into it.

At least, he tells himself that before sleep finally takes him.

Chapter Text

Hao stirs at the sound of knocking.

At first, it’s distant—soft and rhythmic, like the pulse of a song bleeding into his dream. But then, it gets louder. More insistent.

He groans, burying his face into his pillow. Who the hell is banging on his door at this hour? His mind is sluggish, still clinging to the edges of sleep as he forces his eyes open.

What. The. Fuck.

He stumbles out of bed, dragging his feet toward the door, blinking against the bleariness clouding his vision. The moment he cracks it open, hands grip his wrists, firm and unyielding, pushing him back.

His breath catches as his back meets the wall.

Hanbin.

Standing in his room, dark eyes locked onto his, intense enough to steal the breath from his lungs.

“I can’t hold it in anymore,” Hanbin murmurs, voice low and rough.

Then—soft lips press against his.

Hao freezes.

His brain barely has time to register what’s happening before Hanbin is kissing him, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing the shape of his lips. Hanbin tastes like raspberry crush—their favorite candy. Hao hums into the kiss, the flavor bursting on his tongue. Delicious.

And Hanbin smells nice—clean and fresh, like his skin has never encountered anything outside of purity. It’s intoxicating, the warmth of him pressing in from all sides. Hao wants more.

He parts his lips, and Hanbin takes the invitation eagerly, deepening the kiss, mapping out his mouth like he’s meant to be there. A small, breathy moan escapes Hanbin, vibrating against Hao’s lips.

Hao barely has time to react before strong arms lift him effortlessly, cradling him like he weighs nothing.

A startled giggle escapes him, light and breathless, before Hanbin carries him across the room and presses him down onto the mattress, swallowing any sound that follows.

Hao’s head spins.

Hanbin kisses him like he’s unraveling him, lips teasing and coaxing. Then he’s trailing lower—placing open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat, sucking lightly at his collarbone.

The sensation sends a shiver down Hao’s spine. His body reacts before he can even process it, arching into the warmth, his hands clutching at Hanbin’s shoulders, desperate to keep him close.

He barely registers the whimper that escapes him, but he feels the way Hanbin smirks against his skin.

Oh my god.

This is—this is everything that’s been living in his head for days. Every intrusive thought, every ridiculous fantasy, every fleeting moment of temptation—playing out in real time.

And it’s better.

Hao’s hands move on instinct—roaming over Hanbin’s chest, tracing the solid muscle beneath his fingertips, pressing against his arms, his ribs, the heat of his bare skin under his palms. Touching the body his mind had conjured up in fleeting, guilty moments of weakness.

And then he realizes.

Hanbin’s not wearing a shirt.

…Did Hanbin take it off?

Did he ever have one on??

Hao doesn’t remember.

His mind is blank except for the overwhelming want clawing at his chest, the dizzying warmth beneath his fingertips, the way Hanbin’s body feels under his touch.

Hanbin watches him, eyes dark, half-lidded.

“Gege loves this, right?” he murmurs, voice lower, rougher.

He guides Hao’s hands to his chest, pressing his fingers against the three moons inked into his skin. Then, trailing them down the intricate design—in a large font—on his arm, he adds, “I got the tattoo for you.”

Hao’s breath falters.

Fuck.

His fingers trace the tattoo, committing the feel of the inked lines to memory as Hanbin’s hands move lower—lower—

Hao shudders, gasping as Hanbin’s palm flattens against his erection.

His hips jerk involuntarily, heat pooling deep in his stomach, tension winding so tight it’s unbearable.

His mind is screaming, more, don’t stop, don’t let this end—

And then—

A notification chime goes off.

No.

No, not now.

Another one. Then another. The sharp dinging claws at the edges of his consciousness, pulling him out of the haze.

Hanbin is still on top of him, but something is wrong—his vision is blurring, the warmth slipping away, fading like a dream dissolving in daylight.

Another chime.

Hao gasps, turning his head toward the sound—

And wakes up.

His heart slams against his ribs. His chest rises and falls in uneven breaths. The room is dark, eerily quiet, except for the faint glow of his phone screen blinking on the bedside table.

He stares at the ceiling, swallowing hard.

It was a dream.

Holy. Shit.

What the actual fuck.

It takes a full minute for his brain to catch up to his body, and when it does, he bolts upright, running both hands through his hair in frustration.

That was an erotic dream.

About Hanbin.

Hanbin, of all people.

His best friend's little brother. His childhood friend.

Hao groans, collapsing back onto his pillow. What the hell is wrong with me?

He blames last night. That has to be it. The weird tension, the heat pack, Hanbin’s stupid tattoos, his stupid strong arms, the way he’d looked at him with those dark, unreadable eyes—

No. No. He’s not thinking about that.

His phone vibrates on the nightstand, the screen lighting up once more with a flood of notifications.

The group chat.

Gyuvin added him a few days ago, and while they’re generally chaotic, it seems like today, they’re all focused on one thing:

[Gyuvin]: where do we buy gingerbread house kits in this town lol

[Ricky]: good luck with that, i don't think anywhere sells them here

[Gunwook]: should we just bake it ourselves?

[Matthew]: yes yes, nice idea baby!

[Gyuvin]: why make life harder than it needs to be

[Taerae]: YOU'RE JUST LAZY

Hao scrolls absently, barely processing the texts, until a new one pops up at the bottom.

[ Hanbinnie<3 ]: I can go get them for you

Hao stiffens.

"I got the tattoo for you."

He swears under his breath, locking his phone and throwing it onto the bed like it’s personally responsible for ruining his life.

His brain is a mess.

He needs answers.

Desperate, he unlocks his phone again, opens Naver Search, and hovers over the keyboard.

He types:

"What does it mean to have a sex dream about your friend?"

The first result makes his stomach twist.

"Sometimes a sex dream about a friend suggests you're attracted to them. But, you might find yourself dreaming about sex with a friend even when they aren't someone you're attracted to. In that case, the dream could indicate you feel close to them, or that you wish you felt closer to them."

Hao stares at the words, rereading them. Again. And again.

Because I want to get closer to Hanbin? That’s it, right?

Yeah. That makes sense.

It has to.

It’s just that. Nothing else.

Except—

Except he can’t stop thinking about it.

The way Hanbin had pinned him against the wall, the way his lips had felt, the way he had tasted. The way his fingers had traced over his skin with purpose, like he was claiming him.

It’s just a stupid dream. A stupid, meaningless dream.

So why does it feel like his entire body is betraying him?

His breath catches as he shifts under the covers, realizing with horror that he’s—

Oh, fuck no.

Hao practically flings himself upright, rubbing his face with both hands. This is not happening. He is not getting turned on thinking about Hanbin.

It’s just morning wood.

Yeah. That’s all.

It’s biological. It happens to every guy.

This has nothing to do with Hanbin and his stupidly strong arms and his unfairly hot tattoos and the way he—

Nope.

Hao groans, grabbing his pillow and shoving his face into it.

He’s doomed.

A knock at the door startles him from his spiral.

He freezes.

It’s Hanbin.

He doesn’t know how he knows—it could be the way the knock sounds, just slightly firmer than Jiwoong’s, or maybe it’s his body betraying him again, senses attuned to Hanbin’s presence before he even sees him.

Act normal.

Hao takes a breath, schooling his expression into something neutral before pulling the door open.

The second he does, it happens.

A flash of last night’s dream slams into him all at once—Hanbin pressing him against the wall, the warmth of his hands, the weight of his body, the way his lips had moved against his own like they belonged there.

Hao swallows, stepping back instinctively.

Hanbin steps forward.

“Hyung?”

Hanbin tilts his head, eyebrows knitting together in concern. “What’s wrong?”

Everything.

“Nothing,” Hao blurts out, taking another step back.

Hanbin doesn’t look convinced. His eyes narrow slightly, scanning Hao’s face like he’s trying to read him. Like he already knows something is off.

“You’re acting weird,” he observes. Then, before Hao can react, he moves closer.

Panic flares in Hao’s chest. “I—I’m not—”

Hanbin doesn’t let him finish. His hand lifts, warm and steady as it lands against Hao’s forehead, checking his temperature.

Shit.

Pinned.

He’s pinned against the wall again.

It’s not the same as his dream—Hanbin’s touch isn’t heated with desire, his grip isn’t firm with intent—but it doesn’t matter.

His body remembers.

Remembers the weight pressing against him. Remembers the warmth of Hanbin’s skin. Remembers the slow, teasing drag of lips against his own.

Heat crawls up his neck, uninvited and unavoidable.

Hanbin is standing too close. His face is too open, too sincere, and completely unaware of the storm in Hao’s head.

Hao ducks his head abruptly, slipping out from under Hanbin’s hold like his skin burns from the contact. He barely manages to breathe out a rushed, “I’m fine,” before practically fleeing toward his bed.

He collapses onto it, facing away from Hanbin, his pulse erratic.

Hanbin stays where he is, confused. He shifts slightly, like he wants to say something but thinks better of it. “I’m heading out now,” he says instead. “Going to pick up the gingerbread house kits before work.”

Hao nods, still refusing to look at him.

Hanbin lingers in the doorway. “You should stay home and rest if you’re not feeling well. I can pick you up before we go to Ricky’s place.”

“I’ll be fine,” Hao says quickly. Too quickly. “Jiwoong and I will come together. Don’t worry about it.”

There’s a pause, then Hanbin sighs, as if he has something to say but doesn’t want to start an argument. “There’s medicine in the cabinet. You should take some. And tell Mom to give you extra soup.”

If only that would cure my sickness.

Hao lets out a quiet breath, closing his eyes. I need a doctor. A therapist. Something.

But instead of admitting that, he asks, “What about you? What are you eating for breakfast?”

Hanbin blinks, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic.

“I can bring you something,” Hao offers, even though the last thing he wants to do is be anywhere near Hanbin right now.

Hanbin shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll grab something at the mall. I’ll be fine.”

Hao nods, exhaling slowly, letting himself relax just a little.

Hanbin hesitates for a second. Like he wants to say something else. Like he’s debating whether or not to push.

But then he just exhales, gives Hao a final glance, and says, “Bye, hyung.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

Hao buries his face into his pillow and groans.

Hemakes his way to the kitchen, still feeling like his body is running on autopilot. His mind is a tangled mess of thoughts he doesn’t want to acknowledge, but the scent of warm food momentarily pulls him back to reality.

Mrs. Sung is already setting up the table when she notices him. “Haohao, you’re finally up! Come, sit. I’ll get you some food.”

Hao hums, rubbing his eyes as he pulls out a chair. “Good morning, Mama.”

She sets a steaming bowl of soup in front of him, and he’s about to dig in when she casually adds, “Hanbin texted me earlier and said you weren’t feeling well.”

Hao freezes, his spoon hovering midair.

“What?”

Mrs. Sung pats his shoulder like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “He told me to make sure you eat well and rest.”

Hao blinks. His grip tightens around the spoon.

Hanbin needs to stop being so damn nice.

This is exactly why he has w— what wet dream? Nope, that didn’t happen.

It’s bad for his heart.

And the worst part? The concern isn’t even exaggerated. He is sick. Just… not in a way soup could fix.

Mrs. Sung tilts her head, eyeing him. “Are you sure you’re okay? You do look a bit out of it.”

Hao forces a smile, pushing his thoughts aside. “I’m fine, Mama. Just tired.”

She doesn’t look convinced but nods anyway, telling him to eat up before leaving him to his meal.

He takes a sip of soup, but his mind keeps drifting to the dream.

He needs a distraction.

Fast.

Hao suddenly remembers the gingerbread house plan and immediately latches onto it like a lifeline. He turns to Jiwoong, who just walked in, still looking half-asleep.

“Hyung, remember how we used to make gingerbread houses and how good we were at it?”

Jiwoong hums noncommittally, clearly not awake enough to care.

Hao leans forward, feigning excitement. “Let’s do it again!”

Jiwoong squints at him, not buying it. “Why are you so excited about this?”

“It’ll be fun,” Hao insists, voice slightly higher-pitched than usual. Please just say yes, he mentally begs. Jiwoong needs to come for the plan to work.

“Okay, just tell me when you want to do it.”

“How about this evening? I made plans with Hanbin and his friends.”

Jiwoong stretches, looking completely uninterested. “Ah… I’m not sure.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun! Pleaseee.”

Jiwoong hesitates.

Hao decides to appeal to his pride. “You need to show them your impressive architectural skills or whatever.”

Jiwoong groans, but there’s amusement in his eyes now. “You’re so annoying.”

Mrs. Sung watches the exchange with a small smile before suddenly adding, “Don’t stay out too late, or at least text me if you’ll sleep over at Ricky’s.”

Jiwoong rolls his eyes. “I’m an adult, Mom.”

Mrs. Sung doesn’t miss a beat. “This is my house. Get an apartment if you want to act like an adult.”

Hao bursts into laughter as Jiwoong grumbles, shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

Then, suddenly, an idea strikes Hao—one that might actually save him from his own thoughts.

“Hyung, can I come with you to the community center today?”

Jiwoong perks up instantly, surprised. “You want to?”

Yes, because if I stay home, who knows what I’ll start thinking about?

The w—

Hao pinches his thigh under the table, hard. Nope. Not doing this right now.

Instead, he nods, keeping his expression neutral. “Yeah. If I’m going to be bored, I might as well be bored outside.”

Jiwoong laughs at Hao’s dry remark. “Wow. Thanks.”

Hao shrugs, but Jiwoong’s grin widens, clearly excited that his best friend is finally agreeing to hang out with him at work. “Alright, let’s go. It’s not that fun, but we’ll make it fun.”

Hao exhales, already feeling a little lighter.

At least now, he has something to keep his mind occupied.

****

The second they step inside the unfamiliar space of the community center, Jiwoong points toward a room down the hall. “That’s the kids’ playroom,” he says, already starting to walk away.

Hao blinks, then quickly grabs Jiwoong’s sleeve. “Wait, where are you going?”

Jiwoong turns back, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean? I’m signing in for work.”

Hao stares at him, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach. A sense of déjà vu creeps in—the way Jiwoong abandoned him at the party flashes in his mind. “Sign in? What does that mean?”

Jiwoong sighs dramatically. “You know, like writing the time I got here? Basic employee things?”

“Oh.” Hao lets go of his sleeve, straightening his sweater like that would also fix his scattered nerves. “Okay.”

Jiwoong shakes his head, muttering, “What is wrong with you? You’re so weird,” before walking off.

Hao exhales slowly, turning his gaze toward the playroom Jiwoong pointed at earlier. Okay. He can do this.

Except the moment he steps forward, his brain supplies the absolute worst-case scenarios.

What if the kids start crying the second they see me? What if they throw stuff everywhere? What if one of them gets their head stuck in a chair or something?

Hao has never been good with kids. He grew up without siblings—well, there was Hanbin, but Hanbin was an unnaturally well-behaved child. Normal kids? He’s seen videos of them smearing food all over their faces and the walls, or worse—dumping entire bottles of flour onto the floor while adults scream in the background.

What if they all start crying at the same time?

Oh God, what if I start crying too?

He swallows hard and cautiously approaches the playroom door. The hallway is quiet—too quiet. That’s never a good sign when it comes to kids.

Slowly, he peeks through the door.

What he sees makes him freeze in shock.

Inside, only five kids are sitting on the floor, their eyes locked onto something in front of them.

That’s it?

He expected chaos—dozens of kids running around, climbing furniture, throwing things, and screaming bloody murder.

But, no.

Just five little kids sitting quietly.

This feels like a trap.

He slowly pushes the door open, the soft creak breaking the silence. A woman sitting in a chair looks up from the book in her hands, her expression shifting to mild confusion.

“Uh… hi,” Hao says, voice awkwardly hesitant.

“Hello,” she replies politely. Her dark brown hair is pulled into a neat ponytail, and she has the kind of warm, patient expression that makes it clear she’s good with kids. There’s a hint of curiosity in her gaze, probably wondering who he is.

Before Hao can figure out how to explain himself, Jiwoong appears behind him.

“Minhee noona, hi,” Jiwoong greets.

The woman—Minhee—smiles. “Oh, Jiwoong. You’re finally here.”

They exchange pleasantries, and then she playfully scolds, “Where have you been? You should’ve taken over ten minutes ago.”

Jiwoong grins. “Please, you wouldn’t have let me take over until you finished the book anyway.”

Minhee laughs at that, then glances at Hao again. “And who’s this?”

Jiwoong gestures toward him. “Hao, this is Minhee noona, my coworker. Noona, this is my best friend, Zhang Hao. He’s Mrs. Zhang’s son.”

Minhee’s eyes widen in realization. “Oh! You’re her son. Your mom talks about you all the time.”

Hao blinks. “She does?”

Jiwoong leans in, whispering, “Your mom volunteers here sometimes.”

Hao had no idea.

He calls his mom often enough while he’s at university, but their conversations are usually brief, just enough to check in on each other. They aren’t close in the way that she’d tell him things like this.

Minhee continues, “She’s always bragging about you—how you study in Seoul, how you play violin in a prestigious music academy.”

Hao scratches the back of his head, feeling slightly awkward. “Oh.”

She smiles warmly. “It’s nice to finally meet you. You’re even more handsome than she described.”

Hao stiffens slightly. His mom says that?

And she actually listens when he talks about his recitals?

He remembers when he joined the school orchestra in high school. He never told his parents—mostly because they never asked. He simply requested a violin from his dad (well, technically from his dad’s secretary), and it showed up at the house a few days later.

His mom only found out when she caught him practicing one day.

She once asked if he wanted an electric violin as a birthday present, but he told her no. He asked for a family dinner instead.

His dad never showed up.

It was just him and his mom at a restaurant, an empty seat at their table.

They didn’t talk about it.

So, hearing now that she actually boasts about him—that she talks about his achievements to other people—leaves him feeling… strange.

He doesn’t know what to do with that information.

Minhee doesn’t seem to notice his momentary daze as she checks the time. “Well, I’ll leave the kids to you now. Nice meeting you, Hao.”

“You too,” Hao replies, watching as she steps out of the room.

And just like that, it’s only him and Jiwoong left with the kids.

Hao exhales, shaking off the odd feeling lingering in his chest. He glances at Jiwoong.

“So… what do we do now?”

Jiwoong grins. “We survive.”

The moment Jiwoong introduces him to the kids, Hao knows he’s in trouble.

There are only five of them—Hwayoung, Minjun, Yeongsu, Seoyun, and Haeun. Five tiny humans. Not that many. Manageable, right?

But when Jiwoong groans about how exhausting they are, Hao raises an eyebrow, thinking his friend is just being dramatic again.  “It’s just five kids. What’s the big deal?”

Jiwoong gasps dramatically. “You’ll see.”

Before Hao can ask what that means, four out of the five children rush toward him, their small hands grabbing at his arms, their eyes wide with curiosity.

“Uncle, who are you?” Minjun asks.

Hao winces. Uncle? Excuse me?

“I’m not your uncle,” he corrects, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m your hyung.”

Minjun shrugs. “Uncle.”

Hao rolls his eyes. Great.

“I’m Zhang Hao,” he introduces himself. “I’m just helping Jiwoong hyung? today.”

Seoyun, the shyest of the group, tugs at the sleeve of his sweater. “You’re so handsome,” she says softly, cheeks pink.

Hao smiles, crouching slightly to meet her eye level. “And you’re so pretty.”

Seoyun giggles, hiding her face behind her hands.

Meanwhile, Yeongsu tilts his head. “Are you going to work here now?”

Hao shakes his head. “Nope, I’m here just for today.”

Hwayoung, with her round doe eyes, clings onto his arm. “Then play with me!”

Before Hao can respond, a small voice interrupts.

“I already started coloring,” Haeun says, a smug smile on her lips.

Hao turns his head to find her sitting at the table, completely unbothered, coloring in her book as if he doesn’t even exist.

Well. That’s rude.

Jiwoong claps his hands, calling for order. “Okay, time for book coloring!”

The kids cheer and scramble to their seats—except Haeun, who simply flips to a new page like she’s been waiting for everyone else to catch up.

Hao looks around the room as they settle in. There are drawings taped to the walls, a colorful schedule listing things like Book Coloring, Nap Time, Play Time, and Reading Time.

A fond smile tugs at his lips.

Hanbin would love this place.

Hao doesn’t know why, but he suddenly thinks that Hanbin should be the one working here instead of Jiwoong. They should switch jobs.

Ever since they were children, Hanbin has always been naturally good with younger kids, always sweet and caring. He once told Hao he wanted to be a teacher.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Hao had said. “You’d be great with students. They’d love you.”

But Hanbin had shaken his head. “No, not high school or college. I want to be a kindergarten teacher.”

Hao had laughed, ruffling his hair. “Then all the kids would love you even more.”

Now, watching the little kids scribbling with their crayons, he wonders if Hanbin still thinks about that dream.

He shakes off the thought and crouches next to Haeun.

“Hi,” he tries.

She spares him a single glance before scooting her book away.

Okay. Rude.

Jiwoong approaches her, and just like that, Haeun’s entire face lights up. “Oppa!” she chirps, smiling wide.

Hao watches the interaction with narrowed eyes. Okay, it’s a challenge. He’s going to win her favor, no matter what.

He stays beside her, pointing at random things in her coloring book, showering her with compliments.

“So, so, so pretty,” he says dramatically.

She ignores him.

Until—

“I love Princess Rapunzel too,” he says, gesturing toward the princess she’s coloring.

Haeun’s head snaps up, her eyes suddenly filled with excitement. “Really?”

“Really.”

Without hesitation, she hands him a crayon. “You can color her hair.”

Hao smiles in victory, taking the crayon. Jiwoong leans over and whispers, “Her hair is her favorite part to color. She must really like you.”

Hao smirks. “Everyone loves me.”

Jiwoong rolls his eyes.

Hao glances down at the page and pauses. Wait. What color is Rapunzel’s hair again?

He discreetly pulls out his phone, opening Google. Blonde. Got it.

By the time they finish two pages, Haeun has completely warmed up to him. She chatters away, telling him about her three Rapunzel dolls and how she watches Tangled all the time.

Hao listens with an amused smile, nodding along as she talks.

Then, Hwayoung scoots closer, placing her coloring book on his lap. “You color too,” she demands.

Chuckling, he nods. “Okay. What color should we use for this?”

Hwayoung giggles, picking up a pink crayon.

As they’re immersed in coloring, Jiwoong claps his hands again. “Play time! What do you guys want to play?”

“Tag!” they all yell at once.

Jiwoong forces a smile, turning to Hao with dead eyes. “I am so tired of this game.”

Yeongsu tugs at Hao’s sleeve. “Hao hyung should be it this time!”

Before Hao can protest, Jiwoong cheers, “Yes, Hao should be ‘it’!”

Hao glares at him. Jiwoong only grins back. “Now you have to be ‘it.’ Thank you for coming today, Hao-ya.”

Hao sighs as Jiwoong gathers the kids in a small circle. Before the game starts, he leans in and whispers, “You can’t actually catch them, or they’ll cry. You just have to pretend.”

What the fuck?

Hao looks around the small space. How is he supposed to play tag without actually catching them?

Minjun smirks up at him, arms crossed. “You can’t catch me. I’m the best at this.”

Hao narrows his eyes. Oh, it’s on.

The game starts, and Hao swings his arms dramatically, feigning near-misses as the kids giggle and shriek, darting away just in time. He forces himself to look disappointed each time he almost tags them.

By the third round, he’s actually getting tired.

Minjun, still smug, dashes past him with a triumphant grin.

Hao’s competitive streak kicks in.

He reaches out—total accident, of course—and his hand taps Minjun’s shoulder.

Minjun’s eyes widen in betrayal before he dramatically flops onto the floor.

“I’m not playing anymore,” he announces, arms crossed.

Jiwoong sighs, kneeling beside him. “Minjun-ah, come on. It’s just a game.”

Minjun glares at Hao, who resists the urge to smile.

Victory.

The scent of warm rice and seaweed fills the room as Jiwoong sets the kids’ lunches in the microwave, which is perched on an elevated platform. Hao watches as he stretches on his toes to reach it, a puzzled look on his face.

“Why is it so high up?” Hao asks, handing Jiwoong one of the neatly packed lunch boxes.

Jiwoong snorts. “Because kids are basically little geniuses when it comes to getting into places they shouldn’t.” He presses a button and steps back, arms crossed. “Trust me, if it were anywhere lower, they’d be climbing the shelves trying to get their snacks faster. We learned that the hard way.”

Hao hums, nodding in understanding as he watches the kids sitting patiently at their table, their small legs swinging under their chairs.

One by one, he passes out the warmed-up lunches, taking a moment to glance at what each kid is eating. Most of them have kimbap, fish cakes, and little compartments of fruit. Cute. He watches as they eagerly dig in, a mix of happy chatter and the soft clatter of chopsticks filling the air.

As he’s wiping a stray grain of rice from Seoyun’s mouth, she suddenly beams up at him, holding out a piece of kimbap with tiny fingers.

“Oppa, you should eat too.”

Hao chuckles, shaking his head. “You need to eat more to grow,” he tells her gently.

Seoyun pouts for a moment before grinning. “Then when I grow up, I’ll marry oppa!”

Oh.

His mind immediately drifts to Hanbin.

Hanbin, who said the exact same thing. Who cried until his mom reassured him that he could marry Hao when he was older, only if Hao agreed.

Hanbin, who isn’t here right now.

A strange, hollow ache settles in his chest.

Hao loves spending time with the kids—he really does. And Jiwoong’s company is always comfortable, familiar. But right now, if given the choice, he’d rather be at the ice rink.

Listening to Gyuvin ramble endlessly about Ricky. Watching Taerae be his usual chaotic self. Hearing Matthew tease Hanbin about something stupid.

As long as Hanbin is there.

I miss him.

The realization is so sudden that it startles him.

His thoughts spiral further—has Hanbin eaten yet? What is he doing right now? Is he okay? Is Matthew annoying him again?

Before he can dwell on it too much, a loud shriek pulls him back to reality.

He turns just in time to see Hwayoung accidentally knock over her cup of water—directly onto Yeongsu’s lap.

The little boy’s wail pierces the room.

Jiwoong reacts first, kneeling beside him and gently patting his drenched clothes. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothes, his voice calm as he starts wiping him down.

Hwayoung, eyes wide with guilt, fidgets anxiously on the side.

Hao grabs the mop from the corner and crouches down to clean up the spill. “It’s alright,” he reassures Hwayoung softly. “Just say sorry, okay?”

Hwayoung sniffles but nods, stepping closer. “I’m sorry, Yeongsu.”

Yeongsu, now in a dry shirt thanks to Jiwoong’s quick action, rubs at his eyes before mumbling, “I forgive you.”

Hao watches them, smiling a little. Kids are so pure.

After lunch, it’s nap time.

This, apparently, is a much bigger battle than expected.

Minjun crosses his arms, staring up at them defiantly. “I don’t feel sleepy.”

Jiwoong sighs dramatically, flopping onto the small couch. “Minjun-ah, I’m more tired than you.”

Minjun squints at him. “That’s not my problem.”

Jiwoong groans. “Why are kids like this?”

Hao crouches beside Minjun, lowering his voice to something conspiratorial. “You know… real superheroes take naps so they can grow stronger.”

Minjun eyes him with suspicion. “Really?”

Hao nods solemnly. “Of course.”

Seoyun gasps, grabbing Minjun’s hand. “Let’s be superheroes together!”

Minjun, faced with the sheer enthusiasm of his friend, relents with a sigh. “Fine. But only for a little bit.”

Jiwoong shoots Hao a grateful look as they finally settle the kids down.

Once they’re asleep, Jiwoong stands and stretches. “I’m gonna run to the washroom.”

Hao nods absently, watching as he slips out of the room.

Time passes, and Jiwoong doesn’t come back.

Hao glances at the clock. It’s been over twenty minutes.

He sighs, standing up to wander around the room. He traces a finger over the colorful drawings on the walls, smiling at the scribbled figures and unevenly colored-in shapes.

His eyes land on the pile of coloring books and he opens one. It’s a familiar picture—the one he helped Haeun color earlier.

A small, fond smile tugs at his lips.

Pulling out his phone, he snaps a picture.

Hanbin would love this.

Without thinking too much, he opens their chat and attaches the photo, typing a quick message.

what are you doing?

He hesitates for a split second before pressing send.

After the message is delivered, Hao realizes something.

It’s only been a few hours since he last saw Hanbin.

But somehow, it feels like so much longer.

Hao’s phone buzzes, and he glances down at Hanbin’s reply.

Hanbinnie<3

that drawing is so pretty!

A small, pleased smile tugs at Hao’s lips. He types back quickly.

this took me so much effort

Hanbinnie<3

the coloring?

Hao shakes his head, like Hanbin can see him.

no

getting the girl to let me color

Hanbin sends back a laughing sticker, and Hao finds himself smiling reflexively. It’s ridiculous how easily Hanbin’s messages affect him, how a single sticker makes warmth bloom in his chest.

Hanbinnie<3

are you having a good time?

Hao thinks for a moment before replying.

kinda.

the kids are fun

you would love them!

Hanbinnie<3

i should come visit one of these days.

Hao hums to himself, pleased by the idea. He can already imagine Hanbin in the playroom, sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by kids clinging to him. He’d be so good at this.

As he texts, he absentmindedly reaches for his water bottle, taking a swig, his attention fixed entirely on his phone.

A new notification pops up—Hanbin sent a voice message.

Curious, Hao presses play.

Hanbin’s voice filters through the speaker, a little playful, a little hesitant, speaking in Mandarin. “I miss you, gege. I wish you were here.”

Hao chokes.

The water comes flying out of his mouth in pure, unfiltered shock.

What the fuck?!

He coughs, his body jolting forward, eyes wide as he panics, glancing around to make sure none of the kids have woken up.

Thankfully, they’re still peacefully sleeping.

But Hao is anything but peaceful.

What the hell did he just hear?

His fingers fly across the keyboard as he types in all caps.

WHO TAUGHT YOU THAT?!

Hanbin replies almost instantly.

Hanbinnie<3

i’ve been learning Mandarin lol.

Hao barely takes a breath before responding.

I MEAN THE GEGE PART!

Hanbinnie<3

why are you yelling haha

Hao clenches his jaw.

answer my question, sung hanbin

Hanbinnie<3

ricky

he said it means hyung when I asked him

am I wrong?

Hao exhales sharply, his head dropping into his hands. Ricky. He’s going to strangle that boy the next time he sees him.

Sure, gege is an insane thing to say to an older guy and Hao would probably gag if anyone else said it to him but it was Hanbin saying it. There was something about his voice, the slight lilt in his Mandarin, the way the words I wish you were here followed after it—

Hao swallows hard, mind spiraling.

There’s no way Hanbin meant it that way.

But his dirty, absolutely corrupt mind decides to make it something it’s not.

He plays the voice note again.

And again.

And again.

The more he listens, the worse it gets.

Did Hanbin have to say it like that? With that tone? That voice?

Hao presses his palm against his face, feeling heat crawl up his neck. What is wrong with me?

He forces himself to type a response.

that was terrible pronunciation

but it’s cute

And then, on impulse, he adds—

i miss you too

Hanbin’s typing bubble appears.

Then disappears.

Then appears again.

Hao watches, holding his breath.

But no reply comes.

He exhales, tilting his head back against the wall, convincing himself it’s not a big deal. Maybe Hanbin got busy. Maybe he put his phone away. Maybe—

His fingers twitch, hesitation creeping in. Before he can stop himself, he quickly types out another message.

so much, I can’t stop thinking about you

The second he presses send, a wave of regret washes over him.

Why did he say that?

Why did he add so much?

Why did he emphasize that he can’t stop thinking about Hanbin?

Hao stares at the chat, heart pounding in his ears. The text just sits there, read. No typing bubble, no instant reply.

Fuck.

Did he make it weird?

Hao’s stomach twists as the seconds drag on, stretching into what feels like forever. His mind starts spiraling, picking apart every possible reaction Hanbin could be having right now.

Then, finally—

A new message pops up.

Hanbinnie<3

i really can’t wait to see you later, hyung

Hao exhales, tension draining from his body all at once.

Okay. Okay, maybe it’s fine.

Maybe Hanbin didn’t overthink it the way he did.

Hao stares at Hanbin’s message for a long time, his lips pressing together. He does a metaphorical giggle-and-kick-his-feet motion inside his head. His body is warm, way too warm, and he has no idea why this is affecting him so much.

Just as he’s debating how to respond, the door creaks open.

Jiwoong walks in, stretching. “Who are you texting?”

Hao nearly fumbles his phone, quickly locking the screen before shoving it into his pocket. “Hanbin,” he says, a little too fast.

Jiwoong raises an eyebrow. “Why? You literally live together.”

Hao shrugs, standing up abruptly. “Just checking in.” He busies himself by grabbing the sticky mop, pretending to wipe the water he spilled earlier.

Jiwoong watches him for a moment before smirking. “Damn, you’ve gotten so close to Hanbin. It’s like he’s stolen my best friend.”

The comment shouldn’t make Hao defensive, but it does.

“What do you mean?” he scoffs, standing straighter. “Hanbin is like my little brother. We’re just hanging out, that’s all.”

Jiwoong blinks, looking slightly taken aback. “Okay? I was just joking.”

He walks over to a chair, plopping down and pulling out his phone, seemingly unbothered.

Hao stands there, resisting the urge to pull out his phone and swipe to a certain person’s chat box.

****

The drive to Ricky’s house is quiet at first, the streetlights casting a soft glow against the car’s interior. The hum of the engine fills the silence, and Hao leans against the window, watching the familiar roads blur past.

Jiwoong breaks the silence.

“It’s gonna be weird seeing this place without half the school crammed inside.”

Hao turns to him, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve never been here in the daytime?”

Jiwoong shrugs, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “No reason to come here without a party.”

Hao huffs out a laugh. That’s very Jiwoong of him to say.

Jiwoong continues, “Ricky’s basically the designated party boy of our school, so news travels fast whenever he’s throwing one. That’s how I started coming to these parties.”

Hao hums, thinking back to the last time he was here. It had been loud, chaotic, and overwhelming. The energy had been completely different from what he imagined the house would be like now.

Jiwoong glances at him. “You wouldn’t get it. In Seoul, there are big bars and clubs everywhere, but here in Cheonan, they’re much smaller. They can barely fit twenty people.”

Hao shrugs. “I never go to the big bars anyway. I prefer the smaller ones.”

Jiwoong groans dramatically. “You’re misusing your freedom in Seoul. If I were you, I’d be making the most of it.”

Hao rolls his eyes. “Says the guy who only goes to parties when they’re in Ricky’s big house.”

Jiwoong snorts, but he doesn’t deny it.

Hao taps his fingers against his knee, a question forming in his mind. “Do you know what Ricky’s parents do?”

Jiwoong shrugs again. “Hanbin would probably know. I’ve barely spoken ten sentences to the guy.”

Of course. Typical Jiwoong.

He’s polite to everyone, but unless he decides you’re worth the effort, he won’t let you in. It’s a stark contrast to Hanbin, who collects friends like a hobby, always making time for people he deems nice enough. It’s funny—both brothers have their mom’s politeness, but they wield it differently. Jiwoong’s kindness is distant, something to be earned. Hanbin’s is effortless, something he gives freely.

Jiwoong can party with these people, be cordial, laugh at their jokes, but he won’t truly open up to them. They’re surface-level party friends—nothing more. He wouldn’t invite them over or confide in them.

Hao? He’s the exception. The only person Jiwoong keeps close. And yet, even with him, there are limits. Jiwoong shares things only after he’s already figured them out, after he’s solved whatever problem he was facing. You can’t really advise Jiwoong—he already knows what he’s going to do.

Hanbin, though—Hanbin listens. He takes people’s opinions into account, values what they have to say. That’s why he has so many friends. He lets people in.

Hao sometimes wonders if he’s responsible for that, for making Hanbin dependent on others. He’d been around him all the time when they were younger, taking care of him without thinking twice. And then, when he found out about Hanbin’s crush on him, he cut him off.

He still remembers it vividly. The way Hanbin would wave at him in school, hopeful, and Hao would be curt—brief to the point of rudeness. He never lingered, never gave Hanbin the conversations they used to have.

He missed those late-night talks, the ones where Hanbin would ask endless what if? questions, and Hao would do his best to answer. But after finding out about the crush, he left Hanbin to deal with things on his own.

He remembers the look on Hanbin’s face one day—somewhere between sad and confused—and for a split second, Hao had wanted to walk over, to ask what was wrong, to help fix it.

But he didn’t.

He had to force himself to stay away.

Hao shakes his head, pushing the thoughts aside. Jiwoong parks the car, pulling him out of his spiral.

They step out, and Ricky’s house looks different in the evening glow. Still big, still impressive, but quieter, calmer.

The moment they step inside, Hao's mind switches to Operation Get Ricky with Gyuvin mode. He mentally reviews his plans for today, but he barely has time to think before Gyuvin lunges at him.

“Hao hyung! You didn’t come to work today!”

Hao stumbles back slightly, overwhelmed by Gyuvin’s energy. “Uh—”

“Are you feeling better? Hanbin hyung said you were sick.”

Oh. Of course he did.

Hao shakes his head, offering a small smile. “I’m fine. I was just tired.”

Gyuvin grins. “Good! We missed you.”

Before Hao can respond, Hanbin’s voice calls from the other room. “Gyuvin-ah, come here!”

Gyuvin perks up instantly, giving Hao a quick pat on the arm before practically sprinting away.

Before Hao can fully process the fact that Hanbin is here—before he can even think about how he wants to see him so badly—someone appears in front of him.

“Hyung!”

Hao turns just in time to see Taerae beaming at him. But when Taerae’s eyes flicker past him to Jiwoong, his entire face turns red.

Hao watches, amused, as Taerae stumbles over his words, whispering. “You—you brought him?”

Jiwoong, completely oblivious, walks past them without a second glance, heading toward the living room.

Taerae practically squeals, grabbing Hao’s arm in excitement. “Hyung! You actually brought him!” His grip tightens. “I could kiss you right now.”

“Please don’t.”

He didn’t even bring Jiwoong for Taerae—he’s literally here to set up Ricky and Gyuvin. But seeing Taerae this happy makes him laugh.

“I didn’t think you would get him to come,” Taerae continues dramatically. “And Hanbin is no help at all.”

Hao finds that hilarious. Hanbin, who lives to be helpful, deliberately choosing not to assist Taerae in his romantic pursuit with his brother? There’s something ironic about that.

“He’s so mean!” Taerae complains. “What if I’m his brother’s soulmate and he’s depriving Jiwoong hyung of happiness?”

Hao shakes his head, still chuckling. 

“Understand where I'm coming from, okay, imagine this…”

Hao hums in acknowledgment.

“...if you had a crush on Hanbin—”

“I wouldn’t.”

Hao blurts it out so fast, so firmly, that Taerae’s eyebrows shoot up.

“It’s a hypothetical question, hyung,” Taerae says, giving him a suspicious look. “Why are you so defensive?”

“I’m not,” Hao says quickly. Too quickly. Again.

Taerae squints at him, then tilts his head. “Do you have a crush on Hanbin?”

Hao freezes.

For a horrifying second, he thinks Taerae can see right through him.

Jiwoong hadn’t even noticed back at the center, had brushed off Hao’s defensiveness without a second thought. But Taerae is staring at him like he’s figured something out, and Hao doesn’t like where this is going.

Luckily, Gyuvin appears before he has to answer.

Hao latches onto the distraction immediately. “Gyuvin! How’s Ricky?”

Gyuvin groans dramatically. “Hyung. Ricky is so weird. You won’t believe what he did.”

Perfect.

Hao nods attentively, encouraging Gyuvin to go on while Taerae digs holes into his face with his stare. Hao sees Taerae from the corner of his eyes, deep in thought as if analyzing him.

As Gyuvin launches into a full-on rant, waving his arms animatedly, Hao breathes a quiet sigh of relief and chooses to ignore Taerae.

But as Gyuvin talks about Ricky—complaining, but with that underlying fondness that’s impossible to miss—Hao smirks to himself.

Operation Get Ricky with Gyuvin is going to be so successful.

Midway through Gyuvin’s story, Hanbin’s voice interrupts from another room. “Gyuvin-ah! Get your ass over here!” 

Hao laughs as Gyuvin huffs but still hurries toward the kitchen like an obedient puppy.

Hao goes to the living room. Jiwoong is already sitting on the couch, chatting with Gunwook, Ricky, and Matthew.

The moment Hao lays eyes on Ricky, he remembers.

The voice note.

The fucking voice note.

And the fact that Ricky was the one who taught Hanbin “gege.”

Oh, Ricky is so going to get it.

Hao marches up to him, eyes narrowed, immediately switching to Mandarin. “Why did you tell—” He’s about to say Hanbin but notices the way everyone else is watching them, surprised and straining to understand their conversation. He catches himself, quickly swapping it out. “Why did you tell bingbing that gege means ‘hyung’?”

Ricky, this kid, has the audacity to smirk.

“Ohhh,” Ricky drawls, crossing his arms. “So that’s what this is about.”

Hao glares.

Ricky chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “He texted me randomly, asking how to say ‘Hyung, I miss you’ in Mandarin, so I taught him.”

Hao’s glare intensifies. “NO. You taught him ‘gege, I miss you and I wish you were here’—with ulterior motives.”

Ricky throws his head back laughing, the absolute bastard.

“Wait, wait,” Ricky says between chuckles. “Did you listen to it while having ulterior thoughts?”

Hao malfunctions.

What—what the fuck?

Before he can calculate how many years he’d get in prison for murdering a possible mafia heir—because seriously, how are Ricky’s parents that rich?—Matthew cuts in, tilting his head. “What are you guys talking about?”

Ricky winks at him. “I’ll fill you in later.”

Taerae perks up. “Me too, me too!”

Hao resists the urge to strangle Ricky.

Meanwhile, Jiwoong—who has been entirely uninterested in their nonsense—turns to Hao and says, “I didn’t know you were so close to Ricky.”

Hao shrugs, “I didn’t know you knew Gunwook and Matthew.”

Gunwook explains, “We see each other often at the gym, so yeah, we know each other.”

Taerae, standing next to Hao, mutters under his breath, “I’d rather eat a brick than go to a gym and lift heavy weights.”

Hao nods in solidarity. “Same.”

His eyes flick toward the nearby room where Hanbin’s voice came from before. “What’s Hanbin doing?”

“Softening the icing in the kitchen, Gyuvin’s with him.”

Hao nods and takes a seat on the couch after Taerae does.

He wants to go see Hanbin.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he lets Taerae keep talking his ear off, while Jiwoong laughs with Gunwook, Ricky, and Matthew.

Still, even as he sits there, pretending to listen, his mind is elsewhere.

With Hanbin.

In the kitchen.

Where Gyuvin is.

Where he is not.

Soon enough, Hanbin and Gyuvin return, their arms full of icing tubes.

Hao catches the smile Hanbin sends his way before it falters, shifting into a frown when Hao just… stares.

Shit.

Hanbin crosses the room in an instant, sliding into the seat beside him. “Hyung, are you still sick?” His voice is soft, filled with concern.

Hao swallows.

Stop being weird.

“No,” he says quickly.

Hanbin studies him for a moment before nodding. “Okay. ‘Operation Get Gyuvin With Ricky’ is still on, right?”

Hao nods and exhales, deciding then and there to shove all his ridiculous thoughts aside. It was a dream. Just a stupid dream. He’s not going to sit here and ruin a fun night over something that isn’t even real.

He stands abruptly, clearing his throat. “Alright! We’re dividing into teams.”

Jiwoong stretches, grinning. “Nice. Hao and I built this a lot when we were younger, we’re going to win.”

“No,” Hao says immediately.

“Uh?”

“I’m with Hanbin, Gyuvin, and Ricky,” Hao announces. “You, Taerae, Gunwook, and Matthew are a team.”

Jiwoong looks downright betrayed. “What? Since when?”

“It makes sense,” Hao argues, already turning toward the others. “The older hyungs should separate. It’ll be unfair otherwise and we’re both good at this, so we need to balance it out.”

Jiwoong rolls his eyes but lets it go.

Meanwhile, Hanbin is already laying out the gingerbread pieces and decorations. He scans the manual quickly before explaining what each part is, voice steady, slipping into his natural role as the leader.

Hao just watches him, chin resting on his hand.

He likes seeing Hanbin like this—focused, taking charge effortlessly.

They start building.

Hao surveys the table, the assortment of gingerbread pieces, icing bags, and decorations laid out in front of them. He claps his hands together, setting the tone. “Alright, let’s split up the work.”

Gyuvin, already reaching for a piping bag, looks up expectantly.

“Gyuvin, sit beside Ricky,” Hao instructs, nudging him toward the empty chair next to Ricky.

They both turn to look at Hao like he just suggested they hold hands and jump off a cliff together.

Ricky squints. “Why?”

“Because you two work best together,” Hao replies smoothly.

Ricky blinks. “Since when?”

“We literally fight all the time,” Gyuvin deadpans.

Hao waves a hand dismissively. “That’s just a sign of good teamwork.”

Hanbin snorts beside him, clearly entertained, but doesn’t interfere.

Grumbling, Gyuvin plops down beside Ricky, shooting him a glare. Ricky, in turn, scoots an inch further away, muttering something under his breath.

Hao hides a grin. This is going to be fun.

“Okay,” he continues. “You two will work on one part of the walls, and Hanbin and I will do the other. Got it?”

A chorus of half-hearted agreements follows.

Hao cuts a small hole in the piping bag, squeezing out a bit of icing onto his fingertip to test the consistency. Hanbin does the same, pouring a neat line along the edges of the gingerbread.

For a while, things go smoothly.

Until Hanbin nearly knocks the whole thing over.

Hao reacts instinctively, his hands shooting forward to hold the fragile wall upright—at the exact same time Hanbin does.

Their hands land on top of each other.

They both freeze.

Hanbin’s fingers press against the back of Hao’s hand, his grip firm and steady. He doesn’t move. Neither does Hao.

It’s just two minutes. Two whole minutes of their hands layered together, of Hanbin leaning over him, of his breath ghosting against Hao’s neck.

Hao feels everything.

His pulse is embarrassingly loud in his ears.

Is it normal to be this hyper-aware of someone? Of the warmth of their hands, the steady rise and fall of their chest, the barely-there brush of their skin against his?

“Careful,” Hanbin murmurs, finally breaking the silence.

His voice is low. Close.

Hao swallows, nodding quickly. “Y-Yeah.”

He’s about to pull away when, mercifully, Gyuvin and Ricky’s yelling breaks the moment.

“Hold it better!” Gyuvin snaps.

“I am holding it better,” Ricky snaps back.

“Are you? Because it’s about to collapse—”

“I’m trying—”

Hao sighs, turning toward them. “Gyuvin,” he interrupts, forcing a calm tone, “don’t you think Ricky is doing a great job?”

Gyuvin, already mid-glare, turns to Hao in confusion. “What?”

Hao nods encouragingly toward Ricky. “Try holding it together instead.”

Gyuvin furrows his brows but compiles, placing his hands beside Ricky’s to steady the wall. For a second, it seems like they’re working together—until they suddenly pull back at the same time, like they’ve been burned.

Ricky makes a face.

Gyuvin rubs his palms on his pants.

Hao turns to Hanbin, whispering, “Are you sure they have a crush on each other?”

Hanbin stifles a laugh. 

Why do I have more chemistry with Hanbinnie than these two people who supposedly have a crush on each other?

They work in silence for a while, placing small boxes inside the structure to keep the walls upright while the icing sets. Eventually, both teams meet in the middle—but there’s a problem.

A gap.

A small gap, barely enough to throw off the symmetry, but enough to drive Gyuvin insane.

“This is Ricky’s fault,” Gyuvin announces.

Ricky, unimpressed, shoves him. “You’re so dramatic.”

Then, without hesitation, he reaches over and snaps one of the gingerbread rectangles, breaking off a piece to fit the gap.

Everyone pauses.

Hanbin whistles. “That was impressive.”

“OMG,” Hanbin continues, turning to Gyuvin with an exaggerated expression. “Ricky is so good at this, don’t you think so, Gyuvin-ah?”

Hao catches on immediately. “Right, Gyuvin? Just see what he did.”

Gyuvin and Ricky eye them suspiciously.

“What’s going on?” Ricky asks.

“Nothing,” Hanbin says, way too innocently.

“Nothing at all,” Hao echoes.

They continue building the house, but Hao exchanges a glance with Hanbin, barely holding back his grin.

Operation Get Gyuvin and Ricky Together is still very much in motion.

Hao glances over at the other team, expecting some level of chaos. Instead, he’s met with…

Sweetness.

Disgusting amounts of it.

Taerae is practically glued to Jiwoong’s side, showering him with praises every two minutes. “Hyung is so perfect at this,” he gushes, sighing dramatically as Jiwoong expertly applies a line of icing.

Jiwoong, completely oblivious, barely reacts beyond a polite smile.

Meanwhile, Matthew and Gunwook—what the hell is going on over there?

Gunwook is half-leaning into Matthew’s space, icing tube between his teeth as Matthew squeezes more onto his tongue like he’s feeding a baby bird.

Hao makes a choked noise. “Holy shit. Okay, gross.”

Hanbin, sitting beside him, doesn’t even glance up from their gingerbread house. “What?”

Hao gestures toward Gunwook and Matthew, who are still caught up in whatever the hell that was.

Hanbin turns to Hao, lifting his icing-covered fingers and saying casually, “Here, taste this.”

Hao leans forward without thinking, licking the icing right off Hanbin’s fingers.

Hanbin stills.

Hao barely notices, too focused on the sweetness coating his tongue, on the warmth of Hanbin’s skin under his lips.

Then Hanbin swallows—audibly.

Hao’s gaze flicks up in time to catch the way Hanbin is staring at his mouth again, the same way he did back at the rink when he fed Hao chicken.

For a long, suspended second, neither of them moves.

Then, as if realizing what just happened, Hanbin quickly drops his gaze, eyes darting anywhere but at Hao. He hesitates—just for a moment—before bringing his fingers to his own mouth, licking the remaining icing off.

Hao’s stomach flips.

Across the table, Taerae is watching with an all-too-knowing smirk, giving him the most obnoxious I see you look.

Hao’s face burns. Oh my god.

Thankfully, the walls of their gingerbread houses are finally complete, and everyone agrees to let them dry for fifteen minutes before making the roof.

Needing a distraction (and an escape from Taerae’s teasing glances), Hao grabs Hanbin’s wrist, dragging him toward the kitchen.

Hanbin follows without protest, his steps light as he lets himself be pulled along.

The moment they’re alone, Hao turns to him, exasperated. “Okay, why isn’t this working?”

Hanbin blinks. “What?”

“Our strategy,” Hao stresses. “Why do Ricky and Gyuvin keep fighting? We’ve been setting them up for hours, and it’s like they’re getting worse.”

Hanbin chuckles, leaning against the counter. “Maybe we’re trying too hard?”

Hao groans, running a hand through his hair. “But they’re so obvious! It’s painful to watch.”

Right then, Gyuvin steps into the kitchen, eyes narrowing.

“What.”

Hao flinches, startled.

Gyuvin crosses his arms. “Are you two talking about me?”

Hao glances at Hanbin, but Hanbin just looks away, clearly staying out of it.

“I—uh—” Hao stammers, “look, Gyuvin, I appreciate you, and I just want you to be happy—”

Gyuvin groans. “Hyung. Stop.”

Hao feels like he’s a kid being scolded.

“You’re not subtle,” Gyuvin continues, giving him a deadpan look. “I know you’re trying to set me up with Ricky. Please stop before you make him uncomfortable.”

Make Ricky uncomfortable?

Ricky, who literally has a crush on you?

Hao wants to shake him, but instead, he sighs. “Okay, I’m sorry. I won’t interfere anymore.”

Gyuvin watches him for a moment, like he’s making sure Hao means it, then nods and walks away.

The second he’s gone, Hanbin reaches out, resting a reassuring hand on Hao’s arm.

“You meant well,” Hanbin says softly, his eyes gentle. “You don’t have to feel bad about it.”

Hao looks at him—really looks at him.

At the warmth in his gaze. The easy way he always tries to make things better.

He wants to hug him.

The urge is sudden, intense.

Hanbin smells nice, fresh and clean like he always does, and Hao knows he’d feel even warmer up close, in his arms.

He clenches his fists, resisting the impulse.

“I know,” he murmurs instead, offering Hanbin a small smile.

Hanbin keeps his hands on his arm for a moment longer before pulling away.

From the living room, Ricky’s voice rings out.

“It’s dry!”

Hao exhales, forcing himself to push everything aside.

He still has a gingerbread house to build.

Hao sighs, leaning back slightly as he watches Ricky and Gyuvin work together in absolute silence.

No bickering. No snarky comments. Just quiet agreement.

Gyuvin nods at whatever Ricky suggests, occasionally reaching for a gumdrop or a peppermint stick without protest.

It’s… weird.

Oh my god. He definitely made things awkward.

Hao slumps, guilt creeping in. Great. Now I’ve ruined their natural dynamic.

Hanbin must sense his spiraling thoughts because he nudges him lightly.

“You okay?”

Hao snaps out of it, turning to Hanbin, who’s still pressing down on his hand to hold their gingerbread house together. How long has he been touching me?

His skin feels hot beneath Hanbin’s palm.

“Yeah,” Hao mutters, clearing his throat. He focuses back on the gingerbread house, pretending his heartbeat isn’t a little unsteady.

Way too much touching is going on tonight.

They all wait for the house to fully dry, the air filled with the occasional sound of someone crunching on snacks. Ricky passes around a bowl of chips and some sweet biscuits, his expression unreadable when he hands it to Gyuvin. Gyuvin barely acknowledges him, staring at their gingerbread house like it holds all the answers to life’s mysteries.

Taerae, bless his soul, tries to make conversation with Jiwoong, but Jiwoong—ever so oblivious—barely responds with more than a few words.

Hao watches Taerae struggle and has to bite his lip to stop from laughing. Poor guy.

Finally, after what feels like forever, their gingerbread houses are ready for decorating.

Hao picks up a piping bag, carefully tracing icing along the edges of the roof. Hanbin watches, his brows furrowing in concentration.

“You’re really good at this,” Hanbin says, almost in awe.

Hao smirks. “I am a future architect, you know.”

Hanbin chuckles. “I bet you’d make a real gingerbread village if you wanted to.”

“Maybe I should,” Hao muses playfully. “A house for everyone so they don’t have to fight over space.”

Hanbin laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Sounds like a solid plan.”

As they decorate, Hanbin keeps complimenting him—way too much.

“Hao-hyung, this looks so good.”

“Hyung, your piping skills are insane.”

“Wow, this actually looks like a real house.”

Hao rolls his eyes. “Are you trying to flatter me so I do all the work?”

“Maybe.”

Hao shakes his head but doesn’t stop decorating. He hates how easily Hanbin gets away with things when he smiles like that.

Eventually, they all finish.

Taerae’s team’s house is a chaotic masterpiece. Pretzels line the roof, creating a rustic cabin look, while sprinkles and stick candies cover every visible surface. Gunwook adds the final touch—a giant candy cane sticking out of the chimney.

Meanwhile, Hao’s team’s house is elegant. A light dusting of powdered sugar gives the illusion of freshly fallen snow, gumdrops are neatly placed along the roof’s edge, and sprinkles add just the right amount of festive charm.

It’s beautiful.

“Okay, but our house is objectively better,” Taerae announces, folding his arms.

Gyuvin scoffs. “That’s debatable.”

Hanbin leans in and whispers to Hao, “Ours is definitely better because hyung built it of course.”

Hao smirks, nudging him playfully.

He likes this—being here, doing something so simple yet fun. Surrounded by friends. Next to Hanbin.

By the time they finish admiring their gingerbread houses, someone—probably Gunwook—suggests ordering Chinese food for dinner.

Hao perks up at that.

He hasn’t had good Chinese food in a while, and the thought of it makes him feel warm. Comforted, even.

“Finally, something decent to eat,” Gyuvin groans as he stretches, cracking his knuckles.

“I heard that,” Ricky deadpans, scrolling through his phone. “You’re literally always eating at my place. If you hate the food so much, stop mooching.”

Gyuvin places a hand on his chest like he’s been personally attacked. “I love your food, Rwick. I’m just saying, variety is good.”

Ricky side-eyes him but continues adding things to their order. Hao watches as Gyuvin leans over slightly, peeking at Ricky’s phone and occasionally suggesting dishes.

They are cute, I hope they get together soon.

As they wait for the food to arrive, Jiwoong brings up the community fair, mentioning how he’s in charge of decorating the event hall.

“Ugh, sounds like a pain,” Gunwook comments, stretching his legs out.

“Good thing you guys are helping me,” Jiwoong replies smoothly.

A beat of silence.

“What?” Hanbin blinks.

“We are?” Gyuvin looks genuinely horrified.

Taerae claps his hands together, grinning. “Yes! We all just volunteered.”

Hao chuckles under his breath as the group erupts in complaints.

“We?” Ricky raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t recall agreeing to this,” Matthew adds.

Taerae shrugs. “Too late.”

Jiwoong smirks, clearly pleased. “Great. I’ll send you guys the schedule.”

Hanbin sighs but doesn’t argue. “Fine. But you better buy us a meal after.”

Hao nudges Hanbin playfully. “Since when do you ask for incentives to help?”

Hanbin pouts. “I don’t! But Taerae didn’t even ask.”

“He never does,” Ricky mutters.

Gyuvin groans dramatically. “This is the worst. I signed up for fun, not labor.”

“Oh, hush. You’ll survive,” Taerae waves him off.

Despite the grumbling, Hao can tell no one actually minds. There’s something nice about being roped into things like this—like they’re all just a bunch of misfits doing life together.

He glances at Hanbin, who’s already looking at him.

Hanbin smiles, nudging his knee against Hao’s under the table.

Hao doesn’t move away.

Chapter Text

The next morning, soft lights filter through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. Despite the cold outside, the room remains warm, and faint sounds of movement downstairs suggest that the rest of the house are going about their day.

A knock on the door pulls Hao from his thoughts just as he finishes putting on his shirt. He smooths out the fabric absentmindedly before opening the door, revealing Hanbin standing there, already dressed for the day.

“Hyung, are you coming to the rink today?” Hanbin asks, peering into the room. 

Before he can answer, Hanbin continues, “You can stay home if you still feel sick like yesterday.” A pause. Then, softer, almost like an afterthought—“But you went out with Jiwoong hyung, though.”

Hao smiles at the petulant tone, amusement stirring in his chest. Cute. 

“I’m coming,” Hao says, leaning against the door frame.

Hanbin’s eyes narrow. “Then why did you pretend to be sick yesterday?”

Hao raises an eyebrow. “I never said I was sick. You assumed.”

Hanbin huffs, crossing his arms. “So you just didn’t want to spend time with me at the rink?”

Oh?

Hao tilts his head, lips parting slightly. I’m sorry, I—” He hesitates for a second, then exhales. “It’s complicated to explain, but I’ll make it up to you.” 

Hanbin blinks, as if caught off guard by the sudden apology. Hao sees a tiny pout form at the corner of his lips before he quickly schools his expression.

He steps back into the room, leaving the door open for Hanbin to follow.

Hanbin perches on the edge of the bed while Hao settles in front of the small mirror on his desk, starting his makeup routine. For a while, Hanbin just watches, quiet, chin resting on his palm. But after a few minutes, Hao notices him shifting restlessly.

“Ten more minutes,” Hao says, blending concealer under his eyes.

Hanbin immediately straightens. “It’s okay, take your time.”

Hao smiles to himself. Hanbin, ever so understanding and patient.

By the time he finishes his makeup, he reaches for a necklace, pulling it from a small pile he has in a box on his desk. His fingers brush over the cool metal, automatically going to put it on, but he freezes on the clasp.

It’s that necklace.

The necklace his useless ex had given him.

Why does he even still have this? He should’ve thrown it away ages ago.

A part of him wants to just put it on and not think too much about it, but another part—the part that still remembers everything that came with it—feels sick at the thought.

Hanbin, probably noticing the way his expression shifts, leans forward slightly. “Oh, that necklace is pretty. Do you want me to help you put it on?”

Hao hesitates for a second before shaking his head. “It was from my ex.”

Hanbin’s expression shifts. His jaw ticks slightly as he stands and steps closer. He reaches out, taking the necklace between his fingers, and his nose scrunches a little as he inspects it.

“…It’s not that pretty,” Hanbin mutters. “Looks kind of hideous, actually.”

Hao bursts out laughing. “I know, right? He couldn’t even make an effort.”

Hanbin laughs along with him, shaking his head. “Hyung doesn’t even like necklaces that much. You prefer rings. And earrings look better on you anyway—your ears are so pretty.”

Hao’s stomach flips unexpectedly.

He’s thankful he already has blush on. He quickly looks away, suddenly hyper-aware of how warm his face feels. “Right! Hanbinnie knows me so well.”

Hanbin only hums in response, looking far too pleased with himself. His gaze drifts back to the necklace. “Then why did you wear it if you didn’t like it?”

Hao exhales, running a hand through his hair. “…It wasn’t my style, but it was his.”

And that was the issue, wasn’t it?

Wearing it always felt off. Like his ex had been trying to mark him, rather than gift him something meaningful.

Hanbin makes a thoughtful sound. “So you didn’t like that he was trying to make you match his preferences?”

Hao shakes his head. “It wasn’t even about that. I don’t mind matching things with someone I care about. But this wasn’t about that. It was all about ownership—like I was something to be shown off, not an equal.”

He runs his fingers over the chain, his voice quieter as he continues, “He never even wore anything I picked out. Never wanted to match with me unless it was something he chose.”

Hanbin’s expression darkens slightly, but he doesn’t say anything at first.

Instead, he studies the necklace for a moment longer before looking up, something quiet and unreadable in his gaze. “Do you want to throw it out?”

Hao hesitates.

Truthfully, he never did that whole throw away everything your ex gave you thing. His ex barely gave him gifts in the first place. They dated for almost two years, and the only birthday he spent with him resulted in this necklace.

On Valentine’s Day, he got a last-minute store-bought box of chocolate. No effort. No thought. Just something grabbed off a shelf in a convenience store, handed over with a distracted “Happy Valentine’s” before moving on to whatever else was more important at the time.

It wasn’t about the gifts. It never had been.

Hao wasn’t the kind of person who needed expensive things. He didn’t care for flashy displays of affection or grand, over-the-top surprises. If anything, they made him uncomfortable—because they always felt like an attempt to make up for something rather than a genuine act of love. What mattered to him was effort. Thoughtfulness. Someone remembering the little things.

Maybe it stemmed from childhood—his mother always bought him gifts when he was younger, beautiful things wrapped in glossy paper with neat bows, left on the dining table with a note that said Happy Birthday! or Congratulations! or I’m proud of you! But she was rarely there to see him open them.

And his father? He didn’t even get that much.

At some point, the gifts lost their meaning.

He knew his mother loved him, in her own way. But she had never been good at showing it with her presence, and his father had been even worse. All Hao had ever wanted was time with them. A simple afternoon together. A moment where they truly saw him, asked him about his interests, listened when he spoke, showed him that he mattered.

But that was never how things worked in their family.

So he stopped wanting gifts. He stopped wanting anything at all.

And maybe that’s why Hanbin’s kindness always gets to him.

Because Hanbin isn’t the type to hand him a box wrapped in ribbon and think that’s enough. Hanbin is the type to notice when he’s cold and quietly give him his last heat pack. To make sure there’s extra soup waiting for him when he’s feeling unwell. To remember what flavor of lollipop he likes, just because.

Hanbin sees him. In the way Hao always wished someone would. If Hanbin was anyone else, if he wasn’t Hanbin, Hao would totally fall for him.

He shakes the thought away, snapping back to the present to see Hanbin still looking at him, waiting patiently for an answer.

“…Yeah,” Hao says finally. “I want to throw it out.”

Hanbin’s face lights up immediately. “Great! I’ll do it for you.”

Hao watches as Hanbin grabs the necklace and, without hesitation, walks straight to the trash can and tosses it in.

There’s something oddly satisfying about it. Almost cathartic. The way Hanbin discarded it so easily—like it was nothing, like it held no weight, no significance—says more than words ever could. For so long, that necklace felt like a chain around his neck, but now it  feels as insignificant as a pack of 1000-won convenience store candy. 

And now, seeing it at the bottom of the trash? It means even less than that.

Hao exhales, a weight he didn’t realize he was carrying suddenly lifting.

He catches Hanbin’s eye and smiles. “Thanks, Hanbinnie.” 

Hanbin grins back. “Anytime, hyung.”

The cold morning air nips at Hao’s skin as they step outside, but he barely feels it, Hanbin’s hands warm him up immediately. 

And this time, when Hanbin reaches for his hand, Hao takes it without hesitation. 

It’s natural. Easy. Like muscle memory.

Their fingers lace together, fitting into place. There’s no questioning or excuse of a heat pack this time, no reason to justify it. And yet, neither of them seem to care.

They walk in comfortable silence for a while, the rhythmic crunch of their footsteps against the snow filling the air.

Then—

“Can I ask you something, hyung?” Hanbin’s voice is quiet, hesitant.

Hao glances at him, curious. “What is it?”

Hanbin’s grip on his hand tightens slightly. “Your ex… do you still love him?”

Hao stops in his tracks. What?

A laugh bubbles up from his throat before he can stop it. “No. God, no. I’m over him,” he says easily, shaking his head. “He was an asshole.”

Hanbin exhales like he was holding his breath. “Good.”

They continue walking, but Hanbin isn’t done. 

“Why did you guys break up?”

Hao’s steps falter.

The easy atmosphere shifts, something heavier settling between them. He looks up at Hanbin, meeting his gaze, and suddenly he doesn’t know how to answer. Because if he tells Hanbin the truth—that the asshole cheated on him—who knows what Hanbin might do?

Hanbin can and will take a bus to Seoul to find and confront the guy. No doubt in his mind.

But he doesn’t want to lie either.

So he settles for, “He broke my trust.”

Hanbin’s jaw clenches, and for a second, Hao wonders if that was still too much information. But Hanbin doesn’t press further. He just nods, gaze fixed on the ground like he’s trying to keep himself calm.

“I’m glad you guys broke up,” he mutters.

Then, like realizing how that sounds, his head snaps up in alarm. “No—hyung, I didn’t mean it in that way! I just meant—you deserve better. Someone who actually cares about you.”

Hao watches him stumble over his words, his ears turning pink, and something in his chest warms.

He squeezes Hanbin’s hand, smiling. “I know what you meant.”

Hanbin looks relieved.

Hao tilts his head up toward the sky, breathing in the crisp winter air. “I’m glad we broke up too,” he admits. “It sucked at first, but… I think it was for the best.”

Hanbin hums in agreement, swinging their joined hands slightly as they walk.

****

Hao leans against the counter, idly watching Hanbin assist a kid with lacing up their skates when Taerae suddenly turns to him with an excited glint in his eyes.

"Hyung, come over to my place this friday! I started this new K-drama, and I need someone to watch it with," he says, practically bouncing on his heels. "Ricky usually watches with me, but that asshole ditched me."

Gyuvin, standing beside them, barely looks up from his phone as he says, "You're just jealous you're not Rwick's favorite person."

Taerae gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. "Ricky ditched me for Gyuvin! Can you imagine?"

Hao perks up at that. "Really?"

"Yeah. They’re going on a date."

Gyuvin nearly drops his phone. His face turns red in an instant. "It's not a date! It's just a hangout between best friends," he insists, voice raising an octave.

Taerae smirks like he’s been waiting for this moment. "That’s not what you said in my DMs," he singsongs, then clears his throat and does his best Gyuvin impression. "'Ricky wants to hang out with me, just the two of us. Do you think it’s a date?'"

Gyuvin's eyes widen in horror. Then, under the counter, he steps on Taerae’s foot.

Taerae yelps, kicking him back.

Hao watches the chaos unfold, amused. He turns to Gyuvin with a knowing smile. "Congratulations on your—"

Gyuvin glares at him immediately.

Hao clears his throat. "...friendly hangout that is not a date."

Taerae snickers. Gyuvin groans.

Then, Taerae refocuses on Hao, eyes shining with expectation. "So, you in for the drama?"

Hao considers it for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, sure. I’ll invite Hanbin too."

Taerae’s face twists in confusion. "Why? Just come alone."

Hao raises a brow. "Why not? Hanbin loves dramas too."

Taerae huffs. "I only have snacks for two people."

Hao side-eyes him. That’s such a terrible excuse. He could easily bring snacks himself, but he doesn’t call Taerae out on it. Instead, something softens in his chest. Taerae doesn’t say it outright, but he clearly wants to spend time with Hao one-on-one. It’s kind of sweet. He appreciates the effort—even if Taerae pretends it’s no big deal.

Hao realizes this will be the first time he’s hanging out with one of Hanbin’s friends without Hanbin there. He doesn’t even know Taerae that well. What if it gets awkward? Not like Taerae has ever acted awkward around him.

Taerae must sense his hesitation because he nudges him. "I know you and Hanbin are literally in your honeymoon phase right now, but come on. You can survive a few hours without him."

Hao sputters. "We are not—"

"I don’t bite," Taerae continues, winking. "Unless you’re Gyuvin."

Gyuvin, who had been minding his own business for the past minute, throws his arms up. "Why am I in this conversation again?"

Hao decides to ignore Taerae’s last comment entirely. Instead, he nods. "Fine. Let’s do it."

Taerae beams.

Hao resumes his previous activity—watching Hanbin. He tries to make it look natural, as if his eyes just happen to meet Hanbin’s figure. His gaze drifts absently around the space—until it settles on Hanbin again.

Hanbin is still near the equipment counter, bent over slightly as he gathers a few returned skates. His movements are organized, lining up each pair before arranging them back onto the shelves easily.

Hao watches for a moment, then pushes himself off the counter and walks over.

Hanbin doesn’t notice him at first, too focused on placing the skates in the right slots. It’s only when Hao bends down to pick up a few stray pairs that Hanbin looks up, blinking in surprise.

"Hyung," Hanbin starts, standing upright. "You don’t have to help. This is my job."

Hao rolls his eyes. "And?"

Hanbin huffs, placing another pair of skates onto the rack. "And you’re just hanging out. You don’t need to do my work for me."

Hao doesn’t respond—just grabs another pair and places them neatly in the slot. Hanbin sighs, but there’s a small smile tugging at his lips.

They work in silence for a while, the sound of blades clicking against the shelves filling the space between them. The air is calm, comfortable.

Then, as Hao adjusts a slightly crooked row, he says, "I’m hanging out with Taerae on Friday."

He doesn’t know why he says it. It’s not like he needs to inform Hanbin of his plans. But for some reason, he does anyway.

Hanbin glances at him, eyebrows raised slightly. Then, a teasing smile creeps onto his lips. "Yeah? Bet you’ll just miss me the entire time."

Hanbin clearly meant it as a joke—he can tell from the playful lilt in his voice, the way he nudges Hao’s elbow lightly. But Hao doesn’t find it funny.

Because it’s not a joke.

He will miss Hanbin.

He swallows before replying, quieter than before, but still firm. "Yeah, I will."

Hanbin’s teasing expression falters, lips parting slightly as if the words caught him off guard.

And then—

He smiles.

Not his usual wide, cheeky grin. Not his teasing smirk. But something softer, something almost shy. His eyes crinkle at the corners, his dimples pressing deep into his cheeks.

Hao doesn’t think he’s ever seen Hanbin smile quite like this before.

"Have fun," Hanbin says, voice warm, sincere.

And Hao?

He thinks he’s in trouble. Hanbin needs to stop smiling.

****

Hao sits on the couch, slouched low, legs sprawled out as some random movie plays on the TV. He’s not really watching it. His eyes are fixed on the screen, but his mind is running laps elsewhere.

The house is eerily quiet. Jiwoong had mentioned earlier that he was "hanging out" with someone tonight, which in Jiwoong-language usually meant he was hooking up with someone. Hao doesn’t pry—he’s never been interested in the details of his best friend’s sex life, and honestly, he’s glad Jiwoong keeps it to himself.

Mr. and Mrs. Sung are upstairs, probably getting ready for bed. Hanbin went to the gym a while ago, and Hao, for the first time in forever, actually told him no when he asked him to come along.

He almost went.

He almost said yes, picturing Hanbin stretching, flexing, sweat dripping down his skin, muscles tensing under the weight of every rep. A very dangerous image.

Hao exhales sharply, adjusting his position on the couch, like that alone will shake the thoughts out of his head.

It doesn’t.

His brain is a traitor.

Because now, it’s supplying him with even more imagery—Hanbin, all sweaty, walking over to him after a workout, muscles taut, chest heaving, reaching for a water bottle. And Hao, being the helpful person he is, wiping Hanbin’s sweat off his face like he did at the rink the other day. Hanbin catching his wrist, holding his gaze, thumb stroking over his skin, before leaning in closer, lips brushing just barely—

Hao physically pinches himself.

"What the fuck," he mutters under his breath, horrified.

Is he seriously daydreaming about gym sex with Hanbin?

No, there has to be something wrong with him. Some kind of bug in his brain. He should get a CT scan or something.

He grabs a pillow from the couch and presses it down over his lap, trying to will away the very inappropriate reaction his body is having to this entire situation.

It does feel nice though, just imagining it. Maybe—maybe he could get off just picturing it.

The thought makes his stomach churn. No. Absolutely not. He refuses to be the kind of person who jerks off to the thought of his childhood best friend’s baby brother.

That would be unforgivable.

Hao groans, pressing the pillow harder against himself as if that will somehow repress the urge.

He needs a distraction.

Something normal. Something PG-13.

Maybe he and Hanbin can do something together when he gets back. A movie. A late-night snack. Talking. Something that doesn’t involve sweaty skin or gym showers or Hanbin pressing him against—

Nope.

Nope, nope, nope.

Hao clenches his jaw, tilting his head back against the couch, eyes shut.

Kissing is PG, though. Right?

His brain takes that thought and runs with it—Hanbin leaning over him on the couch, hair damp from the shower, the scent of fresh soap clinging to his skin, his fingers brushing against Hao’s as he steals the remote, a teasing smirk playing on his lips before he leans in, closing the space between them—

Hao sits up so fast he nearly falls off the couch.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Stop thinking about it, Zhang Hao.

With a groan, he scrubs a hand down his face and grabs his phone from the table. 

He pulls up YouTube, scrolling aimlessly through K-pop music videos, dance practices, variety show clips—anything to drown out his thoughts. His feed is full of things he usually loves, and for once, a distraction is working for him.

Minutes pass. His grip on his phone loosens. His blinks get slower and his eyelids grow unbearably heavy. He barely notices when his vision fades to black.

Hao blinks awake at the faint sounds coming from the kitchen. His mind is sluggish, his limbs heavy. Did he fall asleep on the couch?

He rubs his eyes and glances outside. It’s dark now. The TV is off. There’s also a blanket draped over him.

He sits up groggily, his joints cracking as he stretches. That’s when he sees him.

Hanbin.

In the kitchen.

Wearing nothing but a towel.

Hao pauses. Oh.

He must still be dreaming. That’s the only explanation.

Having two consecutive wet dreams about Hanbin? That’s something. But if his subconscious is hell-bent on torturing him, he might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

Hao stands, feet carrying him closer without much thought. As he moves, he gets a full, unfiltered view of Hanbin’s broad shoulders, toned chest, and two—oh—two rosy nipples staring right at him.

Damn.

It’s so detailed, so realistic, that even he’s surprised by the level of clarity his brain has conjured up.

The water droplets sliding down his abs disappear beneath the towel.

Hao swallows thickly.

This is a really nice dream.

He doesn’t want to wake up.

Hanbin finally notices him, mid-sip from his glass of water. His dark hair is damp, sticking to his forehead, his skin glowing under the kitchen light.

Hao exhales, gaze trailing down again before his mouth betrays him.

“Damn, you look even better without your shirt on.”

Hanbin blinks, glass pausing at his lips. “…I do?”

Hao licks his own lips, eyes tracing another droplet rolling down Hanbin’s stomach.

“I wanna lick the water off your tummy,” he murmurs absently, brain filtering nothing. Then, his eyes move a little lower, “And maybe even further.”

Hanbin chokes.

Water spills over the rim of his glass as he coughs, thumping his chest.

Hao tilts his head, confused.

Why is Hanbin choking?

That wasn’t part of the script.

Hanbin is supposed to push him against the counter, lift him up effortlessly, and kiss him senseless. That’s how these dreams usually go, right? Instead, Hanbin is staring at him, wide-eyed, pink dusting the tips of his ears.

“…Hyung?” Hanbin croaks, voice a little rough from coughing.

Hao hums, barely processing. His mind is still in dreamland.

“Why aren’t you calling me Gege in this dream?” he pouts, entirely absorbed in this pleasant fantasy. It feels too vivid, too real—like one of those lucid dreams where he can control what happens. He reaches out, certain that if he wills it, Hanbin will listen. “Call me Gege, Hanbinnie.”

Hanbin stares at him. Then—he starts giggling.

No. Not giggling. Full on laughing.

The sound is light and breathless, disbelief laced in it. And then Hanbin asks, “Hyung, did you dream of me?”

Hao’s entire body locks up.

His blood turns ice-cold.

Wait.

No.

No, no, no, no.

This isn’t—

He lifts his hand slowly, hesitantly—

And pinches himself.

Pain shoots through his arm.

Oh, fuck.

Hao goes completely still, staring at Hanbin like he’s just been sentenced to death. His brain is buffering. His soul is leaving his body.

Hanbin, the menace, is still laughing.

Hao scrambles for damage control, grasping at anything that will salvage his dignity.

“Of course not!” he blurts out, but his voice is too high-pitched, too defensive.

Hanbin’s grin widens.

And then he starts moving closer.

Step by step.

Until Hao finds himself backing up instinctively.

His back meets the wall.

Pinned. Just like his actual dream.

Hanbin leans in, arms braced against the wall beside Hao’s head.

Hao’s breath stutters. This feels—too much. Too intimate. 

Hanbin tilts his head, eyes flickering over Hao’s face, gaze a little too knowing. His voice drops lower, teasing.

“Are you sure you didn’t dream about me, hyung?”

Hao swallows hard.

His hands twitch at his sides, itching to cover his face, to do something to escape this moment.

He is going to die.

Right here. 

Right now.

Hanbin is smirking, watching him squirm, watching the way his ears are probably burning red, enjoying this too much.

This cannot be happening. 

This is not a nice wet dream, this is a nightmare-like reality.

Hanbin speaks again, voice lower, teasing. “What did I do in your dream?”

Hao clenches his fists at his sides, desperate to hold onto the last shreds of his dignity.

“Did you lick water off my tummy?”

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

His soul leaves his body.

Hao honestly wants to leave the world right now. It’s time. He’s ready. Just let the earth open up and swallow him whole.

But Hanbin isn’t done.

He moves in even closer, until their noses are almost touching, and then—

“Gege.”

Hao feels it more than hears it. The whisper, the warmth of Hanbin’s breath brushing against his lips, the deliberate way he says it.

His face turns scarlet.

His brain turns to mush.

Then Hanbin tilts his head, eyes flickering over Hao’s face before settling lower.

On his mouth.

He licks his lips.

“Does that turn you on, Gege?”

Hao’s breath stutters. His entire body tenses.

And then—Hanbin leans in.

Closer.

And closer.

His gaze remains locked on Hao’s lips, intent, unwavering. The air between them thickens, charged with something desperate, something neither of them should be indulging in.

Hao is frozen, caught in the moment, unable to move away, unable to do anything but watch—

Footsteps.

The moment shatters.

They jerk apart just as Mr. Sung steps into the kitchen.

“Oh, you guys are here!”

Hanbin’s back straightens so fast it’s like he got electrocuted. Hao presses himself against the wall, heart pounding, still unable to process what almost just happened.

Mr. Sung barely looks at them. “Hanbin, it’s cold. Go put on a shirt so you don’t fall sick.”

Oh.

Oh, he doesn’t suspect anything. Jiwoong definitely got his obliviousness from his dad.

Hanbin clears his throat, nodding stiffly. “Yes, Dad.”

Mr. Sung hums, pouring water into a cup before turning back toward the hallway. “Your mom wanted some water.”

Then he pauses at the doorway, glancing back briefly. “Goodnight, Hao. Goodnight, son.”

Hao barely manages to squeak out a “Goodnight.”

He forces himself to glance at Hanbin, who looks like he wants to say something—

Hao panics.

“Goodnight.” It comes out rushed, high-pitched, and then—he bolts.

Straight to his room.

Straight to safety.

His heart is hammering against his ribs, his skin is burning, his entire existence feels like it’s on fire.

What the fuck just happened?

He throws himself onto the bed, burying his face into his pillow.

He’s never going to be able to face Hanbin again.

Ever.

He tries telling himself it was nothing. It’s a joke. Just them messing around.

But then his mind reminds him.

If Mr. Sung hadn’t walked in—

Hanbin was really about to go in.

Hao groans, rolling onto his back, staring at the ceiling like it holds the answers to all his life’s problems.

Does Hanbin still have a crush on him?

No. Of course not.

Hanbin would’ve moved on.

They’re just two boys with sexual desires. That’s all.

…Right?

Wait.

Is it his fault?

Is he seducing Hanbin unknowingly?

Oh, God.

He groans again, pressing his hands against his burning face. How the hell is he supposed to look Hanbin in the eyes tomorrow?

Even worse, he feels his erection straining painfully against his shorts.

Shit.

No.

He can’t.

He won’t.

He absolutely will not—

But the moment he closes his eyes, all he sees is Hanbin.

Hanbin in the towel, licking his lips, the way he said Gege, the heat in his eyes, the way he had been so close—

Hao exhales shakily.

He’s already lost.

He rolls onto his stomach, gripping the pillow beneath him, positioning it just right.

Just this once.

Just to get it out of his system.

He buries his face into the mattress, muffling his whimper as he grinds against the soft fabric.

His mind supplies the images effortlessly.

Hanbin pressing him down onto the counter. Hanbin’s hands gripping his hips, his mouth trailing lower, lower—

Hanbin letting him lick the water off his stomach, just like Hao had wanted.

Hao whimpers again, thrusts quickening, body wound so tight he feels like he’s going to snap—

And then—

He does.

His orgasm crashes into him so fast, so intense, he barely registers the moment before he’s shuddering, body trembling, pleasure washing over him in waves.

It’s embarrassing.

Did he even last a minute?

He pants against the pillow, chest heaving, the weight of what just happened settling over him.

This is even worse than he thought. He’s hornier than he thought. And he’s majorly attracted to Hanbin.

Hao groans in defeat.

He’s so fucking doomed.

****

Hao wakes up the next morning with one singular thought:

I can’t look at Hanbin. Not after last night.

Not after Hanbin had cornered him against the wall, whispering Gege in a voice that still echoes in his head.

And especially not after what he did, rutting against his pillow like a desperate, touch-starved idiot, thinking about his best friend’s younger brother. 

Hao groans into his hands before dragging himself out of bed, trying to shake the thoughts from his head. Maybe if he acts normal, pretends to feel normal, everything will go back to the way it was.

Except when he walks into the kitchen and sees Hanbin already sitting at the table, he realizes he can't do it. Hao nearly does a 180-degree turn.

But Mrs. Sung spots him before he can escape.

“Haohao, you’re up! Come eat, dear.”

Reluctantly, he shuffles forward, noticing that his usual seat is the empty seat beside Hanbin.

Absolutely not.

He swiftly moves to sit beside Jiwoong instead.

Hanbin tilts his head, watching him. Then, on purpose, he picks up his plate and moves to sit directly across from Hao.

Hao stiffens. He’s testing me.

Fine. He’ll just act like Hanbin doesn’t exist.

He turns to Jiwoong instead, forcing casual conversation.

“What time did you get home last night?”

Jiwoong stretches, cracking his neck. “Early morning. Had to tiptoe in. I’m basically a ninja at this point.”

Hao smiles, amused. “You’re not as sneaky as you think.”

Across the table, Hanbin silently places a piece of fish onto Hao’s rice.

Hao doesn’t notice. He’s definitely not hyper-aware of Hanbin’s presence.

“What are you doing today?” he asks Jiwoong, keeping his voice light.

Jiwoong raises a brow. “You’re talking to me first before Hanbin today? Finally, I have my best friend back.”

Hao opens his mouth to refute him when—

Something brushes against his leg.

He chokes, nearly dropping his chopsticks.

Mrs. Sung startles. “Hao, eat slowly! Here, drink some water.”

She pours him a glass, and he takes it gratefully, using the moment to compose himself.

Across the table, Hanbin is smiling.

That little devil.

Hao glares at him.

Hanbin looks down, feigning innocence, but just as Hao lifts his cup to drink—

A foot nudges against his again.

Hao nearly spits out the water.

Is he—

Hanbin’s foot brushes his ankle, light and teasing.

Hao shifts, attempting to push it away, but Hanbin only presses in further, rubbing against him deliberately.

Hao’s grip tightens around his chopsticks.

Oh, he’s enjoying this.

Jiwoong is still talking, but Hao can barely process a single word.

His entire focus is on the subtle game happening beneath the table. The more he tries to push Hanbin’s foot away, the more persistent Hanbin gets.

Hao presses his lips together, suppressing a smile.

Butterflies.

Actual, literal butterflies flutter inside his stomach as Hanbin’s foot slides gently against his.

He hates how much he likes it.

He shoots Hanbin another glare, trying to convey, What do you think you’re doing?

Hanbin just tilts his head, all wide-eyed and adorable, like he isn’t the most frustrating person alive.

Hao exhales, shifting his leg slightly. And maybe—just maybe—he slides his feet with Hanbin’s.

If Hanbin is comfortable enough to play with him like this, then he doesn’t feel what Hao is feeling right now.

Which means he doesn’t regret it.

Hao, on the other hand?

He’s ruined.

Hanbin clearly wants it to continue based on all this. But what if Hanbin comes to him later and wants to finish what they started?

How is Hao supposed to tell him no?

And what if Jiwoong, Mama and Uncle find out?

What will they think of him—the boy they’ve practically raised like family—stealing away baby Hanbin’s innocence and seducing him?

Seduce is a strong word, but it gnaws at the edges of Hao’s mind, making him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

What would they think of him if they knew he humps his pillow at night, whispering Hanbin’s name, imagining all the ways Hanbin would touch him if they weren’t interrupted?

No.

They can’t find out.

Hao needs to put a stop to this. No matter what.

A voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, dragging him back to reality.

“So, Jiwoong,” Mr. Sung says, “about the community fair—are we required to bring snacks this year?”

Jiwoong, looking very calm (must be nice), replies, “Yeah, we need to make something small to sell on the day.”

Mrs. Sung perks up. “Then let’s keep it simple. We’ll make cookies, and I’ll bring a blender for milkshakes.”

Her husband nods approvingly. “Sounds like a great idea.”

She turns to them next. “Hao, Hanbin, you two can bake the cookies today or tomorrow.”

Jiwoong, ever the opportunist, immediately interjects. “They’re helping me decorate before the fair tomorrow morning, so they should do it today.”

Today.

Alone.

With Hanbin.

Hao panics. He blurts out, “I don’t know how to bake.”

A weak excuse, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

He still doesn’t make eye contact with Hanbin, feeling strangely sweaty all of a sudden.

But of course—of course—Hanbin just has to say, “I’ll teach you.”

Hao internally screams.

Mrs. Sung, taking this as confirmation, clasps her hands together. “Perfect! There’s flour and baking supplies in the pantry. Just don’t make a mess, okay?”

Then, she looks at Hao and adds, “And make sure Hanbin doesn’t burn the cookies.”

Jiwoong cackles like there’s some inside joke Hao isn’t in on.

Hanbin groans. “Mom, that was one time!”

Hao forces a laugh, even though he feels like he’s walking into the most dangerous situation of his life.

Spending time alone with Hanbin in the kitchen? With Hanbin standing behind him, guiding his hands, touching him, whispering instructions in his ear?

No.

Alarms blare in his head.

Hao goes to his room after breakfast, shutting the door behind him like it could somehow keep his thoughts from spiraling further.

It doesn’t.

Because what the fuck is happening?

Why didn’t Hanbin feel disgusted about the things Hao said last night?

Not that Hao wants Hanbin to feel disgusted—God, the thought alone is enough to send a sharp pang through his chest—but still. A normal person would have reacted differently– would have been weirded out, maybe laughed it off awkwardly, or at least pretended to forget about it entirely.

But Hanbin didn’t.

Hanbin leaned in.

Hanbin played along.

Hao groans, rubbing a hand down his face.

Is Hanbin as horny as I am? Is that what happened yesterday?

The idea unsettles him. Because if that’s the case, then what would’ve happened if they weren’t interrupted? If Mr. Sung hadn’t walked in at that exact moment?

Would Hanbin have kissed him? Touched him?

Would they have… done something?

Would Hanbin have just had sex with him and acted normal afterward?

No. No, Hanbin isn’t like that.

The Hanbin he knows is not the type to have casual sex with someone and move on like nothing happened.

If Hanbin ever slept with someone, it would have to be with someone he cares about. Someone he loves.

Hao’s breath catches in his throat.

Does that mean Hanbin still cares about him that way?

Is that why he holds his hands so easily? Why he takes care of him?

Hao clenches his jaw.

If Hanbin confesses to me… what would I say?

He doesn’t have an answer.

Because Hao isn’t even sure if he likes Hanbin in a romantic sense.

Sure, Hanbin is physically his type. The broad shoulders, the toned arms, the tattoos, the way he looks at Hao like a snack to be eaten.

But if Hanbin hadn’t grown up to be this attractive, would Hao still care?

Would he still feel this possessive, this restless, this completely fucked up over him?

And the answer comes too easily.

Yes.

Yes, because it was never about Hanbin’s body. It’s about the way Hanbin is.

The way he remembers every small detail about Hao. The way he goes out of his way to take care of people. The way he laughs, the way he exists.

Hanbin is… Hanbin.

And Hao cares about him.

But is he capable of seeing him as more than the little boy he’s always known? Is this just sexual attraction, or is it something deeper?

Hao groans for the 10th time today, throwing himself onto his bed, burying his face into his pillow.

I’m just horny.

That’s all this is.

He’s pent up, and Hanbin happens to be there, available, hot as fuck.

That doesn’t mean he likes him.

God, he needs to talk to someone about this.

But who?

Jiwoong?

Yeah, right.

How is he supposed to ask Jiwoong for advice about his younger brother?

"So, Jiwoong, I kinda wanna fuck your brother so badly, but I also care about him, and I’m not sure if it’s in a romantic aspect or not—any thoughts?"

Hao physically cringes.

No. No, that wouldn’t work.

He’s on his own with this one.

****

The house is quiet.

Everyone has left, and now it’s just them—Hao and Hanbin—alone in the kitchen.

Hao shifts on the stool, crossing his legs as he watches Hanbin rummage through the pantry, pulling out ingredients and equipment with an easy smile.

That damn smile.

Hanbin hums as he sets things on the counter, eyes bright with excitement. His energy is so him—infectious, warm, comforting.

“What’s funny, Hanbin-ah?” Hao asks, finally breaking the silence.

Hanbin doesn’t look at him, but the corner of his lips twitch.

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking about someone having a wet dream ab—”

Hao lunges.

Before Hanbin can even finish the sentence, Hao moves quickly—hand slamming over Hanbin’s mouth, pinning him against the counter.

“Sung Hanbin, I’ll kill you if you mention that again.”

He tries his best to sound intimidating, but Hanbin’s eyes are laughing at him, his shoulders shaking with barely contained amusement.

And then—

He feels something warm press against his palm.

Hao looks down—his hand is still against Hanbin’s mouth.

Hanbin kisses his palm, his breath tingling against Hao’s skin.

Hao lets him.

For a few seconds.

Before his brain catches up to reality, and he yanks his hand back like it burns.

“Just—just don’t talk about it,” he mutters, rubbing his palm against his sweatpants like that will erase the feeling. “Let’s just bake some cookies.”

Hanbin nods, still grinning.

Hao is surprised. The guy who once couldn’t even make eye contact with him because of a crush—the one who blushed at the mere thought of holding his hand—is suddenly teasing him like this? Openly acknowledging the tension between them, even using it against him?

What changed?

But then… it clicks.

Hanbin has always been a little insecure about people liking him for who he really is. He second-guesses it, hesitates, pulls back, waiting to see if their affection is conditional, if it will disappear the moment he becomes too much. But the moment he realizes someone truly likes him—accepts him—he lets go. He becomes as free as he can be.

Hao has seen it firsthand. When they were kids, Hanbin was always polite and cordial at first, especially with new people. But the moment he grew comfortable, he stopped being the nice kid—he’d bicker, argue when necessary, and tease playfully, unafraid to be himself.

Maybe Hanbin figured if Hao was physically attracted to him, then there was no need to be shy.

Instead, he decides to make Hao’s life as hellish as possible.

Hao exhales, dragging a hand down his face. He is so fucked. 

Hanbin clears his throat, shifting gears easily. “You really can’t bake?” he asks, pulling out a mixing bowl.

Hao raises an eyebrow. “Are you judging me?”

Hanbin shakes his head quickly, waving his hands in surrender. “No, no! Don’t worry, hyung, I’ll teach you.”

Hao fights back a smile.

Hanbin starts pouring ingredients into the bowl, narrating each step as he goes.

Flour. Sugar. Baking powder.

He explains why he’s doing what he’s doing, his voice naturally slipping into leader mode.

Hao is watching but not listening.

Seeing Hanbin like this—focused, guiding, confident—makes something settle deep in Hao’s chest.

He leans against the counter, observing him closely, as the truth-or-dare game from the party creeps back into his mind.

Someone who leads people well…

That’s what he said about his ideal type.

And that’s what made all Hanbin’s friends look at Hanbin.

"If only we knew someone like that."

Was it—

Was it Hanbin?

Hao sucks in a breath, staring at Hanbin’s side profile, the way his brows furrow slightly as he measures the ingredients so precisely, the way he explains everything softly—

Oh.

Oh, it was.

Hanbin tells him to melt the butter in the microwave, pointing toward it.

But Hao just stands there, processing.

Hanbin pouts at him, voice soft. “Hyung?”

Hao snaps out of it and reaches for the butter—

At the exact same time as Hanbin.

Their hands bump into each other.

“Sorry,” Hao says, pulling his hand away.

Hao leaves the butter for Hanbin to melt, watching as he moves around the kitchen. After whisking an egg into the bowl, Hanbin pours it into the dry ingredients he had mixed before.

For the first time since they started, Hao is actually paying attention.

Hanbin mixes the ingredients with a spatula, forearms flexing with each movement.

Hao watches, entranced.

His eyes trail down, following the way Hanbin’s hands move around a spatula, the way his muscles tighten with every roll. He wonders—just for a second—if his own fingers could wrap around Hanbin’s arm.

He doesn’t need to know that.

Stop thinking about it.

Hanbin, completely unaware of the mess in Hao’s head, picks up the spatula.

Then—

He puts it in his mouth.

Hao’s brain short-circuits.

He sucks the batter off, slowly while maintaining eye contact.

Hao forgets how to breathe.

WHAT THE FUCK.

Hanbin then dips his finger into the batter and brings it to his mouth, sucking it clean.

What if it was my finger, Hao thinks for one horrifying second.

NO! Stop, Zhang Hao.

His brain is screaming, sirens blaring in his head.

This is fine. This is normal. This is just—Hanbin tasting cookie dough.

But it isn’t normal. Not to Hao’s stupidly horny brain.

He forces himself to act unaffected, clearing his throat. “Is it even safe to eat raw like that?”

Hanbin grins, tilting his head. “This is the best part.”

Then—

“Come taste.”

Hao swallows hard.

Hanbin scoops a bit of cookie dough with his finger, holding it up for him.

Hao, too distracted by the warmth pooling in his stomach, does not notice that it’s the same damn finger Hanbin just licked from.

Without thinking, he opens his mouth.

Hanbin dips his finger in.

Hao’s tongue curls around it.

Maintaining eye contact the whole time.

He hears the sharp inhale Hanbin takes.

Oh.

Payback time, Hanbin.

Hanbin’s entire body goes stiff, like he just realized the position they’re in. His jaw clenches, and he tries to pull his finger back.

Hao doesn’t let him.

Instead, he moans.

A full, dragged-out, porn-worthy moan.

“Hanbin—aghh. So tasty. More.”

He doesn’t expect Hanbin to actually scoop more.

And feed it to him again.

Hao panics.

Abort mission. Abort mission.

But then Hanbin does it a third time.

Keeping his finger in Hao’s mouth just a little longer.

Hao keeps licking, even though the dough is long gone. His tongue flicks over Hanbin’s fingertip, and Hanbin—

Hanbin is not annoyed.

No, Hanbin looks dazed.

Eyes dark, lips slightly parted, staring at Hao like he’s a prey.

Then, Hanbin pulls his finger out and murmurs—barely above a whisper—

“Your lips are so nice.” His voice is lower, rougher. “They drive me insane.”

Hao’s breath hitches.

No, Hanbin— YOU are driving me insane.

And suddenly, a memory crashes into him.

The party.

Hanbin, drunk and clinging onto him, murmuring in a breathy voice—

"Hyung… your lips… so nice… so plump…”

Oh.

Oh.

Hanbin meant it.

All of it.

Hao’s eyes snap to Hanbin, who is clearly enjoying the way Hao is losing his mind.

Fine.

Two can play this game.

He lets a slow smirk creep onto his face and mutters just loud enough for Hanbin to hear, “That reminds me of something you said when you were drunk.”

Hanbin blinks.

His entire demeanor shifts.

“What did I say?” he asks, cautiously.

Hao hums, dragging it out. “Hmm…”

Hanbin steps closer. “Hyung, you said I didn't say anything weird. What are you talking about?”

Hao grins. “Not telling.”

Hanbin moves closer, his face unreadable, and Hao has no idea what he’s thinking.

He moves behind Hao, arms wrapping around his waist in an instant, his chest pressed warm and solid against Hao’s back.

WHAT.

His brain malfunctions.

Why is Hanbin hugging him?

Why does it feel nice?

“Hanbin-ah…” he starts.

Hanbin doesn’t let him finish.

He starts tickling him.

Hao squeals.

“Tell me,” Hanbin demands, laughing against his shoulder.

“Hanbin—stop!” Hao twists, trying to escape, giggling uncontrollably.

But Hanbin doesn’t let him.

“Tell me, hyung.”

Hao struggles, gasping between laughs. “S-Something about my lips!”

Hanbin stops.

His arms loosen slightly, and after a pause, he just mutters—

“Oh.”

Then, he lets go.

Hao spins around, catching the way Hanbin’s expression suddenly turns stiff. He watches as Hanbin grabs a foil to cover the dough, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Is he… embarrassed?

Annoyed?

Sad?

Hao can’t tell.

He shifts on his feet, feeling an uncomfortable tension settle between them.

Wanting to lighten the mood, he clears his throat and says, “It’s okay. People tell me I have nice lips all the time. It’s a nice observation.”

Hanbin doesn’t turn back. He simply replies, “Right.”

His voice is flat.

Hao frowns.

Hanbin places the dough in the fridge and finally looks back at him, his expression back to neutral. “Now we wait for two hours.”

Hao sighs. “That long?”

Hanbin nods. “The cookies come out thicker if we let them rest.”

Hao hums.

Two hours.

Hao shifts slightly on his feet. “So… what now?”

Hanbin hums, thinking for a moment. “We can watch something while we wait?”

“Sure.”

They move to the couch, Hanbin pulling out his phone. He sets an alarm—precisely two hours from now—and turns to Hao with a bright grin.

“Let’s watch cute videos.”

Hao simply nods and reaches for the blanket draped over the couch, wrapping it around himself as he sits down. He makes sure to keep a respectable amount of space between them, the space is very much needed.

But Hanbin—of course—ruins that effort immediately.

He tugs Hao closer without hesitation. “How are you going to see from all the way over there?”

Hao doesn’t resist.

He lets himself be pulled in, their shoulders pressing together, warmth seeping through their clothes.

Hanbin clicks on a playlist titled jjanguri—a name that catches Hao’s attention right away.

The entire playlist is just raccoon videos.

Hao watches in silence at first, slightly intrigued. But then his mind begins to wander.

Jjanguri.

He tries to break it down in his head.

“Neoguri” means raccoon. “Jjang” means best.

So… best raccoon?

He’s so smart.

But why does Hanbin have an entire playlist dedicated to this?

He doesn’t ask, just watches as a raccoon in one of the videos grabs a piece of bread with its tiny hands and dips it into water before eating it.

It’s cute.

Then Hanbin speaks.

“They look just like you.”

Hao blinks. “Huh?”

Hanbin doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. “Raccoons. They look exactly like you.”

Hao stares at him, incredulous. “How can all raccoons look like me?”

Hanbin grins, nudging him slightly. “Because you’re literally a raccoon in a human body, hyung.”

Hao scoffs, unable to stop the laugh that escapes. “Then you’re a cat in a human body. You even have whiskers.”

Hanbin beams, clearly entertained by the comparison. “Of course! I can even meow.”

Hao raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? Prove it.”

Hanbin doesn’t hesitate.

He meows.

And—

It’s disturbingly accurate.

Hao’s mouth falls open. “What the—”

Hanbin does it again.

And again.

The fact that it sounds so realistic is starting to freak him out.

“Okay—that’s enough!” Hao exclaims, shoving at Hanbin’s arm. “You’re starting to scare me.”

Hanbin just laughs, clearly pleased with himself.

They continue watching the videos but then—

Hanbin suddenly reaches under the blanket and takes his hands in his.

Hao becomes hyper-aware of Hanbin’s touch, suddenly finding it difficult to focus on the videos.

Hanbin’s thumbs move in slow, lazy circles, rubbing over his knuckles, tracing the lines of his fingers.

It’s soft.

Gentle.

Comfortable.

And Hao says nothing.

He just lets himself lean in, resting his head against Hanbin’s shoulder.

The warmth between them is lulling, the steady rhythm of Hanbin’s breathing grounding him. Hao lets himself relax, his head staying put against Hanbin’s shoulder as they scroll through videos.

Then, without thinking, he asks, “How’s school?”

Hanbin hums. “It’s good.”

“Do you like it?”

Hanbin thinks for a second before answering. “I like learning, of course. But the studying part is difficult.” He chuckles. “I manage, though.”

Hao smiles slightly. “You can always ask me for studying tips.”

Hanbin brightens at that, turning his head just slightly, enough for Hao to feel his breath against his hair. “I still use some of the ones you gave me when I was preparing for the CSAT.”

“That’s good,” Hao says softly.

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment before Hao asks, “Do you still want to be a teacher?”

“Of course.” Hanbin responds instantly. Then, after a beat, he says, “Wait… hyung still remembers my dream?”

Hao shifts slightly, glancing up at him. “I remember every important thing about you.”

Something in Hanbin’s expression changes—something soft, something warm. He rests his head lightly on top of Hao’s, his voice quieter and pleased when he speaks next.

“What about your school? Do you like it?”

Hao hesitates. “It feels like a competition most of the time,” he admits. “Everyone hoards materials because they all want the highest scores.”

Hanbin hums disapprovingly, like he doesn’t like the sound of that.

“It’s hard to find real friends,” Hao continues. “But the school itself is great. The library is huge, and they have the best equipment.” He pauses. “I love studying. But my favorite part of being in Seoul is my violin practice. Going to the academy makes everything worth it.”

Hanbin listens quietly, his hand still loosely curled around Hao’s under the blanket.

Then, impulsively, Hao takes a deep breath and says, “Can you keep a secret?”

Hanbin immediately straightens, turning toward him. “Of course, hyung. You know me—I won’t tell anyone.”

Hao swallows. He doesn’t know why he’s telling Hanbin this. Maybe because he’s the only person who would listen without judgment.

Maybe because he trusts him.

“I’m thinking of transferring next semester,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper.

Hanbin’s eyes widen for a moment before he quickly schools his expression back to neutral.

Hao exhales. “I have the documents already. I just… haven’t filed them yet.”

Hanbin searches his face, concern flickering in his gaze. “Why?”

Hao runs a hand through his hair, looking away. “Do you not like Seoul anymore?”

“I do,” Hao says immediately. “But…” He hesitates. He doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to open that wound. “…I want to be with my mom.”

Hanbin stays silent, waiting for him to continue.

“She’s going through… something.” He avoids saying the word, but Hanbin doesn’t push. “She needs me.”

“Have you told her?” Hanbin asks.

“No.” Hao exhales. “She’d be against it. Everyone wants to go to Seoul to study, especially at SNU. Why would anyone throw away that opportunity?”

Hanbin’s grip tightens around his hand. “But you’re not just anyone, hyung.”

Hao lets out a bitter laugh. “I know. That’s why I don’t know what to do.”

He sighs, staring at the imprint of their joined hands under the blanket. “I’m not confident that I won’t regret it. I want to be independent someday, not depend on my dad anymore. And SNU would look great on my CV when I need a job.”

He doesn’t even realize how fast he’s speaking until he stops, breathless, like all these thoughts have been trapped inside him for too long.

Hanbin listens. Doesn’t interrupt. Just… listens.

Then, he squeezes Hao’s hand tighter.

Hao swallows, the lump in his throat thick.

“This is the first time I’m saying this out loud,” he admits. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you.”

Hanbin smiles softly, cracking a joke. “Because I’m your Hanbinnie?”

Hao lets out a choked laugh. “Yeah. That must be it.”

Hanbin shifts, turning to face him fully. “I understand wanting to be with your mom,” he says. “Family comes first, after all. But… if you regret it later, that can lead to resentment. And you said it yourself—you love your school. You love the violin academy.”

Hao nods slowly, his chest tightening.

“I think you should think it over some more,” Hanbin continues, voice steady. “But whatever you decide… I’ll be by your side.” He smiles. “Just don’t forget to put yourself first, hyung.”

Hao’s breath catches.

When did little Hanbin grow up like this? Giving him such mature advice.

It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to him.

The realization hits him so hard, so unexpectedly, that he doesn’t even notice the tears slipping down his cheeks until Hanbin’s expression shifts.

“Hyung?” Hanbin says gently. “Why are you crying?”

Hao blinks rapidly, hastily wiping his face. “I’m not crying.”

Hanbin tilts his head and looks at him properly, his brows furrowing. Then, without hesitation, he reaches out and wipes the stray tears away with his thumb.

Hanbin’s touch is warm, careful, like he’s afraid to break Hao.

And at that moment—

Hao knows.

He’s in trouble.

He’s falling for Hanbin.

Hanbin clears his throat, shifting slightly where they sit. Then, like he’s deliberately steering them away from the heaviness of their previous conversation, he says, “Oh! I forgot to tell you—I started a mini dance club at school.”

Hao blinks. “You what?”

Hanbin grins. “It’s nothing big. We don’t perform often—just at the school festivals, mostly. But sometimes we film K-pop dance covers for YouTube.”

Hao immediately perks up, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “Hanbin, what the hell? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Hanbin laughs at his reaction, leaning back into the couch. “I dunno… you never asked?”

“That’s an awful excuse.” Hao pulls out his phone. “What’s the name of the channel?”

Hanbin tells him, and within seconds, Hao is scrolling through the videos, eyes widening as he takes in the thumbnails.

The first thing he notices is Hanbin.

Front and center in most of them, dancing like he was born to do it. Hao clicks on a random video and watches, mouth slightly parted as the music starts.

Hanbin moves like water—fluid, sharp, hitting every beat with precision. He commands attention effortlessly, the ease in his posture, the confidence in his steps—it’s almost unfair how good he looks.

Hao’s eyes flicker to the other members. “Oh—Matthew, Gyuvin, and Gunwook are in this too?”

Hanbin nods. “Yeah. Taerae sometimes joins, but he doesn’t like being in all the videos. And Ricky helps film most of them with his ridiculously expensive camera.”

Hao snorts. “Of course, as expected from Ricky.”

He watches video after video, completely absorbed, making commentary in between. “Damn, Hanbin, You’re so good, you could debut.”

Hanbin preens under the praise. “Obviously.”

Hao laughs. “Wait—who’s this kid?” He points at a smaller dancer at the center of one of the routines.

“Oh, that’s Yujin,” Hanbin says, leaning closer to get a better look. “He’s a first-year. Just joined, but he’s insanely good.”

Hao hums, watching the way Yujin moves. He’s good. “Looks like he’s rivaling you.”

Hanbin scoffs, nudging Hao’s arm. “As if.”

Hao smirks, watching as Hanbin unconsciously bites his lip while focusing on the screen.

This—this will be his new favorite YouTube channel.

The alarm rings just as Hao finishes his sixth dance cover video of Hanbin’s crew.

Beside him, Hanbin stretches, shaking off the comfortable haze of their previous conversation before heading toward the kitchen. “Come on, time to bake.”

Hao switches off his phone and follows.

Hanbin gets straight to work, asking Hao to preheat the oven while he lines the baking sheet with parchment paper.

Hao nods, crouching down to set the temperature, his eyes flicking toward Hanbin as he moves to the fridge to retrieve the cookie dough. Once Hao stands, he steps closer to him.

“Now we roll the dough,” Hanbin announces, placing it on the counter. He grabs a rolling pin and starts flattening it with smooth, even strokes.

Once the dough is spread evenly, he picks up a cookie cutter and demonstrates, pressing it into the dough to form a perfect star, then a circle. “Like this.”

Hao barely suppresses a smile. I’m sure I can cut out shapes myself, but okay, anything to watch Instructor Bin in action.

Hanbin steps aside. “Your turn.”

Hao mimics his movements, pressing into the dough carefully, feeling pretty confident about his attempt. But before he can say see, I got it, Hanbin moves in behind him—again.

His arms come around Hao’s frame, hands covering his, adjusting his grip on the cutter.

Hao’s breath catches.

Oh.

He is never—never—going to get used to this. The solid weight of Hanbin behind him, the warmth of his arms around him. His scent—clean and fresh—envelopes him, mixing with the sweet smell of cookie dough.

It should be illegal to be this warm in the middle of winter.

Hanbin’s hands stay over his, guiding him as they cut the dough together, slow and steady. Hao swears he should be cold, but there’s heat creeping up his neck, settling in his stomach.

Hao leans into Hanbin slightly, feeling bold.

Just a little closer. Just to see what happens.

Then, without thinking, he turns his head—just enough for their eyes to meet.

“Like this?”

Their faces are close.

Too close.

Hao can see every detail—the mole on Hanbin’s cheek, the way his lashes flutter against his skin, the tiny, almost imperceptible hitch in his breath.

Hanbin nods, but his eyes—dark, distracted—tell another story.

And then—he does it.

That thing.

His gaze drops—to Hao’s lips.

A breath catches in Hao’s throat. A shiver rolls down his spine.

Something stirs deep in his stomach. Something electric. Something unsteady.

Step back.

The devil’s game.

Don’t play this game.

But for once, Hao doesn’t want to listen to the voice of reason in his head.

So instead—he moves closer.

Hanbin’s breath stutters. His eyes flick back up, searching Hao’s face, uncertain but expectant, like he’s asking, Are you sure?

No.

No, Hao wants to say. I have no idea what I’m doing but I don’t want to stop.

Hanbin’s palm flattens against Hao’s waist. Just a little pressure. His fingers twitch against the fabric of Hao’s hoodie, hesitant, like he’s holding himself back.

And then Hanbin moves.

A little closer.

Hao shuts his eyes.

Expecting.

Wanting.

The oven alarm blares.

A sharp, piercing sound that shatters the moment instantly.

Hanbin jerks back first, hands slipping away from Hao’s like they weren’t just wrapped around him seconds ago.

Hao doesn’t move. He stands frozen, dazed, breath still uneven. His heart hammers against his ribs, the ghost of Hanbin’s touch lingering on his skin.

What did he just try to do?

He almost—he almost kissed him.

He even closed his eyes– that’s embarrassing.

Hao clenches his fists, feeling his nails dig into his palm. It’s his stupid, horny brain’s fault. Every time Hanbin so much as breathes in his direction, his thoughts spiral into something dangerous.

They each take a portion of the dough to cut out shapes on opposite sides of the counter. Hao focuses on pressing the cutters into the dough, they actually need to work now.

Across from him, Hanbin does the same, but there’s a tension in the air now, thick and heavy. Neither of them say a word.

Once they finish, Hanbin clears his throat, his face flushed red as he avoids meeting Hao’s eyes. He carefully gathers the cutouts, placing them onto the baking sheets. 

Hao watches as Hanbin slides the trays into the oven, the glow of the preheated temperature casting a soft light on his face. There’s an undeniable stiffness in his posture—like he’s deliberately keeping himself in check.

Hao swallows, staring at Hanbin’s back as he sets the timer.

Hanbin lingers for a second, like he wants to say something. But then he just mutters, “I’ll be back,” before leaving the kitchen altogether.

Hao watches him go.

And then he collapses onto the nearest chair, burying his face in his hands.

His mind replays it—Hanbin’s arms around him, the warmth of his body pressed up against his back, the way his breath had tickled the shell of his ear. The way their faces had inched closer, slow, hesitant, questioning—

Hao exhales shakily. His heart is still racing.

That was way too close.

He could have kissed Hanbin.

And worse—he had wanted to.

His stomach twists, guilt churning at the pit of it. If Hanbin had gone through with it, if their lips had met—

Would Hanbin regret it?

Would he?

Hao doesn’t know.

If he’s not careful—if he lets himself slip just once—

He’s going to ruin everything.

The oven timer rings. Hao jolts slightly, dragging himself out of his thoughts before standing up to grab the cookies from the oven. The golden-brown edges look perfect, the scent of butter and vanilla filling the kitchen.

"Hanbin-ah," he calls out.

A moment later, Hanbin walks in—now wearing shorts.

Hao notices that small detail.

Maybe he spilled something on his pants.

Enough with the crazy thoughts.

Hanbin heads straight for the counter, grabbing the piping bags while Hao follows his instructions, whisking the sugar and other ingredients together to make the icing. 

Hanbin slides the empty piping bag toward him. “Fill this up while I get the cookies.”

Hao nods, spooning the thick icing into the bag. He squeezes a little too much in, but whatever, it’ll be fine. He hands it over without a second thought.

Hanbin eyes the overstuffed bag. “Is that not too much?”

Hao shrugs. “It’s fine.”

Hanbin tries a test run, pressing down on the piping bag. Nothing comes out. He presses harder. Still nothing.

“Gently, Hanbin-ah, don’t be too rough—”

Hanbin frowns, bringing the bag closer to his face, peeking into the hole to see if there’s a block.

And then—

Pop.

The bag bursts.

Thick, white icing splatters everywhere—across the counter, the floor—

And all over Hanbin.

His chin, his mouth, his fingers.

Hao stares.

Uhm.

His brain completely short circuits.

Hanbin sighs, looking down at the mess. “Ah, we have to clean this up now—”

Hao doesn’t hear the rest of the sentence.

His eyes are locked on the way the icing drips from Hanbin’s lips, glistening against his skin. The way his fingers are coated in it, his tongue darting out instinctively to wipe his chin—

Oh my god.

Hao lets out a strangled noise.

His mind supplies him with several intrusive thoughts, each worse than the last. He fights them off with every ounce of willpower he has left.

Hanbin blinks at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Hao cannot—CANNOT—answer that question.

He coughs, averting his gaze, gripping the counter so hard his knuckles turn white.

DO NOT THINK ABOUT IT. DO NOT THINK ABOUT IT. DO NOT THINK ABOUT IT.

From the corner of his eye, he notices Hanbin’s real-time realization.

“Oh.”

Then, after a beat—

“It’s just icing.”

Hanbin sucks his thumb, licking off the icing before reaching for a tissue.

Hao whimpers.

He actually whimpers.

He feels like he’s being tested with every possible temptation today. What did he do to deserve this?

Hanbin wipes his face, cleaning the table like nothing just happened.

Hao stares at his hands, at the cookies, at anything but Hanbin.

The rest of the decorating session is very, very quiet.

****

Hao watches the scenery blur past the car window, fingers idly tracing patterns on the fogged-up glass. The heater in Jiwoong’s car is on its highest mode, Hao’s doing of course.

Jiwoong drives with one hand on the wheel, the other lazily drumming against his thigh in tune with the music playing from the speakers. The car smells like his usual pine-scented air freshener, mixed with hints of coffee from the half-empty cup in the cupholder.

The first stop is Taerae’s house.

Taerae slides into the backseat with a dramatic sigh, slumping beside Hanbin. "I can’t believe I woke up before noon on a no-work day. This is cruel."

Hanbin scoffs. "Serves you right. You volunteered all of us for this."

"Yeah, well, past me was too enthusiastic. Present me regrets everything."

Hao chuckles as Taerae rubs his eyes sleepily, head lolling against Hanbin’s shoulder. 

The car pulls up in front of Gyuvin’s house next. Gyuvin, predictably, takes his time coming out.

Jiwoong honks once.

Nothing.

Then again. 

Hao watches through the window as Gyuvin finally stumbles outside, a piece of toast hanging from his mouth, jacket half-on, shoes untied. He looks like he just rolled out of bed, which, knowing Gyuvin, is probably the case.

"Hyung, why are you honking? That’s embarrassing," Gyuvin grumbles, shoving into the backseat beside Taerae.

"It’s embarrassing that we had to wait five minutes for you to come out," Jiwoong deadpans, pulling away from the curb.

Gyuvin grins, unbothered.

 “Hao hyung! I missed you.” Gyuvin says, shaking Hao violently from the back seat.

"Gyuvin-ah, what did we say about your energy in the morning?"

Taerae snickers, and Gyuvin pouts dramatically. "Hyung."

Jiwoong drops them off at the community center before heading off to pick up the rest of the group.

The four of them step inside. They are at the back of the community center, where there is a large hall. It is eerily quiet in contrast to how lively it will be tomorrow for the fair. The space is wide, with high ceilings and big windows letting in slivers of winter sunlight. A few tables and chairs are stacked against the wall, waiting to be arranged.

"Alright," Hanbin claps his hands together. "Let’s get started before the others get here."

Taerae groans. "Can’t we wait? Maybe stall a little? Fake an injury?"

"You can sit in the corner and cry if you want," Gyuvin says, already rolling up his sleeves.

Hao hides his smile as Hanbin tosses a roll of streamers at Taerae. "No stalling. You’re helping."

Taerae catches it with a dramatic sigh. "I hate you all."

They get to work, unrolling decorations, taping up banners, and setting up the tables. The air smells like dust and old paper, but the work is easy with the mindless chatter filling the space.

Hao finds himself beside Hanbin, hanging up strings of fairy lights along the window frames. Every time Hanbin stretches up to reach a corner, the hem of his sweater lifts slightly, revealing a sliver of skin.

Hao pointedly looks away.

He focuses on tying the lights instead, looping them around the nails hammered into the wall. But his fingers fumble, the wire slipping.

Hanbin steadies his hand, fingers brushing against his. "You okay?"

Hao nods quickly, maybe too quickly. "Yeah."

"Here, let me."

Hao watches as Hanbin expertly ties the knot, hands steady and sure. He smiles, Hanbin is so good with his hands. 

Just then, the doors swing open, and Jiwoong walks in with the rest of the boys, all of them carrying extra decorations and supplies.

"Alright, slackers, we’re here to save the day," Matthew announces, dropping a box onto the nearest table.

Gyuvin ruffles Ricky’s hair in greeting. "Miss me?"

"No," Ricky says, swatting his hand away.

Gunwook rolls his eyes. "You were literally texting him the entire time, Ricky’s phone wouldn’t stop beeping."

Gyuvin flushes. "Shut up, Gunwook."

Hao exchanges a knowing glance with Hanbin, who smiles.

With everyone here, the decorating picks up momentum.

There’s music playing from a speaker Gunwook brought, Ricky and Matthew arguing over the best way to hang the banners, Jiwoong giving orders like he’s the CEO of decorating, and Gyuvin pretending to work while actually just sitting on a table eating the snacks meant for tomorrow.

Hao exhales, looking around.

It’s chaotic. It’s loud.

But it feels nice.

An hour later and it’s not looking good. Half the decorations are on the floor, the other half are in people’s hands, and somehow, none of them are where they’re actually supposed to be.

Jiwoong stands in the middle of it all, arms crossed, sighing deeply like a parent who’s given up on their unruly children. "I swear to God, this feels like babysitting. You guys are even worse than the kids I babysit every day."

"No offense, hyung," Gyuvin pipes up, "You’re the oldest and we’re babies so you’re kinda babysitting."

Jiwoong rubs his temple, frustrated.

Meanwhile, Matthew and Gunwook are in their own world. Hao catches sight of them standing way too close to each other by the snack table, whispering and giggling like lovesick teenagers.

Gunwook wipes something off Matthew’s cheek, and Matthew just beams at him, all soft eyes and hearts floating above his head.

Hao groans, turning away. "Why are they like this?"

Ricky and Gyuvin, meanwhile, have somehow turned balloon-blowing into a competitive sport.

"I bet I can blow mine faster," Gyuvin declares, narrowing his eyes.

Ricky scoffs. "You wish."

Hao watches as they both take deep breaths and puff into their balloons with determined expressions. For once, they aren’t arguing—though when Gyuvin inevitably loses, he still tackles Ricky in a tight hug, rocking him side to side.

"Get off me," Ricky groans, trying to shove him away, but his lips are twitching like he’s holding back a laugh.

Hao shakes his head, amused. At least they didn’t fight this time.

Taerae, on the other hand, is in full Haeun mode, diligently placing every decoration with the precision of a perfectionist. He glances over at Jiwoong every few minutes, clearly hoping for approval.

It works.

Jiwoong hums, nodding in approval as he surveys the room. "Taerae’s the only person actually doing things right."

Taerae practically beams, puffing out his chest. "See? Some of us take decorating seriously."

Gyuvin, still half-clinging to Ricky, yells, "Teacher’s pet!"

Hao laughs under his breath, shaking his head as he turns back to his own task.

He and Hanbin are in charge of hanging streamers, and Hao is fully prepared to keep his distance today. He needs a break from his brain’s constant betrayals.

So, he suggests the safest plan possible. "You start from that side, I’ll start from this side, and we’ll meet in the middle."

Hanbin nods easily. "Sounds good."

They get to work, Hao focusing on securing the streamers to the walls, carefully taping them down. He hums along to the music playing from the speaker, trying to enjoy the normalcy of this moment.

But, of course, the universe has other plans.

Despite his foolproof plan to maintain distance, Hao still finds himself bumping into Hanbin when they meet in the middle of the room.

The second their shoulders brush, Hao pulls back immediately, stepping away instinctively. No temptation today. No more slipping.

Hanbin looks a bit hurt. “Hyung?”

“We’re—” Hao clears his throat, gesturing vaguely. “Doing a great job, huh?”

Hanbin just nods with a small smile before securing the last streamer.

Focus, Hao. Just focus.

He distracts himself by checking on the others, watching as Jiwoong struggles to rein in the chaos. Gyuvin and Ricky are still going at it—only now, they’ve abandoned balloons and are instead arguing over which ribbon color fits the theme better. Jiwoong, clearly at his limit, rubs his temples.

“If you two don’t stop bickering, you’re doing all the cleanup.”

Gyuvin gasps, scandalized. “Hyung, that’s child labor.”

“You’re twenty-one.”

Hao chuckles under his breath. Gyuvin is something.

When lunch finally arrives, they all settle on the floor in a circle, the food spread out between them. The scent of warm rice, fried chicken, and steaming tteokbokki fills the room, making Hao’s stomach growl.

Hanbin reaches for the chopsticks , picking up a piece of tteokbokki, and without thinking, holds it up to Hao’s lips.

Hao stares at him.

Hanbin looks at him expectantly, the faintest tilt to his head, his lips slightly parted like he’s waiting for Hao to accept.

He hesitates, feeling strangely cautious, as if they should be more mindful of their actions in front of others now.

Instead of leaning in, Hao takes the chopsticks from Hanbin’s hand. 

“I got it,” Hao says, keeping his tone light, forcing a small smile.

Hanbin doesn’t say anything, but his lips turn down into a soft pout before he nods and starts eating his own food.

Hao quickly shoves a piece of kimchi into his mouth, like that will somehow stop the way his chest tightens.

Beside him, under the table, Hanbin’s fingers brush against his own.

Hao tenses.

It’s subtle. Light.

But Hanbin keeps his finger there.

Like a question.

Slowly, cautiously, Hao dares to glance at Hanbin—and the younger boy is already looking at him, a small, secretive smile playing at his lips.

Like they’re doing something they shouldn’t be doing.

Well, they are.

Hao exhales, heartbeat drumming against his ribs.

Then, before he can overthink it, he turns his palm over—pressing his fingers against Hanbin’s, curling them together, threading their hands.

If he doesn’t think of it as weird, then it’s not weird.

Hanbin’s smile widens—soft, bright, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. He doesn’t say anything, just beams at his food like an idiot, cheeks a little pink.

Hao looks down at their joined hands.

Hanbin, what are you doing to me?

Chapter Text

Hao watches as Jiwoong’s car disappears down the street, the tail lights fading into the dark. The air is still, the quiet settling around them now that the rest of the boys have been dropped off. Jiwoong had insisted on driving them all home, refusing to let anyone pay for a taxi, saying it was the least he could do to thank them for their help. Hao had argued it wasn’t necessary—his suggestion to just call taxis was much more practical—but Jiwoong wouldn’t hear it. Since when did he care about being responsible? What a strange guy.

Hanbin stretches beside him, rolling his shoulders before turning to Hao with a bright smile. “Hyung, what should we do while we wait?”

“Nothing, we just wait.”

Hanbin pouts. “Aren’t you bored? We worked all day.”

“Exactly. I’m exhausted. I can’t move a muscle.” Hao exaggerates, slumping against the bench, sighing dramatically.

Hanbin hums thoughtfully. “I can just give you a massage when we get home. What do you think?”

Hao’s brain short-circuits.

A massage? From Hanbin?

He touches his cheeks, suddenly feeling hot, despite the winter chill. His mind instantly supplies a vivid image—Hanbin’s hands on him, those strong, calloused fingers kneading into his muscles, pressing into his skin, the weight of him shifting as he leans in closer—

Oh, this is bad.

“A massage?” he echoes, his voice betraying him just a little.

Hanbin raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. “Yeah, a normal massage. Hyung, what are you thinking about?”

Hao immediately looks away. Shit.

He has thought about it before. About those hands. The same ones he’s spent far too much time staring at, imagining things he absolutely should not be imagining. Hanbin’s muscles—the ones he watches flex under the sleeves of his shirts, the ones he daydreams about pressing against him, holding him down—

Oh, he would never get up from that massage table.

If Hanbin were a professional masseuse, Hao would be his most loyal client.

Hanbin narrows his eyes, amusement dancing in them. “You’re really thinking of something strange, aren’t you?”

“Of course not,” Hao blurts out.

Hanbin’s smirk widens.

Hao straightens, clearing his throat. “I don’t want a massage.”

Lies.

Hanbin stands suddenly, stepping behind him. Hao barely has time to register the movement before firm hands settle on his shoulders.

“What are you—”

And then Hanbin’s fingers press into the nape of his neck, slow and deliberate, kneading into the tight muscles.

Oh.

Oh, this is good.

Hao exhales, his body instantly melting into the touch. He leans back, letting Hanbin work through the knots of tension, each press of his fingers unraveling the stiffness he hadn’t even realized he was carrying. His eyes flutter shut, head tilting forward slightly, giving Hanbin more access.

God, why has he never asked Hanbin for a massage before?

The sensation is heavenly, and despite himself, small, pleased noises escape his throat. Too pleased. He doesn’t even care. He’s floating, weightless, his body sinking further into the warmth of Hanbin’s touch.

Hanbin doesn’t stop. He just keeps going, moving his fingers in slow, purposeful circles, thumbs pressing into the base of Hao’s skull in a way that sends shivers down his spine.

And then it happens.

He moans.

Not a quiet, subtle sound.

An actual moan.

The kind that cannot be mistaken for anything else.

Hao’s eyes snap open in horror.

Hanbin gasps.

Hao slaps both hands over his mouth, mortified, bracing himself for impact. Oh my god. Hanbin is going to think I’m some freak who can’t keep it in his pants.

But then—Hanbin chuckles.

“I think you do want the massage,” he teases, voice light but tinged with something else, like he’s affected.

Hao whirls around and smacks Hanbin’s arm. “Shut up.”

Hanbin is blushing.

His cheeks are dusted pink, his lips slightly parted, and he’s avoiding Hao’s gaze like he’s flustered too. That only makes things worse. If Hanbin had laughed it off like usual, Hao could have moved on. But this—this shared embarrassment, this stupid tension that keeps wrapping around them—it makes his brain go haywire. Because if Hanbin is feeling this too, if he’s experiencing the same butterflies, the same restless warmth curling in his chest, then what does that mean for them?

Hanbin clears his throat, changing the subject. “Do you want to go out and play in the snow?”

Hao stares at him. “Hanbin-ah, not everyone has a body that is basically a heater. It’s literally two degrees outside. Are you crazy?”

Hanbin pouts. “We used to do it all the time when we were kids.”

Oh, that’s just unfair.

Hao can’t tell Hanbin no. That’s been true since they were kids. It’s true now. And it’s probably going to be true forever.

Which is how he finds himself outside five minutes later, shivering, hands numb as he scoops up a pile of snow and hurls it at Hanbin’s stupid, grinning face.

Hanbin yelps, laughing as he ducks and throws one right back.

Hao watches as Hanbin bursts into laughter, eyes crinkling at the edges, breath misting in the cold air. His laugh is bright, full, echoing through the quiet street like something out of a dream.

For a moment, Hao swears time slows.

It’s like one of those dramatic movie effects—when the camera narrows down on one person, their laughter echoing, everything else fading into the background? That’s exactly what it feels like.

Hanbin, caught mid-laugh, completely carefree. His head tilted back slightly, cheeks bunched up, his whisker dimples deepening in a way that makes Hao’s stomach flip. His overgrown bangs fall into his eyes—Hanbin should really cut those soon—but they don’t hide the way his entire face glows with joy. There’s even the faintest stubble forming on his chin, something Hao never really noticed before.

He sees everything.

And all he hears is that precious laughter.

Something tugs at his chest—deep, insistent, terrifying.

If the universe could grant him a recording of this moment, he’d play it over and over again. But it won’t, so instead, he carves it into his memory. A mental photograph. Hanbin, happy, glowing, his Hanbinnie.

I want to be there for every happy moment.

A sharp impact to his shoulder snaps him out of his trance.

“Hyung, I hit you!” Hanbin exclaims, looking way too pleased with himself. He’s still laughing, breathless, cheeks pink from the cold and excitement.

Hao blinks. Then he grins.

“Oh, you’re so dead, Sung Hanbin.”

He lunges forward, grabbing a fresh handful of snow, and Hanbin’s eyes widen before he immediately turns on his heel to run.

“Come here!” Hao shouts, chasing after him.

Hanbin’s laughter fills the air again, and for some reason, Hao thinks he could listen to it forever.

Hao yelps as Hanbin tackles him from behind, arms wrapping around his waist as he tries to shove a handful of snow into his face.

“Hanbin—Hanbin—” he chants in protest, squirming desperately in his grip. He kicks his legs, thrashes his arms, but Hanbin just laughs, pinning him down more easily than he should be able to.

The air is cold against his back, but Hanbin’s weight is warm, solid. Too solid.

Hao wiggles again, putting his full strength into it, and finally—finally—Hanbin lets go. He scrambles away dramatically, throwing his hands up in surrender.

“Time out,” Hao gasps, breathless. “Time out, you menace.”

Hanbin just grins at him before flopping onto the snow beside him, his coat falling open slightly with the movement. He stretches out his arms and legs and starts moving them, carving out a snow angel.

Hao watches for a second, something soft tugging at his chest.

Hanbin used to do this all the time when they were kids.

Back then, Hao had to bundle Hanbin up in so many layers before letting him outside—no, Hanbin-ah, one coat isn’t enough, you have to wear two—only for Hanbin to run out and immediately flop into the snow, giggling as he waved his arms.

It always made Hao roll his eyes, but he did it with him anyway, laughing as their tiny figures made side-by-side angels in the backyard.

Hao always made him wear thick mittens too, because Hanbin would insist on making snowballs with his bare hands and then complain that they were cold. It got to the point where Hao started putting the mittens on for him, buttoning his coat all the way up so the wind wouldn’t sneak in.

And then, without fail, Hanbin—tiny and bundled up like a little dumpling—would reach over and button Hao’s coat in return, his small hands struggling with the fabric but determined to return the favor.

It became a routine, something only the two of them did.

A small smile tugs at his lips. Without thinking, he stretches out his own arms and legs, mimicking Hanbin’s movements.

Hanbin turns his head toward him at the same time Hao does.

Their eyes meet.

The world is quiet for a second, just their breaths mingling in the cold air.

Then, between them, Hanbin reaches out.

Hao doesn’t hesitate—his fingers slot easily into Hanbin’s, where they belong.

Hanbin gives a small squeeze before pulling Hao up with him, their linked hands firm and steady.

“Hyung shouldn’t catch a cold,” Hanbin murmurs, brushing snow off Hao’s coat, fingers light but lingering. “Ah, I missed doing this with you.” 

Too warm.

Hao swallows, staring at Hanbin’s pinkened cheeks, the softness in his eyes, the way their hands are still loosely clasped.

He should move.

But he doesn’t.

Hao looks at Hanbin and feels something deep and overwhelming, something he can’t quite put into words.

Why does Hanbin always take care of me? Why does he always look at me like that?

What did he do in his past life to deserve Hanbin in this one?

Screw his hesitations.

Before he can overthink it, he steps forward and wraps his arms around Hanbin’s middle—inside his coat, pressing close, chasing warmth.

“Oh,” Hanbin gasps, surprised. He freezes for half a second before wrapping his arms around Hao in return, pulling him in tight.

This.

This is safe. This is warm. This is Hanbin.

“You’re so warm,” Hao murmurs, pressing his face into Hanbin’s shoulder. He inhales without thinking. “And you smell so good.”

Hanbin chuckles, the sound soft and full of something fond. “Hyung, you’re unbelievable.”

Hao hums in response, letting his weight settle against Hanbin’s.

And then—

“I love you,” Hanbin says suddenly.

It’s not the first time they’ve said it to each other.

It’s not new.

And yet—Hao’s breath catches in his throat.

He pulls back slowly, just enough to look at Hanbin’s face. His brain feels stuck, stalling, unsure how to process.

It’s just I love you. He can say it back. It’s not hard.

Except—it is hard.

Because Hanbin doesn’t just mean it in the way they’ve always said it before.

Hao sees it in the way Hanbin’s eyes don’t waver this time, in the quiet confidence of his voice, in the way he says it like it’s something that’s been waiting on the tip of his tongue for too long.

He’s sure of it.

And that’s what makes it difficult. Because if Hao says it back, will it carry the same weight? Will it be enough? He doesn’t know how to say it in a way that won’t change everything. That won’t make Hanbin expect something more than what Hao can give, even if deep down, he wants to give it.

Hao glances down and notices the way Hanbin’s fingers twitch slightly against his coat. He’s fidgeting. Nervous.

Not as confident as he wants to seem.

Hao reaches for Hanbin’s hands without thinking, grounding him the way Hanbin always grounds him. “I—”

“Hao-yah! Hanbin-ah!” Jiwoong’s voice cuts through the moment, distant but frantic.

They both jolt back, startled.

“We’re here!” Hanbin calls out, stepping away so fast it almost feels like—

Like he wanted to be interrupted. Like he didn’t want to hear Hao’s answer.

And maybe that’s for the best.

Because Hao needs time to think. There’s no way he could have said something before the interruption that wouldn’t have been wrong. So, in a way, he’s glad. Glad that Hanbin wanted the interruption just as much as he did.

Jiwoong appears, looking mildly distressed. “I’ve been looking for you! I thought you got eaten by wild wolves.”

“We came out to get air,” Hao says, forcing his voice to sound normal.

Jiwoong sighs. “Come on, let’s go. I’m tired.”

Hao doesn’t look at Hanbin as they start walking.

Hanbin doesn’t look at him either.

They reach Jiwoong’s car parked just outside the community center. Hao takes the front seat without hesitation, while Hanbin automatically slides into the back. Sitting together would be too awkward.

As Jiwoong starts driving, Hao steals a glance at Hanbin through the rearview mirror. Hanbin glance at him too—but the moment their eyes meet, he quickly looks away, turning to stare out the window like he’s anywhere but there.

Hanbin’s shoulders are tense, his hands clasped together in his lap, his lips pressed together like he’s holding something back. 

Hao swallows, his own throat tight. He wants to say something. He wants to tell Hanbin it’s okay, that he doesn’t have to look so scared, that whatever happens, they’ll figure it out.

But he doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he turns back to his own reflection in the glass, dealing with the storm in his head alone.

Hanbin said, I love you, and Hao hasn’t stopped hearing it since. Over and over again, replaying in his mind, settling deep in his chest like something permanent.

What would saying it back even mean? Would it mean they’ll get in a relationship? Or would it only make things more complicated? How would they even handle it?

And then there’s the fact that Hao is possibly going back to school after the holidays. He’ll be gone soon. Can they even start something when he’s already leaving? 

Long distance is an option, of course, but…

If he says it back—if he starts something with Hanbin—what then?

He doesn’t even know if he’s capable of handling a relationship right now.

After breaking up with his asshole of a boyfriend, dating someone new wasn’t something he even considered. He just wanted to move on. To heal from the hurt his so called friends caused.

And then his mom called about the divorce. Something that should’ve happened a long time ago, if he’s being honest. He was relieved at first—glad that his mom was finally doing what was best for herself. But then the reality of it settled in, and he realized what was actually at stake and how tough the entire divorce process would be.

His mom looks so frail now. She refuses to let him help, refuses to tell him anything, refuses to let him carry even a fraction of the weight she’s bearing. And that hurts.

Hao just wants it all to be over. He wants to believe that one day, all of this will be history. That he’ll be fine. That he’ll find new friends. That he’ll graduate, get a job, cut off his father, and actually exist. That everything will fall into place.

Hao has always been the kind of person to believe in things getting better. But falling for Hanbin was never in the plan. And now, there’s a new weight in his chest, heavier than everything else.

Is that what this feeling is? He cares about Hanbin deeply. But can he really handle being with Hanbin right now? Does he even like Hanbin genuinely? 

What if Hanbin isn’t Hanbin to him right now? What if he’s just the representation of the comfort he’s been lacking? The stability he’s been desperate for? What if he’s just holding onto Hanbin because it’s easy—because Hanbin is safe—because it’s his Hanbinnie? And what if he hurts the person he cares so much about in the end?

Hao’s fingers tighten against his knee.

If he’s going to be with Hanbin—if he’s going to admit anything—he wants to be sure.

Because everything he thinks he likes Hanbin for—He’s kind. He takes care of me. He makes me feel safe—feels too shallow.

Love should be more than just gratitude, more than just comfort, more than just because he loved me first.

And yet, that’s what Hao keeps circling back to. How long Hanbin has loved him. Since that silly childhood crush. Since the days he’d cling to Hao’s arm and look up at him with those big, hopeful eyes. Hao had doubted, at first, that Hanbin’s feelings had lasted—that they were anything more than fleeting infatuation. But now, seeing the way Hanbin looked at him when saying those three words, hearing the quiet conviction in his voice, he knows. His love is real and it never went away. If that love never went away, then it means everything to Hanbin.

What if his own feelings never reach that depth? What if his love never matches Hanbin’s?

And if Hanbin has always known, then why is it taking Hao so long to figure it out?

He deserves better. He deserves someone who will love him fully, wholly, without hesitation.

And what if Hao does fall for him, only to drag him down?

Hao had always drawn strength from the joy of others, letting it lift him when he felt heavy. What if he does the same to Hanbin? What if he wrings Hanbin dry, taking advantage of the happiness he offered just to make himself whole again? What if Hanbin ended up exhausted from carrying all of Hao’s weight?

Hao exhales slowly, hands clenched tight.

He doesn’t have the answers.

He doesn’t know where to go from here, wishes there was a manual to follow, someone to consult, someone to tell him exactly what to do, but there’s no one. 

No one can make this choice for him. No one can tell him what to feel. It has to come from him.

He’s lost and confused. But one thing is clear. He likes Hanbin. It’s just not enough.

The car rolls to a stop in the driveway, jolting Hao from his spiral. He blinks, inhaling sharply like he’s surfacing from underwater.

Jiwoong shifts in the driver’s seat, stretching his arms with a groan before unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’m going straight to bed,” he mutters. 

Hao barely hears him. His attention drifts to Hanbin beside him.

Hanbin is staring out the window, jaw clenched, lips pressed together. His hands rest on his lap, but they’re curled into fists, knuckles pale from how tightly he’s holding them.

Hao recognizes that look. Hanbin spiraled too. That realization settles heavily in his chest. The whole ride home, they both sat in silence, drowning in their own thoughts, neither of them able to reach out.

Hanbin finally moves, unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping out of the car, Hao feels bad. He follows him inside.

Jiwoong disappears upstairs with another dramatic groan, muttering goodnight.

Hao and Hanbin stand there, alone, in the quiet hallway. Hanbin looks like he’s about to say something, but then he hesitates, dropping his gaze to the floor. Something in Hao cracks. He seemed nervous and unsure. Hanbin, who always touches him so freely, who always reaches for him without hesitation, now looks like he doesn’t know if he should.

Cutting through all his confusion, Hao knows he doesn’t want that. So before he can think too hard about it, he steps forward and pulls Hanbin into a hug. Hanbin tenses for half a second—then melts. His arms come around Hao easily, his grip firm, warm, grounding like he needs the hug as much as Hao does.

Hao squeezes his eyes shut, his face pressed against Hanbin’s shoulder. He knows this might be confusing Hanbin more. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this when he doesn’t even know what he wants yet. But this—this is something he can do. Even if his words fail him. Even if he doesn’t have the answers. He can still hold Hanbin and mean it.

“You know I’ll never hurt you, right?” Hao whispers, voice barely audible against Hanbin’s neck. 

Hanbin shivers and tightens his grip on Hao. He’s quiet for a moment.

“…Hyung,” Hanbin murmurs, voice soft, almost like he’s saying please.

Hao pulls away before he can break down right in front of Hanbin.

He steps back, forcing a small smile, like this is just a normal goodnight hug and nothing else.

“Goodnight, Hanbin-ah.”

Hanbin watches him with a resigned expression—before he nods, barely perceptible.

“…Goodnight, hyung.”

Hao turns before he can change his mind, stepping into his room and shutting the door behind him.

He barely makes it to his bed before he flops onto it, face buried into his pillow. His stomach twists painfully. Everything feels heavier than it did before.

He meant what he said. He’ll never hurt Hanbin but he’s starting to realize—

That might not be a promise he can keep.

****

The clock ticks on, filling the quiet room with its steady rhythm. Hao lies in bed, barely moving, lost in thought as he stares at the ceiling, his body unwilling to cooperate. He’s been awake for a while now. Exhaustion weighs heavy on him—physically, emotionally. Every muscle aches from yesterday’s decorations, and his brain feels just as sore from overuse.

It’s the day of the community fair. Although it won’t start until the afternoon, Jiwoong had probably already left to finish setting things up. Hao should get up too, maybe take a long shower to wake himself up properly, but he can’t find the will to move just yet.

He’s been mentally running through different scenarios, trying to convince himself to talk things out with Hanbin. His mind keeps rewinding to yesterday—decorating with the squad, the laughter, the banter, the quiet warmth of just being around them.

That part is fine. That part, he lets himself replay.

But then his thoughts start to slip—to the way Hanbin held his hand in the snow, the way his voice wavered when he said I love you, the way his heart nearly jumped out of his chest when Jiwoong interrupted them.

He exhales sharply, forcing himself to stop. Find a solution instead. That’s the thing about thoughts—you’re in control. You get to choose which ones you dwell on and which ones you don’t.

And he chooses to hold onto the memory of Hanbin’s smile—the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the way his cheeks dimpled, the way his happiness felt so pure.

That memory, at least, gives him enough energy to push himself up.

Hao groans, stretching out his arms before dragging himself out of bed. He grabs his phone, but there are no new messages from the group chat. That’s… surprising, considering Gyuvin always texts him something in the morning—even if it’s just a random emoji or a good morning losers. 

He’s definitely still asleep or tired from yesterday.

Hao rubs the sleep from his eyes and heads for the bathroom, but the second he steps into the hallway, he freezes.

Hanbin is standing right there.

Hao stops dead in his tracks, his body tensing on instinct.

There’s another thing about brains, he realizes.

Sometimes, they betray you.

Because in this moment, all of his carefully crafted plans—his decision to sit down with Hanbin and talk, his responsibility as the older one to clear things up, his commitment to figuring out what Hanbin truly feels—

All of it flies straight out the window.

He isn’t ready. He needs more time.

How is he supposed to bring up last night? How does he even begin to address what happened?

Hanbin is already dressed, looking fresh and awake like he didn’t just drop a bomb on Hao’s entire world hours ago.

Hao opens his mouth, then closes it again. His brain is buffering.

“…Hi,” he finally says, awkwardly.

Hanbin looks up, smiling. “Good morning, hyung.”

And—what?

Why is Hanbin acting so normal?

No hesitation, no tension, no awkwardness—just smiling at him like nothing happened.

Hao doesn’t know if he’s relieved or frustrated.

Hao drags himself to the bathroom, grabbing his toothbrush and squeezing out toothpaste while Hanbin follows close behind, talking like nothing is wrong.

“So, Mom and Dad already left,” Hanbin says casually, leaning against the sink. “Mom left your breakfast covered in the kitchen.”

Hao stares at himself in the mirror, toothbrush halfway to his mouth.

Did Hanbin go through a brain wipe overnight?

Did some magical force just erase yesterday’s events from his memory?

Did Santa come early this year and relieve him of all the thoughts that were clearly plaguing Hao?

I wish Santa came for me too.

Hanbin barely pauses for breath as he moves on to the next topic. “We have to take the cookies to the community fair on the bus, and Mom will meet us there with the blender and ingredients for the milkshakes.”

Hao brushes his teeth, staring at his reflection. Should I bring it up?

Maybe Hanbin really does want to forget about last night. Maybe he’s pretending it never happened to make things easier.

Hao rinses his mouth, patting his face dry, lost in thought.

Hao studies him from the corner of his eye, wondering if he should just do it. Should he just ask? Should he just—just say something about last night?

But Hanbin doesn’t look even remotely troubled. He doesn’t look nervous, or hesitant, or like someone who dropped a love confession and then spent all night overthinking it.

No, he just looks like Hanbin.

Like the same Hanbin who has always followed him around, chatting away, making sure Hao knows what’s going on.

Maybe Hao is overthinking. Maybe it wasn’t even a love confession. Maybe his brain was just playing tricks on him last night.

He sighs quietly and squeezes a dollop of face wash onto his palm, rubbing it over his skin as he listens to Hanbin. The water runs cool against his face, washing away the lather—and maybe some of his thoughts along with it. Before he can even reach for a towel, Hanbin is already handing him one.

He takes it automatically.

It feels… domestic.

Too domestic.

Here Hao is, spiraling about how to approach the elephant in the room, and meanwhile, Hanbin is making him feel like they’ve been married for years.

His face warms as the image creeps into his mind—him and Hanbin living together, waking up in the same bed, going through their morning routines together while they move around the bathroom, getting ready side by side. Hao washing his face while Hanbin hands him a towel. Hao handing over Hanbin’s hairdryer without him asking because he already knows Hanbin’s routine.

A quiet, easy life.

Something about the thought makes his chest feel warm.

That wouldn’t be a bad life at all.

Hanbin sighs dramatically, snapping Hao out of his thoughts. “I can’t believe we have a whole week off from the rink, and we already used three of the days on the community fair.”

Hao chuckles, reaching for his skincare products. He listens as Hanbin keeps rambling, complaining about how busy the rink will be after their break.

And just like that, Hanbin keeps him so occupied naturally that Hao doesn’t even realize he’s already halfway through his skincare routine.

It’s easier to listen to him complain about their break than to confront the confusing tangle of emotions in his head.

Hao finishes up in the bathroom, still feeling the weight of his own thoughts pressing down on him, and heads to his room to get dressed.

Hanbin follows like a lost puppy trailing behind him.

Hao lets out a quiet sigh, but it’s not exasperation—it’s something softer, something fond.

But he also knows this is the moment. If he lets Hanbin keep distracting him, they’ll never talk about what happened last night, and Hao doesn’t want to leave Hanbin hanging again.

He takes a breath and turns to face him. “Hanbin-ah, about yesterday…”

Hanbin shakes his head almost immediately, cutting him off. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

Hao frowns. “But we do. We should talk about it, Hanbin-ah.”

Hanbin hesitates, takes a long pause then sighs. “Hyung, truthfully… I said that because I thought you were giving me all these signals. And maybe—just maybe—you felt something for me, too.”

Hao’s chest tightens.

Oh.

Oh.

Guilt hits him all at once, sinking its claws deep into his ribs.

Hanbin isn’t wrong. Hao has been sending mixed signals. The touching, the teasing, the lingering stares. Whatever weird tension he let happen these past days. The way he let Hanbin get so close—let himself get so close. And yet, he still doesn’t have an answer for him.

Hao swallows, throat dry. “I’m sorry, Hanbin-ah.” His voice is quiet, but it’s sincere.

Hanbin shakes his head again, this time with a small smile. “It’s okay, hyung.”

But Hao isn’t sure he’s okay with it.

The last thing he ever wanted to do was lead Hanbin on.

Hanbin must notice the way his shoulders slump, because he suddenly moves closer, resting warm hands on Hao’s shoulders. “It’s honestly fine,” he says, voice lighter, like he’s trying to ease the weight off Hao’s chest. “And—” he grins now, “honestly, I enjoyed all the flirting. I’m not asking you to stop, to be honest.”

Hao blinks.

What.

He stares at Hanbin, a little taken aback.

Oh. He really seduced baby Hanbinnie.

And now Hanbin wants more?

Hao opens his mouth to say something—anything—but Hanbin beats him to it.

“I just want you to think about me that way,” he says, squeezing Hao’s shoulders a little. “Not just as a baby, not just as Jiwoong hyung’s little brother—I’m grown up now, you know.”

And then he flexes his biceps. Hao can’t help it—he bursts into laughter.

Hanbin pouts immediately. “Hey! I’m serious.”

“I know, I know,” Hao says between chuckles, shaking his head.

Hanbin exhales, but there’s amusement in his expression too. “But—no rush,” he continues. “Take all the time you need. I am a master of waiting, you know.”

Hao nods slowly, eyes scanning Hanbin’s face. He’s being so patient and Hao… Hao doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this kind of patience.

Hanbin looks at him, softer now, the teasing fading into something more serious. “We can talk about it after you’ve thought about it.”

Hao nods again.

“Just please see me as a man, hyung.”

It’s the way Hanbin says it—the way his voice dips slightly, the way his eyes hold so much weight. Like this matters. Like this really matters.

And Hao realizes something.

He’s been so caught up in his own fears, his own worries about how he sees Hanbin, that he’s never stopped to think about what Hanbin wants.

Hanbin isn’t just a passive player in all of this. He’s not some innocent bystander that Hao is corrupting. He’s someone who wants this. Who wants Hao. And not just in fleeting touches or stolen moments—but for real.

“Okay,” Hao says.

And he means it.

Hanbin’s lips curve up slightly, like he’s pleased with that answer, but he still holds out his hand.

“Promise?” he asks, eyelashes fanning against his cheeks.

Hao lets out a small breath before reaching out, linking their pinkies together, then their thumbs. “Promise.”

They hold it for a second longer than necessary.

And then Hao watches as Hanbin finally exhales, body relaxing ever so slightly.

He’s been talking a lot this whole time. Filling every space with words like he’s been deflecting.

Hao suddenly understands. Hanbin is as nervous as he is.

Hao grabs a clean shirt from his wardrobe, pausing for a moment as he glances at Hanbin, who’s now sprawled comfortably on his bed, watching him.

Hanbin doesn’t even pretend to be subtle. His chin rests on his palm, legs swinging slightly as he stares, expression relaxed but undeniably focused—like he’s waiting for something.

Hao sighs, raising an eyebrow. “Turn around.”

Hanbin just tilts his head, smiling. “Why?”

Hao gestures vaguely at himself. “I’m changing.”

Hanbin’s smile doesn’t waver. If anything, it gets even brighter, like he’s deliberately ignoring the hint.

Oh.

Oh, so that’s how we’re playing today?

Fine.

Hao doesn’t break eye contact as he grips the hem of his shirt, pulling it up in one slow, deliberate motion.

Hanbin’s eyes almost pop out of its socket.

“Hyung—” Hanbin whines, hands flying up to cover his face.

Hao grins, feeling victorious. “Aww, is Hanbinnie shy?”

Hanbin makes a noise of protest, lowering his hands just enough to glare at him. “I’m not—”

But then his eyes land on Hao’s bare chest, and whatever he was about to say dies in his throat.

Hanbin’s entire face goes red.

Hao barks out a laugh. “You so are.”

Hanbin groans, turning away completely this time, rubbing at his face like that’ll somehow erase the last five seconds from existence.

Serves him right.

“This is exactly what you put me through every time you walk around the house in tank tops,” Hao points out, smug.

Hanbin recovers suspiciously fast, straightening up and turning back to him with an all-too-innocent expression. “Hyung likes it, right?”

Hao’s brain stutters.

Wait.

Wait.

Are they flirting?

Is Hanbin flirting with him?

Hao suddenly feels like he’s forgotten how to exist. His fingers go stiff, fumbling with the shirt he was about to put on.

Hanbin is watching him again, but now there’s something different in his gaze, something a little too satisfied. He’s enjoying this. The little menace. Hao hates—and loves—this new development.

“Stop,” Hao mutters, flustered, quickly turning away and heading for his table.

He grabs his makeup bag and busies himself with his routine, but even as he applies foundation, he can feel Hanbin’s eyes on him.

Hao swallows hard.

Hanbin needs to be stopped.

Hao is halfway through applying his lip tint when Hanbin’s voice cuts through the quiet.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

Hao meets his gaze through the mirror. Hanbin is still sitting on his bed, arms wrapped around his knees like a kid waiting for something exciting.

Hao raises an eyebrow, smoothing the color over his lips. “Watching that drama with Taerae.”

Hanbin hums like he already knew that, like he was just confirming—because of course he knew. Hanbin knows everything about him, even down to the little details like his schedule. 

“It’s Christmas soon.”

Hao knows that tone. Knows that Hanbin is hinting at something. He doesn’t take the bait, simply replying, “So?”

Hanbin leans forward slightly, tilting his head. “Mom wants me to buy Christmas decorations tomorrow. And we also need to wrap presents, you know.”

Hao glances at him through the mirror, catching the way Hanbin is watching him so expectantly, eyes big and hopeful.

He sighs. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Hanbin lights up immediately. “Your hangout is in the evening anyway. We can go in the morning or afternoon.”

Hao clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “I feel like you’re making me do your chores, Sung Hanbin.”

Hanbin gasps, hands over his chest like Hao just personally offended him. “You get to spend time with me, hyung. What chores? Are you saying I’m a chore to you?”

Hao rolls his eyes, amused. “I would never.” Then, softer, “Of course I’ll come with you.”

Hanbin beams. “Uhm… Can we wrap presents together the day after, too?”

Hao turns to look at him fully, watching as Hanbin puts on his best puppy-dog face, blinking at him with all the innocence in the world as if Hao will ever say no to him.

Hao scoffs, playing along, even though secretly he wants it just as much. “You just want to spend time with me, Hanbinnie.”

Hanbin practically beams, over-eager and unashamed. “Of course! We would have so much fun together.”

Hao shakes his head feigning exasperation, but the small smile tugging at his lips betrays him. “Okay, then. I love fun, of course.”

“Yay! It’s a date.”

Hao nearly drops his lip tint.

His grip tightens around the small tube as his brain short-circuits.

A date?

His gaze snaps to Hanbin, searching for any sign that maybe—maybe—he misspoke. That he meant something else. But Hanbin just looks at him, all bright-eyed and nonchalant, like he didn’t just throw Hao’s entire system into chaos.

A date.

Is this what he thinks it is? A date date?

Suddenly, he feels like Gyuvin during his Ricky crisis. Damn, he shouldn’t have found that whole situation so amusing—it’s literally happening to him right now.

And what’s worse?

He’s okay with it.

That realization sends a strange, unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest. He’s okay with a date. A real one. With Hanbin.

A thrill rises in his chest.

Hanbin wants to spend time with him. Hanbin wants to take him out—to pick decorations, to wrap gifts, to make stupid Christmas memories together like they’re in some cheesy holiday movie.

And he wants that too.

Hao wonders what it’ll be like—spending the day with Hanbin like that, knowing what it means now.

Hanbin has always taken care of him, always been by his side, but this is different. This feels like Hanbin is courting him—deliberately, intentionally—and Hao… doesn’t mind it. His brain races through every possible scenario.

What would Hanbin do on the date? Hanbin is naturally attentive, affectionate, always fussing over him. Would he do it even more? Would he pick out things for Hao to try, adjust his scarf if it gets loose, wipe crumbs from the corner of his mouth?

Hao’s heart thuds painfully at the thought.

God, this is so embarrassing.

He forces himself to focus back on the mirror, trying to act normal, but when he lifts his brush to dust powder over his face, he sees it—

His cheeks are already flushed.

Oh my god.

He grabs his blush anyway, dabbing a bit onto his cheekbones as an excuse. This is fine. Everything is fine.

Hanbin is still watching him, chin propped up in his hands, smiling in that way that tells Hao he knows.

Hao pointedly ignores him, but the warmth in his chest refuses to fade.

Hao barely registers the moment they move from his room to the dining table. It all happens so naturally—Hanbin trailing behind him, placing his food in the microwave and serving it. Hanbin settles into the seat beside him as usual.

It’s all so… easy.

Hao watches as Hanbin moves without hesitation, breaking off pieces of fish and placing them on his rice, scooping up soup and holding the spoon up to him.

There’s no one else around to witness them, no teasing from Jiwoong, no knowing glances from Mrs. Sung. Just the two of them.

And Hanbin is bold about it, like he doesn’t even feel the need to hold back anymore.

Hao doesn’t protest. He lets Hanbin do as he pleases, lets himself enjoy it, even though his heart is thudding with every little touch, every small act of care.

It feels dangerous—how easy it is to fall into this.

He must be too comfortable because at some point, a grain of rice sticks to the corner of his mouth, and before he can even reach for a napkin, Hanbin leans in, plucks it off with his fingers—

And pops it into his own mouth like it’s nothing.

Hao is in shock.

Hanbin just ate off of him like it was nothing, like it’s perfectly normal to do it.

Hao stares at him, stunned, heart stuttering in his chest. Hanbin, meanwhile, just continues chewing, glancing at him with a smile—completely unbothered.

Oh my god, Hao thinks. Is this what it would feel like to be Hanbin’s boyfriend?

Because right now, sitting here with him, sharing food, stealing glances, watching Hanbin smile at him like this—like he’s happy, like this is the happiest day of his life—Hao can’t help but wonder.

Is this how it would feel to wake up with Hanbin, to have lazy mornings together, to eat breakfast like this every day? To have him look at him like that all the time?

He swallows hard.

Hao loves, really loves how he can keep his thoughts to himself. He enjoys his daydreams—how nice they feel, how comforting they are.

But today, for some reason, they feel too real.

Like they could actually happen. Like there’s a chance, he just needs to take it.

He glances at Hanbin again.

Hanbin is still smiling at him, scooping soup for Hao to eat.

Life feels good with Hanbin in it. And somehow, Hao starts to wonder how he ever lived without him this close.

****

The winter air is biting as they step outside, the scent of cold and faint chimney smoke filling Hao’s lungs. Hanbin walks beside him, carrying the platter of cookies with careful precision, his hands steady despite the slight chill.

Hao watches him out of the corner of his eye. The way Hanbin always carries things with ease, like it doesn’t even occur to him to ask for help.

He resists the urge to take some of the weight off him, instead stuffing his hands into his coat pockets as they make their way to the nearest bus stop.

The bus stop sign is slightly bent, a little rusted from years of standing through harsh seasons. The bench, though, looks new. Maybe it got replaced recently. Hao doesn’t remember much from when he used to take buses from here—just the general familiarity of it.

“When does it usually come?” Hao asks, glancing down the road.

Hanbin adjusts his grip on the platter. “It should be here any minute now.”

And just as he says that, the bus appears in the distance.

They step on carefully, cautious of the cookies, and the moment they do, the driver greets Hanbin with familiarity.

“Hey, young Sung,” the driver calls, nodding.

Hanbin smiles. “Hey, Mr. Kang. How’s everything been?”

“All good, all good,” Mr. Kang replies, glancing briefly at the platter in Hanbin’s hands. “Delivering something sweet today?”

“Something like that,” Hanbin chuckles.

Hao greets the driver as well, handing over the bus fare for both of them before following Hanbin further inside.

The bus is about half full, but they manage to find two seats near the front, sliding in carefully. The platter rests on both their laps, the weight shared between them.

Hao relaxes, looking out the window as the bus begins to move. He watches the familiar streets roll by, buildings and trees dusted with the remnants of last night’s snowfall. It’s strangely peaceful, watching the world go by like this.

A warmth suddenly settles over his hand.

Hao glances down.

Hanbin’s hand is on his, their fingers loosely intertwined beneath the platter, hidden from view.

Hao doesn’t react, doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t even think Hanbin realizes he’s doing it—his thumb moves absentmindedly, rubbing gentle circles against Hao’s skin.

Hanbin’s touch is warm and easy, so completely natural and it feels nice. Hao shifts slightly, letting their hands settle more comfortably together as he looks back out the window, focusing on the passing scenery, the quiet hum of the bus beneath them.

It’s not a long ride, just enough for Hao to settle into the moment before they reach their stop. When Hanbin presses the button, signaling for the driver, they both move in sync—Hanbin carefully lifts the platter as Hao reluctantly lets go of his hand.

They step off the bus into the crisp air, their breath visible in little puffs.

“This place has changed a bit,” Hao notes, looking around as they begin the short walk to the community center.

Hanbin nods, shifting the platter in his hands. “Yeah, they rebuilt the old grocery store last year. That café over there is new too.” He gestures towards a small coffee shop on the corner, its warm lights spilling onto the sidewalk. “And the park got a new playground—Gyuvin’s little brother loves it.”

Hao smiles slightly. “Is Gyuvin coming today?”

“Yeah, with his mom and his sister,” Hanbin says. “Not sure about the others, though. I didn’t really ask.”

Hao hums, kicking at a stray pebble on the pavement. “If Gyuvin’s coming, Ricky might show up.”

Hanbin snorts. “You mean if Ricky shows up, Gyuvin might pretend he didn’t make Ricky come, and Ricky will pretend he’s here only because Gyuvin made him.”

“Exactly,” Hao grins.

They keep walking, their strides in sync.

The community center looms ahead, decorated with banners and streamers from yesterday’s setup. Hao takes a deep breath, bracing himself for the lively chaos waiting inside.

The moment they step inside, the warmth of the hall rushes over them. The scent of freshly baked goods, coffee, and something sugary fills the air, mixing with the faint chatter of families setting up booths and children running around. Hao tugs his scarf loose, taking it all in—the familiar bustle, the bright decorations, the soft instrumental music playing over the speakers.

It’s the same as he remembers all those years ago.

He spots Jiwoong first, standing near the entrance, directing people toward the ticket table. His usual stoic expression is replaced with something close to exhaustion as he juggles greeting families and ensuring everything is running smoothly.

“Take it in,” Jiwoong says, barely looking up from the clipboard in his hands. “You’ll see Mom by a table, she already got your tickets.”

Then, without missing a beat, he turns to the next family, gesturing toward the table nearby. “You can get a ticket over there. Thank you for coming.”

Hao watches for a second, amused. Jiwoong in event coordinator mode is a sight to see—sharp, efficient, and just a little bit bossy. Hanbin chuckles beside him, clearly thinking the same thing.

They weave through the crowd, and Hao lets himself absorb the atmosphere. The fair is as lively as ever, with families chatting, stalls being set up, and kids already eyeing the game booths.

The memory of coming here as a kid tugs at his chest. He remembers walking through these very halls, his small hand clutching Mrs. Sung’s while his mom trailed beside them. She had always just tagged along with the Sung family, blending in seamlessly.

She still donated a ridiculous amount of money every year, treating it like an obligation rather than a charity event, but at least back then, she had been here.

Hao swallows, pushing the thought aside. He should call her tonight. Just to check in. Make sure she’s okay.

“Hao-yah, Hanbin-ah, over here.”

Mrs. Sung’s voice pulls him from his thoughts.

They spot her at a table near the side of the hall, already set up with the blender, a small fridge definitely packed with milkshake ingredients, cups stacked neatly on a tray, and a space for the cookies they made.

Hao and Hanbin place the platter of cookies down, carefully arranging them alongside the other treats. Around them, other families are setting up as well, arranging baked goods, handmade crafts, and raffle tickets for donations.

Then, just as Hao straightens up—

Hands cover his eyes.

He jumps, instinctively shaking out of the grip, heart pounding.

“Gyuvin-ah!” he exclaims, turning sharply. “Do you want to kill me?”

Gyuvin, unbothered as always, just grins at him, eyes crinkled with amusement.

“Hiii,” he drawls, rocking on his heels. “It’s nice seeing you here.”

Hao glares at him, pressing a hand to his chest to calm his racing heart. “It wouldn’t have been nice if I died from shock.”

Hanbin, beside him, is trying—and failing—to suppress a laugh. “You’re so dramatic, hyung.”

Gyuvin leans in, resting an arm over Hao’s shoulder. “You just have bad reflexes.”

Hao shoves him off.

“Hi, Auntie!” Gyuvin greets brightly, turning to Hanbin’s mom with his usual energy.

Mrs. Sung smiles warmly. “Gyuvin-ah! It’s been a while. How’s your mom?”

“She’s good,” Gyuvin says, rocking on his heels. “I think she’s having fun being in charge of the donation raffles. You know how she is.”

“Say hi to her for me, I’ll go greet her soon” Mrs Sung says, chuckling.

Hanbin, already mixing a milkshake, barely looks up. “Shouldn’t you be helping her, then?”

Gyuvin waves him off. “My sister is there. I’ll go back soon.”

Hanbin hums, amused, before nodding toward their table. “Are you gonna buy something from us, then?”

Gyuvin clutches his chest mockingly. “Wow. You’re already trying to make me spend money?”

“It’s for charity,” Hao deadpans.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll buy something later.” Gyuvin waves him off before glancing between them, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You two seem awfully close today.”

Hao stiffens, turning towards Hanbin for help.

Hanbin, on the other hand, just smiles. “We’re always close.”

It’s such a simple, innocent statement. But Gyuvin’s gaze flickers between them, sharp and suspicious.

Hao clears his throat, suddenly feeling warm. “Go help your mom, Gyuvin-ah.”

Gyuvin smirks. “I just got here.”

Hao gives him a pointed look.

Then he leans in closer to Hao, whispering, “Hyung, my hangout with Ricky is tomorrow. I’m so excited.”

Hao barely holds back a smile. Of course Gyuvin wants to talk about Ricky.

“I already have my outfit picked out,” Gyuvin continues, practically buzzing. “Do you think a black leather jacket is too much? Maybe I should go for something more subtle, like a knit sweater? But then he might think I’m trying to look soft, which—maybe that’s not a bad thing?”

Hao listens patiently, nodding along as Gyuvin spirals. Truthfully, he wants to tell him to just confess already, to tell Ricky how he feels and put an end to this will-they-won’t-they game. But Gyuvin would just deny it, insisting it’s not a date, even as he obsesses over every detail.

So instead, Hao says, “Go with what makes you comfortable. You’ll look good either way.”

Gyuvin grins. “I know I’ll look good. I just—” He sighs dramatically. “I want to look good for him.”

Hao shakes his head fondly. Hopeless.

Gyuvin eventually leaves to check on his mom, and the fair continues in full swing.

Surprisingly, Taerae doesn’t show up. Hao had fully expected him to jump at the chance to see Jiwoong in any capacity. But instead, he spends the day complaining in their group chat about his back pain after yesterday’s decorating.

No one pities him.

“You volunteered us all,” Gyuvin had texted back. “Suffer.”

Matthew and Gunwook don’t come either, citing prior plans. Hao assumes that means a date. Couples.

Ricky arrives a little later, stopping by their stall first with Gyuvin following once he notices Ricky.

“你好,” Ricky greets in Mandarin, giving Hao a lazy wave.

Hao raises an eyebrow. “You’re greeting me today. What do you want?”

Ricky groans, immediately switching to Korean. “I didn’t want to come, but someone forced me.”

Gyuvin gasps dramatically, announcing his presence. “I did not! You came because you love me.”

Hao turns his head at the exact same time as Hanbin.

They exchange a look.

They knew it.

Hao bites back a smile as he watches Ricky huff, crossing his arms, while Gyuvin beams at him. It’s so obvious.

Hanbin nudges him lightly, a knowing glint in his eyes. Hao nudges him back.

Gyuvin and Ricky eventually walk off together, Gyuvin introducing Ricky to his mom while Ricky smiles cutely, helping Gyuvin’s mom with their booth.

Hao watches them go before realizing something.

He is tagging along with Hanbin’s family.

Ricky is tagging along with Gyuvin’s family.

They’re literally giving in-laws.

—Gyuvin and Ricky, of course.

The soft melody Jiwoong picked out drifts through the speakers, mingling with chatter in the hall. Everything feels warm despite the cold, buzzing with the kind of familiarity Hao hadn’t realized he missed until now.

Jiwoong moves around like the unofficial mayor of this place, making sure everything runs smoothly. He’s playing the role of the responsible eldest son well today, checking in on vendors, directing people where to go, even setting up a little corner with board games for anyone who wants to sit and play.

People stop by their stall steadily, drawn in by the promise of warm cookies and freshly blended milkshakes. Hanbin works the blender like an expert, chatting with customers easily, flashing them his signature bright smile. He makes conversation like it’s second nature, and knows how to make people feel comfortable. It’s something Hao has always admired about him.

And then, the inevitable happens.

Someone recognizes him.

“Oh my god, Zhang Hao?”

Hao blinks as a woman—an auntie he vaguely remembers from childhood—approaches their booth, eyes wide with recognition.

Another joins in. “Wow! You’ve grown so much! We thought you left us for the big city forever!”

A few more aunties gather, cooing over him like he’s some long-lost relative.

“You look so handsome now! Do you even remember us? You used to run around here with little Hanbin all the time.”

“Oh, I still remember when you used to follow Jiwoong around, clinging to him like a little shadow!”

Hao’s ears burn. He isn’t sure how to respond, so he just nods and smiles, feeling strangely… exposed.

He had spent so much time in Seoul blending in, being just another student among thousands. There, nobody really cared about him. If he disappeared, it wouldn’t matter to anyone but a handful of people.

But here, people remember him.

Not just as someone who used to live here, but as their Zhang Hao. The one who grew up among them, the one they watched turn from a boy into the person standing before them now.

It’s… an unexpected feeling. Warm, but overwhelming.

“You should come back more often,” one of the aunties says, patting his arm. “Your mom must miss you so much.”

At that, the warmth twists into something sharp.

Hao swallows, forcing a smile. “Ah, well… she’s spending Christmas with my dad in Seoul this year.”

A lie.

The truth is too complicated to explain. He doesn’t want to answer follow-up questions about the divorce, doesn’t want to see the pity in their eyes when they hear why his mother isn’t here with him.

Mrs. Sung, standing nearby, steps in smoothly. “Aiya, stop interrogating the poor boy. Let him enjoy the fair!”

She laughs, making a joke to deter them from the topic. The conversation shifts, and Hao exhales quietly, grateful.

Hanbin glances at him, eyes soft with understanding. He doesn’t say anything, just nudges a cup of milkshake toward him.

Hao takes it, fingers brushing against Hanbin’s in gratitude.

The day passes in a blur of warm smiles, laughter, and the occasional sweet indulgence. Their booth stays busy, people constantly stopping by for cookies and milkshakes.

Jiwoong, despite being in charge of running the fair, somehow finds the time to return for multiple refills.

“This is for sale, you know,” Mrs. Sung teases as Jiwoong reaches for yet another cookie, shaking her head in amusement.

Jiwoong just shrugs, taking a long sip of his milkshake. “Consider it payment for my labor,” he says, waving a hand around like he’s the most overworked person at the event.

Hao chuckles, rolling his eyes. Jiwoong is so dramatic sometimes.

A few booths down, Gyuvin catches his eye, waving him over enthusiastically.

Curious, Hao excuses himself and makes his way over.

Gyuvin’s mom and younger sister are behind the table, selling trays of brownies that look almost too good to eat.

“Hello, You must be Hao!” Gyuvin’s mom greets warmly, her energy just as bright and lively as her son’s. “Gyuvin told me all about you, you're Hanbin's friend who’s studying at Seoul National University.”

Oh Gyuvin, of course that’s how he introduced Hao to his mother.

“Ah, it’s nice to see you, Auntie,” Hao replies, bowing slightly.

Gyuvin’s sister, who looks to be in middle school or just entered high school, eyes him curiously before suddenly asking, “Are you Hanbin-oppa’s boyfriend?”

Hao chokes on air.

Gyuvin and Ricky burst into laughter immediately, Gyuvin actually doubling over in delight.

Hao stares at the girl, completely caught off guard. “W-What?”

She blinks innocently. “Because he keeps looking at you.”

Hao, despite himself, looks.

And sure enough, across the fair, Hanbin is watching. Their eyes meet and Hanbin smiles, completely unaware of the situation going on. It’s probably just instinct for him when he sees Hao—an easy, genuine smile that lights up his face and makes Hao's heart skip a beat.

Hao feels his entire face heat up, the warmth creeping down his neck. He scratches the back of his head, trying to seem unaffected, but Gyuvin and Ricky’s giggling makes it very clear they aren’t going to let this go.

“Why is this funny?” Hao grumbles, reaching for one of the brownies that Gyuvin’s mom has already plated for him, looking for something to occupy himself.

“It’s just cute that your couple aura can be felt from miles away,” Ricky teases.

Hao rolls his eyes and ignores him, turning his attention back to Gyuvin’s family instead.

Gyuvin’s mom pours him a glass of fruit juice, asking him all sorts of questions about school, about life in Seoul, about how he finds Cheonan now after being away. She’s warm and curious, making conversation easily, and Hao answers her as best as he can while trying not to dwell too much on the fact that Hanbin was staring at him.

Gyuvin’s little sister, meanwhile, is busy bickering with Ricky in a way that’s far too familiar—mimicking the way Ricky and Gyuvin argue all the time.

Gyuvin grew up in such a lovely household, Hao realizes. It’s obvious in the way his family interacts, in the way Gyuvin carries himself. There’s an ease to him, an openness, the kind of warmth that comes from being loved deeply.

It’s nice.

Eventually, he bids Gyuvin goodbye and heads back to their booth where Hanbin is serving customers.

By the end of the fair, their cookies are almost completely sold out, and they’ve gone through all the milk packets.

Mrs. Sung claps her hands together in satisfaction. “That was a success!”

As they pack up, she suddenly turns to them with a bright smile. “Come on, let’s go for ice cream.”

Hao blinks. “Now?”

“Yes! We have to have ice cream, you know, and it’s been forever since we had a little outing like this.”

She tries to get Jiwoong to come too, but he waves them off, saying something about having to clean up.

So it’s just the three of them.

Hao and Hanbin, tagging along with Mrs. Sung like they always have.

As they walk toward the ice cream shop, Hao feels oddly content and happy.

The streets are lit up with twinkling fairy lights, decorations from the upcoming Christmas celebrations brightening the atmosphere. The walk to the ice cream shop is a familiar one, and it tugs at something deep inside Hao’s chest.

It’s a tradition.

Every year, after the fair, they used to come here.

Back when he was younger, his mom would join them, walking alongside Mrs. Sung, the two of them whispering and gossiping about whatever adults talked about. Jiwoong would be glued to his phone, playing some game, occasionally grunting in response to conversation. And Hao—Hao would be the one looking after little Hanbin, making sure he didn’t drop his ice cream or wander off too far.

It feels different this time.

Mrs. Sung walks ahead with them, but she isn’t chatting with his mom. She doesn’t have anyone else to focus on, so instead, she focuses entirely on them.

Which means Hao and Hanbin have nowhere to hide.

The moment they sit down with their ice cream, Mrs. Sung’s gaze flickers between them, observant in a way that makes Hao feel seen—like she already knows something he isn’t ready to say out loud.

“So, Hao,” she starts, stirring her ice cream idly. “Are you dating anyone?”

Hao chokes.

The bite of ice cream he just put in his mouth suddenly feels like a mistake as he coughs, his throat constricting. Hanbin is immediately patting his back, concerned, but Mrs. Sung just watches him with an amused twinkle in her eyes.

He feels exposed. Like she knows something. Like she sees something.

“No—I mean, no,” he stammers, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Mrs. Sung hums, unconvinced. “Really? You seem… happier these days.”

Hao is not about to have a crisis in the middle of an ice cream shop.

Hanbin, bless him, jumps in immediately. “Mom, you shouldn’t ask about that. Give us privacy.”

Mrs. Sung narrows her eyes. “US?”

Hao turns to Hanbin in shock. Hao watches the horror dawn on his face in real time.

“I—I meant him of course,” Hanbin corrects quickly, voice higher than usual.

Mrs. Sung just laughs, shaking her head. “You two are terrible at keeping secrets.”

Oh god.

Hao grips his cup a little tighter, trying to act normal, casual, like there isn’t something going on, like he didn’t just nearly choke on his ice cream at the mention of a boyfriend, like Hanbin didn’t just fumble the easiest sentence in the world.

She’s onto them. She knows.

She just doesn’t say it outright. Instead, she takes another bite of her ice cream, looking at them with something fond, something knowing.

“You guys can tell me anything, okay?” she says warmly. “If there’s ever a significant other, I’d like to know. I love you both the way you are.”

Hao nods, unsure what else to say.

She winks at him before returning to her ice cream.

Hao swallows.

This is not just paranoia.

She knows.

And now, he has no idea what to do with that information.

At the very least, she doesn’t seem opposed to the idea. That’s… reassuring. It’s more than that, actually—it feels nice, having her be so openly supportive, like no matter what happens, she’ll still be there, still love them the same.

Hao sometimes wonders what it would have been like if he had been born into the Sung family.

He already feels like a part of it—they’ve always included him in everything, from childhood traditions to everyday routines. They were the first to open their door for him during the holidays when he might have had to spend it alone or get caught up in the turmoil of his parents’ divorce. He eats at their table, sleeps under their roof, shares in their laughter and their worries.

But at the end of the day, he isn’t really one of them.

He’s just someone they chose to bring in, someone they let belong. And as much as he loves them, as much as he feels at home here, there’s still a quiet part of him that aches with the knowledge that this warmth isn’t his by birthright.

It’s borrowed.

And one day, he might have to give it back.

****

Hao pulls on his coat, adjusting the collar as he steps out of his room. He pauses when he sees Hanbin already standing outside, waiting for him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you just come in?”

Hanbin grins, rocking back on his heels. “So you can tease me like yesterday?”

Hao blinks. “What?” He gapes at him. “That’s all you!”

Hanbin just laughs, clearly pleased with himself. Hao narrows his eyes at him, but before he can retort, Hanbin lifts a scarf and wraps it carefully around his neck.

“Don’t catch a cold, hyung,” Hanbin murmurs, fingers brushing against the fabric as he adjusts it snugly. Then he hands Hao two heat packs, keeping two for himself as well.

Hao blinks down at them.

Oh.

For a moment, he just stares. Why does Hanbin have his own? He realizes—he liked when they shared one. When their hands were pressed together over the same little pocket of warmth.

Why does this feel like a downgrade?

Still, he takes the heat packs, slipping them into his pockets, pouting. Hanbin’s eyes flicker over him like he’s checking if Hao’s warm enough, and a small smile tugs at his lips before he turns toward the door.

The house is quiet as they step out.

Mr. and Mrs. Sung must have gone out already, and Jiwoong—well, no one dared wake Jiwoong up today after the way he collapsed onto the couch last night, groaning about how tired he was.

Hao glances at Hanbin as they walk.

Despite the heat pack barrier, Hanbin still reaches for his hand.

Hao lets him.

A warm feeling settles in his chest. He remembers how, during his first week back, Hanbin needed an excuse—a heat pack, a convenient reason to hold onto him.

Now?

Hanbin doesn’t need one anymore.

They’ve gotten closer.

Hao squeezes his hand just slightly before they continue on their way, heading toward the bus stop.

The plan for today is simple—buy Christmas decorations for the house. They will possibly spend the entire day in the mall, then he’ll go to Taerae’s house in the evening.

They board the bus toward the big mall in the middle of the city, shoulders bumping as they sit down side by side. Hanbin is already looking through decoration ideas on his phone, scrolling with quiet focus.

Hao watches him for a moment, then turns his gaze out the window, letting the soft hum of the moving bus and the steady warmth of Hanbin’s hand against his own ground him.

They reach the bus stop right in front of the mall soon enough. The entire street is busy, so many people come and go. It is alive with the buzz of the holiday season.

The second they step inside, they’re hit with the scent of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts from a pop-up stall near the entrance. The overhead speakers play a loop of Christmas songs, and everywhere Hao looks, there are people—families shopping for gifts, couples holding hands as they browse, kids dragging their parents toward toy displays.

It’s warm inside, contrasting with the winter chill outside. The artificial glow of decorations makes everything feel brighter—strings of fairy lights wrapped around columns, a massive Christmas tree standing tall in the center of the atrium, ornaments reflecting the light like tiny stars.

Hao glances at Hanbin beside him.

Hanbin is already pulling out his phone, checking a list he made for the decorations they need. His eyes scan through it quickly before he looks up and grins at Hao.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

They start on the first floor, moving from stall to stall, admiring the different Christmas decorations. Every few steps, Hanbin gets distracted by something new—a sparkling wreath, a set of glass ornaments, a reindeer-shaped candle holder.

Hao watches in amusement as Hanbin’s initial determination slowly crumbles under the weight of pretty things. Hanbin is a sucker for cute stuff, can never resist them.

“Hyung, look at this, it’s cute.” Hanbin holds up a delicate snow globe with tiny ice skaters inside. “Should I get it?”

Hao tilts his head. “Are snow globes even on your list?”

Hanbin checks his phone again. “...No.”

Hao raises an eyebrow.

Hanbin laughs sheepishly but places the snow globe in their basket anyway.

By the time they reach the third floor, Hanbin is visibly panicking at the growing total. He stares at the price on his receipt, running a hand through his hair. “Mom is going to scold me when she sees how much I spent on her card.”

Hao leans over to peek at the receipt. “You went way over budget.”

“I know,” Hanbin groans. “But everything was so nice! And it’s Christmas! It’s worth it.”

Hao snickers, nudging him. “Let’s pray Mama understands.”

Hanbin sighs dramatically, but the next second, he’s distracted again—his eyes lighting up at another display. Hao trails after him, watching as he picks up different decorations, eyes scanning them thoughtfully.

Then, casually, Hanbin says, “One day, I’d like to decorate my house for Christmas with my future boyfriend.”

Hao’s brain immediately takes that statement and runs with it, inserting himself into the scenario before he even realizes what he’s doing.

“This blue and pink set would look so good in the house,” Hao says, pointing at a set of pastel-colored ornaments.

Hanbin turns to him, amused. “Oh? My house?”

Hao doesn’t register what he’s just done. He keeps going. “Yeah, it suits your style. I know what you like.”

Hanbin hums, his tone turning teasing. “I’m sure my future boyfriend will have his own ideas, you know.”

“Of course,” Hao agrees without missing a beat. “But this is so you-coded. It would match the aesthetic you always go for.”

Hanbin just watches him, waiting.

And then—

Hao realizes Hanbin is teasing him.

Hao finally turns, catching the glint in Hanbin’s eyes.

“You—” Hao narrows his eyes before swatting at him playfully. “You’re so annoying.”

Hanbin just laughs.

Hao exhales, shaking his head, but he can’t deny it—this feels nice. It doesn’t feel heavy or complicated. It doesn’t feel like something he should be overthinking.

It actually feels like a date. And he loves it. As they continue shopping, Hanbin turns to him again.

“What about you, hyung?” Hanbin asks. “What kind of decorations do you like?”

Hao glances around, taking a moment to think before pointing at a set of elegant silver and white ornaments, paired with soft gold fairy lights. “Something like this, probably.”

Hanbin nods, taking a mental note. “Then I’ll remember to decorate the house with this in the future.”

It takes a second for the words to register.

And when they do—

Oh.

Oh.

Hao’s face heats up.

Hanbin just keeps walking like he didn’t just drop a sentence with major implications.

Hao stares at his back, feeling his heart race.

What the hell is Hanbin doing to him?

They make their way into a gift store on the third floor. Shelves are lined with neatly wrapped holiday sets—candles, skincare, plushies, personalized trinkets. The store plays soft Christmas music in the background, blending in with the quiet chatter of other shoppers.

Hao weaves through the aisles, eyes scanning the shelves as he hums in thought. He wants to get Hanbin’s friends Christmas presents, something small but thoughtful. He turns to Hanbin, who is walking beside him, hands in his pockets.

“What do you think I should get them?” Hao asks.

Hanbin shrugs. “Anything will do. They’ll appreciate it either way.”

Hao groans, dramatically tilting his head back. “Hanbin, you’re not helping.”

Hanbin laughs at his suffering before nudging him. “Just pick whatever feels right, hyung. It’s the thought that counts.”

Hao sighs, scanning the shelves again. Hanbin, however, suddenly straightens up like he just remembered something.

“Oh, and don’t tell me what you’re getting me,” Hanbin says, a teasing glint in his eye. “Make it a surprise. Don’t even give me a hint.”

Hao huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Fine, fine. No hints.”

The thing is, Hanbin’s gift has been planned for weeks. Hao bought it back in Seoul before coming here. He had taken his time picking something perfect, something Hanbin would definitely go crazy over. He already knows the exact expression Hanbin will make when he opens it—eyes going wide, lips parting in disbelief, maybe even that cute little nose scrunch he does when he’s excited.

Just the thought of it makes Hao feel giddy.

Hanbin glances at his phone and then looks up. “I need to go somewhere for a bit.”

Hao raises an eyebrow. “Where?”

Hanbin just grins, stepping backward toward the store’s entrance. “It’s a secret.”

Hao crosses his arms, watching as Hanbin makes his way out, disappearing into the crowd. He knows exactly where Hanbin is going. Hanbin is not as mysterious as he likes to think. He’s obviously going to buy his Christmas gift.

The thought makes something warm bloom in Hao’s chest.

He turns back to browsing, letting his fingers trail over different items until he spots a display near the counter—skincare and body care gift sets already packed into small baskets.

Perfect.

He walks over and gestures to the cashier. “I’ll take five of these.”

One for each of Hanbin’s friends.

Ricky will definitely love it—he fusses over his skin as much as Hao does. Gyuvin will probably joke about it at first but secretly use it religiously. Taerae might pretend not to care but then send a picture of the products arranged neatly on his dresser. Gunwook will be so moved that Hao got him something and say something cheesy like “we should all be together forever” and Matthew will smile wide like the sunshine he is, hugging Hao.

As the cashier gathers the sets, Hao hesitates for a moment before adding, “Actually, make it six.”

Hanbin should have one too.

And just to be safe—“No, seven.” I’ll get one for Jiwoong as well.

If he got one for everyone except Jiwoong, that would just start unnecessary complaints.

The cashier beams, clearly happy about making a large sale. Hao swipes his card and takes the bags, feeling satisfied with his choices.

Just as he steps out of the store, Hanbin returns, carrying  bags. One of them—a small sleek black bag—is clutched in his arm. Suspicious.

Hao narrows his eyes, gaze flickering between Hanbin’s face and the bag he’s now holding behind his back. Yeah. Definitely suspicious.

“What’s that?” he asks, tilting his head.

Hanbin blinks, putting on an act with all the wide-eyed innocence he can muster. “Nothing.”

Hao raises an eyebrow. “That’s not ‘nothing.’”

Hanbin shifts on his feet, lips twitching like he’s trying to suppress a smile. “Hyung, we agreed. No hints.”

Oh.

That’s probably his gift.

Something tender flutters in Hao’s chest before he tamps it down. He refuses to get giddy over this. He refuses to let Hanbin see him get giddy over this.

So instead, he huffs dramatically. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”

Hanbin grins, victorious, before his eyes drop to the shopping bags in Hao’s hands. Immediately, he reaches out. “Let me carry that.”

Hao steps back. “Hanbin, you’re already carrying three bags.”

Hanbin shrugs like that’s not a problem at all. “So? I can carry more.”

Hao shakes his head, dodging Hanbin’s attempts to take the bags. “Hanbin-ah, I should also hold something,” he scolds, clutching them tighter.

Hanbin pouts, but relents. “Fine.”

With their arms full, they head toward what Hao hopes is their final store of the day.

The electronics store is busy, packed with people browsing displays of Christmas lights, speakers, and small home appliances. Strings of LED fairy lights flicker in various colors from the walls, casting the entire space in a warm glow. The faint sound of the 100th Christmas song Hao has heard today plays from the store’s speakers, and the air smells faintly of artificial pine from the seasonal decor section.

Hanbin scans the shelves, pulling out a few boxes of LED string lights for the house. “These should be enough,” he says, checking the specifications before nodding in approval.

Hao just hums in agreement, barely paying attention—his feet hurt. They’ve been walking all day, and at this point, he just wants to go home.

“Oh, hyung, look!”

Hao blinks as Hanbin grabs his sleeve, dragging him toward a display of oversized Christmas baubles—big enough to reflect their faces like a distorted mirror.

Hanbin picks one up, holding it in his hands like it’s some kind of treasure. Then he grins. “Let’s take a picture.”

Hao sighs, but he’s already pulling out his phone. “Fine. But make it quick.”

Hanbin drops the shopping bags at their feet, positioning himself in front of the giant bauble. He holds Hao’s face between his hands in a cute pose, and Hao rolls his eyes before mimicking the action, pressing Hanbin’s cheeks together to form an exaggerated pout.

Hanbin turns his head, about to protest, but Hao takes the picture before he can say anything, laughing as he lowers the phone.

“That one’s my favorite,” Hao declares, glancing at the photo.

Hanbin huffs, still squished between Hao’s palms. “Hyung, you distorted my face.”

“That’s the point,” Hao replies smugly.

They move on to other poses—Hanbin makes him do the dumpling pose, and Hao obliges, even though he complains the entire time. Then Hanbin makes him do a cat ear pose, and Hao sighs but lifts his hands above his head anyway, rolling his eyes as Hanbin cheers. Hanbin also squishes their cheeks together making Hao smile from the contact.

Then, naturally, they make kissy faces at the camera.

Hao presses the shutter—

And at the last second, Hanbin moves.

Turns his head—

And presses a kiss to Hao’s cheek.

Click.

Hao turns, scandalized, staring at Hanbin with wide eyes. His cheek burns, and not just from the ghost of Hanbin’s lips.

Hanbin, meanwhile, looks so proud of himself. He doesn’t say a word, just grins as he grabs their bags and starts walking toward the register, like he didn’t just kiss Hao out of nowhere.

Hao’s brain short-circuits for a solid five seconds before he scrambles after him, still feeling the phantom warmth on his cheek.

Once Hanbin pays, Hao grabs his wrist before he can escape again.

“What was that, Hanbin-ah?” he demands, trying to sound stern but failing miserably. His voice wavers, and ugh, Hanbin is already giggling.

“Hm?” Hanbin hums, tilting his head in mock confusion.

Hao narrows his eyes. “You kissed me.”

Hanbin shrugs. “Did I?”

Hao gapes at him. “You— what do you mean, did you? Yes, you did!”

Hanbin taps his chin, pretending to think. Then, looking entirely too pleased with himself, he goes, “Maybe I slipped.”

Hao’s jaw drops. “You slipped?”

“Yeah.” Hanbin nods, completely straight-faced. “Gravity is crazy, hyung.”

He’s messing with him.

Hao wants to be mad. Tries to be mad. But it’s Hanbin, and Hanbin is beaming at him like he didn’t just casually turn Hao’s entire world upside down with a single kiss.

And the worst part?

Hao liked it.

He really liked it.

His cheek still tingles where Hanbin’s lips had been, a warmth spreading through his entire body. It wasn’t even a deep kiss—just a quick peck, something light and fleeting—but it sent every nerve in his body alight, like a spark catching onto something dangerous.

Would it feel different if it had been on his lips?

The thought sends a giddy rush through him. He wants it so much; he wants it so badly.

Hao presses his fingers against his cheek, as if he can still trap the feeling there, stop it from fading. He swallows hard, avoiding Hanbin’s knowing gaze.

“I hate you,” he mutters under his breath, grabbing his own bags and walking past Hanbin toward the exit.

Hanbin follows him with a skip in his step, not looking remotely guilty. “No, you don’t.”

Hao really doesn’t.

And that’s exactly the problem.

Hao lets himself be dragged along as Hanbin excitedly leads him toward the row of photo booths tucked in the corner of the mall. He doesn’t miss the way Hanbin practically bounces with every step, his enthusiasm contagious.

Honestly, Hao wouldn’t normally care much about something like this. But when Hanbin had pouted—actually pouted—saying they didn’t have any pictures together as adults, how was he supposed to say no? It clearly meant a lot to Hanbin.

And, if Hao’s being honest, he kind of likes the idea too.

They step inside the booth, and Hanbin immediately starts maneuvering through the settings like it’s second nature. “I love photobooths,” he tells Hao, grinning. “I come here with the others sometimes and we take pictures.”

Hao hums in response, watching as Hanbin scrolls through the filter options. It makes sense. Hanbin would be the type to love things like this—memories frozen in time, little moments captured in a frame. Hao suddenly wonders how many of those pictures Hanbin has, how many of them have his friends in them. And then he wonders, is Hanbin going to keep these, too? Just as carefully?

Before he can dwell on that thought, Hanbin turns to the rack of props beside them, eyes scanning over the collection of accessories. He picks out a headband with fluffy black-and-white ears and plops it onto Hao’s head without warning.

Hao blinks. “Hanbin-ah—”

“It suits you.” Hanbin grins, looking entirely too pleased with himself. He then picks a matching one for himself, only his has pink inside the ears instead of white. “There. Now we match.”

Now we match.

Hao giggles and kicks his feet at those words, metaphorically of course.

The countdown for the first picture starts, and Hanbin suddenly leans in, resting his head on Hao’s shoulder.

Hao stiffens for half a second before melting into it, unable to stop the wide smile that spreads across his face as the camera clicks.

Okay. He really likes this.

For the next pose, Hao barely has time to process anything before Hanbin wraps his arms around him from behind, pulling him into a back hug.

Hao’s breath catches. “Hanbin—”

“It’s for the picture,” Hanbin justifies quickly, his grip firm around Hao’s middle. The flash goes off before Hao can even think of a response.

The third countdown starts, and Hao realizes two can play this game.

Right before the camera clicks, he digs his fingers into Hanbin’s side, tickling him without mercy.

Hanbin squeaks—actually squeaks—and squirms in his hold, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open in a laugh. The camera clicks right at that moment, capturing the movement perfectly.

Hao bursts into laughter as Hanbin whips around to glare at him, arms crossing. “Hyung, that wasn’t funny.”

“It was hilarious,” Hao counters, still grinning.

Hanbin pouts dramatically, turning away like he’s actually sulking. But Hao catches the way his ears turn pink beneath his headband, the way his lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile.

Yeah. Hao’s keeping these forever.

For the final pose, Hanbin turns to him, hands coming up to cradle his face gently. His palms are warm against Hao’s skin, his thumbs brushing feather-light strokes over his cheeks.

Hao freezes.

The photo booth is small. Cramped. There’s barely any space between them, and if Hanbin leans in even a little, all Hao has to do is tilt his head and—

Oh my god.

The thought slams into him so hard it leaves him breathless. His heart pounds like a war drum in his chest, ears ringing.

Hanbin doesn’t move closer.

He just stares.

His eyes bore into Hao’s, dark and unreadable. The playful energy from before is gone, replaced by something heavier, tension that lingers in the air between them, thick and suffocating.

The seconds feel like hours.

Hao’s pulse thrums wildly in his throat. He wants to move. Wants to lean in and close his eyes and let whatever this is—whatever this could be—happen.

But he doesn’t.

Neither does Hanbin.

The camera clicks.

The moment shatters.

Hao exhales a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, leaning back as Hanbin lets go of his face. He feels like his body is on fire, nerves buzzing under his skin.

Hanbin clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as the printer hums to life. He grabs the photos as they print, handing Hao his copy.

Hao glances down at the strip of images.

The first one—Hanbin resting his head on his shoulder, soft smiles on both their faces.

The second—Hanbin hugging him from behind, the easy warmth between them practically glowing through the image.

The third—Hanbin mid-laugh, his face scrunched up as Hao tickles him, while Hao himself looks completely joyful, eyes crinkling, grinning like he has never been happier.

Hao stares at that third picture the longest.

It almost doesn’t look like him.

Not because he’s unrecognizable, but because he looks so happy.

So effortlessly, radiantly happy.

Like he’s with his boyfriend.

Except—he’s not dating Hanbin.

…Yet, his brain supplies.

Hao almost chokes on air.

He quickly glances at Hanbin, who’s examining his own copy of the photos, pouting dramatically at the giggling one.

“That one’s unfair,” Hanbin whines, pointing at the third picture. “I look ridiculous.”

Hao smiles, a little dazed. “No, you look…you look cute.” I want to eat you in one bite, he thinks, the thought surprising him with its intensity.

Hanbin turns to him, his eyes widening slightly, and for a split second, Hao wonders if he said that out loud.

But then Hanbin’s lips curl into a slow, knowing grin.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

“What do you think I am? A snack?” Hanbin teases, his playful tone dancing in the air between them.

“No!” Hao sputters, his brain going blank, struggling to find a coherent response as heat floods his cheeks.

“It’s okay, I’ll let hyung have a bite anytime,” Hanbin replies with a wink, casually taking off his headband and strutting out of the room.

Hao follows him, mentally slapping himself for his blushing reaction. “Hanbin-ah, stop teasing me!” he half-yells, trying to catch up.

Hanbin stops in his tracks, and Hao collides with his back. The sudden proximity catches him off guard, and he looks down to see that, while he is taller than Hanbin, he feels undeniably small right now.

“Hyung is so cute to tease,” Hanbin says, playfully removing Hao’s headband. Ah, Hao had forgotten to take it off.

Hanbin takes his hands, walking back two steps to drop the headband on a nearby table.

Hao can’t help but smile; he feels an overwhelming sense of happiness wash over him. He might cry.

****

The smell of sizzling oil and fresh bread fills the air as they step into the bustling food court on the fifth floor. The chatter of families, friends, and couples blends with the clatter of trays and the occasional call from the vendors.

Hao and Hanbin weave through the crowd, eventually deciding on burgers and a large order of fries to share.

Hao doesn’t even register it at first—how natural it is. How Hanbin slides the tray across the table, how they both reach for fries at the same time, how Hanbin feeds him like it’s second nature.

Hao takes a fry from Hanbin’s fingers without a second thought, dipping it into ketchup before biting down. It’s only when Hanbin picks up another fry and does it again—smiling at him expectantly—that something in Hao’s brain stutters.

“Oh,” he breathes out, blinking at Hanbin.

Hanbin tilts his head, amused. “What?”

“You…” Hao pauses. You’re feeding me.

But he doesn’t say it. 

Instead, Hao just shakes his head and mutters, “Nothing,” before reaching for a fry of his own and—without thinking—pressing it against Hanbin’s lips in retaliation.

Hanbin’s lips part immediately, no hesitation at all as he takes the fry into his mouth, chewing with an exaggerated expression like he’s making fun of Hao for being flustered.

“Delicious,” Hanbin says, grinning.

Hao rolls his eyes but smiles despite himself.

After finishing their burgers, Hanbin pulls him toward an ice cream stall, barely giving him a choice.

“I’m getting cookies and cream,” Hao announces as they scan the display.

Hanbin hums, then orders milk chocolate with choco balls.

They sit down with their cups, Hanbin already digging in as Hao takes his first bite. It’s good, but—

“Let me try yours,” Hao says, reaching over with his spoon.

Hanbin, already one step ahead, scoops some up and holds it out for him.

Hao doesn’t hesitate this time, tasting the rich, creamy chocolate with crunchy bits of choco balls.

“Oh, wait.” Hao blinks. “Yours is better.”

Hanbin grins, scooping another bite for him. “Want to trade?”

Hao nods, pushing his cup toward Hanbin as Hanbin hands over his own.

Just like that, it’s an unspoken agreement.

Hao doesn’t realize just how much joy is bubbling in his chest until Hanbin reaches over again, napkin in hand, gently wiping the corner of Hao’s mouth with an ease that feels so natural.

Oh, god.

This is so… cute.

Too cute.

Hanbin keeps doing things like this—small, thoughtful gestures that make Hao’s heart feel unbearably full. And the worst part? Hao loves it. Loves it so much, too much.

It feels like something out of a dream, like he’s living the kind of romance he’s only ever imagined—being cared for so openly, so effortlessly. Getting princess treatment from someone who doesn’t hesitate, who doesn’t make him question or second-guess.

Someone who looks at him with so much love in his eyes that Hao never has to wonder if it’s real.

He just knows.

Hao looks out the big window as he tosses his empty ice cream cup into the trash bin. When did it get so late?

He pulls out his phone for confirmation, the bright screen flashing the time back at him. Shit. He still has to go to Taerae’s, and it’s already evening.

“Hanbin-ah, we should go,” Hao says, pulling Hanbin up.

Hanbin glances at his own watch before his eyes widen slightly. “Oh damn, I’m sorry—I made you late.” He reaches for the shopping bags, hurriedly gathering them. “Let’s go.”

They take the elevator down, standing side by side as the numbers descend. Hao stares absentmindedly into the floor-to-ceiling mirror. Hanbin catches Hao’s gaze in the reflection and grins, straightening his posture playfully.

Hao shakes his head, amused by Hanbin's antics, but he doesn’t bother to fix his own stance. He remains comfortably slouched, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The elevator dings, stopping at the first floor. They step outside, greeted by the crisp night air. The temperature has dropped significantly since the afternoon, the cold biting at Hao’s exposed skin.

Hanbin stops abruptly, setting the shopping bags down at his feet.

Before Hao can ask why, Hanbin steps closer, hands reaching for Hao’s scarf. He adjusts it carefully, tugging the fabric higher to cover more of Hao’s neck. Then he pulls Hao’s coat closed, fingers brushing against the buttons.

Hao doesn’t move—doesn’t even breathe. Hanbin’s face is close, eyes focused as he works, and Hao swears he can hear the soft hmm Hanbin lets out under his breath.

“There,” Hanbin says finally, peering up at him with a satisfied smile, giggly. “All warm now.”

Hao swallows, his voice caught somewhere in his throat. “Thanks.”

Hanbin picks up the shopping bags again, and they begin walking toward the bus stop. The streets are bustling with evening shoppers, families, and couples strolling under the glow of Christmas lights.

When they arrive, Hanbin pulls out his phone, checking the schedule. “Bus will be here in five minutes,” he announces.

Hao hums, slipping his hands into his pockets. The heat pack from earlier has long lost its warmth, and the cold is starting to settle into his fingertips. He shifts slightly, nudging Hanbin’s knee with his own.

Hanbin nudges back.

They don’t say anything.

They just stand there, side by side, watching the world pass by.

Shops are adorned with holiday displays—twinkling lights strung across windows, wreaths hanging on doors. The streetlamps are wrapped in shimmering tinsel, and the faint sound of Christmas music drifts from a nearby café.

It’s nice. Peaceful.

Hao exhales, watching his breath cloud in the air.

The silence between them stretches on, but it’s comfortable. The kind that makes Hao feel like they could just exist together without needing to fill the space with words.

But eventually, Hanbin speaks up, his voice softer this time.

“Hyung… do you like Christmas?”

Hao tilts his head, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t dislike it.”

Hanbin glances at him. “But do you like it?”

Hao hesitates. He’s never really thought about it that way before.

It’s not that he hates Christmas—he doesn’t. But growing up, it was always a little lonely. Other kids had big family gatherings, their parents taking them out to see lights, decorating their houses together. Meanwhile, Hao would just stay home with his mom. She tried, of course—she always got him a gift, made sure they had a nice dinner. But it never felt quite as magical as it seemed to be for everyone else.

But now…

Now, he’s spent the day running around with Hanbin, shopping for decorations, picking out gifts. Now, he has plans with Taerae and the others, and he knows the Sung family will make sure Christmas is lively, warm.

Maybe Christmas is different this time.

“I think…” Hao exhales, watching his breath curl in the cold air. “I like it more now.”

Hanbin watches him for a moment, something fond in his gaze. Then he smiles. “That’s good.”

The bus arrives, brakes hissing as it pulls up. They gather their bags and step inside, the heater blasting warm air against their cold faces.

They find seats near the window, stacking their shopping bags carefully at their feet. As the bus rumbles forward, Hao rests his head against the window, the cold glass pressing against his skin.

Beside him, Hanbin shifts, adjusting their bags, making sure nothing topples over. Then, without a word, he loops his arm around Hao’s, resting his weight against him.

Hao doesn’t pull away. He just shakes his head fondly, a small smile tugging at his lips, before looking back out the window.

Yeah. He likes Christmas more now.

They reach the stop near Taerae’s house sooner than he expects. Hao sighs, stretching a little before standing up.

Hanbin looks up at him, pouting slightly. “Already?”

“Gotta go,” Hao teases, reaching for his bags.

Hanbin lets go of his arm reluctantly but brightens up as he says, “Have fun, hyung.”

Hao steps off the bus, turning back just in time to see Hanbin waving at him from the window, still grinning.

Hao waves back.

As the bus pulls away, he can’t help but skip slightly as he makes his way to Taerae’s house.

Today was fun—he knows he’ll remember it for a long time.

Chapter Text

Hao knocks on the door, rocking back on his heels as he waits. He’s expecting Taerae to answer, but instead, the door swings open to reveal a warm-faced woman with soft curls and kind eyes.

“Oh, you must be Taerae’s friend,” she says with a faint accent, smiling brightly.

Hao blinks, a little caught off guard. He hadn’t expected Taerae to introduce him that way. Most people here introduce him as Hanbin’s friend or Jiwoong’s friend but never as their friend. The fact that Taerae told his mom he was his friend makes him genuinely happy.

Sometimes, Hao gets this feeling that he’s building something real here in Cheonan—a second home, a second family. If he ever transfers, he knows he won’t be lonely for even a second. And even if he stays in Seoul, this place will always be a home to him, filled with people he loves.

During high school, he had a few friends in Cheonan—mostly mutual friends with Jiwoong—but over time, they drifted apart. Some moved away for school, and even the ones who stayed in Cheonan eventually lost touch. Jiwoong doesn’t seem close with them anymore either.

But now, when he thinks of Taerae and the others, he doesn’t see them as temporary. He can picture them in his life years from now—still here, still his.

“Yes, I’m Hao,” he says, bowing slightly.

She steps aside, motioning him in. “Come in, come in. I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Are you from Cheonan?”

Hao shakes his head as he steps inside. “I have lived here since I was little but I go to school in Seoul.”

“Seoul? You must be so smart then.”

“Ah, Auntie, no,” he says, scratching the back of his head.

“No need to be so humble, nice to meet you, Hao.” She gives Hao a wide smile.

“Nice to meet you too, Auntie.”

“Well, any friend of Taerae’s is welcome here. You’re very handsome, by the way. You could be an idol.”

Hao laughs, a little flustered. “Ah, thank you.”

“I hope my son isn’t being too much of a menace to you,” she adds playfully.

Before Hao can answer, Taerae’s voice calls out from inside.

“Mom, stop embarrassing me! Let him come in already!”

She laughs, patting Hao’s arm. “Go on in, dear. And let me know if you want anything to eat.”

“Thank you,” Hao says, stepping further inside just as Taerae appears, grabbing his wrist and dragging him straight to his room.

The moment they enter, Hao immediately understands what kind of person Taerae is. The room speaks volumes about his interests and personality.

His room is peak gamer aesthetic—RGB lights glow along the walls and a sleek dual monitor setup sits on the desk, complete with a mechanical keyboard, an expensive-looking gaming chair, and chaotically arranged controllers. Headphones hang weirdly on a stand, and a lone controller rests on an abandoned chair like he was using it recently. There’s even a bag of half-eaten chips resting beside his mousepad, because of course there is.

Hao raises a brow. “This is very… you.”

Taerae grins, flopping into his chair and spinning around dramatically. “Me and Matthew were just playing online,” he brags, crossing his arms behind his head and sounding way too pleased with himself. “And I won. Obviously.”

Hao snorts, crossing his arms. “You play games a lot, huh?”

“Of course. Do you?”

“Sometimes. With Jiwoong.”

Taerae’s eyes light up. “Oh, I know Jiwoong hyung is good.”

Hao rolls his eyes. “I’m better.”

Taerae stares at him for a second before bursting into laughter. “Yeah, okay, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Hao glares. “I am better.”

“Sure, sure,” Taerae teases, clearly not believing him. He turns to his desk, pulls open a drawer, and Hao’s jaw nearly drops.

It’s full of snacks.

“Take your pick,” Taerae says casually, as if this is completely normal.

Hao blinks. “Why do you have this much in stock?”

Taerae shrugs. “When I game, I don’t want to get up every time. So, I just keep everything here.”

Hao shakes his head but grabs a bag of chips anyway. “That sounds weird but smart at the same time.”

Taerae grins. “We need to game together sometime. Let me know when you’re free, I’ll let you have the privilege of gaming with a pro once.”

Hao scoffs. “Privilege? Please.”

“You should be grateful I’m offering.”

“Nobody moved.”

They bicker back and forth, throwing jabs at each other’s gaming skills, but there’s an ease to it that Hao appreciates. He realizes that Taerae is probably making all these jokes to keep the atmosphere light, and for that, he’s grateful.

It’s easy to talk to him.

Taerae feels like someone whose personality flows naturally with his, someone he could banter with about everything and nothing at the same time. Their conversations don’t feel forced; they just happen, playful and effortless, like they’ve been doing this for years.

They’ll probably never argue over serious things—not because they avoid them, but because they get each other in a way that makes conflict unnecessary. It’s rare to meet someone who just clicks like this, and Hao finds himself loving the easygoing, almost instinctive vibe he shares with Taerae.

Taerae gets up from his chair and plops onto the bed beside Hao. There’s no other place to sit anyway. Hao looks down to see his gaming chair’s completely occupied by tangled wires and a mess of tech gadgets. It’s kind of impressive, actually. Chaotic, but impressive.

He sets up his computer, clicking on Netflix and then typing into the search bar. “This drama is so good,” Taerae gushes. “I’ve been waiting forever for it to be completed. Me and Ricky were supposed to watch it together, but, you know, that dude ditched me.”

Hao raises a brow. “Damn. You’re really hurt about that, huh?”

“I am,” Taerae confirms with a dramatic sigh. “I mean, I get it...he’s, like, in love or whatever. But come on, this is more important. Plus, we’ve always done this together.

“I’m sure he feels sorry too.” Hao offers.

“He better be sorry, ugh! Once he starts dating Gyuvin, it will get even worse!”

Hao laughs, shaking his head as Taerae continues setting things up. It’s cute the way everyone automatically knows Ricky and Gyuvin will end up dating. Everyone except them, of course.

 “Yeah, yeah, bros first until it’s the love of your life. You would be the same way if you ever started dating Jiwoong.”

Taerae splutters. “Excuse me? I would never.”

“Sure, sure.” Hao snickers, and Taerae rolls his eyes.

Hao squints at the screen. “Looks interesting.”

“Of course, it is. I’ve already seen a ton of TikTok edits,” Taerae says, clicking on the first episode. “The male lead is so hot.”

Hao watches as the opening scene plays—a dramatic shot of a sleek black car pulling up to a grand estate, rain falling heavily as the camera pans up to a brooding man in a perfectly tailored suit.

Hao squints.

“…He kind of looks like Jiwoong.”

Taerae immediately turns to him, eyes wide. “No, he doesn’t!”

Hao tilts his head, accessing the figure. “He does. The sharp jawline, the way he glares at people—”

“Shut up. No way. You’re ruining this for me.”

Hao rolls his eyes, amused. Taerae is so obvious. 

They settle in as the drama unfolds.

It’s called Fractured Ties, a chaebol family drama filled with corruption, betrayal, and power struggles. The first episode starts with the mysterious death of the family’s elder—before his body is even cold, his family is already at each other’s throats, fighting over his inheritance.