Archive of Our Own

It’s only fitting that Hao and Hanbin met on Boys Planet.

They’ve always been like stars bound to their own constellation—brightly shining alone, yet fitting perfectly together. When people look at them, it is with a gaze of awe usually reserved for what is distant and untouchable. Hao has thought, more than once, that maybe this is why everything between them feels so fated, as if their meeting wasn’t a random collision of orbits, but like a click of a puzzle piece slotting into its place.

Stars are widely believed to be representative of an intangible destiny. Hao supposes that there is beauty in the belief—how the celestial bodies are so plainly predictable in contrast with the unpredictable nature of human life. That predictably means something to those who lack it. It becomes a thing to cling to.

“Did you know that…” Hao starts, running his hand idly through the soft locks of Hanbin’s hair. They feel a bit thinner than usual, one of many, subtle sacrifices that came with being an idol. “...we only know about 88 official constellations?”

Hanbin hums at this, sound vibrating through Hao’s thigh as he tilts his head into the touch—nuzzling Hao’s hand, the action akin to a cat’s. “88,” he echoes. That’s your student number in FNU right?”

Hao’s hand stills in its ministrations. “How do you know that?”

Hanbin doesn’t look up from his iPad. He just shifts, adjusting so that his head is settled more comfortably on Hao’s lap. “You told me.”

Hao can’t even remember when. He doesn’t bother trying to, just letting his hand resume its path in Hanbin’s hair. “I wonder how many constellations there are out there that we don’t know about,” he murmurs.

In the same vein, he wonders how many alternate universes exist where he never met Hanbin at all. The thought scares him—just a little. Until he remembers that Hanbin would always find him. They’ll always find each other, somehow.

“Does it matter that we have to know if they exist?” Hanbin asks, turning over his sideways position on Hao’s lap, so that he’s looking directly up at Hao. “Is existing not enough in its own right?”

Hao busies himself with staring at the wisps of Hanbin’s lashes, bringing a hand down to brush his finger over the fan of them. “Don’t get philosophical with me.”

“Yah—” Hanbin laughs, chest rumbling as he does. He smiles up at Hao, cheeks plumping and whisker dimples peeking out. “I prefer the term sentimental.”

Truth be told, Hao is scared. It’s hard not to be. Hanbin has always been steadier with uncertainty—even though Hao knows he’s equally as affected by it—but he never fails to ground him with reassurances. Hao had once asked him how he could be so sure, how he could carry on as if nothing would ever go wrong.

“All I need is you by my side,” he had replied, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

It’s frighteningly, deceptively simple. Yet it is not. It’s the kind of mindset that people would typically deem naive, yet it’s so Hanbin.

Hanbin’s love is something steadfast—someone whose love never hesitates, constantly growing. Like a plant given water, his branches stretch endlessly. Everyone he has ever loved has borne fruit. At first, Hanbin’s love was something he could never fully comprehend with the sheer scale of it, but with time, he has come to realize: Hanbin just has that much love to give.

Hao realizes, with a soft ache, that he loves in the same way—in a way that is surprisingly simple. If Hanbin is a tree, then Hao is the shade it casts, content to exist behind him. People are drawn to Hanbin for his radiant warmth; they come to Hao for the solace he provides from the universe’s piercing glare.

He can’t bear the thought of being apart from Hanbin. He abhors it, even. If he could, he would hang onto Hanbin’s roots, cling like clayish soil that refuses to let go.

“Mmh,” Hao hums, poking the soft, yielding flesh of Hanbin’s cheek right as the other clicks on a Youtube video. A familiar melody blares in the quiet room. “We should get married.”

Hanbin pauses, the loud blast of I Love You 3000 echoing between them. Or maybe it’s I Love You 3000 II with Jackson Wang’s feature. Hao can’t tell, the text on the iPad is too small for his visually impaired, glassesless self. Hanbin fumbles with his iPad, trying to tap on the pause button once, then twice. He looks back at Hao, mouth agape and eyes wide. So wide that Hao feared that they’d pop out of his sockets. “Are you serious?”

Hao pokes his cheek once more, a nervous deflection. “Do you want to get married?”

They’re words spoken out of impulse, but he didn’t realize how much he meant the words until he heard them ring loudly in his own ears.

“I’d chain you to me if I could,” Hanbin breathes out. It’s kind of psychopathic, but Hao somehow understands the sentiment, somehow. Though it’s partially because he feels the same. Hanbin takes his left hand and intertwines it with Hao’s free hand, lithe fingers brushing against the bone of his knuckles. “What makes you think I’d say no?

“Because I know you take marriage seriously,” Hao replies quietly. “And we can’t actually get married. Legally.”

“I’m serious about you. We’ve met each other’s parents already, Zhang Hao.” Hanbin gives him an admonishing look, though there’s little heat to it. “Also, it doesn’t matter if we can’t actually get married. We can do something. For the both of us. Maybe one day, once we’re less busy.”

Hao hums, considering. “Sounds good,” he replies, smiling, rocking their joint hands side-to-side. “Should I prepare a proper proposal?”

Hanbin laughs. “The wife usually doesn't propose.”

“Yah.” Hao flicks Hanbin’s forehead lightly. “Your thinking is so traditional. Who says the wife can’t propose—and why am I the wife?”

“Haven’t we settled who the mom was long ago, Hao-eomma? I’m sure the other members agree.”

Hao wrinkles his nose at this. “It’s 2025. The mom can be the husband for all I care.”

“What? So you admit that you’re the mom?” Hanbin laughs, chest vibrating as proof of his mirth. He then playfully pouts, bottom lip jutting out. “You don’t want to be my wife, laopo?”

Hao considers the image. Him being Hanbin’s wife. He imagines himself greeting Hanbin at the door after a long day, pressing a kiss to his jaw along where he knows his stubble grows the fastest. He imagines folding Hanbin’s laundry—a little clumsily, a sleeve peeking out from a shirt here and there and the collar never quite in the center. He pictures cooking a meal, though honestly, the word “cook” would be tested to his limits; his culinary prowess truly only peaks at microwaving leftovers and frying an egg and frozen food. He envisions them in a little house they (theoretically) bought in Gangnam, a place Hao would “clean” by gathering clutter into a haphazard pile in whatever corner he finds. It’s a sweet, gentle, mundane existence that plays out in his head.

Though, thinking about it now, Hanbin would be better at all of those things. This guy isn’t Korea’s #4 Most Eligible Husband for nothing. He’ll come up with something else to offer instead. Him bearing Hanbin’s chi—

Hao abruptly stands, dumping Hanbin off his lap—making the other slide off and land on the floor with a dull thud, followed by a strained sound of pain.

“YA—” Hanbin yelps, laughing as Hao looks down on him, ears flushing a furious red.

He playfully nudges Hanbin with his foot. It is nowhere strong enough to be considered a kick, but Hanbin clutches at his side anyway, letting out another theatrical groan of pain in response.

“You are learning such weird things in Chinese,” Hao scolds, indignant. He doesn’t know if it’s even effective, given that his voice wobbles.

He lifts his foot, gearing up to nudge him once more, but Hanbin is faster. He grabs on his arm, tugs it with surprising strength, sending Hao tumbling down to the floor with him. The air gets knocked out of Hao in a soft oof.

“You are so—” Hao starts, voice rising, but he’s immediately silenced when Hanbin loops his arms around his waist, anchoring him close.

Hao sighs at this, fight draining out of him in an instant, shuffling closer to Hanbin. They settle into each other, bodies pressed together, in an ungraceful, weirdly comfortable, heap on the floor.

“Why are you even studying Chinese, anyways?” Hao asks after a moment, adjusting until he’s resting properly on Hanbin’s chest. He can feel the steady rise and fall of Hanbin's breathing beneath him, and he busies himself with cataloguing every little hitch .“I don’t think I’ve ever asked.”

“You talk to me using my native language,” Hanbin replies, rubbing slow circles into Hao’s side. “I want to be able to do the same for you. I need to step up my game, especially if we’re getting married.”

Hao squirms, heat creeping up his neck. Hanbin has never failed to deliver the cheesiest lines in such devastating sincerity, and Hao hates how easily he’s affected by them.

“I think you’re taking this marriage thing a bit too seriously.” He lifts up his head, studying the other for a second before reaching up to comb through Hanbin’s bangs, smoothing them back with careful fingers. “You’re thinking about it a lot.”

Hanbin hums in response, eyes fluttering shut as his hand settles more firmly at Hao’s lower back. “You put the idea in my head,” he points out. Then, after a pause, he adds, “Also, your mom can be scary sometimes. I want to impress her with my Chinese skills.”

Hao laughs, the sound spilling out of him before he can stop it. He drops his head back onto Hanbin’s chest, now just listening to the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat. “She’s been keeping tabs on you online. She asks me about you, too,” he admits. “Actually, I think she’s come to like you.”

“Really?” Hanbin genuinely sounds stunned. He withdraws his hand from Hao’s back, looping his arms back around him to pull him impossibly closer. “I would never have been able to tell. I’ll make sure to take care of you both, then.”

Hao sighs, a heavy, long sound. “I know you will,” he murmurs, the fondness of his voice betraying him. It isn’t blind faith. Hanbin has never been the type to speak carelessly. It would be against who he fundamentally is, so Hao is naturally inclined to believe him.

They hear a door creak open, followed by footsteps padding down the hallway. Neither of them muster up the energy to move, content to stay in their little, warm bubble on the wooden floor.

“Seriously?” Gyuvin’s voice floats above them, unimpressed. He awkwardly lifts his long, lanky leg, intending to step over their tangle, but Hanbin reaches out, tugging at his ankle mid-step.

Gyuvin lets out a startled noise as he stumbles forward, arms flailing uselessly before he crashes down onto his hands and knees with a thud.

Hanbin laughs at Gyuvin as he pushes himself up slowly, the movement rocking Hao in his place on Hanbin’s chest. Gyuvin turns to glare at Hanbin threateningly, eyes thirsting for revenge. “Hao-hyung,” he warns. “If I were you, I’d let go of him right now.”

Hao considers this for exactly half a second. Then, valuing his own-self preservation, rolls off of Hanbin.

Hanbin makes a small betrayed sound as Hao abandons him, using his arms to lift himself up. But before he can even manage to scramble off the floor, Gyuvin tackles him back to the floor, pinning him down and immediately attacking his sides with ruthless fingers.

݁˖𓂃☘︎˖.

When Zhang Hao implants the idea of marriage in Sung Hanbin’s brain like an invasive bacteria—it naturally develops into a full-blown infection.

It’s not like Hanbin hasn’t thought about marriage before. He has. He’s a romantic at heart, prone to grand gestures and the idea of a future together. But he usually doesn’t entertain the thought; having Hao as his has always felt more than enough. What they have is already perfect, and it seemed greedy to ask for more.

The frequency with which Hao has crawled into his bed has increased. It’s not as if they haven’t slept in the same bed before, but Hao seems content abusing the fact ever since they started living under one roof, barging into Hanbin’s room without even asking. Hanbin never complains, they’ve always been extremely clingy; always finding a way to stick together at every possible moment.

Actually, it’s Hao who complains. He’ll whine that Hanbin’s body heat is making him suffocate, that he’s like a human furnace and he’s sweating so much. Despite his faux annoyance, he still cuddles up closer to him anyway, seeking the warmth he claims is too much.

At some point, Hao climbing into his bed has practically become a daily occurrence. Hanbin has come to learn that Hao favors sleeping on his right arm, the one inked with his tattoo.

Don’t regret what you do.

It’s a bit symbolic. If there was one decision he will never, for a single second, regret, it is the one that had led him to Boys Planet, and by that same path, straight to Zhang Hao.

Being in the same bed quite often also gives way to other activities.

Hanbin is still just a man, after all.

It’s definitely an upgrade from (not so) sneaky trysts in the bathroom and having to ‘sexile’ (Shen Ricky’s words, though it wasn’t always sex—but they also didn’t not fuck) their respective roommates just for the semblance of private time together.

The walls aren’t thin, but they also aren’t thick.

Hao is quite fond of initiating kisses, giving Hanbin small pecks that slowly escalate into deep kissing whenever they’re alone. He’s a desperate little thing, though Hanbin usually doesn’t fare any better. Despite that, Hanbin—perhaps in his responsible nature as a leader—is better in practicing restraint. It’s honestly a blessing, since Hanbin would almost always fold whenever Hao looks at him with his wide, pleading eyes.

When he feels the kiss encroaching upon the line between purely affectionate into something considerably more heated, he pulls away—leaving a sweet kiss on Hao’s forehead as some form of apology. Hao would pout and sulk, but Hanbin musters the strength of a thousand soldiers to feign ignorance. Yes. Usually, Hanbin would be the one to dissuade Explicit X-Rated 18+ NSFW Naughty activity when he knows that Gyuvin is under the same roof.

Usually.

Right now is a one-off.

They’re kissing deeply, with Hanbin’s front pressed against Hao’s back. It started innocently at first, as it always does, but Hanbin feels the pit of heat in his stomach burning—slowly growing into a blazing fire as Hao makes small, tiny sounds against him. He swallows every single one, barely giving Hao any time to breathe as he devours the other’s lips—the wet slide of their lips only furthering his desire.

He shifts his position, lifting his upper body up using one arm. With his free arm, he glides his hand across Hao’s torso—fingers grazing against his tummy, making the other quiver—until they find the hem of his shirt. He moves his hand up, lifting the shirt until it exposes Hao’s bare skin, moving further up until his fingers find a perky nipple. He presses a slow circle on it with the pad of his finger, making Hao jolt and break the kiss with a wet sound.

“Hanbin,” Hao pants, his fingers twitching as he lies limply on the mattress. “Gyuvin’s still here.”

“I know,” Hanbin mutters against his lips, continuing his ministrations on Hao’s nipple, pulling a quiet moan out of his throat. His answer surprises even him. Maybe his Large Gigantic Super Hard Boner has finally fried all sensibility and reason in his brain, replaced with the burning want to drill Hao into the mattress. “That just means you have to be quiet.”

Hao whimpers at this, but Hanbin leans down to muffle the sound halfway by pressing his mouth against Hao’s. He slides the hand that was teasing Hao’s nipple up to cradle his jaw, pressing his fingers against the soft, plump flesh of his cheeks, the force coercing Hao’s mouth open, just enough for Hanbin to be able to slip his tongue inside. They part with a smacking sound, a thin, flimsy string of saliva being the only thing left to connect them together.

“You’re not doing a very good job of staying quiet,” Hanbin murmurs against Hao’s lips, as the other heaves beneath him, the hot air of his breath fanning against him.

“You—” Hao flares up, preparing to protest, but swallows his saliva in the midst of his words, seemingly overwhelmed. Hanbin loves seeing Hao desperate to the point that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. “You know I can’t,” he whines out.

Hanbin knows, all too well. Hao is incredibly receptive—a fact that Hanbin loves thoroughly abusing. Hao has many sensitive areas—areas that Hanbin has painstakingly committed to memory. Every single spot. He’s a dedicated researcher when the subject is Hao, after all.

(His favorite is Hao’s inner thighs. Hanbin has committed a lot of unholy and unsavory (emphasis on savory, actually) acts towards Hao’s thighs—fucking in between the soft flesh, leaving purple marks on the surface, and releasing his spend all over the pale skin, just to name a few.)

Hanbin loves taking his time pleasuring Hao just to hear the different sounds he’d make—and if he could get even louder. A deep, twisted desire in him wonders what it would be like to do the contrary.

“Mmh, that’s too bad,” Hanbin mumbles deeply. He tries to seem sympathetic, but he can barely hide the fact that he’s secretly delighted. He slides his hand on Hao’s jaw just a little, enough so that his thumb grazes Hao’s bottom lip. His eyes zero in on the tender flesh, watching as his finger lightly kneads the flesh. “Open.”

Hao—without even thinking twice or even questioning it—drops his jaw open and sticks out his tongue. Hanbin smiles at Hao’s thoughtless compliance. “Good boy.”

Hao’s breath hitches, eyes glazing over as he looks up at Hanbin. Hanbin gathers a pool of saliva on his tongue then parts his lips, letting the spit drip down in a long string, landing squarely on Hao’s tongue. Once Hanbin has deemed that it’s enough, he seals his lips shut and licks his lips—all while watching Hao swallow down his saliva, throat bobbing as he does.

“I don’t think that’s enough to shut you up,” Hanbin exhales.

“You’re so evil,” Hao whispers harshly, though his face is flushed awfully red.

“You don’t hate it,” Hanbin says, because judging by Hao’s current state, he feels the exact opposite of hate. His eyes drift back to Hao’s pouty, spit-slick lips. “Actually, I have a better idea on how to keep you quiet.”

Hao raises an eyebrow in question, and in lieu of a response, Hanbin takes his hands away from Hao’s face all the way down to his shorts, sliding it off with one smooth motion.

Hao just stares at him, eyes widening in realization. “Oh.”

Hanbin waggles his eyebrows at him, prompting Hao to elbow him, making him fall on his back on the bed laughing.

“You’re such a pervert,” Hao admonishes, but he climbs over Hanbin anyways, settling on his place in between Hanbin's legs, hand running across Hanbin’s thighs. “How long have you been thinking about that?”

“I thought of it just now.” Hanbin shuffles, staring as Hao hooks a finger under his boxers, sliding it down just enough to reveal his length to the cold air. He shivers, watching as Hao traces a finger over a vein—staring with rapt attention. “I think you’re just as much of a pervert as I am, actually. Maybe even worse.”

“Not true,” Hao mumbles, right against Hanbin’s dick. He’s close enough to the point that Hanbin can feel every hot wisp of his breath as he speaks. Hao presses a kiss on his head, making him throw his head back with a bit-off groan.

He keeps his eyes screwed shut as soon Hao starts taking him into his mouth. He bobs his head a little, but he still isn’t taking in Hanbin’s length fully. Hao slides off, tracing a prominent vein on the underside of his dick as he does, taking a hand and wrapping it around the lower half of Hanbin’s cock. He wraps his mouth around Hanbin’s head, sucking loudly, popping off with a wet sound.

“Ah…” Hanbin grunts out. He slides a hand through Hao’s locks, down to the back of his neck. He leaves a hand postured on Hao’s neck, cradling him. “I don’t think I believe you. Do you like my dick that much?”

Hao shivers, making a small affirmative sound. He squirms at Hanbin’s intense gaze, all demure and shy. Hanbin wants to ruin him.

“I could tell. Such a good whore,” Hanbin purrs, playing with the hair on the nape of Hao’s neck. Hao’s breath stutters at the words.

“Maybe you should be the one to shut up, actually.” Hao retorts.

Before Hanbin could respond, he starts twisting his hand at the same time he sinks back down Hanbin’s length, moaning as he does. He takes Hanbin a little deeper in this mouth this time, sucking loudly as Hanbin starts breaching his throat. Hao’s sounds are quiet and muffled—but Hanbin feels every rumble of it, providing extra stimulation on his dick.

Hanbin fucks into Hao just like that for a minute, watching entranced as his throat struggles to accommodate him. The whole sound is absolutely filthy—the spit squelching as it echoes obscenely in the room. Hanbin slides his hand from Hao's nape up to his scalp, fingers tangling in his hair, gripping tight.

A stunted breath escapes him as Hao goes down harder, slurping around his dick, the sound alone making him twitch inside Hao's mouth. Hanbin's grip tightens, and he fucks into his throat properly now, reveling in the choked sounds Hao makes whenever he pushes his entire length in.

He closes his eyes, drowning in the warm heat surrounding him.

The moment he feels himself getting close, he uses his grip on Hao's hair to pull him off. His hand moves to his dick, jerking aggressively as he chases the edge. Hao seems to understand immediately. He looks up through the curtain of his lashes, eyes watery, and opens his mouth wide.

It doesn't take much. Hanbin presses the head of his dick against Hao's lips and comes undone.

His release sprays across Hao's face—over his lips, some landing in his mouth, white marking his cheeks and even dotting his forehead. The sight makes Hanbin's dick twitch with renewed interest.

"Fuck." Hanbin's chest heaves. "Come here."

Hao obliges, climbing up his body and kissing him. Hanbin tastes his own bitterness on Hao's tongue, but somehow, that makes it hotter. He licks into Hao's mouth, chasing the flavor, chasing him.

His hand slides underneath Hao's sleep shorts, past his underwear, fingers finding their way between his cheeks. His eyes widen when he discovers Hao is already slick with lube.

"I—" Hao looks bashful, cheeks flushing beneath the mess on his face. "I fingered myself before coming here."

Hanbin's grin curves slow and wicked. "You're a bit slutty, aren't you?" He presses a finger against his entrance, teasing. "Did you come here just to get fucked? Is that it?"

He knows it isn't true—but something in him blazes deep at the thought that Hao couldn’t wait to have Hanbin in him.

“I missed you,” Hao admits weakly, and Hanbin feels his heart melt a little even as his body burns.

He presses a kiss on Hao’s nose. “I missed you too.”

He doesn't waste any more time. He kicks his pants off fully and presses Hao into the mattress, settling between his thighs like he belongs there.

He takes Hao like that over and over again, one hand pressed firmly over Hao's mouth to muffle his sounds.

It doesn't work. Not even a little.

݁˖𓂃☘︎˖.

Hanbin wakes up while it’s still dark. Hao’s head is pressed firmly against Hanbin’s arm, pinning it down to the mattress. When Hanbin twitches his fingers, a sharp pain shoots up to his shoulder, making him wince. Hao doesn’t stir at all, still in a deep sleep. He’s snoring just a little bit, the sound endearing to Hanbin’s ears.

Hanbin cranes his neck to check on the digital clock on his headboard. 2:41 AM. He has about 19 minutes before he actually has to get ready. Instead of freeing his arm, he lays his head flat on the pillow, hair fanning out, and stares.

He loves Hao like this, unguarded and quiet—stripped of performance glamour and sharp wit. His hair is all puffy and mussed from sleep, and Hanbin is close enough to see every detail: the sweep of his lashes, the part of his pouty lips, and even the shine of the sebum on his nose. Hanbin is so in love with this man that he even thinks that his nose sebum is cute.

Then, a thought surfaces to the forefront of his mind.

Ah. Maybe I should marry him for real.

Not even a hypothetical. But For Real. Like Chain Him To Me But Not Literally But Using A Ring For Real.

The conviction, surprisingly, doesn’t even surprise him. It feels less like an impulsive idea and more of a waking realization of a dormant desire.

Using his free hand, he feels around the bedside table until he feels the familiar silhouette of his phone. It takes a bit of effort to retrieve it, with him having to awkwardly stretch his shoulder outwards while keeping the other one completely still not to jostle Hao, but he somehow manages to grab his phone.

With one hand, he searches for how to measure ring size on Naver—which gives him results on how to measure his own ring size using a strip of paper. A bit useless, but he’s a bit more enlightened now. He goes to Naver cafe, then gets sucked into scrolling through forums dedicated to custom jewelry. After getting sufficiently distracted, he goes to a forum with a weird alien on its icon.

—

r/AskMen

How to secretly get her ring size?

As the title says, we’re on the same page of getting married. I’ve told her that I wanted to get married in about 2 years, but I’m actually proposing this year. Does anyone have any experience on this matter?

I tried buying a fake ring, but the only information I got was that she wasn’t a size 7.

u/Margaritaur

Buy a ring size gauge then grab her rings to find out

u/hybridskeever

Enlist her closest friends to help out!

u/iwasdroppedontheheadasababy

Get her to finger your ass and remember the feeling and go to the jewelry store and compare which ring feels most similar

u/itendedinmay

what i did was use a piece of string as she slept. my girlfriend is a pretty heavy sleeper. i just cut the string and measured it afterwards.

—

He thinks about the last comment. He glances down at Hao. He knows, with the certainty of a man who has spent countless nights like this, that he is a very, very heavy sleeper.

For the next few days, Hanbin sets out to enact his plan.

Current Sung Hanbin thanks Past Sung Hanbin for shooting Hao down when he asked if he should prepare a proposal, because now, Sung Hanbin has the glorious once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to do so.

Hanbin discovers that procuring a simple string is actually quite hard when he’s living with eight other men who have probably held a needle only twice in their lives. Those two times being from a mandatory middle school home economics class. He uses a shoelace instead, tucking it in his shorts pocket, waiting for Hao to fall asleep.

When Hao starts snoring, that’s how he knows it’s time. He retrieves the shoelace from his pocket, sliding it in between the webs of Hao’s fingers, tying a loose knot around his middle finger. He remembers Hao mentioning, in some conversation, that Chinese ring placements differ from Korean ones. He wants to get this right.

Shortly after, he discovers that a shoelace isn’t ideal for this; it’s a bit too thick. He can’t just cut it either, given that it’s… a shoelace. He awkwardly takes a pen and marks it where the knot starts and ends on the shoelace before Hao stirs, and later measures the space using a ruler.

Next task, the actual ring itself.

Hao likes dainty, pretty things. Whenever he finds something pretty, he always breathes out a reverent, ah, pretty, and takes his time admiring it. He’s a bit more particular about his jewelry. He never wears anything flashy, but at the same time, he is never without small pieces that completes his look. Hanbin sees him wear thin silver chains and small hoops on his pierced ear. He wears both silver and gold, but he reaches for silver more often. He likes smaller, intricate gems—the kind that you have to lean in close to appreciate, the ones that glitter endlessly when light hits them.

The ring has to be pretty. It has to be so unmistakably Hao that he’ll look at it and feel seen.

This leads Hanbin down a rabbit hole he never anticipated. During the day, he’s still the bright Sung Hanbin that everyone adores. At night, while Hao is tucked into his side, he’s become a scholar of metal bands, the screen’s glow illuminating the room as he scrolls through page after page of ring designs of varying intricacies. And prices. But that doesn't dissuade Hanbin at all.

He saves a picture of a ring with a single gem in the center, another with little crystals clustered together, and a third that’s just a plain silver loop.

One night, he’s so deep in looking at an article comparing claw settings and bezel settings that he doesn’t notice Hao has stopped snoring. A sleepy, mumbled voice cuts through the silence.

“Hanbin-ah… what are you doing?”

Hanbin freezes mid scroll. He slowly tilts his phone so that his screen faces the pillow behind him.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he whispers back. He doesn’t say anything else in fear of Hao questioning him further. He’s always been told that he’s a bad liar, unable to hide anything, especially from those he has already bore the entirety of his heart to.

“Mm,” Hao grumbles, a small, unconvinced sound. He’s thankfully too drowsy to question further, opting to press his nose into the curve of Hanbin’s shoulder. He’s asleep within seconds.

Hanbin lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

The near-miss doesn’t deter him. If anything, it sharpens his resolve. He gets the aching desire to see these rings in person, to feel the weight of them, see how the light catches on the metal. During a free afternoon when Hao is on a schedule without him, he tells his manager that he’s going out. He doesn’t specify where he’s going, he knows that they already trust him to not do anything stupid.

He slips into a mall where he knows a lot of high-end jewelry stores reside. They all feel fancy and sterile—all polished glass and bright lighting that leaves no place for shadows. The salesladies are all impeccably dressed, not a crease found on their clothes. He wanders, unsure, before asking at the counter to look at some rings in silver. The lady is patient and kind, laying out tray after tray of gleaming circles. Hanbin picks them up, one by one, trying to imagine them on Hao’s finger. Some feel too heavy—an instant no, and some are too plain. One is almost perfect, a comfortable band with little cubic stones adorning it, but it’s not Hao. It isn’t pretty enough.

He leaves empty-handed, but not discouraged.

He’s about to head back to the dorms when he spots a small, unassuming shop. It’s the total opposite of the shops he’s visited earlier. The sign is small and hand-painted by someone with intricate penmanship. The window displays only a few pieces, and there’s a poster that offers custom matching rings. He smiles a little bit, reminiscing his escapades with Matthew.

He pushes the door open, a small bell chiming his arrival. The air smells faintly of scented candles and, as expected, metal. An older man looks up from a workbench. In his left hand is a gold ring, the other holding a small, little drill.

“Welcome,” he greets softly. “Take your time. Let me know if anything catches your eye. If nothing does, we take custom orders—it’s what we specialize in.”

Hanbin nods, moving slowly. The pieces in this quaint shop feel much more personal, a lot more intricate. His eyes move from piece to piece, eyes scanning the ornate jewelry. Then, his eyes catch on a ring displayed in a velvet box.

It’s a ring, yes, but Hanbin likes to think that it’s a little bit more than that. The band is on the thinner side, it’s a reflective silver, but it’s a bit closer to being white. It twists gently, braided into itself, and nestled within that braid are tiny gems catching the light like captured stars.

He doesn’t realize he’s been staring until the man speaks again.

“Oh, that one.” The man appears at his elbow, wiping his hands on a cloth.“My wife likes that one as well.”

“Ah,” Hanbin blinks, brought out from his daze. “She has good taste then.”

The man laughs loudly at that. “She’s always had an eye for detail. Better than I do, in fact. That ring was actually a custom order that was never picked up. My wife said that it was such a shame, but I like to think that it was waiting for the right owner.”

Hanbin looks back at the ring. “Can I see it?”

The man retrieves it, handling it with the care of someone who has long understood that jewelry isn’t just jewelry. He places it in Hanbin’s palm.

It’s perfect. It’s light and delicate. Hanbin can look at the gems better like this, and they twinkle brightly, as if they’re winking at him.

“What size is this?” The numbers leave the man’s mouth.

Hanbin’s breath catches.

Ah.

Maybe it really was meant to be.

“I’ll take it,” he says.

The man’s eyes crinkle. “I hope it goes well for you.”

Hanbin doesn't know how he could tell. Maybe it was the look in Hanbin's eyes when he first spotted the ring. Maybe it was the way he held it, cradled in his palm like something precious. Maybe after decades of working with rings—engagement rings, wedding rings, rings that mark the beginning of forever—you just develop a sense for these things.

“Thank you,” Hanbin manages. “I hope so too.”

The box ends up tucked safely in a drawer, underneath a dark corner full of trinkets he’s collected from years of being an idol.

݁˖𓂃☘︎˖.

The next day, Hanbin watches as the members get their photos taken, eyes flickering between them and the large monitor situated on the side, displaying each shot. A manager approaches him, gesturing for him to follow. They arrive into a corner of a studio, in a small pocket that’s barren of people. The manager’s face gives nothing away.

“Hanbin,” he starts, voice low. “It’s confirmed. Zerobaseone will not be able to continue as nine anymore.”

The news feels like a punch to his gut. For a moment, he forgets how to breathe. He forces air back into his lungs; forces his face to remain composed. At least he had the decency to tell Hanbin after he had finished getting his photos taken.

“I see,” Hanbin hears himself say, but it feels like he’s functioning on autopilot. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I wanted you to know first. You would know what to do when the members get told the news.”

Hanbin nods—he doesn’t trust himself to speak again.

The rest of the schedule passes in a blur. He smiles when he's supposed to smile. He laughs when someone jokes. When they get back to the dorms, he doesn’t say a word. He just takes Hao’s hand and leads him to his room. The other immediately quiets, understanding that something is wrong.

As soon as the door to his room clicks shut, Hanbin lets himself crumble. He buries himself in the familiar curve of Hao’s neck, breathing him in, holding him like he’s the only solid thing left in his world that just tilted off its axis.

Hao doesn't ask. Doesn't pry. He just holds him, one hand coming up to cradle the back of Hanbin's head. It's like he already knows.

Hanbin doesn’t cry either. The tears are there, pressing insistently against the back of his eyes, but they won’t come. Maybe later. For now, he just lets Hao hold him.

݁˖𓂃☘︎˖.

Hao keeps a map of an assortment of food places in his phone. It’s categorized into 3 categories: ones he hasn't tried, ones he has tried, and his favorites.

He absolutely loves eating. He finds joy in trying new food, finding out what he likes and doesn’t like, and gaining new favorites to add to his repertoire. Whenever he craves something, it latches on with teeth, persisting in the back of his mind until he finally tastes whatever it is he’s been yearning for. He rarely holds back, either. The moment he gets a craving, he’s already reaching for his phone to order in. If his schedule is free enough, he drags the other members along with him and goes out.

Which is why dieting during promotions is his own personal brand of torture. He loves complaining about it. They’re only allowed to eat vegetables and fruit—throw in an egg there too. He hates the injustice of it all. Usually, it’s Hanbin who takes the brunt of his whining. He just listens, nodding along with solemn sympathy, never once pointing out that Hao has made the same complaint about ten times that week. Eventually, Hao’s complaints loop back on themselves, and then he starts complaining about the fact that he keeps complaining.

But what Hao is most grateful for is this: Hanbin always indulges Hao in his whims. He’s always the one accompanying Hao to eat meals from different places and countries—from overseas countries like Thailand to some obscure food place located in Busan. He never complains when Hao asks him to wait so that he can take pictures of their food from seventeen different angles. He never orders the same thing Hao does, just so that Hao can have a taste of something different.

Today, they’re in a restaurant from a chef who appeared in Culinary Class Wars. Hao has never actually watched the show, but he knows about whatever is going on between Ahn Sung Jae and Choi Hyunseok. Getting a reservation meant that Hao had to jump some hoops. After a spoonful of dweji gomtang in his mouth, Hao concluded that the effort was all worth it. The taste of the broth was nice and very light, and it was even better when he put some gochuji in the dish.

Across the table, Hanbin holds up a piece of kimchi mandu towards Hao’s mouth. Hao takes it in his mouth, chewing slowly. He revels in the slight tang of kimchi and the perfect crispiness of the skin, letting out a hum of satisfaction, nodding approvingly. Hanbin’s face softens. He looks almost proud, as if he’d made the dumpling himself instead of simply ordering it.

“I hope that we’re still able to eat like this,” Hao sighs out, wistfully. The words slip out before he could even catch them. “even if we’re in different groups.”

His filter never works around Hanbin. It never does.

Hanbin pauses in the middle of taking another mandu in his chopsticks.

“You took the news better than I did.”

Hao just hums, stirring his soup absently. “I was surprised too, in a way.” He shrugs, a small motion. “But it has a lot to do with the fact that I already expected it.”

Hanbin goes quiet at that. His chopsticks lower slightly, the mandu forgotten. He has the look on his face that suggests he’s turning something over in his mind, like them being separated was simultaneously a thought in his head that he never dared to think about but thought of all the time.

Finally, he says, “That’s fair.” His voice is soft, a little distant.

Hao watches him for a moment, then decades to lighten the mood. He sets the spoon down with a small clink. “Besides,” Hao sstarts, a teasing lilt creeping into his voice. “I’m really expensive. Who would ever let go of this face?” He gestures vaguely at himself, eyebrows raised.

Hanbin purses his lips. He looks strained, as if he can’t decide whether to cringe or to laugh. The absurdity of Hao’s statement clearly clashes with his inability to ever truly disagree with him. “How shameless, Zhang Hao.”

Hao just shrugs. “In this industry, I have to be.”

He pauses for a bit, poking at the meat in his dish. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “Though, I’m a bit anxious. Once I go back to Yuehua, I’m not really sure what will happen to me.”

Across the table, Hanbin’s expression shifts. “I’m sure hyung will thrive in whatever he does,” Hanbin reassures. He’s always like this when he gets all earnest. “You're Boys Planet’s 1st place, after all.”

At the words, Hao smiles at Hanbin, warmth blooming in his ribs. “How sweet.”

He reaches across the table, fingers finding the soft skin under Hanbin’s chin, scratching lightly the way you’d pet a content cat. Hanbin’s eyelashes flutter at the touch, and he leans into it, a small smile blooming across his lips.

“Only the sweetest for gege.”

Hao thinks, not for the first time, that if Hanbin were a cat, he’d be purring right now.

Then, Hanbin laughs. “Now can I have some of your kimchi?”

This makes Hao himself laugh, depositing some kimchi on Hanbin’s plate. He finds it funny how Hanbin always asks so politely, even though Hao has a habit of repeatedly taking his food without asking for as long as he can remember.

They sit in silence for a while, focusing on their food. The restaurant is a bit noisy with the chatter from surrounding tables, and Hao is pretty sure that the lady on the table to their left has been squinting at them for the past twenty minutes, probably trying to figure out who they are. Hao finds that he doesn’t even care anymore. He’s been seen out with Hanbin so much that this one instance feels like a drop of water in a pond.

Softly, almost to himself, he says, “We should live next to each other.”

Hao says it like a joke, but the words come out more serious than he intends.

Hanbin doesn't laugh. Doesn't counter him with practicalities or point out how impossible it would be, how unlikely. He just asks, "Where, gege?"

Hao’s heart stutters slightly. He glances up at Hanbin.

He’s looking at him with an open expression—like Hao’s suggestion isn’t a passing fantasy, but a real thing to be considered.

Hao thinks about it. About mornings and evenings. About saying good morning and good night. “I want it to be somewhere near the Han River. That way we’d still be able to go on walks together.”

The image forms easily in his mind. The two of them, older maybe, walking along the river at sunset, talking about nothing and everything until the day bleeds into night.

“Yeah,” Hanbin says softly. His eyes are warm, distant, as if he’s picturing the same thing. “It’d be really nice.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a moment longer than necessary. Then Hao looks away, reaching for his spoon.

The only reassurance he can get is the fact that they’re both imagining the same future. It might be fragile, but Hao carries it anyway with both hands.

݁˖𓂃☘︎˖.

When they get back to the dorms, Yujin comes over.

Hao has never really asked Yujin why he seeks him out so often. He's never felt the need to. In a way, it feels nice being sought out like this, being someone's anchor without having to try.

“Hyung, is it really like this?”

Yujin’s voice is soft, cushioned by Hao’s lap. His hair fans over Hao’s thigh, strands catching the pale, unfeeling light of their dorm. Hao’s hand stills in the middle of a slow stroke in the younger’s hair, before resuming, gentler now.

“What is?” he asks. From this angle, he can’t see Yujin’s face—only the slight movement of his chest rising and falling, the shallow rhythm of his breath catching before he speaks again.

“Being an idol.”

This time, Hao’s hand truly stops.

The room seems to quiet around them, as if even the air has paused to listen. Hao looks down, but all he can see is a crown of dark hair. Somehow, he also sees the ghost of a boy who once asked the same question in a mirror—desperate, pretending the reflection could answer him back.

He wonders what it must be like—to be so young and already standing at the edge of something vast and merciless. To climb toward a peak shrouded in clouds, where adoration and scrutiny blur together. To give yourself away piece by piece until you forget what was yours to begin with—and then do it again. And again. And all over again—for the sole, flawed expectation that it’s what you're expected to do.

He wonders how it feels—to be learning who you are while the world is watching, dissecting every version of you. To be wrung dry of youth when it’s the only thing you still own. To step into the spotlight knowing it steals as much light as it gives.

Seven years separate them. Supposedly a lucky number. Hao can’t tell where the luck is—in the years that have hardened him, or in the ones Yujin still has left to lose.

Perhaps it’s neither. Maybe they were both doomed from the start.

Somewhere between the weight of Yujin’s head and the stillness of his own hands, Hao realizes—quietly, almost painfully—that he’s looking at a reflection of himself.

“To be honest, I’m a bit jealous of you, Yujin-ah,” Hao admits.

Yujin doesn’t move, but Hao feels him tense slightly under his palm.

“You have something that I lack.” Hao’s hand resumes its slow stroke through Yujin’s hair. “Time. Mine is running out, you know?”

Hao expects Yujin to ask what he means, to press for clarification. Instead, he just lies there, absorbing the weight of it.

“But hyung,” Yujin says softly. “You’re already there.”

Hao blinks. “What?”

“You’re already where I want to be.” Yujin’s voice is a bit small, but there’s certainty in it. “You made it. People know your name.” He pauses, his gaze dropping to somewhere near Hao’s knee. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be enough for people to remember.”

The confession lands softly, but it hits Hao like a blow to the chest.

“Yujin-ah.” Hao’s voice is achingly sincere. “Look at me.”

Yujin’s eyes lift hesitantly.

“You’re going to be fine. Better than fine. You already are someone. Because of who you are. If not the world, then to me. All you have to do is love the people remembering your name as much as they love you. The rest will follow.” Hao says it like a fact, like something he believes with his whole chest. “You have something I can’t get back, but you also have something I didn’t have at your age.”

“What?” Hao smiles, soft and a little sad. “You have us. You have me. You have your eight hyungs who dote on you and are insanely annoying, but we’ll cheer you on no matter where we end up.”

Yujin’s eyes glisten, just slightly. He blinks rapidly, looking away.

“Hey.” Hao's hand cups the side of Yujin's face, gentle but insistent, turning him back. "I mean it. You don't have to figure it all out alone. That's the one good thing about all of this. You're never really alone.”

Yujin is quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nods. He doesn’t move from Hao’s lap, settling further. He stays still with his eyes closed.

Hao looks down at him—at this boy who carries so much already, who will carry so much more—and makes a quiet promise to himself.

He doesn’t know what comes next. Doesn’t know where any of them will end up. But he knows this: he will be there: as much as he can, for as long as he can, for as long as anyone would have him.

For him, it’s not much. But maybe, for Yujin, it’s enough.

݁˖𓂃☘︎˖.

Hanbin ‘proposes’ to Hao on one of their many late night walks.

It isn’t anything fancy. There’s no candlelit dinner, no dramatic backdrop, nothing of the sort. It’s just them—the way it’s always been—wandering along a quiet stretch of pavement under a sky heavy with stars.

Hao’s face is a little puffy from sleep, his hair is mussed in seventeen different directions, and the pajamas he has on are definitely the ones with a small tear that Hao has never bothered to fix.

Hanbin thinks he looks perfect anyway.

Maybe that's why he found himself sinking down onto one knee right there on the cold pavement, abandoning every carefully laid plan he'd stored away in his mind. All those nights agonizing over the right moment—and in the end, it's 11 PM on a random Tuesday in Seoul.

Maybe it’s because he feels like he’s running out of time.

They have a countdown now, an expiration date stamped invisibly on everything they do, and Hanbin finds himself haunted by the weight of later. So when Hao turns to him on the empty street, complaining how the convenience store didn’t have the Buldak flavor he liked with the particular pout he gets when he’s pretending to be annoyed, Hanbin doesn’t really think.

“Hao.” He’s still holding onto Hao’s hand from when they’d linked them together blocks ago. “I know this isn’t—I know this isn’t something proper. Something you can’t really tell your mom about.”

Hao’s mouth snaps shut. His eyes go wide. Hanbin feels his heart bloom—Hao really looks more like a raccoon like this. His Jjanguri.

“I had plans.” Hanbin laughs a little, a little helpless. “So many plans. I looked at rings. I practiced what I was going to say. I even picked out a spot by the Han River.”

He squeezes Hao’s hand. Hao squeezes back automatically.

“But I keep thinking about time.” The words come harder now, but he tries to force them out anyway. “About how much of it we have left. About how I don't want to waste any of it waiting for the perfect moment when every moment with you already feels like that."

Hao’s eyes are shining. Maybe his own eyes are too. They’re both Fs after all—the most perfect, emotional pair.

“So I’m asking now. Here, on a random street. Zhang Hao. Will you marry me? Us. For always. For as long as we get to have.”

He realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t have the ring with him. In all his planning, he left the actual ring sitting in his drawer.

Hao doesn’t seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn't care.

“Get up.” Hao’s voice is thick. He tugs at Hanbin’s hand. “Get up right now.”

Hanbin blinks, his confusion bringing him out of his daze. “What?”

“My knees hurt looking at you.” Hao tugs again, a little bit harder, and Hanbin stumbles to his feet. “And yes. Obviously yes. Did you really have to ask?”

Hanbin stares at him for a second. Then two. When the realization hits, warmth explodes in Hanbin’s chest.

“Hao—”

“You are an idiot.” Hao is freely crying now, just a little, tears spilling down his apple cheeks. “You are such an idiot. You could have waited until my face wasn’t swollen. You could have waited until we got back to the dorm. You could have at least let me change.”

Hanbin pulls him close, bundling him into his arms. Hao lets himself be held, his face pressed into where Hanbin’s neck meets his shoulder, his breath shaky against Hanbin’s skin.

“I love you,” Hanbin murmurs into his hair. “I love you so much. I love your swollen face and your pajamas and everything. It would be a privilege to see it everyday—forever.”

Hao laughs against his neck, his voice wet from moisture. “That’s disgusting. My face is swollen.”

“Don’t care.”

“My hair is a mess. I usually clean myself up when going out but this is the one time I didn’t.”

“Don’t care.”

“I’m going to tell everyone you proposed while I was in my pajamas.”

Hanbin’s hands slide from where they’re wrapped around Hao up to his shoulders. He tries to pull back from Hao to look at him, but Hao swats at him. When Hao pulls back himself, Hanbin looks at him, committing the moment to memory. There’s tears trailing down on his cheeks, but all they serve to do is to make his cheeks look even fuller.

“Good. Tell them, I want everyone to know.” Hao stares at him. Then he laughs, the sound bright in the quiet street.

It’s a fleeting thought, but Hanbin wants it so much it aches. Maybe if things were different, they would’ve been able to show everyone that they’re together. The fantasy is enough for now.

“You’re silly,” Hao says, but he’s smiling when he says it.

They stand there for a long time. Somewhere in the distance, a car passes by, its headlights sweeping over their figures before disappearing.

Later, much later, when they finally make it back to the dorm and Hao has changed into different clothes and his face has returned to its normal state—Hanbin will remember the ring sitting in his drawer. He'll pull it out, nervous all over again, and watch Hao's breath catch when he sees it.

“It’s pretty,” Hao will whisper, reverent. “Hanbin-ah. It’s really pretty.”

Hao tells him to propose properly, and he does. He gets down on one knee, and his hand trembles as he takes Hao’s hand, sliding the ring on his finger.

Hanbin watches as the light catches on the ring just right, twinkling like a near but distant star. All that echoes in his mind was—

Ah. Pretty.

. ݁˖𓂃☘︎˖

Hanbin asks Hao when he wants to get married. Hao doesn’t even think about it. He answers immediately, without hesitation.

“As soon as possible.”

Hanbin doesn’t even bat an eye. Hao is as impatient—if not more—than he is, after all. They’ve always been like this, moving in sync, wanting the same things at the same time.

“Okay,” Hanbin says simply. “Then as soon as possible.”

They pick out their wedding rings together in the same small shop where Hanbin found the engagement ring. The older man manning the store clearly remembers Hanbin, face lighting up in recognition. His face crinkles into a small smile when he sees Hao entering beside him.

“Ah,” he says, looking between them. “It went well, I take it?”

Hao is a bit surprised. He'd braced himself for assumptions—that he's just a friend helping Hanbin pick out rings, or worse, for the flicker of discomfort when the man realizes they're both men. He's spent too many years learning to expect less from strangers. He does anything but that.

Hao holds up his hand, the gem nestled on his middle finger catching the light. “Very well.”

They spend an hour trying on bands.

They try on rings from platinum to white gold, some simple, some intricate, and some matching and some complementary. They slide ring after ring onto their fingers, holding their hands out for each other's approval, laughing when something feels wrong and quieting when something feels right. In the end they choose rings that mirror each other without being identical. Hao’s is slightly thinner, with a tiny inset diamond. Hanbin’s is a bit thicker, colored a white gold that seems to fit perfectly on his finger.

The man handles them carefully, handing them over with a bow.

“Congratulations,” he says. “May they bring you years of happiness.”

They don’t have a fancy wedding.

They don’t follow customs or invite guests or even book a venue. There’s no tuxedos, no suits, no flower arrangements or tiered cake or even a ceremony. Nothing that a wedding is supposed to have.

Instead, on a quiet afternoon when the weather is nice and warm, they go to the Han River.

It's the spot Hanbin had scouted months ago, back when this was still a fantasy he was building in his head. The place where he'd planned to bring Hao for a proper proposal, with a perfect view and a nice breeze and all the right words. It’s perfect now too—water glittering under the sun, a few ducks paddling lazily nearby.

They stand facing each other, hands clasped, rings in their pockets.

“I prepared a really long list of vows,” Hanbin admits. “But it didn’t feel right. Nothing I wrote felt like enough.”

Hao smiles, soft and a little wobbly. “Just say whatever comes to mind.”

So Hanbin does. He says the simplest things—that he loves Hao, that he'll always love Hao, that no matter what happens or where they end up, he'll choose Hao every single time. His voice cracks halfway through, and Hao snorts at this.

When it’s Hao's turn, he cries.

Big, fat tears track down his cheeks and drip off his jaw. His own vows are equally simple, equally sincere. He promises to stay. To hold on even when holding on is hard. To choose Hanbin the way Hanbin has always chosen him. He laughs at himself between words, helpless and happy, and Hanbin cries too—brought to tears simply by the sight of Hao in tears.

Hao is so helpless and happy and so full of love he thinks he might burst. He can only imagine the sight they must make. Two men swaddled in puffer jackets, covered head to toe, crying as they held hands by the river.

The ducks watch them, unimpressed.

They exchange rings with trembling fingers. Hao's hands shake so much that Hanbin has to steady them, guiding the band into place. When it's done, they just stand there for a moment, looking at each other, at the rings, and at what they’ve just done.

“We’re married,” Hao whispers, like he can’t just believe it.

“We’re married,” Hanbin echoes.

And then they’re kissing. Hao finds that it tastes like salt, but it doesn’t make it any less perfect.

Maybe in another life, they would have had the privilege of a fancy hall, of a celebration that didn’t have to be in secret. Maybe in another life, they could have shared this moment with everyone they love—their joy a declaration rather than something to be whispered. Maybe in another life, they could’ve even taken each other's last names as if it were natural—as if their bones had always known they would belong to each other.

Maybe in another life, they could talk about each other without being ambiguous, without leaving enough space for denial, without crafting their words carefully enough to give the world an exit route if it decides it doesn't want them. Maybe in another life, they could have each other in the deepest, fullest way—without having to give up everything they've built.

Maybe in another life, Hao could shout it from the rooftops instead of whispering it to the Han River.

In this life, the ducks are their only witnesses.

They call their parents afterwards, huddled together on a nearby bench with Hanbin’s phone in between them. The mobile data is shitty, with the connection cutting in and out, but it’s bearable.

Hanbin's parents appear on screen, squinting at their pixelated forms. When Hanbin holds up his hand to show the ring, his mother gasps so loudly it crackles through the speaker.

“You got married?” She sounds torn, stuck between shock and delight. “Without telling us? Without inviting us?” Hanbin laughs, sheepish and warm. “Sorry, eomma. It was—we wanted to do it quietly. It’s just us. It isn’t legal.”

Hanbin’s mom purses her lips, like she understands. She blinks rapidly, as if fighting back tears.

His father shakes his head, but he’s smiling. "Your mother's been planning your wedding since you were born, you know. She had spreadsheets."

"I did not have spreadsheets," his mother protests, then pauses. "I had a journal."

Hao laughs, bright and genuine, and Hanbin's mother's expression softens as she looks at them leaning against each other.

"Take care of each other," she says. "That's all we ask."

Hanbin promises they'll have a proper ceremony someday, something with families and food and all the things they skipped. His mother pretends to be mollified, and she's smiling when they hang up.

Now, it’s Hao’s phone between them. Hao’s mom takes longer to answer. When she does, her face fills the screen, and Hao watches her eyes drop immediately to his hand.

For a long moment, she's silent. Then she lets out a breath, long and slow.

"Zhang Hao," she says. Just his name.

Hao swallows. "Mama—"

"You picked a good one." Her voice is firm, authoritative in the way Asian moms are. She looks past Hao to Hanbin, who's hovering nervously at the edge of the frame. “Tell him to take care of you. That you aren’t easy, but you’re worth it.”

Hao closes his eyes for a brief moment, warmth blooming behind his ribs. He wants to laugh but tamps it down, translating his mother's words into Korean for Hanbin.

Hanbin nods vigorously, relief flooding through him.

"Don't worry," he says, the Mandarin syllables clumsy on his tongue. "我會照顧他." I'll take care of him.

Hao's mother's eyes go wide. Then she smiles—crinkling the corners of her eyes in a way that makes her look exactly like Hao.

"Your Mandarin is lacking," she informs them (Hao, technically) in rapid Chinese, and Hao has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. "But the effort counts. Both of you promise to visit me someday, okay? I'll cook."

They talk longer like that. The conversation flows between languages—Hao translating when needed, his mother occasionally attempting Korean phrases that make Hanbin's face light up with delighted surprise. She asks about their ‘wedding’, about the rings, about whether they're eating properly. She tells Hanbin, through Hao, that he's too busy and needs to sleep more and that she expects photos of them together.

By the time they hang up, the sky has shifted, the light softening into something golden and warm.

Hao stares at his phone for a long moment. Then he looks at Hanbin, eyes shining.

"She likes you."

Hanbin grins, relieved. “I know.”

. ݁˖𓂃☘︎˖

They have their ‘honeymoon’ in a hotel. The lobby smells like high-end linen spray and fresh flowers.

Hao has been talking about this place for months—the way some people talk about dream vacations or concerts. He's sent Hanbin links to their dessert menu at least four times, each accompanied by a string of emojis that bordered on obscene. He never actually expected to come here. It was always just a fantasy. It’s not like they’re no strangers to booking hotels for overseas schedules, but it has always been the company booking it for them.

Standing in the actual lobby with its marble floors, warm lighting, and the faint sound of piano music drifting from somewhere, Hao feels a little bit off-balance.

“This is so… bougie,” he murmurs, eyes wide as his eyes flitter from the flowers to the sofas and to the receptionist’s desk. “How much was this?” Hanbin just smiles at him, and reaches for his hand. The rings clink softly together. “That’s a secret.”

The elevator music plays softly as they rise. The mirrors are fancy as well, surrounding them on all sides, even up to the ceiling. They look slightly out of place in it, hands laced together and in casual clothes.

When Hanbin opens the door to their room, Hao just stands there, taking it in. There’s windows that span from the floor to ceiling, and below is the Han River, though it’s a bit too dark to fully appreciate the view. The bed is massive, piled with more pillows than two people could possibly need. Everything is white and cream.

He beelines for the bathroom.

If there’s a true indicator of how fancy a hotel is, it’s usually the state of the bathroom.

He isn’t disappointed. When he pushes the door open, he sees the bathtub—marbled white and undeniably huge.

“Bathtub!” he calls back to Hanbin. “It’s big enough for two people.”

Hanbin is already smiling when he emerges from the bathroom. “I know. I booked the room.”

Hao rolls his eyes, crossing the room in four steps—pressing a kiss on Hanbin’s lips.

It’s firm, and maybe a little desperate. Hao tries to put all the things he can’t put into the words through his lips. It’s Hanbin who deepens the kiss, tongue sliding against Hao’s as they mouth at each other. Hanbin’s hands slide down slowly to grip his waist, thumbing against a hipbone.

Hao parts from Hanbin— just enough to speak.

“Hi, husband.”

Hanbin’s smile widens. “Hello.”

Hao kisses him again, a bit slower this time, then he pulls back, body thrumming in anticipation. “Dinner time, I wan—”

“We have a five-course meal waiting for us,” Hanbin interrupts , grinning.

Hao doesn’t know how it’s physically possible, but his smile widens, all cheeks. “You know me so well.”

The hotel restaurant is everything Hao had hoped for, and more.

They're in a private booth. It’s intimate and dimly lit. The staff appear and disappear, anticipating what they need before Hao could even voice them—it all feels a bit extra. Hao half-expects someone to start fanning him with palm leaves.

They let themselves indulge in a little bit of wine. Hao watches Hanbin drop three ice cubes into his glass like it's nothing, then does the same to his own. The wine turns watery and maybe a little bit flat, but Hao drinks it anyway.

Hao is in heaven.

It’s like he died and reincarnated as the villainess of a cheesy historical romance. He glances around the room, at the soft lighting and the elegant decor, and lets himself imagine. Maybe if he disassociates hard enough, he can imagine that he’s the heir of T*nc*nt and that Hanbin is his sugar baby.

Even if he wasn’t the one paying.

Which reminds him—

“Hanbin, how much was this?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Hanbin-ah.”

“Hyung,” Hanbin reaches across the table, taking Hao’s hand in his. Hao can’t stop himself from looking at their linked hands—at how their rings glittered in the candlelight. “I know you know we make enough money to be able to afford this,” he squeezes Hao’s hand. “You can worry about the cost some other time. What’s mine is yours, after all.”

Hao just sighs, squeezing Hanbin’s hand back. “I’ll make it up to you someday.”

Hanbin smiles, whisker dimples peeking out. “I’m sure you will.”

The first course arrives. It’s bread and soup. Simple—but the soup is undoubtedly rich and creamy and the bread is oh-so fluffy and melts in his mouth. He lets out a sound he didn’t even know he could make. Across the table, Hanbin jolts.

“Hao-hyung,” he says, voice strangled. “People can hear.”

Hao just shrugs, already reaching for another bite. "It's good. I'm allowed to express appreciation."

"You're allowed to express appreciation quietly."

"No, thank you."

They work through the entire course, and each plate that lands on their table gets better and better. They inch their seats closer and closer to each other—until they’re shoulder and shoulder, thighs pressed together. It’s very inconvenient, but Hao doesn’t care. By the time the fifth course arrives, they’ve (Hao) taken around 75 photos, and he isn’t planning to stop soon.

The desserts make Hao reach another plane entirely.

It’s a tasting menu, artfully arranged in a circle on a marble plate. Hao’s fork hovers uncertainly, unsure of where to start.

“This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Hao breathes.

Hanbin snorts. “More beautiful than me?”

Hao doesn’t dignify him with a response. He just nudges him roughly using his elbow, almost knocking Hanbin off his chair. Hanbin just laughs, bright and warm, catching himself on the table's edge.

Hao starts with a chocolate sphere. It’s perfect, caramel dripping out when he breaks his fork through its center. He moves onto the dessert beside it, cutting into a tower of cream and something that looks like pastry. When he puts it in his mouth, he's surprised to find carrot and cream cheese.

“Good?” Hanbin asks beside him.

Hao looks up. “Perfect.”

Hanbin reaches over and wipes at the corner of his mouth.

“You had some—”

Hao kisses him instead of letting him finish.

It’s quick and soft. Tastes faintly of dessert and wine. When he pulls back, Hanbin is staring at him, mouth parted, slightly dazed.

“What was that for?”

Hao smiles. “I love you.”

Hanbin squirms at this, burying his face in Hao’s neck. Hao laughs, continuing to munch at his dessert while Hanbin rests his head in the crook of his shoulder. Eventually, he also eats Hanbin’s dessert. Hanbin doesn’t complain a single time.

When the last plate is clean—Hao having licked the chocolate mousse off his fork with an expression of satisfaction—Hanbin detaches himself from Hao, signalling for the check. Hao protests weakly, but his heart isn't in it. He's already leaning back in his chair with the boneless contentment of a well-fed cat.

"I can't move," he announces. "I'm going to live in this chair forever."

"We have a bathtub waiting."

Hao's eyes snap open. He sits up. "Right. Okay. Let's go."

They lean into each other as they stumble back to their room, tipsy and a bit disheveled. Hanbin fumbles with the key card once, then twice, and Hao watches with amusement. He makes no move to help whatsoever.

“Got it," Hanbin mutters finally, and the door clicks open.

Hao steps inside, heading straight for the bathroom to check if the bathtub is still there. It is, obviously. He’s gauging how long it’ll take to fill it up, when he realizes that Hanbin hasn’t followed.

He turns around.

Hanbin is leaning against the wall, watching him with an expression Hao can't quite read. Something heavy, maybe. Like a psycho.

“Hanbin-ah?”

Hanbin doesn’t answer, just pushing himself off the wall and crossing the room. Hao backs up instinctively, until his hips nudge against the bathroom counter.

Hanbin plants his palms on the counter, caging Hao in with ease, and suddenly there’s nowhere for Hao to look but him.

Hao can feel him everywhere: the warmth seeping across the narrow distance, the faint smell of his cologne, and the sharp intensity of his gaze pinning him in place.

Hanbin leans closer, close enough that Hao feels his breath, and murmurs, “I think I should be allowed to have my wife if I want to, no?”

The word catches on Hao’s nerves like a spark.

Wife. It shouldn’t do anything to him, shouldn’t make his breath catch or make his chest tighten, but it does. He shivers before he can even tamp the feeling down, scrambling for composure.

“You’re still on this? Feeding into patriarchal ideals while we’re both men?” he retorts, though the words come less of an accusation, his voice betraying him as it wavers. He hopes Hanbin doesn’t notice how affected he is, but by the look in his eyes, he probably does.

Hanbin’s lips twitch, like he’s holding back a laugh, and the shift in his expression makes Hao’s pulse stumble. “Can you please,” Hanbin says, fighting his grin, “just play along with my dirty talk?”

Heat floods Hao’s face. “Okay,” Hao mutters, his voice coming out quieter than he expected.

He almost backs out, but then he steels himself, trying to match Hanbin’s game. “My husband is so mean…” he starts, the title feeling foreign in his mouth. He pushes through, letting his bottom lip jut out, pouting, expression shifting into one he knows Hanbin is weak towards. “Your wife is really tired, you know? We just ate.”

The line lands awkwardly between them, and for a second, Hao wants the ground to open up and swallow him. But then he sees it—Hanbin’s sharp, audible inhale, the way his gaze darkens, drinking in the words. The reaction is visceral, so raw, and it sends heat rushing straight through Hao.

Hanbin slides his hands from the counter and slips them under Hao’s shirt, palms warm and steady against bare skin. The contact makes Hao jerk against him. Hanbin leans closer, lips brushing Hao’s jaw as he murmurs. “I’ll do all the work. You can just lie there and take it.”

A wave of heat rushes through Hao. He knows he shouldn’t like it—but his body answers before his mind can, a tremble running through his being. He hates how easily Hanbin can undo him with a handful of words.

He hates it, and yet he doesn’t.

Their mouths crash together in a kiss that’s messy and hot, all want and no caution. Hanbin tastes like wine and dessert and himself, and Hao clings to the counter like it’s the only solid thing left, trying to ground himself as Hanbin unravels him piece by piece.

But then Hanbin breaks just enough space between them to rest his forehead against Hao’s, their breaths mingling, his voice gentle. “But if you’re really tired… we don’t have to do it.”

The sudden softness makes Hao laugh, breathless and half-wrecked.

“Can you please,” he echoes Hanbin’s earlier words. “Stick to your dirty talk this time?”

Hanbin’s grin is immediate. “So you do want to—”

Hao cuts him off by sealing their lips together again. His breath stutters when Hanbin lifts him, strong hands gripping his thighs as he gets settled onto the counter’s edge. The marble is cool against his skin, a stark contrast to the heat of Hanbin’s body pressing between his legs.

“More—” Hao begs, gripping Hanbin’s shirt so tightly his nails dig into the fabric.

Hanbin obliges. He noses along Hao's jaw, down the column of his throat, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his skin. When his mouth finds that sensitive spot just below Hao's ear, Hao's whole body trembles.

Hanbin doesn't hold back. He bites and nibbles, sucking loudly as he paints marks across Hao's skin—a constellation of red marks that will eventually turn purple.

He's in a daze, letting Hanbin do whatever he wants. His back arches, head thunking softly against the mirror behind him, and he doesn't even think to tell Hanbin off for leaving evidence.

Hanbin slides his fingers under his waistband, and Hao lifts his hips awkwardly, shuffling just enough to kick his pants off entirely. They land somewhere on the bathroom floor, forgotten. Hanbin spreads his legs wider, fully settling into the space between, and brushes his fingers against the tender skin of his inner thighs, making Hao shiver.

Hanbin presses his nails in just slightly—just enough to savor, to feel the plumpness of the flesh under his fingers. The look in his eyes when he glances up makes Hao's stomach tighten, heat pooling low and heavy. Like a psycho.

He wants to yell. To demand that Hanbin do something. Anything. To stop teasing and just—

But something in him keeps him pliant, keeps him still, watching through heavy-lidded eyes as Hanbin takes his time.

“I’m eating you out,” Hanbin says. He isn’t asking for permission. He bends down without waiting for an answer, nosing against the sensitive skin of Hao's inner thigh.

The position looks uncomfortable—his neck craned at an awkward angle. But Hanbin has always been a determined giver. Always been someone who takes his time, who savors, who makes sure Hao feels every single second of attention.

Hao cards his fingers through Hanbin’s hair and his eyes drift past him. Now that he’s leaning down, Hao can see—

“Hanbin-ah,” he exhales shakily. “There’s a mirror.”

He sounds kind of dumb stating the obvious. Hanbin presses a thumb against the sensitive spot behind his balls, rubbing slow circles against his perineum.

“I know,” he mutters, pressing a kiss against Hao’s thigh.

Hao’s hands shake where they’re buried in Hanbin’s hair.

This absolute pervert.

He wonders if Hanbin booked this room with this in mind. He wonders if Hanbin looked at this very same counter, imagining Hao bent over it. He wonders if Hanbin thought about taking him apart on the large, plush bed, again and again until he can't even remember how to say stop.

The thought sticks in his mind, melting his brain from the inside out.

Then Hanbin finally drags his mouth over his hole, licking up in one broad stripe, and Hao can't stop the sound that punches out of his throat.

His hands slap uselessly at the counter, uselessly flexing his hands against the cool surface. Hanbin licks around his hole, teasingly slow, circling but never quite. It’s just not enough.

“Get—”

Before Hao can even finish the sentence, Hanbin presses his mouth flat against him and kisses him there. Wet and obscene, and Hao's whole body jerks, kicking uselessly.

He doesn’t take his mouth off Hao for one second, licking into Hao and flicking his tongue against his hole at a fast pace that makes his eyes cross. Hao is almost worried Hanbin will suffocate—but that freak would probably say something like he didn't mind dying with his face between Hao's legs.

His breathing comes out in harsh staccato as Hanbin uses his tongue to fuck into him. The sheer obscenity of it makes him squirm, makes heat pool hotter and tighter in his stomach.

His eyes wander, tears already starting to pool, and land on the mirror in front of him.

He's disheveled. His hair sticks up in seventeen different directions, mussed from Hanbin's fingers and his own frantic hands. His eyes are glazed over, wet at the corners, pupils blown wide. His ears are flushed a deep, telling red.

The sight makes him tremble.

Did Hanbin want him to see this? Want him to watch what he does to Hao, watch himself fall apart in real time?

Hanbin goes back to lapping at his rim, and Hao heaves a breath, grateful for the reprieve—or what he thinks is a reprieve, until Hanbin pushes his thumb into him without warning.

It hurts. It's dry and rough—his hole flutters uselessly as it forces its way inside.

He scrambles backwards instinctively, trying to escape the sting, but Hanbin pulls his thumb out immediately, circles his hands around Hao's thighs, and dives back in—tongue piercing into him like he can't bear to be separated.

Hao lets out a sound somewhere between a howl and a moan, head falling back against the mirror as Hanbin spreads him open with his tongue. He eats him out like this, relentless, not even bothered by Hao's incessant squirming.

It's so filthy Hao almost forgets to breathe.

"Hanbin, wait a second— wait—"

Hanbin pulls away immediately. He presses one last kiss against Hao's rim—gentle and almost apologetic—and looks up. His eyebrows are knitted together, worry coloring his features even as his lips glisten.

"I feel—" Hao breathes, the coil in his stomach loosening as his pleasure dies down. "Like a whore. Is this how you treat your wife?"

Hanbin rises just enough to press a gentle kiss to Hao's temple. Hao tries very hard not to think about where that mouth has been.

"You're right." Hanbin's voice is soft, sincere. "I'm sorry."

Hao sighs, preparing to playfully scold him, but then Hanbin lifts him—both hands under his thighs, hauling him off the counter like he weighs nothing. Hao scrambles to wrap his arms around Hanbin's neck, legs locking around his waist.

"You're so annoying!" He slaps Hanbin's shoulder, breathless.

Hanbin deposits him onto the bed with exaggerated care, arranging a pillow under Hao's head like he's handling something precious. Then he leans over and presses a soft kiss to Hao's nose.

"But I’m your annoying."

Hao screws his eyes shut, trying very hard not to roll them.

At the same moment, Hanbin slides his index finger inside him.

Hao's eyes fly open. He doesn't know when Hanbin had time to slick up his fingers—did he have lube in his pocket this whole time? How long has he been planning this?—but when Hanbin's finger curls and nails his prostate dead-on, Hao finds that the question suddenly seems very, very insignificant.

"Oh," he breathes, and then he can't breathe at all.

If Hanbin's tongue gave him an incessant, almost aimless pleasure, his fingers are something else entirely.

Each press sends a bone-deep bliss down his spine, making his breathing quicken and his thoughts scatter. Hanbin presses a hand on Hao’s abdomen, then slips another finger inside. The stretch is uncomfortable at first—but Hao's body knows Hanbin by now, knows how to open up, how to adjust.

The pressure of Hanbin's hand on his stomach makes him feel everything more deeply, somehow. Like he's being pinned in place, held open, completely at Hanbin's mercy.

Hao loves this. Loves when Hanbin takes him apart with his fingers like this, patient and thorough. The difference between their heights is almost negligible, but Hanbin is broader, his fingers longer and knuckles bonier, reaching places inside Hao that Hao could never reach on his own.

He’s boneless and lightheaded, not even noticing that Hanbin has already gotten three digits moving inside him until he feels his orgasm approaching—that familiar coil tightening low in his belly— and then—

Hanbin slides his fingers out.

Hao cries out—tears slipping out of his eyes from the denied release.

“You’re so mean, so mean, so mean—” he whines, the words tumbling out in frustration.

Hanbin settles in between his legs, lifting his thighs up until he’s spread out, feet dangling uselessly in the air. Hanbin interrupts his complaining by pressing his lips over Hao’s.

Hao slaps a hand lightly on Hanbin’s chest—that’s so gross, you had your tongue up my butt—but Hanbin moves his mouth against him just right, and Hao melts apart beneath him. He tastes himself on Hanbin's tongue, and something about that knowledge makes heat curl hotter in his stomach.

Hanbin keeps their mouths connected as he presses inside.

He doesn’t pull away, just pushes in slow and steady, breaching Hao’s hole and opening him wide. Hao’s jaw goes slack against Hanbin’s lips, a broken sound escaping as Hanbin slowly thrusts into him, filling him inch by inch. Hanbin’s still mouthing against him, pressing open-mouthed kisses on his lips, his jaw, anywhere he can reach. He moves languidly, letting Hao get used to the intrusion, letting him breathe.

Then he places one last kiss on Hao's mouth, pulls back just enough to look at him, and starts fucking into him roughly.

The sudden shift makes Hao's head jerk back, mouth falling open, drool slipping down his cheek.

“You know, they call this position a mating press,” Hanbin says, voice strained.

Hao can’t really find it in himself to give a fuck, his head jerking backwards with every trust.

“I should fuck you until it takes—” Hanbin heaves, breathing heavily as he readjusts his hold on Hao’s thighs, spreading him wider, the strain making Hao’s muscles burn. “So that everyone knows how good I am to my wife.”

Hao keens, high and desperate, gripping the sheets under him roughly as he lays there and lets Hanbin take whatever he wants.

“They’ll know it only took me one try to get you pregnant and full.” Hanbin changes his pace, driving into Hao with slower, deeper grinds that jostle him up the bed, grinding his thoughts into slush. Hanbin removes one hand from his thigh and intertwines it with Hao’s hand. Their rings clink gently at the contact. “You’ve been saving yourself for me, haven’t you? Laopo?”

Hao wheezes.

What the fuck. The fantasy is oh so, utterly filthy. Hanbin moves in him and it feels so good and so hot to the point that Hao doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Laogong…” he whimpers out. “Give it to me harder, I wanna—” he chokes on his saliva, jostling a few more tears from his eyes. “Don’t you want three daughters?”

Hanbin thrusts into him roughly—once, twice—and then Hao feels it: Hanbin's release spilling inside him, warm and wet.

Hanbin is heaving above him, face buried in Hao’s neck. “Hyung…” he whimpers out, small and wrecked.

If Hao still had any sense left, he'd make fun of Hanbin for cumming just from his words. But he's so high-strung, so close to the edge himself, that he can barely form thoughts.

"Hanbin-ah." His voice breaks. "I wanna cum."

"I'm sorry, hyung-ah." Hanbin lifts his head, eyes hazy and apologetic. He pulls out slowly—too slowly—and Hao whines at the emptiness.

It doesn't last long.

Hanbin's fingers dive back into him, and the sound is obscene—wet squelches amplified by his release still inside Hao. Hanbin stares down at where his fingers meet Hao's hole, transfixed.

"Fuck…" he mutters. "Maybe I should plug you up like this. Keep you full all the time."

Hao moans, incoherent.

It doesn't take long after that. Hanbin nudges against his prostate, and Hao comes undone completely—spilling over his own stomach, vision whiting out, a broken sound tearing from his throat.

For a long moment, neither of them move, then Hao blinks up at the ceiling, chest heaving, and says, dumbly, "Oh my god. We just had honeymoon babymaking sex. Kind of."

Hanbin stares down at him, still catching his breath. "Well. Yes?"

They stare at each other like that, coming down from their highs.

“Can we actually try the bathtub now?”

Hao makes Hanbin carry him to the bathroom. It's ridiculous and unnecessary—the bathroom isn’t that far away—but Hao is feeling pliant and unwilling to let go just yet. Hanbin huffs but complies, lifting him easily, and Hao wraps his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck like a contented koala.

They look a bit silly. Hanbin accidentally steps on Hao's discarded pants on the floor, nearly stumbling, and Hao has to smother a laugh against his shoulder.

They figure out the logistics together—the right temperature, the right amount of bubbles, the right angle for Hao to lean back against Hanbin's chest without either of them slipping. The water is warm, the room steamy, and for a while, they just exist together. Hao can feel Hanbin’s heartbeat against his back, and thinks that this is the most peaceful he’s felt in months.

Hao lifts his left hand out of the water, watching the ring catch the dim light.

"I keep forgetting it's there," he murmurs. "Then I move my hand and see it, and I don't know. It feels like a dream."

Hanbin presses a kiss to the back of his head. "Not a dream."

"I know. That's the strange part." Hao turns the ring on his finger, watching it catch the light. "We’ve done this a bit weirdly, but I've wanted this for so long. Wanted you for so long. And now it's real, and I keep waiting to wake up."

"Would it be so bad if you did?" Hanbin asks quietly. "Waking up, I mean. If this is real, you'd just wake up next to me anyway."

Hao considers this. Then he laughs again. “You’re so cheesy.”

They soak until the water is cold and their fingers prune. They talk about nothing and everything, and at some point, the conversation lulls.

"Tell me something," Hao says quietly. "Something I don't know."

Hanbin is quiet for a moment. Then, “It might seem weird, but we were never friends in my head.” Hao stills.

"From the moment I met you, I knew friendship wouldn't be enough. I talked to you and we seemed so alike—it was like talking to a mirror. No one got me like you did." A pause. "No one gets me like you do."

"And then—" Hanbin's voice catches slightly. "Then you held my face in your hands in the laundry room. You told me I looked like clay when I cry."

Hao remembers. Remembers the harsh fluorescent lights, the hum of the washing machines, the way Hanbin's face had been streaked with tears he was trying to hide. Remembers reaching out without thinking, cupping his jaw, saying the first thing that came to mind.

"I realized," Hanbin continues, "that you're the only person I could let myself cry to. The only person who made it feel safe."

Hao shifts in the water, turning to face Hanbin properly. The movement makes water slosh against the tub’s edges. He reaches up, cupping Hanbin’s face in his wet hands. It’s the same gesture.

“Would it be insane if I told you that I also wanted you from the first time I saw you?”

Hanbin leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed. When they open again, they’re bright with something that looks like wonder.

No," he whispers. "Not at all."

They kiss like that, warm water lapping at their bodies. The kiss is slow and unhurried, perfect in the way that stars are when they align.

When they finally pull apart, Hanbin's forehead rests against Hao's. Their breaths mingle, warm and heavy.

“I love you,” Hanbin says, looking with stars in his eyes.

Hao’s heart clenches. “I love you too.”

Tomorrow will come whether they want it or not.