Chapter Text
Hanbin likes to imagine time as a long, wobbly line drawn with a red crayon on a big piece of paper—he then thinks of adding little vertical dashes to mark down the first time, for example, he remembers feeling pain. It was when he fell from his dangerously new green bike and his mother blew cool air on his scraped knee for a few minutes until his sobbing stopped.
Another short dash to represent the time he first got a crush: this blond girl in the second grade that used to call him silly while giggling and always shared every snack with him.
Dash, when he had to move from his hometown, cried for one straight day in his bedroom, legs close to his chest and eyes full of tears, while his parents knocked gently at the door, asking to see him.
The time he fell in love, or at least thought so, with the nice guy from across the street after moving into their new home—he was cool and intelligent, and he made Hanbin’s heart beat an insane and frantic new rhythm.
When he came to the conclusion that he liked boys, too, other than girls, and had to run to Matthew's house in his pajamas to have a full breakdown about it while being in his friend's arms, the very first friend he made after moving. The shorter boy with gentle eyes and a warm smile had embraced him and told him that everything was going to be okay, and Hanbin believed him.
The afternoon he got his first tattoo.
The amount of long nights he spent playing video games with Matthew in his bedroom while eating the worst snacks possible and laughing.
The day he got his second tattoo while holding his sister’s hand so tight she kept complaining in-between laughs.
When he came out to his mother and she held his hands humid with tears and told him that he was his perfect son and nothing would ever change that.
When he started dancing and dragged Matthew with him to the dance studio to join him, floors wet from the sweat, full of dreams and passion.
The evening his friend told him that he loved dancing just as much as Hanbin did.
The afternoon they both sent their applications to their dream academy, the morning they both kept trembling in front of a laptop waiting for the results to be published, the night they drank and celebrated, eyes full of hope and hearts full of dreams.
Hanbin’s red, wobbly, time line was constellated with thousands of little dashes that were accompanied by memories, smells, sounds and images—he holds every single one of them close to his heart and he liked to think that others did the same.
However, as his line keeps getting longer, day by day, he finds out, somewhere during his fourth year of university, that there is one new bar that divides the story of his existence into two different, big portions: all memories that are present before he meets Hao and everything that comes after he enters his life.
Hanbin knows he’s late when he throws a glance at the clock confidently making an echoing, and he swear, teasing, little sound every second. Drops of sweat are dripping on the sprung vinyl flooring, wet circles that remind him of why his breath is so heavy.
Why his chest burns. The reason his legs will tense up the next day at any movement and why his mind is clear of all doubts and cruel thoughts when he enters the doors of the practice room.
He promised Gyuvin he would be on time, and he really tried his best today, but he had three new moves to incorporate into his routine, and the room had been free of people, entirely at his disposition to use as he pleased.
His feet move towards the big plank by the door, and he fishes his phone out of the black duffel bag to witness the string of texts that his friends are sending to their shared group chat. Abruptly, a call starts when he's just reading a particular text, and he rolls his eyes, pressing on the green circle on his screen.
"I said I'm on my way," he whines into the phone.
"You liar, you're probably still in the practice room." It's Gyuvin's voice he hears and it brings a smile to his face. "I spent weeks organizing this, you better get here in the next three minutes."
Hanbin knows this meeting is important because this two-hour slice of time was the best opportunity their friend group could find to meet while being in a whirlwind of assignments, exams, lessons and work.
So with that in mind, he locks his phone to throw it inside the right pocket of the coat lying on the plank and then he wears it quickly.
"I know, I know," he murmurs in the empty hallway of the building, step after step until he’s in front of the big elevator and takes the phone in his hands again after pressing the button on the wall.
"I'm requesting five new vinyl for every minute you're late, Sung Hanbin."
There’s a big red number on top of the elevator that makes him scoff out loud before he replies to Gyuvin. "Five? That seems a bit excessive."
"The number just bumped up to seven, I hope you're happy with how things are going."
Hanbin laughs out loud. "I will not give you shit."
"You will give me whatever I demand you to give me," he screams into his ear, and it matches perfectly with a high-pitched ‘din’ that makes his feet move to get inside the empty elevators.
"I want that special edition vinyl you have, the one you spent three weeks looking for." To which he scoffs.
"In your dreams."
He’s waiting for the doors to close after pressing the round button displaying a ‘0’ when a voice begs him to hold the doors from the hallway. Hanbin frowns but puts a foot between the two gray panels anyways since he knows how awful it is to have to wait for the elevator to come up again.
Gyuvin is murmuring something to someone else now, probably Ricky, who's waiting with him, and Hanbin thanks his other friend for a moment of peace.
He inhales the scent that fills the small space before he even sees him. There are notes of dewy melon floating around him when the stranger enters the elevator and murmurs a ‘Thanks’ almost out of breath.
Hanbin can see a mess of dusty pink hair, thin milky fingers pressing a button and a puff, a big white jacket covering his upper body as the man in front of him lifts his head and the pink strands move with him—he then hears a small giggle and his own heartbeat slowing down a little.
“Sorry,” his flushed cheeks turn upwards, showing off high cheekbones and glimmering, rich amber-like eyes. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Hanbin blinks a few times, taking in all the pretty details that magically appeared in front of him in the form of porcelain skin, reddish full lips, and a melodic voice.
“Don’t worry,” he reassures as the elevator starts its descent and the stranger moves to stand on his left, the pair of blue jeans he’s wearing making some noise at the movement, and he also notes what appears to be a violin case in one hand.
He doesn’t add anything else after that; he gives Hanbin a quick glance and then gives attention to the screen of the phone he’s holding.
"Sung Hanbin, answer me." The voice from his voice takes him back to earth, and he mentally hisses as Gyuvin.
"I'm not giving you my vinyls, Gyuvin. Not five, not seven, and most definitely not my most precious baby." He half-screams, half-whispers. Just because there is another person in the space now and he doesn't want to be rude.
"You will regret this." He accepts the threat and rolls his eyes when Gyuvin hangs up on him.
The dewy melon scent is omnipresent, it almost makes his mouth water and there is also a hint of some sort of flower, but he can’t really put a finger on what it is exactly and the doubt will probably bug him for the rest of the day.
Hanbin is quite sure this is the first time he sees this man in this building because the chances of him meeting someone this disconcertingly beautiful and forgetting about it, are almost equal to zero. However, he doesn’t want to cause any ulterior discomfort to the man standing next to him so he dives back into his phone too to tell Gyuvin he will be there as soon as possible.
Another ‘din’ fills the space after a while, and he clears his throat when the doors open to signal the other man to go ahead and exit first, which seems to be appreciated with a soft “Thank you” thrown his way. The man walks by him and quickly reaches the glass door at the entrance of the building.
Hanbin watches him disappear from his view, and the doors of the elevator almost close back again before he can step outside and cross the short hallway to get to the exit; the phone in his hand starts ringing again, and he rolls his eyes before answering.
“I am almost there, oh my God,” he groans as soon as he brings the phone to his ear. “I’m literally there; I’m waving at you right now,” Hanbin lies, making Gyuvin on the other side of the phone shout a threatening “Sung Hanbin” out of frustration.
His younger friend hangs up on him almost immediately, and Hanbin giggles to himself when he steps outside—the cold air makes his nose wrinkle and his hands disappear inside the pockets of his coat.
He tries to fill his mind with little observations about the streets he's crossing, and he manages to do so at the sight of a few stalls selling traditional food that people eat in winter. But, whether he likes it or not, his thoughts seem to shift back to the stranger in the elevator.
Even as he gets inside the quiet and mostly empty bus, he thinks about the man—he can still smell the lingering melon scent if he concentrates hard enough. And the color of his hair that resembles the few bushes with small pink flowers in a park the bus drives by.
He doesn't lose any second after he sits down on one of the uncomfortable seats; Hanbin takes out his phone and while ignoring the group chat completely, he starts typing something in the little search engine box.
"Is love at first sight real?"
He deletes the words when he re-reads how crazy he sounds. It's not like he fell in love—it's a weird feeling that pokes at him. Attraction, perhaps.
But the search seems to be the only logical sentence to get some results, so he types the letters again and hits send.
The first couple of links seem to be silly articles that are definitely not taking Hanbin's request with sincerity. Yes, he is deadly serious about the inquiry he just typed in the search bar.
He shakes his head and deletes the words before giving it another try.
"Love at first sight scientifically proven studies"
This search looks like it has been taken more seriously and he nods to himself with satisfaction. The documents he finds are long and tedious, though, so a small pout finds its way to his lips.
All Hanbin wanted was a simple yes or no reply, nothing too complicated. He sighs, staring outside the window on his right and pinching the inside of his bottom lip between his teeth.
He likes winter—a thin layer of snow is prettily covering everything in a white, candid blanket and every year he takes the time to be thankful about not feeling the cold as much as other people do.
The view becomes a blurry, nice scenery every time the tram starts his journey after every stop, in a calming routine that he now knows by heart.
When he gets closer to his destination, he stands up, and with the phone secured in his hand, he gives a gentle smile to the driver before going back to the cold.
He can already see the brown head belonging to one of his best friends move around from inside the café they usually go to, and it brings out a smile from him. Opposite Gyuvin is a very tired Ricky who is twirling a strand of red hair in his fingers.
Hanbin crosses the road, and he is already anticipating the piece of sweet bread he will get as soon as he enters the shop and the smell of fresh bread hits his nose.
His moment of pleasure lasts very shortly because Gyuvin is already staring him down with narrow eyes and a vexed expression. "Sung Hanbin."
He sits down around the little table, and he's ready to apologize a thousand times. "Yes, yes, I'm sorry."
There's a laugh coming from Ricky and his pink lips that Hanbin reciprocates.
Hanbin leaves the classroom with headphones already covering his ears—he lets the music cover every single worry and doubt as he makes his way to the building on campus that has been simultaneously his paradise and hell.
A man is singing about love and fate when he pushes the big glass doors of the building, bopping his head following the slow rhythm of the music.
Happy to drown in the words, the beat, anything that can play louder than the snarky voice in his head that constantly tortures him.
He steps on the immaculate white tiles and only comes to a halt when he arrives in front of the elevator, where a person is already standing.
Hanbin isn't a big believer in destiny. He is sure there is some sort of power the universe holds, mystic bases for manifestation—something Matthew has been filling his head with lately, maybe laws of attraction or being in the right place at the right time, but destiny? Improbable.
And yet, there he is. Hard proof that takes the form of high cheekbones that rise more when the beautiful stranger from yesterday stares at him.
He takes off his headphones to let them drop around his neck, and his lips part. "Hi," the greeting slips right out of his mouth—spontaneous.
The stranger with pink hair replies with glimmering brown eyes, and a bright smile. "Oh, hello."
The doors of the elevator slide open and they both enter. Timidly, Hanbin notices.
He's the one closer to the big display of buttons so he presses his own floor and leaves an opening for the other to choose his number but the man doesn't move.
There is a fomenting fire that grows wilder by the second as it dawns on him that they're going on the same floor.
"Thank you again for yesterday," The silvery voice comes from the man that is holding his thoughts in an iron fist.
He tilts his head slightly, and politely. "Oh, no worries."
"I must have seemed so rude," He wants to scream back at that but Hanbin thinks it will be better to not make a fool of himself this soon.
He shakes his head, gulping and giving a quick side-eye. "Not at all. Really, don't worry about it."
A veil of silence hovers on them as the elevator starts going upwards. Only the erratic sounds of machinery and a loud beep come through to fill the space.
"At the risk of being rude again, I heard you talking about vinyls on the phone yesterday." The pretty stranger turns his way and starts talking, and Hanbin probably looks like a deer caught in headlights.
"Yes," he stutters. "Yes, it's a passion of mine."
The man nods. "Could I possibly ask you if you know some stores around here that sell vinyls? I just got a record player, and my puppy ruined the only vinyl I had, so—"
Hanbin parts his lips, enchanted by the accent that paints his words and the sweet voice that he finally gets to hear more.
"Of course," he erupts. "Yes, there are two in this area. There's one very big one by the café that has the big sign with the two cats, you know?"
The stranger tilts his head to ponder, but then he nods.
"That one is very good, it has a lot of records of many different artists. The other one is opposite that ramen place by the newsstand where all that Pokemon stuff is exposed."
A sudden laugh fills the space, and Hanbin smiles too, just by hearing it. "Oh my God, yes. The one with like a thousand packs of cards on display?"
"Yes, yes." Hanbin sighs, shaking his head. "I have spent hours there because my friend has been obsessed with collecting them."
The laugh quietly dies down, and the stranger nods. "Okay, I will check them both out. Thank you."
He doesn't say anything else after that, just purses his lips and darts his eyes across the elevator.
Hanbin gathers some courage only when the doors open after arriving on the third floor. "I have never seen you in this building before."
He hopes it's an obvious hint for the mysterious man to give Hanbin something to work with. A name, a reason he appeared out of thin air, and it made him think of deep chestnut eyes and pink locks before going to bed.
The other smiles at him, and his glossy lips jut out slightly before he speaks as they get out of the elevator. "I'm doing my master's at the university, and a friend of mine recommended booking a practice room here."
Hanbin nods. "Are you also a dance major?"
The stranger raises his eyebrows in a curious manner that attracts Hanbin's attention even more. "You are a dancer?"
The way his eyes scan his figure does not go unnoticed, and it makes Hanbin's cheeks flush with shyness for a second. "Yes."
"Violin performance." He raises the hand wrapped around the handle of the violin case and Hanbin is mentally freezing his steps to slam his head as hard as he can on the concrete wall by his left.
Of course he is here to practice violin, you big loser. You've seen that black, leather case yesterday.
"Yes, that makes a lot of sense," he whispers, clearing his throat.
They keep walking together, side by side. Hanbin can't help but notice they're the same height and mentally feel smug about it, for some reason.
"Oh, are we neighbors?" The stranger giggles, and Hanbin gapes at the coincidence when they both come to a stop in front of their respective practice rooms.
"Apparently, yes," he mumbles, deep in thought. Something this lucky has never happened to him before. Is the universe finally sending good things along his way?
The other clicks his tongue and holds the violin case with both hands. "Well, I guess we'll run into each other soon again."
"I think so too," he replies, smiling back and watching the man disappear behind the white door.
He enters his room and drops the bag on the long plank with a loud scoff. While stretching his right arm and then his left, he moves towards the console on the wall opposite the mirrors and takes his phone out of the pocket of the hoodie he's wearing.
Music fills the practice room soon enough, and Hanbin's heart finds peace in the next hours of sweat and hard work that keep him alive.
When he feels he has practiced enough for the night, Hanbin grabs his stuff, turns off all the lights, and leaves the room with aching joints and sore legs.
He catches someone getting on the elevator, and he sprints just in time to place a hand between the two closing doors that open at his command.
When he straightens his back and enters the elevator, the stranger with pink hair is already there, blatantly giggling at him.
"You made it just in time," he comments in a cheerful way that uplifts his mood too. "In a very dramatic manner, too, if I do say so myself."
Hanbin is taken aback by the new playful energy that he's met with. He will certainly not complain about it—instead, he lets out a small giggle.
"I will have to agree," he nods. "You also managed to make an epic entrance last time."
The stranger combs his hair with a hand and hums. "It will not be easy to forget."
They both laugh shyly as the elevator starts moving.
"How did practice go?" It's the stranger that initiates the conversation and Hanbin masks his excitement by putting both hands inside the pockets of his sweatpants.
"It was good," he only says. "Tiring, but the good kind of tiring."
Should he have added something else? Talk more? More details, maybe? Or would that sound obnoxious?
The other nods. "I totally understand," his long, thin fingers busy fixing the front pink strand while checking himself out in the mirror to his side. "Sometimes I think my arms will fall off, but it's a nice feeling."
Hanbin stares at the soft movements of the stranger. A middle finger brushing against his forehead, a shadow of a pout adorning his pink lips, eyes observing his hair. "Yeah, it is."
The elevator dings, and the doors open for them to exit at the same time.
"The rooms are amazing, too." The other tells him after Hanbin grips the handle of the entrance door and keeps it open for him to pass through. "I'm not used to this luxury."
"They're pretty nice, yes." Hanbin agrees. "We also pay a lot of money to study here, so it's the least they can do."
He doesn't think what he just said is worth a laugh, but the stranger sends a little one his way nonetheless. "That, we do."
"This is me," he mumbles, pointing at his car while the other stops by the sidewalk.
There is only an acknowledging nod that comes from him while Hanbin struggles to find his car key, so he thinks it's okay to add a polite "Good night."
He's met with a wider smile than usual and a hand waving towards him. "Good night, handsome."
Hanbin is left to stare at the other's figure walking away—his heart rate going so fast, it threatens to break free from his chest—and follows the man with pink hair.
"Fuck," he whispers into the void before getting inside the car.
Handsome.
He called him handsome.
"Fuck," he repeats once more. He forgot to ask for his name this time too.
Night comes like a blanket made of comfort for Hanbin who looks at the outside world from the warm seat of his car.
He has a stronghold on the steering wheel, his knuckles almost hurting. The countless lights of the street resemble a sky made of stars as the first melodies, coming from his stereo, wrap around him in a second layer accompanying the slow night.
The index and the middle finger of his hands tap on the handlebar, following the rhythm of the woman singing.
This is his preferred time of the evening—when the door of the practice room closes and he walks to his car right outside the building.
Hanbin bounds himself inside the vehicle and looks at the streetlights, letting the music wash over him rather than controlling him—sometimes to talk to his friends on the phone, other times to write, or even to nap when he's too tired to live.
This particular night, something, or better, someone, breaks the small slice of peace that Hanbin has created for himself.
As he is murmuring in unison with the singer the words of the song that is playing, his eyes closed to let every lyric sink in, a light sound of tapping wakes him up.
He turns his head to where he hears the noise, and the initial shock of finding pink hair makes him falter, but he is quick to reach out to push the small button near him, which opens the window on his side.
“Hello.” The smile is always there. Hanbin can't even imagine interacting with him without that amazing smile plastered on the other's face.
“Oh, hi,” he retorts, not being able to hide the surprise.
“I was walking home from practice, and you looked familiar.” He is leaning with his elbows on the frame of the window and looking at him without the strong lights from his shop but with the cold ones that constellate the sidewalk. Hanbin finds him even more ethereal, something he didn't even think was possible.
But a question mark pops in his head after a while. “At this hour?”
The other man nods. "You seem surprised."
“Usually I'm the last person that leaves," he suddenly thinks he sounds like a loser again—he feels the arm of the stranger, covered by a thick gray sweater, touch his, making him finally notice how dangerously close they are. "I didn't think you would have such a similar schedule to mine."
“You might have some competition from now on.” His smile is so contagious; Hanbin really is weak.
Does that mean he's going to practice in the same building as him every day? And they're going to meet every day? The beautiful man, with dark eyes and a sweet voice, will be next to him every day.
Hanbin doesn't have a chance to comment because the other is already speaking again while standing a little bit further and reaching an open hand to him. “I am Hao, by the way," he flashes a greeting. "Zhang Hao."
He does the same, holding the hand presented to him as the twisted voice in his head notes down all the details he can.
Zhang Hao, he repeats in his mind until it becomes a blur.
Yes, the skin is very soft indeed and a little cold. Hanbin would like to envelop it completely and make sure it never suffers from the tough weather ever again.
“Sung Hanbin.”
Their hands are still tied together by a warm knot of skin. The rings that are adorning both of their hands are hitting each other, but Hao—it is nice to finally connect a name to the man—doesn't seem to mind, so it isn't certainly going to bother him.
Hao chuckles now, his finger squeezing a little bit, making goosebumps run from Hanbin’s neck to his arm and back. “I guess it’s better than calling you handsome."
He is sure he would let Hao call him whatever name he wanted to; Hanbin really doesn't care. What he pays attention to is the low-pitched chuckle that makes him smile in return, instinctively.
“I would really love to chat, Hanbin, but I have a bus to catch.”
Their hands separate, just like Hao’s lips when he smiles, and the other raises to wave cutely. Before he can even say goodbye, Hao is already far away from his car.
His figure is still visible as he crosses the road in front of him, and the red of the traffic light makes his hair vibrate with brightness.
Hanbin exhales, his head finding the backrest while his eyes close and his hand turns up the volume of the music again, letting piano notes shower him.
The corners of his lips had turned upwards somewhere along the interaction, and they can't seem to go back to normal.
"Hanbin," Hao greets him with wide eyes, and Hanbin mirrors the surprise.
"Hey," he can only stammer, clutching at the coins in his hand and approaching the vending machine.
Hao has no intention of moving from the see-through display. He is leaning against it with a shoulder, the front of his body towards Hanbin and a soda in his hand.
He is a tinge embarrassed by the obnoxious amount of sweat pooled around his forehead, and that makes the white tank top and opened shirt cling to his body. Of course the beautiful man has to see him in these conditions.
"Taking a break, too?" Hao asks, closing his lips around the opening of the soda and drinking.
Hanbin nods, putting the coins inside the opening of the machine and pressing the numbers on the screen.
"This routine is killing me." Which is a weird thing for Hanbin to admit given how he's often the person to downplay how difficult practicing is for him. Because it is expected of him and also because working hard is the only thing that keeps his mind as blank as possible.
"Cola?"
"What?"
Hao points with a finger at the can that has dropped at the bottom of the machine, and Hanbin's face lights up. "Oh, yes. Yes," he laughs it out, very awkwardly. "Yes, it keeps me going."
The other moves his head understandably. "I get that. I would be dead somewhere if it weren't for my personal drug of choice," he hints at the soda can in his hand, the same one Hanbin is about to drink.
"You're very sweaty," Hao adds before Hanbin can even reply to his last sentence.
It does startle him, how the other man just says stuff without holding back. It's oddly refreshing.
"Yeah, dancing does that to you." He thinks it's such a silly thing to say, but Hao laughs.
"Don't worry, I sweat a lot too."
"By playing the violin?" Hanbin didn't even know that was a thing.
Hao watches as he opens his can of soda and takes a first, cold sip that makes him sigh in satisfaction. "Yes," he confirms. "I'm talking towels in my bag to wipe the sweat off at times."
"You're lying," he exclaims, genuinely surprised by the admission.
"I swear," Hao puts his free hand on the chest. "The violin becomes all slippery, and it's a whole mess."
Hao darts his eyes across Hanbin's face, then to his cola and back to Hanbin. "Would you like to come hear me?"
"Hear what?"
Hao laughs. "Me, play some violin."
He thinks he short circuits for a bunch of seconds, and Hao seems to notice how much of a loser Hanbin really is.
"It's totally okay if you don't want to," he highlights with his hands. "You don't know what you're missing, though."
The playful smugness is enough to bring him back to normal, and he almost drops the can of soda. "No, no," he quickly sputters. "I would be honored. Please."
Hao goes back to a rich laugh as he nods and starts walking the hallways. Hanbin follows suit rather quickly.
"I'm still practicing, so be nice." It sounds like a teasing threat, given with narrowed eyes and a tiny smile.
Hanbin shakes his head. "Oh, I would never judge," he reassures the other when they get inside the practice room.
The inside looks basically like the room he's used to. There are mirrors on the right as soon as you enter and big windows that give you a beautiful view of the city with thousands of twinkling lights.
There is a very big piano near the wall, however, and a few instrument stands scattered all over. A small section of the space, where Hao is currently walking to, has two small black armchairs where what he recognizes is Hao's violin case, wide open, a brown leather bag, and a jacket are thrown messily.
He follows Hao and leaves his still-full can of soda on the small coffee table between the two armchairs.
"This is my reign," Hao spreads his arms and gives him a little twirl. One that Hanbin appreciates abnormally too much. "I'm working on Paganini now."
"Paganini?"
"24 caprices," the other replies, sighing. "Someone in my class is trying to work on Der Erlkonig, and I genuinely feel sorry for the guy," Hao murmurs when taking the stick with one hand.
"Can you tell me what that means in human words?" Again, he thinks he has made a fool of himself by acting dumb in front of the most interesting man he has ever met in his life, but Hao always finds him funny, for some reason.
"I think it's like," he shakes his head while moving behind the stand where some music sheets are opened. "The hardest piece someone has ever created, and even some of the most skilled violinists can't play it in its entirety."
"And this guy in your class thinks he can?"
"Being delusional is an art," Hao snickers, and it makes him laugh.
He watches closely as Hao prepares himself, so elegantly. Every move is so graceful as he takes the violin out of its case, the stick too, the walk to the stand, and the thin fingers sorting the papers.
Hao licks his lips and places his chin on the chin rest of the violin before sending him one last, intriguing look.
He has never seen someone play the violin before, so he doesn't know what he's supposed to feel, but Hao plays the instrument like it makes his whole world spin.
Like every note has its purpose and its own small world that takes shape and color every time Hao presses a string and moves the stick.
The melody blooms, and it talks to Hanbin just like if it were Hao himself exchanging words with him. They're communicating without letters or full sentences, just a magnificent bouquet of music that Hao caresses him with.
It's incredible how Hao makes it look so easy, even when he's fully aware it isn't at all.
Hanbin is sure he has never witnessed something so beautiful unrevealing in front of his eyes.
"That's only like a third of the piece," he interrupts his movements altogether and giggles. "How old are you, by the way?" Hao asks him when he finishes playing, and it completely catches him off guard.
"Twenty-three," he replies, stammering, even if he's still trying to recover from the emotions crashing inside of him like waves at full speed.
"We don't have to be so formal, then." Hao smiles brightly. "I'm only a year older than you."
Hanbin welcomes the new information with content. "Should I call you hyung?"
But Hao shakes his head, which makes his forehead crinkle in confusion.
"Just call me Hao."
He isn't sure he can comply with the request—the idea of just calling him by name feels incredibly intimate, but it might also be a cultural thing.
"Try it." Hao demands, but in a gentle manner.
"If it makes you more comfortable," Hanbin gulps. "Hao."
The other man seems satisfied, and he sends Hanbin a cute little approving pout.
"When are you going home tonight?"
It's bold, Hanbin knows, and he will definitely re-think about this very interaction later in the night when he's alone in bed and his brain can't stop yelling at him. But right in this instant, with Hao biting his bottom lip to suppress a smile, it feels just right.
"I'm thinking of practicing for another hour or so."
Hanbin nods, noting it down mentally. "Good," he takes a deep breath. "Will we meet by the elevator?"
Hao can't contain the smile anymore, and a row of white teeth shows when the arm holding the stick raises again. "I will make sure we do."
He goes back to resting his chin on the violin and starts playing the piece again while Hanbin closes the door for him and smiles.
"Where were you?" Matthew's voice makes him jump in the air when he steps into his practice room.
His friend is staring at him from the plank, with black hair falling to the side when he tilts his head to greet Hanbin.
"You scared the shit out of me," he accuses, closing the door behind him and gulping. "Nowhere, just getting something to drink."
Matthew moves his eyes to scan him whole and raises an eyebrow. "Where is it?"
"What?" He knits his brows in confusion.
"The drink."
Fuck. Did he leave it in Hao's room?
"I drank it by the vending machine," he replies firmly. "Why the interrogation?"
"Because you're always blabbering about how drinking a whole can of soda in one go is super bad for you, so you have to pace the whole thing during practices."
Hanbin shrugs both shoulders and gives him a blank stare. "Scientific studies actually prove that the caffeine in the drink can make you perform better, you know? You should really try to read more articles about the importance of—"
A knock on the door behind him makes his body do a full turn, and Hao stands on the other side of the doorframe when he opens it. With his coke in one hand and a beautiful smile plastered on his lips.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but you forgot this." Hao is handing him the red can, and Hanbin smiles instinctively.
"Thank you so much, I didn't even notice until I came back here."
Hanbin prays for Matthew not to get curious, to mind his business, and to remain seated on the plank and wait for Hanbin to get back without anything else to add, but his shorter friend is already by his side before he can finish his prayers.
"Hi," he chirps towards Hao, who darts his eyes between the two of them with a surprised look.
"Hello," he greets back politely. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything; I'm really sorry."
"No, you didn't." The eagerness in his voice is palpable, and he knows Matthew will have a field day about this moment. "You really didn't, this is Matthew," he tells him as they exchange a little bow. "My best friend, he's a dancer too, so he likes to join in sometimes."
"Oh," Hao smiles. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise," Matthew has that cute, dangerous smile on. The one that will accompany all the mocking Hanbin will receive as soon as Hao leaves.
"I'll go back now." Hao tells them both and lingers a little on Hanbin's face. They exchange a glance, and they both nod to each other.
"Bye," he says before Hao disappears back into his practice room.
When he closes the door with his free hand, Matthew's shoulders are already trembling with a laugh.
"Scientific studies, my ass." he bursts into a laugh that makes him roll his eyes to the white ceiling.
"Stop."
"Of course it was about a pretty boy."
"I said stop," he takes a sip of the soda.
"Very pretty boy, by the way."
"Matthew," he whines out loud, causing an even louder laugh to come out of his friend.