Archive of Our Own ^beta

One thing they didn’t inform the trainees about before they went on the show was just how mind-numbingly dull it would be at times.

Endless practice wasn’t allowed; the production team forced them out at three in the morning regardless of whether or not they were tired. There were long periods where they just had nothing to do, especially in between evaluations, and they were all sick of practicing Here I Am.

So they had to find ways to occupy themselves. Usually this meant sitting around and lamenting about how bored they were. Sometimes it meant crowding into someone’s room because they decided to give a one-person concert in the dorm. The production team eventually felt so bad for them that they smuggled in a few sets of playing cards. That brought some joy to their lives for a while.

However, the novelty of the playing cards soon faded, and Taerae started to complain about his fingers aching from playing guitar every night.

They needed a new way to pass the time, or they were all going to go insane.

Hanbin discovered his solace with Zhang Hao—the two sitting side by side on the older boy’s bed, Matthew’s MP3 player nestled between them, an earbud in each of their ears. Hanbin had managed to borrow it for a few hours through Jiwoong, who had in turn obtained it from Matthew. The deal was straightforward: the next day during lunch, Hanbin would ensure Jiwoong and Matthew enjoyed some alone time by steering the rest of the Say My Name team to a separate table. In return, Hanbin would have a rare chance to use the coveted MP3 player.

That arrangement suited Hanbin just fine. Unlike Jiwoong, Hanbin didn’t have the incessant urge to glue himself to Matthew’s side. Jiwoong could have simply asked him to leave them alone without offering anything in return and Hanbin would’ve complied—the bribe wasn’t necessary. But he wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to snag the MP3 player for an evening, especially if it meant he could share it with Zhang Hao.

The earbud cord was lengthy enough that they could sit a metre apart and still listen together, but when Hanbin cozied up to Zhang Hao’s side, the older boy never shifted away, so they were practically joined at the hip.

With all the lights off and the door closed, Hanbin could almost pretend they weren’t confined within a concrete building, being filmed for amusement. He gradually inched his hand forward on the bed, bit by bit, until it reached Zhang Hao’s, resting limply on his lap.

Zhang Hao allowed Hanbin to interlace their fingers. Just then, the music clicked and shifted to a slower tune, prompting Hanbin to involuntarily let out a yawn, his entire body tensing and his hand squeezing Zhang Hao’s.

“Sleepy?” Zhang Hao chuckled.

“Sorry,” Hanbin said, easing his grip. “A little, yeah.”

A brief pause. Then Zhang Hao pressed even closer, and his head dropped to Hanbin’s shoulder, cheek nestled along the curve.

“Me too,” he said. “It’s okay.” And he gave Hanbin’s hand a squeeze back.

Hanbin was about to discover if it was possible to lose his voice solely from screaming inside his own head.

He considered patience one of his best virtues. There was a reason why his back-up plan was being a teacher. People often commended his ability to remain composed under pressure. Typically, he had no qualms about waiting for good things to happen. Succumbing to frustration was a rarity for him.

Being around Zhang Hao really tested those values.

The first time he’d struggled was when they were practicing for Tomboy. When Zhang Hao had entered his room at night and laid down beside him, Hanbin had been one intrusive thought away from kissing him. He would have, if Zhang Hao hadn’t conveniently turned away at the last moment, forcing Hanbin to regain his senses.

The second time had been even more intense. After they’d completed their performances for the second evaluation, all the trainees were ushered into the dining hall for a grand feast. Hanbin, pumped up on adrenaline, buzzed with boundless energy, talking to and congratulating everyone he encountered. Eventually, however, he’d conversed with practically everyone. Spotting Zhang Hao and Gunwook sitting together, giggling among themselves, he hurried over.

He’d taken a seat beside Zhang Hao and opened his mouth to greet them, but then Zhang Hao turned his head, and Hanbin caught sight of the dollop of cream adorning the corner of his mouth. He froze, his gaze transfixed on Zhang Hao’s lips.

Zhang Hao tilted his head and asked, in that signature mumble of his, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

This was the moment things almost went awry. His brain, still riding the high of their team’s victory and all the praise he’d received, was feeling rather overconfident—and when it suggested he should kiss the cream off, his heart enthusiastically embraced the idea.

The worst part was that Zhang Hao didn’t flinch as Hanbin leaned in. Hanbin didn’t either, for that matter; in fact, his lips were just about to make contact with Zhang Hao’s when Gunwook cleared his throat.

“Guys, seriously? I’m trying to eat.”

Zhang Hao pulled away from him, and his face turned a brilliant shade of red. Since that moment, Hanbin was fairly certain that Gunwook believed they were a couple.

If only Hanbin could be so fortunate.

Finally, the third time Hanbin nearly lost control would start right about now.

Hanbin hadn’t done anything blatantly unreasonable so far. He’d been exceedingly cautious not to utter anything incriminating; he kept everything within the realm of plausible deniability. Once they both made the group and their positions were secure, he would confess somewhere private.

That was his plan, anyway. A plan that was about to be derailed in the form of four sticky notes and a dream.

You see—not everyone was as fortunate as Hanbin. Most of the trainees weren’t preoccupied with nurturing a crush. The majority were still bored to tears and seeking activities to fill their time—anything that would inject excitement unrelated to their looming potential eliminations.

The door to Zhang Hao’s room swung open, and the music came to an abrupt halt as Zhang Hao hit the pause button. The sudden silence snapped Hanbin out of his reverie more effectively than a punch could have. Music had a way of setting the mood.

“Seowon hyung,” Hanbin said.

He tucked his hands underneath him to avoid clenching them into fists and appearing unhinged, angry over someone interrupting their moment. He wasn’t angry—just mildly irked that their perfect moment had been spoiled. Mildly.

“What’s wrong?” Zhang Hao asked instantly.

Seowon flicked on the light in the dorm room, much to both Hanbin and Zhang Hao’s chagrin.

“I have something for you guys,” Seowon said. He was hiding something behind his back.

“Is it a good thing?” Hanbin asked, tentative.

He didn’t know what a bad thing would be in this context, but considering the prevalence of pranks in these dorms, trusting anyone was practically a death sentence. Not that Seowon would admit it if he was about to give them something unfavorable. Hanbin was only asking to observe his body language.

Nothing about Seowon suggested he was about to douse them with water or startle them with any other antics. He grinned and said, "Of course! If you guys have five minutes, I’ll explain it to you."

He shook whatever was behind his back, and Hanbin couldn’t help but feel his curiosity piqued. He didn’t like being left out of things. And it didn’t sound dangerous, whatever it was. It sounded like a… box?

Zhang Hao looked over his shoulder, raising a brow at him. Hanbin nodded.

“Okay,” Zhang Hao said. “Show us.”

Seowon sat down on the bed with them, and Hanbin scooted over so Zhang Hao could shift and make room. Seowon placed a small grey box between them and declared, “Ta-dah!”

“... What is this?” Hanbin leaned over to poke it. Nothing happened.

“Oh, this is just a box. The fun part is these.” Seowon whipped out a handful of sticky notes from his pocket, some blue and some pink. “Here.”

“Where did you get these?” Hanbin wondered aloud, accepting some at random. Since when was there a trainee black market for stationary?

“Not important,” Seowon chirped. “Before you guys go to bed tonight, write any confessions you want on those notes and then stick them in here.” He shook the box. The rattling noise inside must be coming from other sticky notes. “The box will be at the end of the hallway, on the counter near the plant with the big leaves.”

“Confessions,” Zhang Hao echoed. He smoothed his finger over one of the sticky notes. “Like… anonymous confessions?”

“Exactly! Please don’t sign your name,” Seowon laughed. “That ruins the fun, you know? And don’t write anything weird or mean.”

“You’re giving these to everybody?” Hanbin asked.

“No, I’m just giving them to you two,” Seowon said dryly, putting Hanbin in his place. Hanbin flushed. “Just make sure you put them in by tomorrow morning. We’re going to put them all on the wall by noon, so everybody can see.”

No sensitive information at all then. Nothing that you wouldn’t want everybody to see. That made sense. It was supposed to be for fun, after all.

It wasn’t the worst idea someone had concocted to breathe life into the dorms. Maybe it would be fun.

“Thanks, hyung,” Hanbin said to Seowon, who bestowed upon him an enigmatic, mischief-making grin.

“Of course! Have fun, you two.”

“What are you going to write?” Zhang Hao turned to Hanbin the second the door was shut, crossing his legs. Matthew’s MP3 player lay beside them, abandoned. “I was thinking—”

“Ah, hyung. It’s supposed to be anonymous,” Hanbin interjected, patting Zhang Hao’s knee. “We can’t tell each other.”

Zhang Hao regarded him, probably thinking are you serious? To which Hanbin tried to convey back, yes.

Mainly because he already knew what he planned to write, and it wasn’t something he needed Zhang Hao to know came from him.

“Why? Are you writing one to me?” Zhang Hao huffed.

“No!” Hanbin lied through his teeth.

Zhang Hao grinned at him. It was supposed to be smug but it mostly just came off as cute, with his fluffy hair and twinkling eyes. “Whatever you say, Hanbin-ah.”

Hanbin made a mental note to disguise his handwriting.

“I do say,” he responded, and Zhang Hao laughed.

He placed the sticky notes aside, then plucked his earbud off the bed and slid it back into his ear. “We aren’t done with this, are we?”

“No way,” Hanbin said, scrambling to pick up the MP3 player again. “We still have it for another hour.”

He shuffled to a random song, a crooning melody about love at first sight, and they lapsed back into silence. Hanbin toyed with the edges of the sticky notes on his lap as they listened, pondering what to write.

If only he could compose an entire love song for Zhang Hao in four sticky notes.

He considered it. The chorus of his theoretical love song took shape in his head over the course of the evening, as he listened to Matthew’s eclectic taste in music and the low hum of Zhang Hao’s voice. Hanbin even started hearing a beat in his head, and he couldn’t stop drumming his fingers to it as he set out to write on his notes.

But once again, Hanbin wasn’t stupid. No matter how diligently he disguised his writing, these notes would be seen by everyone, and it would only take one perceptive observer for him to be exposed on camera.

Seowon gave him four notes, and he used all four for the first people who sprang to mind. He didn’t put much thought into them. His philosophy was simple—just be kind. This didn’t have to be anything groundbreaking. If he could make people smile, he would be content.

At three in the morning, the dorm was relatively quiet, with only the sound of a few showers running disturbing the silence. Hanbin sifted through his pile of sticky notes to double-check them before dropping them in the box.

Gyuvin-ah, I think you’re so brave. You’ve been working hard, so keep your cute chin up!

Seok Matthew, your smile is brighter than the sun! Don’t let anybody dim it.

Seowon hyung, you’re making a lot of people happy. I think you’re really kind for doing this. Thank you!

Zhang Hao, your heart is even more beautiful than your face. I’m glad I got to meet you.

He even took care not to give away any hints of his age in his note to Zhang Hao, and he altered his handwriting ever-so-slightly compared to the other ones. Not that this note was incriminating in any way, but he wanted to cover all his bases.

The box was positively overflowing with sticky notes. Hanbin was half-tempted to pluck out the ones at the top and read them, but he resisted and squeezed his own in before he could sneak a peek at any. He would see them tomorrow.

That night, while falling asleep, all he could think was Hao hyung, did you write me one too? like a schoolgirl dreaming about her crush. It was bad.

The energy in the dorm the next morning was different. Normally when Hanbin woke up, he’d hear people groaning and complaining about wanting more sleep, or chatting about what breakfast might bring. Today, however, the first thing he heard upon waking was a delighted shriek followed by a "This is so cute!"

For a second he was just irritated by all of the noise and the fact he’d been woken up from his blissful dream about meeting Zhang Hao at a coffee shop. Then he remembered why there was so much commotion this morning, and he sprang out of bed faster than ever.

With one slipper only half-on, he raced down the hallway. “Excuse me,” he said, gently elbowing past clusters of people. It seemed like everybody but him had already woken up and looked at the wall. “Pardon me—”

Seowon must have grabbed a lot of sticky notes, because the wall was completely plastered in them.

Not only that, but either he was superhumanly good at organising or he’d gotten help in putting them up. They were sorted neatly by the recipient’s name in alphabetical order, and the blend of blue and pink notes made the entire wall resemble a tribute to their show’s theme.

It was fairly easy to discern who wrote what. Most people didn’t bother to change their handwriting or had signed their name only to poorly cross it out later. Some notes were obvious because they referenced well-known inside jokes or a shared performance.

Hanbin saw his own for Seowon and smiled. There were ones from the rest of the Love Killa team as well. Every single note on the wall was sweet and uplifting. It really had been a brilliant idea.

“Hyung!” A large hand clapped Hanbin’s back. “I think you’ll want to read the ones over there.” Gunwook pointed to the other side of the wall, where the notes for Hanbin would be.

Hanbin chuckled. “I know the alphabet, Gunwook-ah. I just wanted to read all of them.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant,” Gunwook snickered. Hanbin turned slightly to raise a brow at him. “You’ll know what I mean when you see it. And good morning, by the way!”

“Good morning,” Hanbin responded automatically, puzzled but charmed by Gunwook’s enthusiasm. He was curious about what Gunwook meant but still had at least half a wall between him and where his name would be, and he wanted to soak in every message.

The vast majority of them had nothing to do with him at all; he just enjoyed seeing what other people had to say. And he liked imagining how everybody would react to seeing such kind words about them.

He reached his own name, and had to take a deep breath before he allowed himself to read any.

The number of notes addressed to him was… startling, to say the least. Hanbin had made an effort to have a personal relationship with every person on the show, so he expected to get a few notes, but not this many.

Sometimes I wonder how Sung Hanbin can be so perfect. He’s my role model now.

(Sung) Hanbin hyung, will you let me treat you to a meal one day? I want to thank you for helping me so much.

If I don’t make it into the group, I’m going to become a Sung Hanbin fan.

He couldn’t tell which one—if any—belonged to Zhang Hao, but his throat felt tight regardless. There was nothing to complain about when he was flooded with love from everyone else. Receiving such praise from the other trainees felt even better than being praised by the trainers. And he was sure Zhang Hao’s note was there somewhere; he just couldn’t identify it through the sheen of tears he was trying to hold back.

The person beside him nudged his side, signaling for him to move down the line. He continued reading, dabbing at his face every so often. Once his eyes started welling up, they wouldn’t stop.

When he arrived at Zhang Hao’s notes, he became even more emotional. There were just as many for him as there were for Hanbin, if not more. Many were in Chinese, so Hanbin couldn’t understand, but the abundance of hearts adorning each note spoke volumes.

He hoped Zhang Hao hadn’t woken up yet; Hanbin didn’t see him anywhere. He wanted to see Zhang Hao’s reaction to all the notes.

He read them all with a smile on his face, feeling warmth fill his chest. He wasn’t the possessive type who wanted Zhang Hao to receive compliments only from him; Zhang Hao deserved to know how universally loved he was, whether that was from Hanbin or everyone else. There were a few he spotted and recognised immediately just based on the handwriting.

A blue note in elementary-level handwriting from Yujin,

Hyung, I don’t think I’d be here without you.

A meticulously written pink one from Jiwoong,

It would be nice if Zhang Hao and I could get closer in the future.

Another blue one that he was almost positive was from Matthew, just based off the spelling mistakes,

Hao hyung! I want to steal your voice. It’s the best!

And then underneath that one was a pink note that said—

I think I’m falling in love with Zhang Hao.

Wait, what?

Hanbin was not the possessive type. Hanbin was not the possessive type. Hanbin was not the possessive type.

He repeated this to himself over and over, but the rational part of his mind nagged—if you aren’t the possessive type, why are you so defensive about it? To which he had no answer.

His defense was weak at best. The speed at which his tears evaporated after reading the anonymous love confession to Zhang Hao had to be some kind of record. He’d never experienced such a swift mood change.

Unconsciously, Hanbin found himself at Zhang Hao’s room, peeking in with frantic eyes. He spotted a human-shaped lump on Zhang Hao’s bed and exhaled a small sigh of relief, but his chest still felt heavy in the worst way possible.

Zhang Hao hadn’t seen the note yet. Hanbin raked his fingers down his face, unsure if this was better or worse. His mind was an absolute mess.

“Hanbin?” Zhang Hao mumbled, the syllables slurred together from sleep. He propped himself up in bed, rubbing one eye with his fist. “Is that you?”

“Ah—” Hanbin dug his nails into his palms. All of his years of learning how to be light on his feet from dancing suddenly eluded him. “Sorry, hyung. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Zhang Hao tossed the sheets aside and sat up, flicking on the lamp above his bed. A dim, yellow glow surrounded him.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I should get up. What time is it?”

Despite Zhang Hao’s head blocking half of the clock, Hanbin could make out the numbers. “Almost ten.”

For once, Hanbin dreaded Zhang Hao getting out of bed. Zhang Hao’s eyes widened, and he quickly slipped off the mattress, shaking off his lingering sleepiness.

“Why did nobody wake me up?” he complained. “Did you already eat breakfast?”

Likely because they were all too preoccupied gossiping by the confession wall. Hanbin certainly was. “Not yet,” he said.

Zhang Hao yawned, stretching his arms over his head. Hanbin’s eyes flew away from the sliver of his skin that Zhang Hao’s shirt riding up revealed.

“Wait for me,” he said. “It’s the least you can do, since you woke me up.”

Hanbin nodded silently and retreated into the hallway. There were fewer people now; most seemed to have gotten their fill of looking at the wall.

… Would it be rude of him to walk by and ’accidentally’ knock the love confession to Zhang Hao off the wall? That would be rude, right? That would definitely be rude.

Hanbin sighed, shutting the door behind him to give Zhang Hao privacy in changing out of his pyjamas. It felt like there was a rain cloud hanging over his head, drenching him in his own misery. He prided himself on being a good actor, but he struggled to muster a smile as Haruto skipped past, wishing him a good morning.

He was too on edge to even begin sorting through his own thoughts. All he knew was that there was somebody else in this building who was in love with Zhang Hao the same way Hanbin was, and they were brave enough to confess to him.

Anonymously, but still.

Hanbin nearly toppled backward as the door he leaned on opened. Zhang Hao caught him with an arm around his lower back and a small ’oof’.

“Why were you in my room, anyway?” Zhang Hao asked.

Hanbin opened his mouth to lie, but then Zhang Hao’s fingers curled around his waist and those big eyes of his blinked at him and Hanbin lost the lying battle before it’d even begun.

“Um, the wall.”

“The wall?” Zhang Hao tilted his head.

Hanbin pointed toward the wall. Zhang Hao’s gaze followed, landing on the array of sticky notes, and then he gasped.

“There… there are a lot of nice ones for you,” Hanbin said. “And I didn’t know how long they’d be up for, so I wanted to make sure you saw them.”

It wasn’t a lie. That was what he’d been thinking until he read The Note. And he still wanted Zhang Hao to see the other confessions—Zhang Hao deserved to see them. Hanbin just…

He could only sulk as Zhang Hao sprinted over, marveling, his ears flushed with anticipation.

“There’s so many,” Zhang Hao said, mostly to himself. Hanbin followed him, hands behind his back. “Wow.”

“Mm.” Hanbin made a noncommittal noise, fearing that speaking too much would reveal his complete lack of enthusiasm. “Yours are over there.”

No, he had to act normal. He was not the possessive type. Honestly, he should have expected someone would seize the opportunity to confess to Zhang Hao. It was Zhang Hao, after all. As much as it pained Hanbin, he couldn’t be mad at someone else for recognizing Zhang Hao’s worth. Other people had eyes and ears too.

Zhang Hao worked his way along the wall, just as Hanbin had. Hanbin read over his shoulder, even though he’d seen them all earlier.

There wasn’t a single other love confession on the wall except for the one for Zhang Hao, which felt like a personal fuck you, actually from the universe towards Hanbin.

“Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao said, reaching blindly for Hanbin behind him. Hanbin moved in dutifully, holding Zhang Hao’s hand. At least he had that going for him. “These are all so nice.”

He was reading over the ones for Hanbin. Seeing them again almost brought a smile to Hanbin’s face. Almost.

“They are,” he agreed.

“This one is definitely from Yujin,” Zhang Hao said, tapping one. “And this one is from Seungeon.”

Hanbin tried to take mental notes as Zhang Hao prattled off all the ones he knew, but he couldn’t stop stealing glances at the column of sticky notes on Zhang Hao’s other side—the ones for him.

“... so cute,” Zhang Hao gushed. “And they’re all true, too.” He stood up from where he was crouching, still holding Hanbin’s hand, and smiled at him.

Hanbin smiled back on instinct. A smile that immediately vanished when Zhang Hao turned back around and continued reading.

The confession note was the very last one in Zhang Hao’s column. Hanbin was certain this placement was deliberate, orchestrated either by Seowon or some mischievous deity, because the wait for Zhang Hao to reach it was agonizing. He listened as Zhang Hao quietly read each note aloud, including Hanbin’s own—and didn’t linger on it, which suggested his attempt to disguise his handwriting had worked.

In retrospect, Hanbin regretted it. Someone had written an entire love confession. Hanbin’s own silly little note wouldn’t have seemed out of place at all.

He felt the exact moment Zhang Hao finally read the love confession, because his hand slipped away from Hanbin’s and fell limply to his side.

“Oh no,” was the first thing Zhang Hao said.

Hah, Hanbin thought, smugly. He hadn’t even been this childish as a literal child. Take that. He doesn’t want your confession!

“Yeah,” Hanbin said.

Zhang Hao looked at him worriedly, touching the bottom of the note. “Do you know who wrote it?”

Even if Hanbin did know, he wouldn’t tell Zhang Hao. That would be rude. Both to himself and to whoever wrote it. “No. They’re anonymous for a reason.” He took a deep breath. “I think you should just leave it.”

Please. Please leave it, he begged.

Zhang Hao stood up straight, arms crossed. He seemed troubled, which didn’t actually make Hanbin feel any better. In the best case scenario, Zhang Hao would brush it off and laugh about it, make a joke of some kind about how silly it was to confess to somebody via a sticky note on a survival show when there were cameras everywhere.

He wasn’t doing any of those things. He was just staring at it like the more he looked at it, the more likely it would be for the writer’s name to jump out at him.

Hanbin cleared his throat, sweating.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“... I’m just confused,” Zhang Hao admitted. “Is this a joke?”

“I—” Hanbin wanted to say yes, obviously, in order to make Zhang Hao forget about all of this, but he couldn’t do that knowing it would likely upset Zhang Hao further. “I don’t know.”

Zhang Hao chewed on his lower lip, peeling away some skin. Hanbin wanted to gently nudge his arm and tell him to stop, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He felt as rooted in place as Zhang Hao was.

“I don’t…” Zhang Hao sighed. “Hm.”

Silence settled between them. Hanbin glanced at the note from the corner of his eye. The pink paper taunted him, the cheerful handwriting infuriatingly innocent. He really didn’t know if it was serious or not. He assumed it was, because… well, who would joke about something like that?

Zhang Hao’s flush had spread from his ears to the rest of his face. Hanbin took a deep breath and then stepped forward, taking Zhang Hao’s wrist. Nothing good would come from them standing there.

“It’s anonymous for a reason,” he repeated. “Let’s just focus on the other ones.”

If Zhang Hao noticed Hanbin’s use of the word "us" instead of "you," he didn’t comment. He simply nodded, lost in thought.

“We should get breakfast,” Hanbin continued.

Zhang Hao nodded again. Though he was always a quiet person, their combined silence made the air feel thick with awkwardness. Hanbin prayed Zhang Hao would forget about the note during the day, but he had his doubts. Hanbin certainly wouldn’t forget.

Since Zhang Hao didn’t say anything, Hanbin tugged on his hand, leading him toward the Dining Hall. He didn’t look back—but he knew Zhang Hao did.

Everyone was now a potential threat. Hanbin was professional enough to separate his work life from his personal life, and he could support the other trainees without spending the entire time thinking about which one of them was harbouring a crush on Zhang Hao. But once they left the practice room, that truce was over.

“... Why are you staring at me like that?” Matthew asked, shoving honey butter chip into his mouth. “You’re freaking me out.”

Hanbin huffed, ducking his head into his arms. “I’m not.”

Matthew set down the bag of chips and wiped his hands on a napkin. “Let me guess, you’re mad because—”

“If you value our friendship, you’re not going to finish that sentence,” Hanbin warned.

Matthew didn’t give a fuck, “—of one particular confession on the wall?”

“No,” Hanbin said. His voice cracked.

Matthew cackled, leaning back against the window they were sitting by. They’d found an empty hallway for snacking, which Hanbin now regretted. If they were around more people, Matthew would have been forced to keep quiet.

So many regrets today. They never seemed to end.

“Please, hyung.” Matthew punched his upper arm a little too hard. “You’re so obvious when it comes to him.”

“You know there are cameras everywhere, right?” Hanbin opened one eye to look at him. “You do know this, right? Because if not, that would explain a lot of your behaviour—”

“Yah, so snarky,” Matthew complained. “Don’t take your anger out on me. I wasn’t the one who wrote the note.”

“You swear?”

Matthew scowled at him. “Ew, hyung. Just—ew.”

They glared at each other for a moment before Hanbin lost his will to bicker and went back to hiding in his arms. He just wanted to take a good, long, long nap away from the world.

At some point during the day, he realised he wasn’t only angry for the obvious reason. He was angry because it was unfair.

The entire morning before they’d parted for their respective practice rooms, Zhang Hao had been distant, picking at his food and only mumbling responses to Hanbin’s attempts at conversation. Hanbin hadn’t seen him since then, but he didn’t have complete faith that Zhang Hao had been able to put his all into today’s practices.

It wasn’t fair. Who was this person to burden Zhang Hao with something so intimate while they were all supposed to be focusing on something bigger? Was this an underhanded attempt to distract Zhang Hao? Were they trying to make him lose focus? Were they actually a Zhang Hao anti?

This was precisely why Hanbin had vowed not to confess to Zhang Hao until after the show ended. It didn’t benefit Zhang Hao to confess now—all it did was slowly consume his mind and drive him mad. Whoever had confessed was selfish. They clearly didn’t care about Zhang Hao at all.

Hanbin wasn’t jealous! He was angry on Zhang Hao’s behalf.

…

Alright, he was still jealous. Denying it didn’t make the feeling go away. But seriously, it was the principle of it all that bothered him the most.

“I just don’t understand why somebody would do that to him,” Hanbin said aloud. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. “It’s just going to upset him because he can’t do anything about it.”

“Mm. He’s nice like that,” Matthew concurred. “Hey, what did he say about my note? Did he say anything?”

“I don’t even know which one is yours,” Hanbin dismissed him. He knew, of course he knew, but Zhang Hao’s reaction to Matthew’s note was not the crucial issue happening today. “And he’s probably too busy thinking about the stupid confession to care about anything else—”

“Come on, hyung,” Matthew whined. “You know which one was mine.”

“He didn’t say anything about any of them, okay?” Hanbin snapped. “Not even mine.”

He knew he’d said the wrong thing when Matthew began nodding sagely. “Ah. So that’s why you’re upset.”

“No,” Hanbin said, with emphasis.

“It’s okay to admit you’re jealous, hyung. Feelings are normal,” Matthew said, trying to be all wise. Matthew. Matthew! The kid possessed the emotional self-awareness of a loaf of bread. A cute loaf of bread, but a loaf of bread nonetheless.

And Hanbin was the hyung between them. Why was his dongsaeng trying to give him love advice?

“Says you,” he muttered.

Matthew side-eyed him. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Hanbin said, sitting up straight. “But I don’t care about what he thinks of my note or your note or anybody else’s note, as long as it made him happy. And that confession didn’t make him happy.”

“I see your point.” Matthew shoved a chip into his mouth and continued with his mouth full, “It is a bit strange that somebody would choose now of all times to confess. Maybe it’s somebody who thinks they’re going to be eliminated?”

“So they think this is their only chance?” Hanbin finished, brows furrowing.

“Exactly,” Matthew said.

That made Hanbin feel slightly better. For about half a second, at least. The selfish, lovesick part of him was elated at the idea that this person might be gone soon. But then he thought about every other trainee there, and he didn’t genuinely want any of them to leave. As people, he liked them all. Rooting for anyone’s downfall made him feel downright nauseous with guilt.

He groaned again, digging his fingers into his eyelids.

Matthew rummaged through his chip back, and nudged Hanbin’s wrist. “Here, have some. They’ll help cheer you up.”

“No, they won’t,” Hanbin mumbled, stubborn. He lifted his head to cast Matthew a stern look.

Matthew shook his handful of chips in front of Hanbin’s face. “Yes, they will.”

“No, they wo—”

Just when Hanbin’s mouth was open widest, Matthew crammed as many chips as he could into it. Hanbin sputtered, choking on some, while others scattered around him.

“Yes, they will,” Matthew chirped.

Hanbin swallowed the chips, disgruntled, but the corners of his lips twitched.

“Thanks,” he said in a monotone voice. “What would I do without you?”

“Die, probably,” Matthew said seriously.

Hanbin laughed, a tentative warmth filling his belly. He still wasn’t happy about the situation—in fact, it was probably the single most stressful thing that had ever happened to him that wasn’t actually happening to him—but having Matthew validate him made it marginally easier. At least he wasn’t completely crazy.

Seowon and Woongki swung by everyone’s rooms that evening, distributing more sticky notes.

“It was such a great success, we’re going to keep going the entire week,” Seowon declared, a hint of pride in his voice.

“That’s nice,” Hanbin said. It was nice. It was also terrible. Seowon beamed at him, entirely unaware, and left Hanbin with another handful of blank notes to fill in.

Unlike the anonymous confessor, Hanbin sought only to bring Zhang Hao happiness. That was his objective with everything he did alongside Zhang Hao. Even his own confession, if he ever made one, would only be done if he believed it would bring joy to Zhang Hao.

So as much as he wanted to write his own confession to one-up that person—and he really, really wanted to do that—he ended up following his head rather than his heart. Everything he wrote was perfectly respectable and within the realms of friendship.

Zhang Hao! I think your ears are cute. Don’t hide them!

Hao hyung’s personality is so admirable. He’s so hardworking. I look up to him.

This is to Zhang Hao: your emoji hair clips suit you!

Maybe using three of his four notes on one person was going slightly overboard, but this was the only way he could both satisfy his urge to spoil Zhang Hao without veering into dangerous territory. It was just tripled because he’d been on edge all day and he wanted so, so badly to be the cause of Zhang Hao’s smile tomorrow. Even if Zhang Hao didn’t know it was because of him.

He dedicated the last note to Matthew, since the poor guy had spent the entire day trying to keep Hanbin afloat.

Once he was certain most people had gone to bed, he tiptoed into the hallway to slip his notes into the box. He nearly toppled over when someone brushed against his back as he was stuffing them inside, though his fear abated once he saw who it was.

“Sorry,” Yujin said in his exceptionally quiet voice. He didn’t need to worry about waking anybody up because he always sounded like he was at minimum volume. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

In his hands were four immaculate notes. Hanbin couldn’t decipher the top one, but he could see that it was lengthy, the writing spanning from corner to corner.

He knew he was sleep-deprived because the most irrational thought crossed his mind—what if Yujin was the one who wrote the confession to Zhang Hao? No way, right?

Yujin grew uneasy at his silence, lowering his head, and Hanbin was consumed by anger. At himself. For directing his irritation at a literal child.

“It’s okay,” Hanbin said, patting Yujin’s shoulder. “Just tired, sorry.”

Yujin frowned. “You’ve been acting weird all day,” he observed. Not accusatory, only contemplative. “Please go to sleep soon, hyung.”

Hanbin winced. Being scolded by Yujin marked a new low.

“I promise,” he said, and stepped aside so Yujin could access the box. “Goodnight, Yujin-ah.”

Yujin offered him a small smile. “Sleep well, hyung.”

Hanbin’s feet felt heavy as he dragged himself back to his room. Gunwook remained undisturbed as Hanbin collapsed onto his own bed, the frame groaning under his weight.

He hoped tomorrow would be better. He needed tomorrow to be better, if only so he and Zhang Hao could both concentrate on the more important things in life.

Selfish asshole, he thought to himself, cursing whoever had decided to ruin his day by attempting to make Zhang Hao’s day, and promptly passed out.

When Hanbin arrived at the newly dubbed Love Wall the next morning, Zhang Hao was already there, still dressed in his pajamas with his bangs pinned off his forehead.

And judging by his expression, today wasn’t the better day Hanbin had been hoping for.

“Hyung,” Hanbin said, curling his hand around Zhang Hao’s arm. Zhang Hao hummed, not looking at him, but he leaned against Hanbin slightly as if to move closer without actually having to move.

Hanbin peered at the confessions addressed to Zhang Hao today. The wall was considerably larger, spanning the entire few metres between two of the bathroom entrances. Accordingly, there were more notes for Zhang Hao too.

Today’s confessions were more heartfelt and personal. Notes thanking Zhang Hao for his help or delving into the nitty-gritty details of things they liked about him. As far as Hanbin could tell, there were no love confessions. Not romantic love, anyway.

Hanbin spotted the long one he’d seen Yujin carrying last night, and then right below that, the three he’d written. He cursed himself for waking up slightly late today. He hadn’t been able to see Zhang Hao’s reaction to the notes he’d written.

Not that Zhang Hao was giving much of a reaction to anything. He still wasn’t looking at Hanbin, his eyes fixed at a single point on the wall. Hanbin followed his gaze to a seemingly random sticky note.

Zhang Hao, I think I’ll learn violin after this because of you. You inspired me. Thank you.

It didn’t appear to be anything that warranted so much thought. Hanbin’s brows furrowed, and he grew simultaneously less and more uneasy. Less because he didn’t spot a single concerning sticky note. More because Zhang Hao should not be looking so upset at this fact.

“Hyung?”

Zhang Hao jolted upwards, his head whipping towards Hanbin.

“Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao greeted, like he hadn’t realised he was there despite the fact he’d been pressed against Hanbin this whole time. “Good morning.”

“Good… morning,” Hanbin said carefully. “How are they today?” He nodded towards the sticky notes.

“Ah, they’re all good today.” Zhang Hao smiled. “Nothing worrying.”

Hanbin made a face in the process of trying not to frown. If there was nothing to worry about, Zhang Hao wouldn’t have been staring at the wall like it held all the secrets to the universe in it.

“No confessions?”

His hand slid down Zhang Hao’s arm to wind their fingers together. Zhang Hao’s palms were warm and damp with sweat.

“Nope,” Zhang Hao laughed. “For better or for worse.”

Hanbin frowned openly. “Are you—are you disappointed?”

“Of course not,” Zhang Hao said. “I was just wondering if they wrote another one.”

I hope not, Hanbin said icily in his head. “I don’t know how they’d be able to top a love confession like that. Maybe they didn’t write one today.”

“Mm.” Zhang Hao made a noncommittal noise. “Did you see yours yet?”

Hanbin had run straight from his room to Zhang Hao with no stops when he saw Zhang Hao’s broad back in the distance. It hadn’t even occurred to Hanbin that he should read the notes addressed to him before the ones to Zhang Hao.

Zhang Hao saw his expression and laughed. It was a rather quiet sound, being from him, but it sounded light and angelic. Maybe he was okay after all.

A small weight lifted off Hanbin’s shoulders. Zhang Hao was just curious, that was all. He didn’t want another confession from that person. Neither of them had anything to worry about.

“You should read yours. Here.” Zhang Hao tugged him back down the line to where Hanbin’s were. The wall was less organised today. “I already read them all. They’re so sweet.”

He nudged Hanbin forward, gesturing towards the confessions. Hanbin’s brows shot upwards at the very first one.

I want to eat Sung Hanbin because he’s so cute.

Zhang Hao giggled, “I kind of get it.” Hanbin blushed all the way to his hairline and kept reading.

Sung Hanbin’s voice gives me chills. I hope we can sing together someday.

Hanbin-ah, I feel lucky to know you.

“Ah, hyung,” Hanbin said, reaching for that note. He tore it off the wall and brought it closer, squinting at the impeccable penmanship. “Is this yours?”

Zhang Hao peered over his shoulder and Hanbin angled the note for him to see.

“... No, it’s not mine,” Zhang Hao answered. “But whoever they are, they’re right. All of these are right.”

Slightly crestfallen, Hanbin nodded and stuck the note back to the wall.

“Besides,” Zhang Hao added, “even if I did write you one, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Was that his backhanded way of saying he did write one? Hanbin went back to staring holes into the wall, but he had no idea what he was looking for. Actually, knowing Zhang Hao and how smart he was, he probably did the same thing as Hanbin and disguised his handwriting.

Well, he couldn’t stand here all day and analyse all these notes for signs of Zhang Hao. He had other things to do, unfortunately. All he’d wanted was for there to be no more love confessions towards Zhang Hao, and he got that.

“Breakfast?” Hanbin asked. He appreciated all of the notes, he really did, but he needed to get away from this wall.

“Let’s go,” Zhang Hao said, still holding onto Hanbin’s hand.

Zhang Hao wouldn’t spend all day stuck in his own head over some rude mystery person who’d decided to burden him with the knowledge of love, and Hanbin wouldn’t spend all day stuck in his own head over Zhang Hao. That was really all Hanbin could ask for given how off-putting yesterday had been.

“You’re in a better mood today,” Matthew observed casually, swirling a lollipop around in his mouth. “No more confessions directed at Hao hyung?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hanbin replied, flashing a bright smile.

Matthew rolled his eyes. “Please,” he drawled, “you’re even more cheerful than usual today. I never thought of you as the jealous type, but I guess he just brings out your inner—”

“Matthew-yah,” Hanbin interrupted sweetly. "Didn’t you say your break would only be ten minutes? The clock says it’s been fifteen.”

The lollipop slid out of Matthew’s mouth, and he pouted. “Snake,” he muttered.

“It’s my duty as the leader of our team to ensure everybody is on task,” Hanbin recited, hand over his heart. “Please stop fooling around and return to practice.”

Matthew tossed the lollipop in the trash, but not before sticking his purple tongue out at Hanbin. It didn’t make a dent in Hanbin’s good mood for the rest of the day.

For the third day in a row, Hanbin woke up to something strange. Or rather—not something, but someone.

“Taerae hyung?” Gunwook mumbled groggily. Hanbin’s eyes snapped open, jolted out of his dreamless sleep as if an alarm were blaring in his head. “What’re you doing in here?”

“Special delivery,” Taerae announced. “For both of you.”

Hanbin propped himself up on his elbows. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the morning light and the illumination filtering into their room from the hallway.

Taerae offered him a winning smile that was quickly obscured by a flurry of paper being tossed at him. Hanbin whined, swatting them away, and Taerae chuckled.

“The walls are too full, so we’re handing them out personally now,” he said.

“Since when is this a three-person operation?” Hanbin mumbled. He collected all of the sticky notes that had fallen onto his bed. There were a lot.

“Oh, it’s more than three,” Taerae said, sounding amused. “This is like a six-person operation. There’s a lot of these notes. Here, Gunwook-ah.”

Gunwook scrambled out of bed, cupping his palms to accept the gift Taerae generously poured out for him. Hanbin cracked a smile despite his morning grumpiness. They were both adorable.

“Thank you, hyung,” Gunwook said. He’d gotten a fair number of sticky notes too. Hanbin was mildly impressed that people still had so much to say after two days.

“Have fun,” Taerae said, waving at them both.

Gunwook dove back into bed and began reading all his notes. Hanbin, on the other hand, climbed out of bed, stuffed them all neatly into his pajama pocket, and headed for the door.

“You aren’t going to read them?” Gunwook inquired, looking over the top half of the sticky note he had his nose shoved against.

“I’m going to eat first,” Hanbin lied. “Need to make sure I’m fully awake.”

He was more than fully awake now, his mind on a single-minded mission to find Zhang Hao—but to his surprise, Zhang Hao seemed to be on an equally fervent quest to find him.

They walked straight into each other, and Zhang Hao staggered backward, grasping onto the wall for support. Hanbin reached for him just in case, catching him by the waist.

“There you are,” Zhang Hao breathed out, his face reddening. “I mean, I was just about to see if you were awake.”

“Did you get the—”

Zhang Hao unfurled his fist to reveal a whole wad of sticky notes. “Did you?”

Hanbin nodded. “I didn’t read them yet, though.”

“I didn’t either. I wanted to read them with you,” Zhang Hao said, smiling. Something about that made Hanbin’s chest swell—the joy of knowing Zhang Hao wanted to read them with him for no reason other than just because. “Should we eat?”

Hanbin pursed his lips. “The Dining Hall will be busy at this time,” he said, hoping Zhang Hao would catch his drift.

“We can grab a few snacks and then go to the stairwell,” Zhang Hao suggested. “And, um, have some privacy.”

Hanbin could have cried from happiness. He took back every bad thing he said about the confessions and the wall—he liked it again. It was giving Hanbin an excuse to cozy up with Zhang Hao at eight in the morning. Thank you, Seowon.

He wrapped his arm around Zhang Hao’s. "Let’s go before somebody steals our spot."

They both speed-walked at the same pace, and Hanbin prayed over and over in his head that Zhang Hao wasn’t carrying around a confession in that little bundle of notes.

After two days, Hanbin was beginning to think that the first-day love confession had either been a) a prank or b) a fluke.

If it was neither and the person had been serious, they weren’t pursuing the actual avenue of confession any longer. To which Hanbin would say good riddance. They shouldn’t have done it in the first place.

He and Zhang Hao found the most secluded stairwell they could, across the building from the Dining Hall. They sat across from each other with their feet touching, and Hanbin enjoyed a perfect view of Zhang Hao smiling every so often at the notes.

Hanbin spent more time that morning watching Zhang Hao read than reading his own notes. But he couldn’t help it—especially not after Zhang Hao dug into his pocket and slipped on his heart emoji clip, chuckling to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Hanbin asked, glancing at Zhang Hao’s hair. He wanted so badly to reach over and ruffle it, but Zhang Hao would inevitably whine at Hanbin making his messy hair even messier.

“This one,” Zhang Hao said, his lips curling inward as he tried to hide his smile. He held out a note, and Hanbin’s breath caught when he saw the first word.

This is to Zhang Hao: your emoji hair clips suit you!

“It does suit you,” Hanbin said, smiling from ear to ear.

Out of all the confessions, Zhang Hao had noticed his. It was like a dream come true. As he watched Zhang Hao read his note once again, Hanbin’s heart thumped against his chest.

Take that, anonymous confessor.

Hanbin spotted Zhang Hao around the compound a few more times that day, still wearing the heart-shaped pin in his hair, fidgeting with it as he chatted with the other trainees. And every time, Hanbin felt his own heart swell with affection.

His goal of making Zhang Hao smile was more than a success. Hanbin was on cloud nine for the rest of the day.

“Stop staring,” Jiwoong said gruffly, grabbing Hanbin by the elbow. Hanbin was forcibly turned away from watching Zhang Hao from across the hall, and herded back into the Say My Name practice room.

He caught a glimpse of Zhang Hao throwing himself at Kuanjui while laughing, his eyes crinkled into little half-moons, before Jiwoong promptly slammed the door shut.

“What’s up with you?” Jiwoong asked, pulling him into the corner of the room, as far away as possible from the cameras.

“What? Nothing. I’m good today,” Hanbin said. He smiled. “I’m great, actually.”

“Yeah, I can tell, trust me,” Jiwoong said. He hopped onto the counter rather awkwardly, legs dangling over the side. The we’re about to have a long talk position. “You’re being…”

Hanbin narrowed his eyes at him. “What?”

“... A little more obvious than normal,” Jiwoong finished. Hanbin made an offended noise, and Jiwoong crossed his arms.

Hanbin couldn’t deny that, no. But also, he wasn’t going to allow himself to be judged by Jiwoong of all people. Jiwoong.

“I’m not doing anything weird,” Hanbin defended himself. He leaned against the wall beside Jiwoong. “I’m just in a good mood.”

“What happened?”

Hanbin surveyed the room to ensure nobody was listening. “Hao hyung really liked one of the notes I wrote for him.”

“That’s it?” Jiwoong said, frowning.

“What do you mean that’s it? That’s a big deal!”

“What did it say?”

Hanbin was at serious risk of coming off as pathetic here if he just blurted out the truth. “I’ll tell you only if you tell me what you wrote for Matthew.”

Jiwoong thought about this for a moment, his expression betraying nothing, before he held out his hand. They shook on it. “Deal.”

“I didn’t write anything exciting. No love confessions,” Hanbin mumbled. “One was that he’s hardworking. One was that I think his ears are cute. And then the one he loved was about those hair clips he always wears.”

“Cute,” Jiwoong commented, in a tone where Hanbin couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

“Okay, now your turn.” Hanbin nudged his side. “What did you write for our Matthew?”

“Nothing.”

Hanbin waited for the punchline. None came. Jiwoong just stared off into the distance, absently watching Seungeon dance across the room.

“Wait, you’re serious?” Hanbin gaped. “You actually didn’t write anything?”

Jiwoong side-eyed him. “No, I didn’t.”

“But, you…” Hanbin faltered. Even if Jiwoong wanted to deny it—Hanbin had eyes! Maybe what Jiwoong felt for Matthew wasn’t anything near what Hanbin felt for Zhang Hao, sure. But it was worth mentioning. It definitely wasn’t something Jiwoong could outright deny.

“It’s not because I don’t have anything to say,” Jiwoong said, seeing Hanbin’s lost expression. “But because anything I want to tell him, I should just say it to his face. If I confessed it anonymously, he might think it’s from somebody else.”

Huh. That made… a surprising amount of sense.

“... I never thought about it like that,” Hanbin admitted.

“I get the appeal of these anonymous confessions for most cases. I mean, I still used all my notes. But I didn’t use them on anybody I really care about. Anything I say to those people, I want them to know it’s from me. What if I wrote something to Matthew and he thought it was from somebody other than me?”

A terrible knot coiled into Hanbin’s stomach. Did Zhang Hao think his notes were from somebody specific? Was that why he’d been so happy to receive it?

His mind suddenly raced through every trainee’s handwriting he knew of, trying to recall if any of theirs resembled the writing he’d forged.

“But, I—” Hanbin bit his bottom lip, rubbing his chin. “I can’t just tell him these things,” he reasoned. “It makes sense to do them anonymously. If he thinks they’re from somebody else, well… there’s nothing I can do about it.”

He swallowed hard. His mouth tasted bitter.

“Why?” Jiwoong questioned.

Hanbin’s face scrunched up in confusion. “What do you mean ’why’?”

“Why can’t you tell him these things?” Jiwoong clarified.

“Is… is that a serious question?”

Jiwoong nodded. He reached for his nearby water bottle and took a sip before speaking, “Yeah. I don’t see why you couldn’t just say it to his face? It’s not like you haven’t said similar things before, back when you were practicing for Tomboy.”

“Well, yeah, but that was…” Different, Hanbin wanted to say—but Jiwoong was gazing at him with such skepticism that Hanbin had a feeling that excuse wouldn’t cut it. “We were working together then. Now we’re in different teams. It’d be weird if I randomly went up to him and said his ears are cute.”

Jiwoong shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t think it’s weird. You guys are close.” He emphasised the word ’close’.

Hanbin coughed into his fist. “And besides, I think sometimes being complimented by some you don’t know makes it more meaningful. Like, for example—” He gestured with his hands, “when the Star Creators compliment us, it feels different than from when the other trainees compliment us.”

“That’s true,” Jiwoong conceded. Hanbin was smug for all of one second for finally getting Jiwoong to agree with him until he continued, “But I don’t think that this is one of those situations. It’s Zhang Hao.”

“And…?”

“If you had to choose between being complimented by a random person or Zhang Hao, which one would you prefer?” Hanbin remained silent. “Exactly. So why wouldn’t it be the same for him? Unless you think he doesn’t like you in the same w—”

Hanbin slapped Jiwoong’s knee, perhaps a bit harder than necessary. “We should get back to practice,” he said, a flush creeping up his neck.

Jiwoong gave him a long, piercing stare. Sometimes Hanbin detested how skilled Jiwoong was at maintaining a neutral expression.

“Sure,” Jiwoong said eventually, hopping off the counter. “Whatever you say, leader.”

When Woongki gleefully pointed out how red Hanbin was, Hanbin dismissed it, saying he was sweaty from practicing all day. Rather graciously, nobody mentioned the fact he’d just taken an hour-long break.

Hanbin despised letting other people dictate his actions; he tried to be kind and accommodating, but he was never a pushover. Maintaining his independence and making decisions based on his own thoughts meant a great deal to him.

So why was he hesitating before writing today’s confessions to Zhang Hao?

Taerae had arrived just when Gunwook was climbing into bed to deliver their notes, apologising for the delay on the delivery. Hanbin had entirely forgotten that they were going to do this for the whole week, which meant he had to keep writing.

Well, he didn’t have to. Nobody was forcing him. He was sure there were quite a few trainees who weren’t filling out all four sticky notes every night. But Hanbin felt compelled to, given the opportunity was right there; it would be wasteful otherwise.

He just wasn’t sure about writing them to Zhang Hao specifically, after his conversation with Jiwoong.

To be honest, as much as Hanbin wanted to believe Zhang Hao reciprocated his feelings, he couldn’t be one-hundred percent sure until Zhang Hao himself said so. And that wasn’t feasible with cameras surrounding them constantly.

Which, in hindsight, was likely why that person had taken the first chance possible to confess to Zhang Hao in a way that wasn’t verbal. It wasn’t as if there were many other opportunities if somebody was too impatient to wait for the end of the show. Or worse, if they thought this was their only chance ever.

Hanbin wasn’t like that, though. He was positive that even on the slim chance he and Zhang Hao didn’t both make it into the group, they’d remain friends. And then Hanbin could… maybe…

He sighed, drumming his pen against the wad of sticky notes. If Zhang Hao liked him back, then he could see where Jiwoong was coming from. They both agreed that nothing Hanbin said was so romantic that, on the very slim chance it made it into the show, viewers would automatically assume Hanbin harboured a massive crush on Zhang Hao.

But if Zhang Hao didn’t like him back, Hanbin suddenly showering him with compliments would be weird and uncomfortable. It was safer to write these things anonymously.

At the same time, the idea that Zhang Hao could possibly attribute his words to somebody else left him disheartened. Even if that was entirely selfish on his part, he couldn’t help it. As much as he tried to be perfectly selfless, his feelings for Zhang Hao were something he held too close to his heart.

He wanted to be the reason for Zhang Hao’s smile. Not an anonymous confessor in Zhang Hao’s mind, but him, Sung Hanbin. It would devastate him if he inadvertently brought Zhang Hao closer to someone else because of the words he wrote.

He dropped his pen and flopped onto his bed, back-first, feeling defeated. He was too exhausted for this.

“No ideas?” Gunwook asked him.

“Yeah,” Hanbin mumbled in response.

He ended up not writing anything, and his dreams didn’t come easily that night, tormented by unnecessary worries about feelings and adorable hair clips on an even more adorable head.

“Excuse me, have you seen Hao hyung?” Hanbin stopped at yet another group of people in the Dining Hall.

Wumuti and Taerae exchanged a glance, then shook their heads in unison.

Another table. “Hi, have any of you guys seen Zhang Hao today?”

“Nope,” Kamden said, poking his rice with a fork. “Sorry.”

Hanbin ran his hands through his hair, scanning the Dining Hall for anyone he hadn’t already questioned. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted two flashes of twin white hair and hurried over.

If anybody had seen Zhang Hao since waking up, it would be Kuanjui, right? They were best friends.

“Hyung, have you seen—”

“He’s in Practice Room 6,” Kuanjui answered, patting Hanbin’s back.

Hanbin wanted to ask why Zhang Hao had secluded himself in a random practice room instead of eating the most important meal of the day, but he figured he’d find out soon enough. Hopefully.

He flashed Kuanjui the brightest smile he could—which admittedly wasn’t very bright—and dashed off, calling out behind him, “Thank you!”

The amount of rest he’d gotten last night amounted to only single-digit minutes, so he’d already awakened (term used loosely) in a foul mood. It worsened when Seowon entered while he was brushing his teeth and handed him another large batch of sticky notes with his name affectionately written on each one.

He wanted to appreciate every single one, but he felt so terrible about not writing anything last night for anyone that he couldn’t bear to even look at them. It seemed like he didn’t deserve to read any when he hadn’t sent any either.

But he didn’t regret his decision not to write any to Zhang Hao. The more he thought about it, the more he reluctantly realised Jiwoong was right. Maybe the three years Jiwoong had on him provided more life experience than Hanbin thought. Sometimes he forgot the goofy, easygoing guy he had trained with these past few months had so much wisdom up his sleeve.

His sour mood worsened even further when he couldn’t find Zhang Hao anywhere. They didn’t have to eat breakfast together every day—Zhang Hao had an entirely different friend group he sometimes sat with, and Hanbin had no trouble finding other people to sit with. But not being able to find Zhang Hao anywhere at all? That was strange.

Zhang Hao had always prioritized staying healthy, so skipping breakfast was highly uncharacteristic of him. Upon arriving at the practice room, Hanbin hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door. It swung open without a response, revealing a dimly lit room with Zhang Hao sitting in the corner, hunched over.

“Hyung?” Hanbin called hesitantly, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. Zhang Hao’s head snapped up, eyes wide, as if he hadn’t heard Hanbin walk in.

“Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao said. Hanbin caught a flash of pink and blue papers being dropped onto the floor. “I was beginning to wonder if you weren’t going to come.”

Hanbin crossed his arms, moving across the room to sit down beside Zhang Hao. “I had to ask like thirty people to find out where you were.” He pinched Zhang Hao’s ear.

Zhang Hao whined, shoving him away. “I told Kuanjui to tell you. Did he not?”

“Like five minutes ago, yeah.” Hanbin crossed his legs, leaning against Zhang Hao again. Zhang Hao didn’t push him away this time, instead gathering up all the sticky notes. “What’s up?”

If Zhang Hao had found a quiet, dark room to contemplate whatever confessions he got today—that didn’t bode well for what he’d read, to say the least. Hanbin tried to keep a smile on his face just to lighten the mood, but Zhang Hao’s stoicism left his chest tight with unease.

“Maybe you should just read it,” Zhang Hao said.

Hanbin hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest as he took the offered sticky note. He unfolded it slowly, absorbing the neat, tiny characters etched in blue ink. As he read the message, his mouth fell open in shock. Hanbin’s head whipped around to face Zhang Hao, his eyes wide.

“Yeah,” Zhang Hao mumbled.

I’m scared I’m going to be eliminated. I’m going to confess to Zhang Hao in-person tomorrow. I’m sorry...

“Do you… I mean…” Hanbin couldn’t think of a single coherent thing to say. “Why would…”

He wished he knew who had written this so he could throttle them personally. Putting aside how utterly insensitive the whole thing was to Zhang Hao—who was foolish enough to pull something like that on TV? He understood thinking about it, but actually stating that they were going to do it?

“Yeah,” Zhang Hao repeated. He closed his eyes, knocking the back of his head against the wall. “I don’t know what to think either.”

“It’s—this is ridiculous, of course,” Hanbin said, tossing the sticky note aside. “It’s totally inappropriate.”

“I guess,” Zhang Hao said, with much less conviction than Hanbin would have liked.

“It is,” Hanbin said, frowning. “They’re putting you in an uncomfortable position. We’re on a TV show, it’s not the time for this kind of stuff. I don’t think this is what Seowon hyung had in mind when he made this idea up.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, hyung.”

Zhang Hao sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. He pressed his cheek against his arm, knees drawn to his chest, his typical sitting position when he was feeling down.

“Hanbin-ah, can I be honest with you?”

“Of… of course,” Hanbin said truthfully, though he was afraid of what Zhang Hao was about to say, why he needed to ask that in the first place.

“I was kind of happy about it, at first,” Zhang Hao said, his voice muffled by his arms. “But then—”

“What?” Hanbin squawked. Zhang Hao cut off abruptly, his ears reddening, and Hanbin flushed with equal embarrassment at his own outburst. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Keep going, hyung.”

Graciously, Zhang Hao ignored Hanbin’s interruption. “The confession made me feel good at first, you know? Like… knowing that somebody likes me like that. It’s sweet.”

I like you too, Hanbin screamed in his head. He nodded.

“But—I don’t know. Maybe I’m just selfish. I liked it when I had no idea who they are, but if they’re going to confess to my face…” Zhang Hao bit his lip. “I don’t want to know.”

Hanbin nodded even faster. “It ruins the mystery of it.”

“Well, I guess, but that’s not really what I meant.” Zhang Hao hid his face. All Hanbin could see were his (cute, big, red) ears and the teardrop-shaped hair clip attached to the back of his head. “I’m just scared it won’t be who I want it to be.”

The words echoed in Hanbin’s head: I’m just scared it won’t be who I want it to be.

Who Zhang Hao wants it to be? Wants?

“Wait,” Hanbin said, grappling to comprehend the underlying meaning. “You aren’t upset because it’s inappropriate?”

“I guess it depends on who it is,” Zhang Hao said, his voice growing softer and softer. “I’d probably be annoyed if it was somebody I barely knew. But if it was… someone I liked…”

Hanbin opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again and went, “Oh.”

He couldn’t judge Zhang Hao too harshly. If Zhang Hao confessed to him—while he wouldn’t call it good timing, he definitely wouldn’t be upset over it either. Actually, he would be pretty happy, because then he could focus on the show without having to worry about how Zhang Hao felt about him.

But this was not that. This was quite possibly the worst-case scenario Hanbin could think of: confirmation that there was another person that Zhang Hao wished was confessing to him.

He angled his head away, nervous about what Zhang Hao might see on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Zhang Hao said again. “I know how terrible that sounds, I know that I shouldn’t be having these kinds of thoughts, but—”

“It’s okay, hyung,” Hanbin said softly. It’s not okay. “It’s normal to have feelings. You can’t help it.”

“I wish I could stop thinking about it. There are people who are going to be eliminated in a few days, and I’m sitting here thinking about… this.”

Zhang Hao pressed his lips together, holding back his anger. Hanbin understood, he really did. But he wished he didn’t, and even more than that he wished Zhang Hao didn’t. He would rather Zhang Hao not like anybody at all than hear that he wanted a confession from someone else.

Hanbin inhaled slowly, consciously feeling the air enter his lungs. Deep breaths. Zhang Hao was clearly torn up inside about this, and Hanbin didn’t want to accidentally make him feel worse.

He dug his fingers into his palms and forced out in his best attempt at sounding neutral, “As long as you can still practice and help everybody else, I don’t think you should beat yourself up over feeling that way inside.”

“Mm.” Zhang Hao hummed. “I guess.”

He didn’t sound convinced. Hanbin released the breath he was holding. He didn’t know what to say to help, not when his own mind was all muddled now. They sat there in silence, both looking at the floor, the sticky note still lying face-down by Hanbin’s feet.

All this time, Hanbin had been envisioning his future confession to Zhang Hao ending with Zhang Hao either kissing him or politely rejecting him to focus on his career. But he didn’t think Zhang Hao liked somebody else.

God, he was so foolish. He’d been trying so hard not to let himself grow too comfortable in the show that he’d forgotten about controlling his expectations when it came to this.

And it wasn’t just that Zhang Hao liked this person. He liked them to the point where he was this upset at the very idea of literally anybody else confessing to him. Hanbin knew Zhang Hao well enough by now to know that this show was important to him, just as important as it was to Hanbin, and there were very few things in the world that could tear his attention away from it.

Zhang Hao was the one to break the silence. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Sure,” Hanbin whispered back. His voice sounded far away to his own ears.

“Did you write a confession to me today?”

“Hey, hyung,” Hanbin laughed, turning his head back towards Zhang Hao. His nervousness was evident in his voice, and he winced internally. His attempt to cover it up by lightly pushing Zhang Hao’s shoulder probably only made it worse. “You know I can’t tell you th—”

Zhang Hao grabbed his hand mid-air. Hanbin’s heart caught in his throat, and he froze.

“Just answer, Hanbin-ah.”

Hanbin curled his fingers around Zhang Hao’s. He didn’t know what the right answer was here. Zhang Hao watched him expectantly.

“No,” Hanbin said. “Not today.”

Zhang Hao didn’t show whether he was relieved or not by Hanbin’s answer. He only squeezed Hanbin’s hand back and said, “Alright.”

Why do you care, Hanbin almost blurted out. Were they still talking about the love confession? Was Zhang Hao hoping that it was him, or was he relieved that it wasn’t? Either way, he was withholding his reaction to save Hanbin from something.

“I guess we’ll find out tomorrow who it is,” Zhang Hao murmured, picking up the sticky note with his free hand. He slipped it back into the pile he was holding before and then tucked the whole stack into the pocket of his jacket. “What time is it?”

“I… um,” Hanbin stammered, taken aback by the sudden question. “It was almost ten, last time I checked.”

“I guess I should head to the practice room,” Zhang Hao said. “They might be waiting for me.”

“Kuanjui hyung knows where you are. He would have come to fetch you if they really needed you.” Hanbin held tighter onto Zhang Hao’s hand. “And you aren’t the leader of the team.”

“No, but you are.” Zhang Hao released his hand, his fingers lingering against Hanbin’s palm for half a second before he moved away, standing up. “We’ll talk later?”

Hanbin jumped onto his feet. “Yes,” he said. “Please.”

“Okay,” Zhang Hao breathed out. They walked to the door together, and Hanbin heard the sound of people walking outside, entering and leaving the bathroom in the hallway. Hanbin was about to hold the door open when Zhang Hao paused abruptly, pressing his elbow against it to keep it nearly shut.

“Hyung?”

“Thank you for listening,” Zhang Hao said, meeting Hanbin’s eyes.

Even if tomorrow, Zhang Hao’s crush confessed to him and Hanbin had to spend the next month—or two and a half years—watching him be with somebody else, he would still gladly listen. That wasn’t ever a question.

“You’re welcome,” he said, and forced a smile.

They didn’t talk later.

It was more Hanbin’s fault than Zhang Hao’s, truth be told. Hanbin deliberately let himself be pulled into various tasks for the rest of the day, assisting other trainees in perfecting their point choreography and ensuring everyone stayed focused as their energy waned. He squashed any conversation about the Love Wall during breaks, claiming it was too distracting. Although he felt guilty about his obvious resentment, it did lead to greater progress in their practice than usual.

By the time they agreed to end practice, Hanbin was utterly drained, his body sore and his muscles weary from overexertion. The longer shower he took when he finally found an available stall provided little relief, alleviating some of the dull ache but doing nothing for his overwhelming fatigue.

Despite his exhaustion, however, he knew that he wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight. Not until he got all of this restless energy out of his system.

He hurried past the Love Wall on his way to find Matthew, cringing inwardly and picking up his pace. The light was on in the room, which boded well. He didn’t anticipate anyone being asleep yet, but you never know.

“Hey,” Hanbin said, nudging the door open gently to minimize noise. “Matthew?”

Neither of the two fluffy heads that greeted him belonged to Matthew.

“Hyung,” Gyuvin said, blinking owlishly. A precarious tower of cards separated him and Yujin, who was concentrating on balancing another card at the very top. “What’s up?”

“Do you know where Matthew is?”

“No, but you can come in anyway!” Gyuvin offered, patting the spot beside him.

“I should probably go find him—”

Gyuvin grinned. “Jiwoong hyung already told me about your problem with Hao hyung. I’m just saying, we’ve known him way longer than you, so if you’re looking advice, we can definitely help—” He gestured toward Yujin, accidentally knocking over the tower of cards in the process.

“Oh my god,” Yujin groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Oh my god.”

“Oops.” Gyuvin surveyed the scattered cards without remorse. “Okay, wait, I’ll fix it in a second. Hanbin hyung, come.”

Hanbin glanced over his shoulder, hoping Matthew would materialize out of thin air—or even Jiwoong would do—but the only people in the hall were giggling near the Love Wall. Confronting that wall was an even less appealing option than seeking advice from two kids. At least these two kids knew Zhang Hao well.

Yujin sniffled as Hanbin sat down, staring mournfully at the cards. “I worked hard on that.”

“I told you I’ll fix it,” Gyuvin said, already gathering up all the cards to remake the tower. “Alright, hyung. Tell your story.”

Hanbin pointedly looked at the camera in the corner of the room.

“Not like that,” Gyuvin said, sticking out his tongue. “Just… in general. For Yujin’s sake.”

“No need. I already know,” Yujin said, to both Gyuvin and Hanbin’s shock.

“You do?” Gyuvin asked.

“Hao hyung told me.”

“He told you what?” Hanbin sputtered.

“When we took our break earlier, I ran into him while refilling my water bottle,” Yujin explained, nodding towards Hanbin. “And he was acting weird, so I asked what was wrong and he explained it to me.”

Gyuvin’s eyes sparkled. “And he mentioned Hanbin hyung?”

Just as quickly as he brightened, Yujin crushed both his and Hanbin’s hopes. “No, he just told me about the fact that somebody is going to confess to him or something. But, I mean…” Yujin puffed out his cheeks, his voice dropping to an almost inaudible whisper. “I can connect the dots. No offence, hyung.”

Somehow, being called out by a literal child didn’t improve his mood. The more Hanbin thought about it, the more he realized that Zhang Hao must have asked him if he wrote a confession today only to ensure it wasn’t Hanbin. Because Hanbin was so obvious about his feelings, literally everybody knew. Because Zhang Hao was afraid it was him. Because he didn’t reciprocate Hanbin’s feelings.

“You’re making it worse,” Gyuvin chided, shaking Yujin’s shoulder. Yujin scowled.

“You’re the one who told him to come in—”

“What are you going to do, hyung?” Gyuvin interrupted Yujin while simultaneously shaking him.

“I… don’t think there’s anything I can do?” Hanbin said, frowning. “If somebody wants to confess to him—I think it’s a poor decision, but I can’t stop them.”

“Well, no,” Gyuvin said. “You can’t stop anybody else from saying or doing anything, but you can do something yourself.”

“Why don’t you just write how you feel?” Yujin asked. “Somebody else is already going to confess to him. I think you should say something before you lose your chance.”

Those were words only a kid with no experience with real relationships could utter. Hanbin almost cooed, but he suspected Yujin wouldn’t appreciate being babied when they were having a serious conversation.

“We’re kind of in a precarious situation right now,” Hanbin pointed out, eyeing the camera in the room. “Writing anything like that, when we’re supposed to be focusing on other things, feels selfish to me. Even if somebody else is already doing it.”

“No, wait, I think he’s onto something,” Gyuvin said, clapping his hands together. “You don’t need to confess. But maybe you can write what you like about him! Or something like that. Something sweet and not pressuring.”

“I didn’t write any confessions to him today for a reason.” Hanbin scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t want him to associate my words with anonymity. Or someone else.”

“Okay, then just make it obvious it’s yours?” Gyuvin shrugged. “Most of the confessions I got were super obvious. Like yours, hyung, and Yujin’s—”

Before Yujin could jump in and complain about Gyuvin exposing him, Hanbin hastily interjected, “If he knows it’s from me, he’s going to think…”

“Think what?”

“If I wrote what I liked about him, I’d come off as crazy,” Hanbin clarified, a flush creeping up his neck. “And then he would definitely know how I feel about him, if he doesn’t already. Even if I didn’t write it in those words.”

Yujin and Gyuvin exchanged a look with each other, and Hanbin felt like he’d said something dumb.

“Well… yeah,” Gyuvin said slowly. “Isn’t that the point? You don’t feel comfortable saying anything to him directly, but you also don’t feel comfortable doing nothing, and you don’t feel comfortable writing anything anonymously either. So that kind of only leaves one option.”

Hanbin’s brows furrowed.

“And,” Yujin tacked on, “Hao hyung is nice. He’ll understand that there’s a reason you didn’t say any of it to him directly, so unless he has something to say back, he probably won’t bring it up to you, and nothing will change. But at least you’ll know that he knows how you feel—not like… your feelings exactly, but why you like him. Honestly, it’ll probably make him really happy, because I know your words will be really thoughtful, hyung.”

If Hanbin were to write down everything he liked about Zhang Hao, he would need far more than four sticky notes. Or eight, if somebody dropped off more while he was gone. The most challenging part would be narrowing it down. “Extensive” didn’t even begin to cover all the things Hanbin felt for Zhang Hao, not after all the time they’d spent together recently.

But… he was starting to see their point. He would never be able to forgive himself if he kept quiet and then it turned out that in two days, Zhang Hao had a new boyfriend. Not because he thought his words would make Zhang Hao magically fall for him, but because it would be infinitely more awkward to write out why he liked Zhang Hao if he was with someone else.

He might not get this chance again. Maybe if he could express his feelings, he’d be able to start the process of getting over Zhang Hao too.

That, and like Yujin said, it could make Zhang Hao happy as well. If not now, then in the future once they’d talked about it more and Zhang Hao understood Hanbin didn’t expect anything in return—he just wanted Zhang Hao to see himself through Hanbin’s eyes.

“Ah, Yujin-ah!” Gyuvin exclaimed after a beat, throwing one arm around Yujin’s shoulders. “That’s so true!”

“I’m not dumb—”

“You guys are right,” Hanbin admitted, sighing. They both immediately quieted down to listen attentively. “I won’t write anything incriminating, but I’ll write… something.”

Gyuvin patted his knee emphatically. “Exactly. Hopefully more eloquently than that.”

Hanbin broke out into a smile. “Gyuvin-ah, I’m still older than you, you know?” He threatened to flick his nose.

Gyuvin giggled, scooting away from Hanbin before Hanbin could get his hands on him.

“I thought the confession was from you, hyung,” Yujin confessed, unfazed by Gyuvin hiding behind him. “When he told me about it earlier, I—”

“From me?” Hanbin pointed to himself.

“No way,” Gyuvin snickered. “It looked nothing like his handwriting.”

“I don’t remember what his writing looks like,” Yujin said. “How do you?”

“It’s so distinctive! I’ll show you later. Hyung wrote one for me too,” Gyuvin boasted, brushing him off. Hanbin had no idea which notes Gyuvin thought were his, but he was certain it wasn’t the ones he actually wrote. He’d worked so hard to make sure the notes didn’t look like they were from him—which upon reflection, had been his first mistake in this whole ordeal.

Yujin shrugged, returning to rebuilding his tower of cards. “Whatever you say,” he said placidly.

Hanbin stood up, rubbing his forehead as his balance shifted. He had a general idea of what he could write, but condensing it into four notes was an entirely different challenge. He should do it while he was still wide awake.

“Thank you, you two. I’m going to go write it now.”

“Write the best not-confession ever!” Gyuvin cheered. Hanbin looked sharply at the open door. Thank god the hallway was empty.

“Could you be any louder?” Yujin nagged at him.

“Thank you, guys,” Hanbin said sincerely. “Hao hyung is lucky to have you two looking out for him.”

“More like he’s lucky to have you.” Gyuvin made a shooing motion. “Go, hyung! Hurry up before you lose your motivation.”

Hanbin doubted that would be possible, but he raced off anyways back to his room, where a new pile of sticky notes had been delivered while he was gone.

Hao hyung, sometimes I wonder if you truly understand how special you are. I know that you understand you’re skilled because of the evaluations and everybody telling you so. But I wonder if you understand how special you are. You see the best in people and bring out the best in them. That’s really something to be proud of.

Whenever I’m struggling, Hao hyung will drop everything to help me. And it’s not in a way that feels like you’re doing it just to seem good for the cameras; it truly feels like you care. You don’t only do this for me either. I’ve seen you do it so many times for so many other people. It feels like every trainee here has been helped by you at one point.

The memories we’ve shared together are some of my most treasured on the entire show. No, actually, performing together is my single most treasured memory. I’ll never forget how well you took care of me. I know it must be exhausting to care that much about others. I know sometimes you probably want to just be selfish and leave everybody else alone.

But the fact you don’t says so much about you and how much you care about us. You never show your exhaustion if somebody needs you, and you make sure nobody ever feels unwelcome around you. I think out of all the traits I admire about you, being so kind is the one I love the most. It makes me want to be a better person too.

There are more things that I love about you too. Little things, like your soft cheeks and your grumpy voice when you wakes up in the morning and how you portion your food so that other people can have a bite too. But if I keep going I may never stop, so all I want to say is I hope you know you’re very loved, not just by me but by so many of the people here. Thank you, hyung.

Hanbin wasn’t surprised when he received significantly fewer notes the next morning. Eliminations loomed just two days away, and the novelty of the anonymous confessions were beginning to fade in favour of everybody going back to worrying about their fates.

He sifted through the notes quickly, but none of them bore Zhang Hao’s distinctive handwriting. Sighing, he slumped against the wall next to his bed. By now, Zhang Hao had likely read Hanbin’s heartfelt message. And here Hanbin was, wishing for a single note from Zhang Hao, while Zhang Hao was reading Hanbin pouring his heart out…

No. It was time to stop sulking. He said what he wanted to say the most to Zhang Hao, and so while there were dozens of other things he could say, he’d gotten the most important one out. He just hoped it hadn’t made Zhang Hao feel worse.

They were filming today, separated by their teams, and Hanbin only saw Zhang Hao for the first time that day once they got to the filming site itself. Zhang Hao smiled at him from across the field, waving, and Hanbin hesitantly smiled back.

At least Zhang Hao wasn’t ignoring him—that was a good sign. They even chatted a bit later, on-camera, and Zhang Hao didn’t behave out of the ordinary.

In an ideal world, Hanbin getting some of his thoughts out would clear his head enough for him to participate in all of these little games without thinking too much about Zhang Hao. He would feel as free as a bird now that his feelings were out in the open and he knew Zhang Hao wasn’t angry at him for it.

But he was mostly just thinking about how someone said they would confess to Zhang Hao today, and all he could wonder was had they done it yet? How had Zhang Hao reacted? Was Zhang Hao only being so understanding of Hanbin because he was comfortable in his new relationship with someone else?

Was Hanbin going insane?

He said what he’d wanted to say, and yet he still felt so hollow. It felt like he’d messed up somewhere even though Zhang Hao seemed to be totally fine with him still. It felt like—

“Hanbin-ah, ride with me,” Zhang Hao said, interrupting Hanbin’s small talk with Lee Jeonghyeon.

“Oh, um, sure,” Hanbin said. He gave Jeonghyeon a little wave as Zhang Hao led him to one of the buses. Thankfully, Jeonghyeon appeared more amused than annoyed by Zhang Hao’s interruption.

They climbed into the van side by side, and apart from the driver, the only other occupants were pieces of recording equipment being transported back to the compound. Hanbin realised that Zhang Hao must have wanted to be alone with him.

He mechanically fastened his seatbelt, his mind whirling.

“Sorry for interrupting you guys,” Zhang Hao said, pressing his knees together. “We haven’t talked all day, and I know we’re all going to practice when we get back, so I figured this was the only time we had to talk.”

Hanbin nodded. He braced himself for Zhang Hao to ask him questions about his confession, but instead what Zhang Hao continued with was, “What’s up?”

“What do you mean what’s up?” Hanbin asked, his brows furrowing. Zhang Hao knew what was up. Zhang Hao was what was up.

“I mean, why do you seem so sad?” Zhang Hao nudged their feet together. “Maybe nobody else can tell, but I can.”

Hanbin looked out the window, resting his cheek on his hand. So they weren’t going to talk about Hanbin’s confession directly. That was a good thing. That was what he wanted. Wasn’t it?

“I’m not sad,” Hanbin said, truthfully. He couldn’t pinpoint what exactly he was right now. “Just… thinking too much, I guess.”

“I’ve been like that all day too,” Zhang Hao said, shifting in his seat, his shoulder brushing against Hanbin’s.

Hanbin didn’t know what to say in response to that. “Because of…?” he trailed off.

“Well, that person didn’t confess, for one,” Zhang Hao huffed. “I spent all day waiting for it, and then it never came.”

“The day isn’t over just yet,” Hanbin pointed out. “If the person is in the Over Me team, maybe they’ll do it after practice.”

“Well, I hope not,” Zhang Hao muttered, a surprising amount of bitterness in his voice. Hanbin laughed despite himself.

“You don’t want it to be somebody from the Over Me team?”

“No,” Zhang Hao answered instantly. “Definitely not.”

Hanbin glanced at Zhang Hao and found him pouting at the back of the seat in front of them. He looked so petulant, as if the very idea offended him. He was so adorable. Hanbin wished he could share these little thoughts with Zhang Hao without making things awkward because Zhang Hao needed to know he was cute.

If not him, someone else had to tell him. Anyone. Hanbin would be furious if, after all this, the person chickened out of confessing.

“Hyung, we’re okay, right?” Hanbin asked.

Zhang Hao’s lips parted. “Of course. Why would we not be okay?”

“I thought I made a mistake, for a while there,” Hanbin admitted. He closed his eyes. “But I guess not.”

Zhang Hao’s reassurance calmed Hanbin’s nerves a little, but a swarm of thoughts continued to buzz around in his mind. At least he knew they were okay, but the uncertainty of everything else was still overwhelming.

“We’re okay,” Zhang Hao repeated. “Of course we’re okay.”

He even sounded cute. Hanbin forced a smile, but inside, he really just wanted to go and cry. He wasn’t even particularly sad anymore, but it felt like he needed to cry in order to release all the anxiety he’d been carrying around this week. No—this entire month.

“I really cherish our friendship, hyung,” Hanbin said softly. He opened his eyes and discovered Zhang Hao gazing at his lap, immersed in his thoughts. “I hope you know that. I don’t know if I’d be here without you.”

Zhang Hao shot him a glare. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he scolded. “I appreciate you too, Hanbin-ah, so I understand. But you would unquestionably be here even without me. I didn’t perform on your behalf or anything.”

“Sure, no, but…” Hanbin couldn’t suppress a laugh at Zhang Hao’s fiery expression. “Let me rephrase that. I’d still be here, but I don’t think I would have been able to pull off what we did in Tomboy without you.”

Zhang Hao thought about this for a moment, then conceded, “Maybe. But I could say the same about me and you.”

Hanbin’s first instinct was to vehemently deny that and give a speech on how Zhang Hao needed to be less humble—but thinking back to how they both were during that week, it was probably true. They both needed each other.

“I feel so lucky that we were able to be on the same team,” Hanbin settled on saying.

“Why did you choose it, anyway?”

“What, Tomboy?” Zhang Hao nodded, and Hanbin chuckled. “Didn’t I already tell you this? Because I wanted to be on the same team as you.”

“You were serious about that?”

Hanbin smiled. “Do you think I’d joke about that?”

Zhang Hao fell silent, which Hanbin interpreted as a no. He grew so quiet that Hanbin’s smile faded while waiting for him to say something.

Had he said the wrong thing? But he couldn’t lie. Ever since he first laid eyes on Zhang Hao during their auditions, he’d wanted to perform with him. That had nothing to do with his feelings for him.

“I guess not,” Zhang Hao said eventually. “If I was in first, I would have followed you too.” He paused. “Unless it was to Gang.”

“I would have followed you to Gang,” Hanbin admitted in a mumble. It felt more like a confession than the actual love confession Zhang Hao had received the other day. “We could’ve pulled it off.”

“That would have been a waste of both our skills.”

“Maybe,” Hanbin agreed readily. “But I wouldn’t have been happy with anybody but hyung. I wanted to perform with you so badly.”

He could see Zhang Hao biting the inside of his cheeks to suppress a smile.

“I was afraid you were going to kick me out of the team,” he admitted, and Hanbin feigned a gasp.

“Never,” Hanbin vowed.

“It would have made sense, at the time,” Zhang Hao said, looking down at his lap. “We occupy the same position.”

“I don’t care,” Hanbin said. “I wanted to perform with you, hyung.”

He worried about coming off too strong, but—these were things he would say normally, too, even if they were just friends. He thought these things long before he realised what his feelings for Zhang Hao were.

Zhang Hao’s smile grew, and his eyes turned to Hanbin.

“I’m glad we’re friends too, Hanbin-ah,” he said.

This time, it felt like Zhang Hao was the one who had more to say, but he left it at that. Hanbin averted his gaze, leaving them both to their own thoughts. He counted all of the trees they passed so he wouldn’t sit there just wondering what Zhang Hao was thinking about.

Hanbin’s heart didn’t stop pounding in his chest all the way until they returned to the compound.

Zhang Hao didn’t mention the note that day, nor did he bring up the missing confession again. They spoke outside Zhang Hao’s room late in the evening, but all he said was that he hoped Hanbin would have sweet dreams.

“Tomorrow will be a tiring day,” he’d lamented, and gave Hanbin such a swift hug that Hanbin didn’t have time to react to it. “Goodnight, Hanbin-ah.”

“Goodnight,” Hanbin replied, making a conscious effort to keep his voice from cracking.

The atmosphere in the dining hall the next morning was… dismal, to say the least. The past week had been an emotional whirlwind, mostly filled with positive moments, from making progress in their practices to the flood of affection from all the confessions. But today was another filming day, primarily interviews about the imminent elimination and other filler segments, and the foreboding of what lay ahead hung over them like a dark cloud.

“Good morning, hyung,” Seungeon greeted, making room for Hanbin to sit beside him on the bench.

“You didn’t get food?” Jiwoong was already shoving a piece of toast towards Hanbin.

Before they could all accost him with food, Hanbin laughed and leaned back. “I’ll get food in a second. I’m still waking up.”

“Everybody is,” Jiwoong said, sympathetically. He left the plate of toast in front of Hanbin anyway.

“Everybody’s so quiet today,” Junhyeon mumbled. “Feels weird.”

Hanbin sighed, resting his arms on the table. It was much quieter than usual, but the dining hall was still relatively empty. A lot of people seemed to have taken the opportunity to sleep in. Hanbin wished he could, but his mind was too restless to stay still for long.

He didn’t see any of the Chinese trainees, so he assumed Zhang Hao hadn’t woken up yet. Hanbin hoped they would see each other before being whisked away for filming. His energy level always dipped slightly if he didn’t see Zhang Hao beforehand.

At least that was one thing to be optimistic about. Zhang Hao wasn’t upset with him about the note he’d written. It hurt to be rejected, but he’d survive. As long as they could remain friends.

Repeating the words in his head made him feel a bit pathetic, and his chest tightened to the point where it felt like he couldn’t breathe for a moment. But he would work past it, even if, for a while, seeing Zhang Hao would cause his heart to ache. His priority was debuting, and debuting with Zhang Hao, not his own feelings.

He lingered at the table, listening to the others chatting in hushed whispers, mostly about their food or potential interview questions. Hanbin stuck around long enough that he felt it wouldn’t be impolite to leave and then wished everyone good luck and goodbye.

There was still plenty of time before any of them would be called for filming; Hanbin just didn’t feel like being around people right now. Maybe he would take a shower, or just go and practice. Anything to pass the time.

“Sung Hanbin!” someone shouted. Hanbin stopped in his tracks. “Wait!”

“Hyung,” Hanbin said, spinning around. Seowon halted in front of him, hands on his hips.

“I waited outside your room for like half an hour, and then in the two minutes it took me to go to the bathroom, you walked out,” Seowon grumbled. “Here.”

He reached up, and Hanbin was irrationally afraid Seowon was about to slap him. That’s what it looked like. Instead, he lightly tapped Hanbin’s forehead, leaving something sticky behind.

Hanbin pulled whatever it was off his forehead. It was a bunch of sticky notes.

“What?” he said dumbly. “What is this?” He separated the notes and skimmed a random one.

Hanbin-ah, ???? ??? ??????? ?? ??????? ???? ??????? ??? ?????? ???? ?? ???? ??? ??????? ?? ??????? ???? ??????? ??? ?????? ???? ?? ???? ??? ??????? ?? ??????? ???? ??????? ??? ?????? ???? ?? ???? ??? ??????? ?? ??????? ???? ??????? ??? ?????? ???? ?? ?? ??????? ???? ??????? ??? ??????

Or at least, that’s how he read it, since everything except his name was in Chinese.

“No idea!” Seowon chirped. “I can’t read it either, so let’s hope it’s not something rude.”

Hanbin blinked at him owlishly. He looked down at the sticky note again, tracing the characters with his thumb. He didn’t need to speak Chinese to know who had written this note; the smooth, elegant writing said it all.

Suddenly, he felt like he was going to be sick.

“But…” he stammered.

“Just ask somebody to translate it for you, I guess?” Seowon shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out!”

He skipped off, joining the table Hanbin had just left. Everyone was not-so-subtly staring at Hanbin, and he quickly left the dining hall before anyone could approach him.

Ask somebody? Ask who? He had no idea what this note said. What if it was something personal? What if it was Zhang Hao’s written rejection of Hanbin? It was almost certainly something along those lines, wasn’t it? What else would Zhang Hao write to him instead of telling him face-to-face? He couldn’t ask a random trainee to read that out, he…

He only knew one person who would be able to calmly decipher Zhang Hao’s words, no matter what they read. Hanbin’s legs felt like jelly as he raced back to the dorms, and he silently thanked every god he knew of when he encountered Kuanjui in the hallway instead of his room.

“Um.” Kuanjui helped steady him as he came to an abrupt halt. “Good morning?”

“Hyung.” Hanbin clasped his hands together in a pleading gesture. “Please help me.”

Kuanjui raised an eyebrow at him. “With…?”

The hallway was empty, but he could hear several people still in their rooms. Hanbin didn’t think Zhang Hao would write anything extremely sensitive on a sticky note, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

“Laundry room?” he suggested.

Kuanjui pursed his lips, assessing Hanbin from head to toe. Hanbin gave him the most convincing puppy dog eyes he could muster.

The laundry room was colder than the dorm hallway—or Hanbin was just shivering from nerves. Kuanjui leaned against one of the washing machines expectantly, arms crossed.

“So?”

Hanbin dug into his pocket and retrieved all of the sticky notes.

Kuanjui looked puzzled even after he took them, his face scrunched up in concentration, until he saw something that apparently made everything clear.

“Interesting,” he remarked.

Sweat beaded at the back of Hanbin’s neck. Interesting? That’s all? Interesting didn’t help Hanbin determine whether he should feel happy or sad at the moment.

“It’s from Hao hyung, right? Did he not tell you about it?” He figured if Zhang Hao had informed anyone he’d be writing something to Hanbin, it would be Kuanjui.

Was it a good or bad thing that he didn’t? Hanbin wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, tensing up to prevent his foot from tapping nervously.

Kuanjui shook his head. “No. But it’s definitely his writing.” He peered at Hanbin. “Are you sure you want me to say this out loud?”

Hanbin nodded so vigorously his neck ached. “Yes, please.”

“Okay.” Kuanjui took a deep breath and then began, “It starts with ’Hanbin-ah’...”

Hanbin-ah, you’ve talked before about how brave I am, but the truth is, I’m a coward. I wouldn’t be able to say these things even if we were alone in the laundry room. I wanted to say this earlier when we were in the car, but I became too afraid of your reaction. I’m not insecure about most things, but I didn’t want to see your face as I told you any of this. I was too scared to even try.

At the same time, you opened your heart up to me, so I feel like I owe you the same in return. I don’t really know what I want to write, I’m just writing without thinking. Isn’t that weird for me? I get really anxious if I can’t plan things out. My hand is shaking as I write this. But I want to do it for you.

I don’t know if I ever told you, but I only started dreaming about being an idol a year ago. Even when I started training, I still wasn’t entirely sure if this is what I wanted for myself, or if I was only doing it because it felt like something I should do. But now I want to debut so badly, I can’t imagine myself doing anything else.

Some of it just came from being able to perform on stage. It gave me a new perspective compared to being in the practice room. But a larger part of it is you. When we returned to the dorms after our performance, I cried in the shower. Not because I was sad, but because I loved performing with you so much that the thought of us not making it together terrified me.

I want to perform with you again and again and again. Being close to you reminds me of why I love music, because I see myself in you. I guess what I’m trying to say is, while it’s true that even if we hadn’t met I would still be here, I’m only the person I am now because of you. I’m happy we met, and I hope we can be together for a long time. I feel like I have so much to learn from you. From Zhang Hao.

Hanbin was out of breath by the time he got to Zhang Hao’s room. His legs were tense and sore from how fast he’d run down the hallway. Adrenaline coursed through him like a live wire, and the door slammed against the wall when he pushed it open a bit too hard, too eager to enter.

Zhang Hao nearly leaped off his bed in surprise, his eyes wide. “Hanbin-ah? What’s the matter?”

Hanbin knew he must look a strange sight right now—face flushed red, hair tousled from running, chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. But he was genuinely happy. So, so happy that he didn’t mind looking crazed.

He closed the door behind him, making sure it was securely shut, and then climbed onto Zhang Hao’s bed with him. Zhang Hao dropped his book.

“Hanbin?”

Hanbin crawled forward, his hand gripping Zhang Hao’s arm to keep him still. He studied Zhang Hao’s face—a blend of surprise and concern, his lip bitten red. He must have been anxious all morning, wondering if Hanbin had read his note yet, just as Hanbin had been the day before.

He was so silly. They were both so silly.

“Did you mean it?” Hanbin asked.

Zhang Hao opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He nodded instead, making a small, barely audible sound.

Hanbin clasped one of Zhang Hao’s hands between both of his. Normally, Zhang Hao always felt cold; he was constantly asking Hanbin to warm him up. Right now, however, he was burning, flushed all the way from the crown of his head to the tips of his fingers.

Zhang Hao had written in the note that he hadn’t been thinking when he wrote it—he had just been writing. And if there was one thing Hanbin knew about Zhang Hao, it was that he meticulously planned how he presented himself to others. To discover that he had made Zhang Hao so flustered he couldn’t even think clearly—

“Why in a note?” Hanbin asked.

“You did it first,” Zhang Hao countered. He tried to fold his arms but Hanbin stopped him, laughing, wanting to keep Zhang Hao near. Zhang Hao didn’t fight him. “And I told you. I was scared.”

Hanbin was flooded with tentative joy at Zhang Hao’s confession. His heart swelled, his smile broadening until his cheeks began to hurt. Zhang Hao liked him back. Zhang Hao had been just as scared and bewildered as Hanbin this whole time.

He pinched the inside of his palm to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Zhang Hao saw and laughed at him softly, like the first drops of rain after a long drought.

Hanbin scooted closer, their knees brushing, and enveloped Zhang Hao in a tight hug. Zhang Hao stiffened momentarily before relaxing into the embrace, his arms encircling Hanbin’s back.

“We’re both idiots,” Hanbin said into Zhang Hao’s shoulder, voice muffled.

“Speak for yourself.” Zhang Hao said. “You would have never said anything if I didn’t. You know how awkward it was for me to ask Seowon to deliver that note? You should be thanking me, I’m not the silly one here!”

“You could have just delivered it to me yourself,” Hanbin retorted. They both know he couldn’t. Hanbin certainly wouldn’t have. But it was fun to tease Zhang Hao, and when he pinched Zhang Hao’s side, he let out a delightful yelp that made Hanbin smile. “And besides, you like this idiot.”

“Maybe a little,” Zhang Hao said. There was no sting to his words. Hanbin could feel Zhang Hao’s smile against the side of his neck.

Hanbin let out a slightly hysterical laugh, gripping Zhang Hao’s hand tighter, so tight he was likely cutting off Zhang Hao’s circulation.

“So we’re on the same page?” Hanbin’s voice was hoarse even though he’d barely spoken, too excited to get the words out. He swallowed, but it didn’t help. “We… you…”

“Yes, Hanbin,” Zhang Hao reassured. He pulled back slightly to cup Hanbin’s face. “I wouldn’t have let you climb on top of me if I didn’t.”

His lips were parted, soft breaths escaping in stutters, and Hanbin could feel the warmth of them against his own mouth. The same affection he held for Zhang Hao was reflected back at him, evident in the rosy flush on Zhang Hao’s cheeks. He was so beautiful.

Hanbin closed the distance between them before he could second-guess himself.

He was the one to lean forward first, but Zhang Hao was the one to actually press their lips together, to thread both his hands through Hanbin’s hair and make it a real kiss. Hanbin tilted his head to the side for a better angle, sighing into the kiss as warmth pooled in his stomach. Zhang Hao emitted a tiny, needy sound against his mouth, and Hanbin swallowed it eagerly.

His hands came up to cup Zhang Hao’s face, running through his hair and pulling him impossibly closer. Zhang Hao gripped his waist tightly in return, his fingers digging into Hanbin’s sides.

They broke apart, Hanbin’s vision blurry from dizziness. His cheeks ached from the breadth of his grin.

“The cameras,” Zhang Hao gasped, but he wasn’t letting Hanbin go.

“They’re not going to air us making out,” Hanbin said, and Zhang Hao burst into giggles.

“Probably true,” he agreed, smiling until his eyes crinkled. He pressed his forehead to Hanbin’s, eyes fluttering shut. He was so captivating that it pained Hanbin to look at him. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

“How long?” Hanbin asked, holding his breath.

“Since the first time I saw you,” Zhang Hao admitted. Hanbin gasped, his joy brimming out of him in kisses that he pressed all over Zhang Hao’s face. “That tickles—”

Hanbin rolled onto his side, bringing Zhang Hao along with him. They lay on Zhang Hao’s bed facing each other, their hands intertwined between them.

“I was going to wait until after the show,” Hanbin whispered urgently, keeping his voice as quiet as possible. Not because he was worried about the cameras, but just because… this moment felt fragile. He needed to be cautious. “But then that person said they were going to confess first and I panicked.”

A broad smile spread across Zhang Hao’s face. “Were you jealous, Hanbin-ah?”

“Yes,” Hanbin answered instantly, toying with Zhang Hao’s fingers. “And then I thought you liked them back, and—”

“When I said I wanted it to be somebody specific, the only person I was thinking of was you,” Zhang Hao said.

Hanbin’s heart leapt. “I had no idea.”

“And here I was thinking that I was so obvious.” Zhang Hao rolled his eyes at himself.

“Well, I could tell you were upset thinking about it, but I—I didn’t know why,” Hanbin said. “And I kept thinking up all of the worst-case scenarios possible.”

“I was upset, but that was only because I realised the person who said they were going to confess wasn’t you. And then I felt dumb for thinking you’d confess through a sticky note.”

Hanbin did, essentially, confess through a sticky note in the end. After spending the entire week shaming whoever had done it first. “I was upset too, trust me,” Hanbin snorted. He lifted Zhang Hao’s fingers to his lips and gave each of them a quick kiss just because he could. And because he knew it would make Zhang Hao laugh. Hanbin was utterly enamored with the sound. “I hope they don’t actually try to confess today.”

Maybe they realised Hanbin was pining after Zhang Hao too and generously stepped aside. If that were the case, he’d send them a thank you note. Though he had a feeling that wasn’t it.

“Mm.” Zhang Hao let his hand go limp in Hanbin’s grasp, laughing, exactly like Hanbin knew he would. “I felt a little crazy for how much I liked you until I saw your note. And then yesterday I just—spent the entire day trying to find the words to speak, but I couldn’t. I don’t think I even know most of those words in Korean.”

“I can’t believe you waited a full day to tell me after you knew that I went through like, the whole emotional spectrum yesterday.” Hanbin pinched Zhang Hao’s cheek. “You could have just said ’I saw your note, and I like you too’ and I would have understood.”

“Sorry.” Zhang Hao nuzzled forward until he could kiss the tip of Hanbin’s nose. He sounded genuinely apologetic. “I was scared of how you’d react, if I was wrong somehow and you didn’t mean it that way. I told you, your hyung isn’t actually that brave.”

“You are, though,” Hanbin said, growing serious. “You were right. I was just going to… not say anything.”

“Should I be offended that you weren’t going to fight this anonymous person for my heart?” Zhang Hao mused.

“Hyung!” Hanbin whined. “I was trying to be a good person. Imagine what kind of person I would be if I started fighting people over you, especially if you chose them…”

Zhang Hao took one look at his face and burst into laughter. He moved closer until he was lying partially on top of Hanbin, one leg draped over Hanbin’s hip. They had cuddled so much in the past few weeks that it felt completely natural.

“I know, I know. It’s okay.” Zhang Hao squished Hanbin’s cheeks between his hands. “I don’t want you to get kicked off the show for me.”

“I think that’d be a breach of contract. They could sue me,” Hanbin said seriously.

“I wouldn’t want our first date outside the show to be in court.”

Hanbin’s heart raced. “So—so we’re dating now?” Hope laced his voice, but he couldn’t suppress it. He was sure Zhang Hao could feel how his heart was going crazy anyway, lying atop him like this.

Zhang Hao lifted his head to look down at Hanbin, eyes soft. “We probably shouldn’t do stuff like this while we’re on the show.” He curled a strand of Hanbin’s hair around his finger.

“Ah.” Hanbin’s stomach plummeted. “Yeah, I… yeah. Probably. They’re probably going to yell at us for what we’re doing right now.”

“Probably,” Zhang Hao echoed. “But once we get out of here…”

“Once we both make it into the group,” Hanbin corrected, punctuating every word.

Zhang Hao chuckled. “You know what I meant.”

“Just making sure. My mom says words influence what happens in life.”

“Sure,” Zhang Hao said, smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Hanbin could feel the affection pouring from Zhang Hao’s eyes just from listening to Hanbin speak, and Hanbin was overcome with the need to just—just—

He couldn’t resist lifting a hand, tracing the curve of Zhang Hao’s lips with his thumb. Zhang Hao’s eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into the touch.

“Can I kiss you again?” Hanbin whispered. His eyes dropped to Zhang Hao’s mouth, pink and slightly parted. He licked his own lips unconsciously.

Zhang Hao’s eyes opened, his gaze heated. “Once, and then no more until we get out of here.”

Hanbin surged upwards, capturing Zhang Hao’s lips with his own. The kiss was slow and languid, filled with a joy that bubbled up between them. Hanbin sighed into it, curling his fingers around Zhang Hao’s nape.

When they parted, they both wore smiles. Hanbin brushed Zhang Hao’s hair from his forehead, tracing the line of his brow and the curve of his cheekbone. Memorising the details of Zhang Hao’s face with his fingertips like he’d dreamed about every night for the past month.

“My boyfriend,” Hanbin said, testing the word out. Zhang Hao’s cheeks turned pink in delight.

“Future boyfriend,” Zhang Hao corrected. “Once we both make the group.”

“Future boyfriend,” Hanbin agreed, happiness making his toes curl.

Eliminations passed amid a flurry of tears, hiccups, and tissue-blowing. Hanbin’s heart was torn, caught between the exhilarating love he felt for Zhang Hao and the all-consuming sorrow of bidding farewell to some of their friends. The rest of the night was peaceful, with quiet hallways and everyone settling into their new rooms. The dorm always became more introspective after eliminations.

The two of them spent the entire evening together, mostly in silence, Hanbin’s head resting on Zhang Hao’s shoulder. He timed his breaths with Zhang Hao’s, allowing the older boy’s thumb grazing his palm to help ground him.

Hanbin still shed a few tears, but not nearly as many as he would have without Zhang Hao there to tenderly wipe his cheeks, stifling his own tears.

Though Zhang Hao insisted they weren’t boyfriends yet—and Hanbin had no objections, considering their circumstances—his mind didn’t quite grasp the concept. He’d already started referring to Zhang Hao as his internally, and every time Zhang Hao so much as glanced at him, he thought my boyfriend is so sweet. My boyfriend is so cute. My boyfriend is so…

The list went on and on.

The week also went on, and as it sunk in they were on their last evaluation, everybody’s tempers began to flare. Zhang Hao spent each night sulking with Hanbin in his bed, but both of them were too kind-hearted to openly complain about anyone in particular.

Hanbin couldn’t do much for Zhang Hao’s team; he had his own group to lead. And they were competitors, so neither of their groups were likely to appreciate Hanbin meddling in their drama. However, what he could do was attempt to cheer Zhang Hao up, just as Zhang Hao always did for him.

He sneaked into Zhang Hao’s room while the Over Me team was practicing, and leaned over Zhang Hao’s bed to affix his gift above it. Hopefully, Zhang Hao would see it before he slept that night. Hanbin stepped back and admired his handiwork.

To whom it may concern: I’m in love with Zhang Hao!

He left the room feeling rather proud of himself, and even more so when Zhang Hao cornered him later in the laundry room to smother him with kisses. They weren’t very good at adhering to their own no-kissing-on-set rule.

Preparing for the finale left little room for Hanbin to dwell on the identity of Zhang Hao’s original confessor, and then debuting together completely erased any lingering thoughts from his mind. He could finally call Zhang Hao his boyfriend for real, and he didn’t feel guilty about it in the slightest because Zhang Hao loved him back.

So while he’d never admit it out loud, because he knew it’d upset a lot of people—he figured he’d won something far greater than first place on a TV show. He had won second place and Zhang Hao.

He only thought about the mystery confessor again while browsing YouTube one day while idly waiting for his name to be called for their photoshoot. Zhang Hao had dozed off beside him, and Gyuvin and Taerae were engaged in a spirited debate about coffee flavours across the room. Hanbin had nothing better to do than scroll through old Boys Planet videos, and once he started, he couldn’t stop.

This was his first time visiting the Boys Planet Youtube page. He’d been avoiding it for weeks; he needed time away from seeing those dreadful uniforms and reminders of everything they’d endured. So most of these videos were entirely new to him, including the one titled Seowon’s Love Wall.

Hanbin made sure his headphones were plugged into his phone before tapping on the thumbnail, a still of Seowon and Taerae posing in front of the original wall of sticky notes.

He didn’t even get thirty seconds into the video before pausing it, his breath catching. He rewound the video by a few seconds to confirm he had heard and seen correctly.

“I’m going to put in a few myself just to get the box filled up,” the Seowon in the video said. “And by a few, I mean I have at least one for everybody.”

He angled the camera towards the mess of sticky notes on the table. Hanbin paused the video at that precise moment, his eyes darting all over the screen until he found the one that said Zhang Hao on it.

There it was. I think I’m falling in love with Zhang Hao.

The characters were blurry and, quite frankly, nearly unreadable, but Hanbin counted them out, and they matched up.

“Some of these I just made up,” Seowon said, beginning to stuff the sticky notes into the box. “Not that they’re dishonest or anything, but I tried to think of a unique thing for everybody. That way everybody feels special.”

He showed off the box when he finished putting all forty-something notes in, then angled the camera back toward himself.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning to put them up. I need to wake up early so that when everybody else gets up, all the notes will be on the wall.” Seowon grinned, making a half-heart at the camera. “Bye-bye!”

The screen cut out. Hanbin threw his phone onto his lap and laughed so hard his stomach hurt.

He had tears in his eyes. Literal tears. He didn’t know whether he was crying because it was so funny or something else entirely. There hadn’t even been another confessor in the first place. What the fuck?

“Hanbin?” Zhang Hao mumbled, his eyes opening groggily. “What’s so funny?”

Hanbin’s mouth snapped shut. He threw an arm around Zhang Hao, rubbing his shoulder on the other side.

“Nothing, hyung,” he whispered. “Sorry, go back to sleep. It’s not your turn yet.”

Zhang Hao yawned, stretching out and then curling up against Hanbin’s side. He pressed his cheek to Hanbin’s shoulder and mumbled, barely awake, "Okay."

Hanbin brushed his fingers through Zhang Hao’s hair lightly, taking the time to appreciate how fucking lucky he was.

So lucky. So fucking lucky, it would never get old to think about. He glanced around the room to ensure there were no staff nearby, and pressed a kiss to the crown of Zhang Hao’s head. Lightly, so that he had some plausible deniability, but hopefully enough to fill Zhang Hao’s dreams with all of the warmth Hanbin felt for him.

Then he picked his phone back up and swiped to his messages.