Archive of Our Own

“For the record,” his mom says, white-knuckled around the steering wheel, “I maintain this is a very bad idea.”

“It’s only for a year,” Zhang Hao says tiredly for about the millionth time.

“Exactly!” Zhang Hao watches her face contort out of the corner of his eye, as it always does whenever they get onto this discussion. Her mouth curls into a sneer first, then a twitching of her eyebrows, then an angry little glance at him; Zhang Hao has the path of her annoyance memorised now. “You couldn’t have stayed with your father for just one more year?”

“If I’d stayed with him for another year,” Zhang Hao says slowly, as he always does, “then you would’ve said see, you managed a year with him so what’s one more and I would’ve been stuck at his side forever and ever.”

She sighs, the fight draining out of her in an instant. They really have argued about this too many times over the past six months, a practised pair dance which leaves the both of them feeling sore and tired. “Now you’re just being dramatic.”

“Wonder where I got that from,” he mutters, and she twists her mouth in that way where Zhang Hao knows he’s amused her but she doesn’t want to let it show. Zhang Hao got that from her too.

Apart from this temporary bump in the road, Zhang Hao acknowledges he got pretty lucky with his mom. She’s certainly a far better parent to him than his father; unlike his father, his mom wouldn't jeopardise the family by embezzling from her company, then cheat on the very person who had helped cover it up. Multiple times. With multiple different people. Zhang Hao's father was an asshole, to put it mildly.

How dare you, he'd snarled at his father when he'd accidentally sent Zhang Hao a text intended for one of his many girlfriends. How fucking dare you—

And then his father had backhanded him and told him to mind his own business and Zhang Hao, abruptly exhausted of the lot he'd been given in life, had hit him back and he didn't much like remembering what happened after that. He didn't much like remembering a lot of things about his father, these days.

In the end, his father's company had been none the wiser. To outsiders, their appearance of happy family life continued apart from the minor setback of his mother moving to Korea for work.

His father, a free man. Zhang Hao still isn't sure how he feels about that but he is sure of the fact that he doesn't want to live with him right now. It’s probably dramatic of him to uproot his whole life and refuse to live with his father, but Zhang Hao feels that he’s entitled to a little drama. There’s no way he would’ve made it through another year in that apartment, just him and his father and the dead silence that filled the space of whichever room they were in together. And what if his father got brave enough to bring over his mistresses? No way. Zhang Hao simply refused.

This, coming to Korea, had been his final option. His mother had made sure to exhaust all other recourses first: grandparents, aunts, friends with a spare bedroom. None of those had been feasible for one reason or another.

His mother's parents were long dead, so that was an easy strikethrough. His father's parents, although not dead, had never liked his mother and that dislike had extended to Zhang Hao as he grew older; at about thirteen, he had worked out that their dislike was due to the simple crime of inheriting all of his mother's features and none of his father's. This had never really bothered him much — it's not like he could help the face he was born with. What had bothered him was the way they treated his mother, at times speaking down to her like she was a child incapable of higher thought and other times ignoring her existence completely. At seventeen, he'd gotten his revenge by quote-unquote accidentally sending his grandmother a picture of his then-boyfriend kissing him on the cheek. He'd been lucky enough to overhear the fallout afterwards, tinny shouts of failure of a grandson and a stain on this family over the phone speaker.

So it went without saying that they had refused his staying. After that path had been blockaded, the other ones had followed suit; he’d been left, as he hoped he would be, with only the steep and gravelly trail leading to his mother.

Six months ago his mom had moved to Korea, determined to shed her past with his father, and Zhang Hao had started learning Korean, determined to follow her there. It involved a lot of late nights: a lot of poring over textbooks in the dim lamp light, a lot of bingeing terrible K-dramas, a lot of inane conversations with digital pen pals. But now he can at least say he's achieved his goal.

In that whole six months he'd never once wavered, never once doubted if maybe he was being overdramatic. That's how he'd known he was doing the right thing; this is where his life is supposed to lead.

Inje.

“You won’t like it here,” his mom had told him over the phone last month, one of her endless attempts to convince him to stay in China. “It’s so small and there’s nothing to do for kids your age. Especially where I live, it’s so quiet.”

It had been a long day for Zhang Hao, school stress compounded by the fact that his father hadn’t been home for a few days. Zhang Hao had been worried at first, wondering whether something had happened to him or if his father had given up and ditched Zhang Hao without even a goodbye, until he realised that he was probably holed up with his mistress. After that, the anger had returned to him quickly and it was this same anger that meant he only registered his mother’s words slowly, as if water was clogging his ears.

He stared down at the math equations before him, unhearing for a moment, then his face twisted. He was sick of this. At this point, it would be more inconvenient if he didn’t go — his flight was booked and he’d already started on a list of what to pack. His mother knew this, which meant that all she was doing was riling Zhang Hao up. That, or looking out for his safety and happiness.

On a day like that, though, Zhang Hao was more inclined towards the former line of thinking. "It’s still better than here," he snapped, then hung up so he could aim to finish his homework before midnight.

Now he could see that his mom was right. Not on the matter of staying in China — he would hold fast to that particular decision regardless of what life threw at him — but Inje itself.

It's to the east of Chuncheon, which they'd driven around on the way from Seoul. Chuncheon hadn't exactly looked very big either but at least it seemed to possess more life than Inje. This must be a place where the rice fields outnumber the people three to one.

What it does have an abundance of is trees and mountains. It reminds him of Fujian even though the landscapes aren’t exactly that similar — sometimes, walking through Fujian had felt like he was walking through a jungle. Inje is sparser, he can see that already. Still, something about being close to nature intrinsically makes him feel at ease.

His mom pulls down a road that’s lined with houses on one side and trees on the other. There’s a break in the trees up ahead and as they get closer, Zhang Hao realises it’s due to the high school forcing itself centrestage. The bronze plaque winks at him as they drive past.

“It’s bigger than I thought,” he observes.

His mom glances at the building in the rearview mirror. “All the kids from the neighbouring towns and villages go there.” Then she glances at him. “I’m sure you won’t have any trouble making friends.”

“We’ll see,” he says neutrally, and turns his head to watch the world go by. They leave the main road in the rearview mirror and his mom forces the car down a series of increasingly narrow side streets, until they’re spat back out again somewhere in the outskirts. It’s even sparser here, with less houses and generally less amenities, and the car comes to a slow halt outside a grey, one-storey house.

“It’s pretty rural out here,” he says as his mom kills the engine, wondering why his mom chose to settle in this specific spot.

“That’s what your grandparents wanted,” she says. “Somewhere peaceful. It was good for them.” The and it could be good for us too is unsaid but Zhang Hao hears it loud and clear. She adds: “And your grandmother had relatives living nearby. I think a part of her probably always missed Korea.”

They both unbuckle and head inside after Zhang Hao heaves his suitcase out of the back. The exterior of the house is completely unremarkable but as he follows his mom inside, the house bursts into life. There’s a row of family pictures adorning the walls and Zhang Hao gets stuck staring at a photograph of his mom as a university student, wind-chafed and happy.

"Hopefully the weekend will give you some time to settle in," his mom says carefully. Now that Zhang Hao's actually here she seems unable to look away, staring at him so intently it's as if he's a ghost that's suddenly risen from her floorboards. Like she's trying to rearrange her short-lived life in Korea around her life in China. Zhang Hao, the bridge between the two.

"Hopefully," he agrees, looking down at his suitcase so he won't have to see her staring at him like that. He fiddles with the luggage tag from the flight. "I'm gonna go rest in my room."

"Okay," she says faintly. "It's through the hallway there, first room on the left." She pauses and Zhang Hao physically feels the weight of her gaze leave his face; he exhales in relief. "I made it up for you."

"Thank you," he mutters, still too afraid to look at her, and starts the arduous process of lugging his suitcase around the various knick-knacks on the floor. His mom has always been a minimalist, preferring to discard anything that hasn't been used in over a year, so he knows these must have belonged to his grandparents. His mom either hasn't had the time or willpower to throw them out.

His room has evidently been cleaned, just as his mom promised — there’s no trace of the dust that must have been here when his mom first moved in and the space has a light, airy feel to it. He assumes this was the old guest bedroom as the style is distinctly impersonal and there’s nothing distinctive in the way of decor or furnishings either, only a simple bed and desk and wardrobe. Zhang Hao is grateful for it.

He decides that he might as well unpack now to liven it up a little, as well as remind himself that he’s here permanently and not on a mere visit to his mother. Overall, he hasn’t brought that much with him. He’d wanted a clean break, to turn over a new leaf. It made sense that in his mind, if he were to truly achieve that, he’d need to leave behind as much of his old life as possible.

By far the most sentimental items he’s packed are the souvenirs of his musical past. He’d debated leaving that behind too, a hobby that belonged to a different Zhang Hao, but eventually decided against it. As he draws out rolled-up clothes and bent books, he spies the wrinkled sheaf of paper squashed at the very bottom of his suitcase. He takes that out too so that all of his belongings are scattered around him in a semicircle. It feels almost freeing to know that this is all he has to his name.

He quickly flips through the papers and tucks them back into the lining of his suitcase before he loses himself in memories. Despite Zhang Hao’s refusal to examine his old sheets of score music further, he won’t regret bringing them with him. Bringing his violin, though, would have been a step too far. That would feel like too much of a commitment, like if he went to the trouble of bringing a violin with him then he had to play it, so he'd opted to sell it in China and funnel the money into his savings. He hasn't so much as even glanced at a violin in several months, anyway, so who knows if he could even still play anything more difficult than Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. But it feels nice to know the choice is there.

Zhang Hao sighs, thumbing the cover of a well-worn textbook. Then he opens his window and gets to work.

Zhang Hao spends the weekend preparing for school life: his mother makes him try on his new school uniform (the blazer is a little tight around his shoulders but it’s manageable), they buy the required stationery (way too expensive, in his opinion), he searches up the school curriculum to check that his base knowledge is passable (it is), and he records himself speaking in Korean (his double-consonants sound a little off to his chagrin, but at least he’s understandable).

There’s nothing to do now except wait and, before he knows it, Monday morning arrives in a dull wash of light.

His mom has to leave early to make it to her work on time, so Zhang Hao is left to his own devices as he showers and gets ready. He does one final check of his bag then sets off, finding his way back to the main road. He did a test run of this route yesterday evening and it had been relatively straightforward. Although Inje is surrounded by mountains, the town itself is pretty flat which means that all Zhang Hao has to do is follow the buildings he can spot in the distance.

It’s a relaxing walk and he times it perfectly so he enters the grounds exactly ten minutes before lessons start, just enough time to register and be directed to the correct classroom.

"Ah," the teacher says when he catches sight of Zhang Hao in the doorway, looking up from his laptop bag. The class quietens at his arrival but Zhang Hao doesn't look at any of them, preferring to keep his eyes on the teacher. "You must be Zhang Hao."

"Yes," Zhang Hao confirms, and doesn't hesitate when the teacher waves him in to introduce himself. He knew this was coming so he smoothly recites the words he prepared last night: nice to meet you all, I'm Zhang Hao but you can call me Hao, please take care of me topped off with a perfunctory bow and a smile. He mentally congratulates himself on not stumbling over his words.

There's a few looks exchanged from one classmate to another but no one says anything to his face, which suits him just fine. He's had to deal with a lot worse than some harmless gossip about being the new Chinese kid.

"Alright," the teacher announces. "Everyone, please treat Zhang Hao-ssi well." His voice takes on a conspiratorial tone as he addresses Zhang Hao, "You can see we have a full classroom here. You'll be sitting next to Sung Hanbin."

Zhang Hao follows his gaze to the only empty chair in the room and—oh. This Sung Hanbin is actually very, very handsome. Actually, the more he stares at him, the more he believes this is possibly the most handsome guy he's ever seen. Why is someone like him sitting alone?

Hanbin stares back at him, edges of his mouth curling up in amusement. Zhang Hao wills himself not to flush, embarrassed to be caught red-handed, and steels himself as he walks to his seat. It's at the back of the classroom away from the window and as he sits down, his peers must evidently decide that there are more interesting things to pay attention to. The chatter picks up again and Hanbin smiles at him in welcome.

"I'm Hanbin," he reiterates, as if he thinks Zhang Hao might have forgotten his name in the ten seconds between the teacher saying it and Zhang Hao sitting down. "Should I call you Hao-ssi?"

"Just Hao is fine." It will take him a while to get used to that. "We shouldn't be so formal if we're going to be paired up the whole year."

"I agree," Hanbin says with a smile that looks a tad warmer. He looks like he's studying Zhang Hao, almost, which is kind of uncomfortable. He probably looks like that at everyone; it could be why he's sitting alone.

Zhang Hao tacks on a belated: "Sorry if my Korean is bad, by the way."

"Not at all," Hanbin says easily. "We can speak Chinese instead, if you prefer."

Zhang Hao frowns to himself. He checked that they don't offer Chinese here and Sung Hanbin is a Korean name through and through. He certainly looks very Korean too. There's always the possibility that he has some Chinese family but Zhang Hao gets the vibe that in a town like this, that's not so common. But not impossible, he supposes.

“I lived there for some time when I was younger, but I like to think I'm still fluent," Hanbin explains, correctly reading the reason behind his silence.

“Oh?" Zhang Hao hadn't considered that. "What did you think?”

“It’s a beautiful country,” Hanbin says simply. “And the food was great.” He pauses as he stares at Zhang Hao for a beat too long, one side of his mouth edging upwards into something that’s close to a smirk. “Perhaps I should have revisited.”

“Is there no Chinese food here?” Zhang Hao asks in confusion, and Hanbin’s mouth twitches. “I thought I saw a restaurant as I was driving through.”

“It’s probably not what you’re used to. Inje is a small town, after all.” Zhang Hao can practically see the question on his face before Hanbin even says it. “Why come here specifically?”

“My grandparents owned a house here,” Zhang Hao replies, then bites his tongue to stop himself from saying any more. His reluctance must show on his face. He understands Hanbin’s curiosity but Zhang Hao really doesn’t want to get into his complicated family history. It would be a pain if he scared off his deskmate on his first day.

“I see,” Hanbin says, not missing a beat. He doesn’t seem inclined to poke at Zhang Hao’s reticence, which Zhang Hao is grateful for.

“And thanks for the offer of speaking in Chinese,” Zhang Hao says dutifully, watching the teacher hand out booklets to his classmates, “but I should probably stick to Korean for now. So I can improve.”

"Sure." The constant smiling is almost unnerving; Hanbin has smiled more in the past three minutes than Zhang Hao has in the past three months. "But you should know the option's always there when you need it."

They lapse into silence as the teacher places their booklets face-down on the desk, and then claps his hands at the front of the classroom. “Okay, everyone: thirty minutes to complete all the questions and—” A boy with messy hair sticks his hand up and the teacher throws him a look. “Yes, Jinyoung-ssi, in silence.”

The next few hours pass much in the same manner, various teachers rotating in and out of their classroom. Hanbin’s presence is a solid pull of gravity next to him, something about him compelling Zhang Hao to cast sidelong glances at him and watch what he’s doing. Sometimes he catches Hanbin doing the same to him and they make eye contact, at which point they smile in mutual amusement. Zhang Hao’s smiles have more of an embarrassed tinge to them but he still forgets to stop himself from looking.

At lunch, Zhang Hao expects Hanbin to take him to a table of similarly attractive people and introduce him to the large circle of friends he must have. That would only be befitting for someone like Hanbin, with his easygoing charm and good looks. Instead, Zhang Hao grabs a lunch tray and Hanbin leads him to an empty table in the corner. It’s in a relatively inconspicuous place, tucked away by a large potted plant, but Zhang Hao feels more than a few curious glances bounce off of him as they walk there.

Hanbin sits in a seat facing the rest of the cafeteria and Zhang Hao sits opposite him, eyeing his empty hands. “Are you not eating?”

“Oh, I don’t usually get hungry during the day,” Hanbin confesses. “I only eat breakfast and dinner because anything more makes me feel too tired to function. But I heard the food here is really good.”

Zhang Hao, who didn’t realise how hungry he was until he sat down, swallows a mouthful of rice. “It is.” He nudges one of the side dishes towards Hanbin. “You can try a bit if you want.”

Hanbin’s expression flickers as he looks at the food, brow creasing inexplicably before it smooths back out. He pushes the dish back gently. “Maybe another day,” he says lightly, “but thank you.”

Zhang Hao has never really minded silence but he thinks anyone would feel awkward if they had to eat with someone else watching, so he searches for a way to keep Hanbin speaking. The question that pops into his head isn’t bad, as far as icebreakers go. “Have you always lived here?”

“I moved here some time ago,” Hanbin answers vaguely. Hanbin’s knee brushes against his. "My turn: why come to the trouble of moving to Korea in your last year of school?"

"It's kind of a long story," Zhang Hao says, even though it really isn't. He could shorten it to a sentence if he wished: my father was caught embezzling but my mom somehow hid everything for him then I caught him cheating on my mother and I think they're divorcing and now I hate him and that whole side of the family so I followed my mom here. It's a long sentence but it's doable.

Hanbin's eyes trail to the clock and back, as if to say we have time. Zhang Hao wonders if everyone here is this nosy. He figures he can't really blame them if that were the case; everyone needs a little excitement in their lives.

"It's more of a personal story than a long one," he amends, and Hanbin nods encouragingly. "You know, just your standard family issues. But my mom moved here about six months ago and I've been learning Korean since then so that I can join her here."

“Wow,” Hanbin says, impressed. Zhang Hao ducks his head and prays that his ears remain their usual colour. “Your Korean is really good for someone who’s been learning for such a short time. I thought maybe you were half-Korean or something similar."

Zhang Hao grins. "Now you're just lying. My accent is way too strong for that."

Hanbin shrugs, the very picture of c'est la vie. "It can happen. My diction isn't the best either."

"And now you're just fishing for compliments," Zhang Hao says teasingly, and Hanbin throws his head back and laughs.

"You caught me," he admits. It's so unfair, Zhang Hao thinks to himself, that his eyes sparkle when he smiles. Hanbin's smile tilts into something softer as he looks down at Zhang Hao's tray. "When you're done eating, then I can show you around properly?"

"Sure," Zhang Hao agrees, trying not to be obvious about polishing off his lunch quicker. Hanbin’s eyes are warm as he smiles at Zhang Hao. Zhang Hao is helpless to prevent himself from returning the smile.

Hanbin takes him under his wing after that. Zhang Hao supposes Hanbin doesn’t have much of a choice in the first place, as they’re sat next to each other in the same seats for the vast majority of the school day. Still, Hanbin never voices any complaints and Zhang Hao himself doesn’t have any problems with this arrangement; Hanbin makes for great company and Zhang Hao never feels the need to seek out other friendships. In fact, Zhang Hao can’t remember the last time he made a friend so quickly and so easily. It must have been several years ago — or likely never. Hanbin, Zhang Hao swiftly comes to realise, just gets him in a way that no one else does. He’s relieved when he learns he’s not alone in this line of thinking.

“Sometimes,” Hanbin confesses to him as they take a leisurely walk around the school grounds, “I get surprised at how much we have in common.”

“I thought it was just me,” Zhang Hao says, unable to hide the palpable relief in his voice, and they leave it at that.

Of course, the experience of being the new Chinese kid can differ. Most people in his class are happy to leave him be and greet him with a casual nod when they see him reading in the morning, but in other people’s eyes he’s the shiny new toy.

Hanbin’s presence seems to act as a safety net, a cocoon Zhang Hao can burrow into whenever he wants to hide, but Hanbin isn’t always there. The empty space next to him before school starts is taken as an invitation for others to try and fill, which is what a few of the girls in his class have been attempting the past few days. Zhang Hao finds it amusing more than anything, only because they’re clearly flirting with him and he has absolutely zero interest in women, so he partakes in their conversations for sheer entertainment value.

Regardless, these conversations never lead anywhere and whenever Hanbin appears in the doorway they all scamper away to their own desks. Hanbin never says anything about this, preferring to simply stroll in and greet Zhang Hao normally, but after the third time this happens Zhang Hao receives a shock.

“Good morning,” Hanbin greets brightly, looking up from his book, and Zhang Hao stops dead in his tracks. He checks the clock on the wall to make sure he has the correct time. Seven-twenty, when he usually arrives and Hanbin is nowhere to be seen.

“Good morning,” Zhang Hao says hesitantly. No one else is here yet; Zhang Hao is always the first. Well. Almost always, now. He hitches his bag higher up on his shoulder and comes forward, Hanbin's eyes tracking the movement. "What are you doing here?"

Hanbin raises his eyebrows. "I have a legal obligation to come to school?"

"Obviously." Zhang Hao plops into his seat. It's comical, having this big empty classroom to themselves while he squishes himself into the corner. "I mean, you usually waltz through at eight on the dot."

"I don't waltz," Hanbin protests. "But to answer your question, I’ve become something of an early riser now. There's no point in waiting around at home if I'm ready to go." He blinks guilelessly at Zhang Hao, on the verge of being a little too earnest. "You feel the same, right?"

Zhang Hao shakes his head in amusement. "I can't tell if you're being genuine or not."

"I'm always one hundred percent genuine," Hanbin declares, placing a hand over his heart. "Sung Genuine was my name in elementary school, you know."

"Every elementary schooler is genuine, that's why their words hurt so much," Zhang Hao mutters, drawing out some history notes from his bag as Hanbin laughs next to him.

"What were you like in elementary school?"

"Annoying," Zhang Hao says decisively, trying and failing to block out Hanbin as he scoots closer. If Hanbin is planning to continue these early rendezvous then Zhang Hao might need to worm his way into the classroom at seven. Or hightail it straight to the library instead.

"I bet you were so cute," Hanbin gushes, unheeding of Zhang Hao's internal dilemma. "Can I see some baby pictures one day?"

"Only if I can see yours," Zhang Hao says automatically, then thinks. "Oh wait, I don't think we have any here."

Hanbin thinks with him. "Maybe your mom brought some with her."

Zhang Hao snorts. "I doubt it, she's not that sentimental." Though it's possible she could be, he muses. Still, there are more important things at hand. "I do actually come here early to study, by the way."

"Fine, fine," Hanbin says cheerfully, and they lapse into a comfortable silence. Hanbin's leg brushes against his every so often and Zhang Hao has to force himself to focus on the words swimming before his eyes. He's definitely going to the library in the future.

As the sky brightens outside, more students begin to filter into the classroom. The trio of girls that Zhang Hao is used to accosting him are included here — except rather than surrounding him at his desk like usual, they sport matching disgruntled looks and slide into their own seats. Zhang Hao feels Hanbin stretch out next to him like a cat basking in the sun.

Hanbin’s presence in the school is strange in a way that Zhang Hao can’t quite put his finger on — he’s clearly popular, faces gravitating towards him and eyes shining with either admiration or longing whenever he walks down the hallway, but seems to have no actual friends. Apart from Zhang Hao, apparently.

One day, Zhang Hao gets bored of repeatedly hatching and discarding the same theories (they range from an annoying middle school past to a lack of showering to breaking the heart of the class president Park Hyejin to mass murder). He has the object of said theorising right in front of him so he might as well ask.

“Okay, out with it,” Zhang Hao says bluntly. “What kind of dirt do you have on Park-seonsaengnim?”

Hanbin blinks at him, startled. “Excuse me?”

"I thought people would be falling over themselves to sit next to you in class,” Zhang Hao says, folding his arms across his chest. “Or generally speak to you. And people like you and want to befriend you, I can see that, but you don’t pay them any mind.”

Hanbin purses his lips. "I told the school at the start of the year that it would probably be more disruptive for my partner if I had to disappear every so often — lack of peer collaboration and such — so their solution was to have me sit by myself. We had an odd number of students in the class so it worked out.”

“Until I came along,” Zhang Hao fills in.

“Until you came along,” Hanbin says fondly. “But I’d say it still worked out, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Zhang Hao says quietly, then reels his mind back in. “What do you mean, you have to disappear sometimes?”

"Health issues," Hanbin says mildly. "I have to travel to Seoul once a month to receive treatment, so I’m out of school for a couple of days. That's all."

Zhang Hao blinks at that. For some reason, Hanbin has this image of being the apex of good health in Zhang Hao’s mind, as solid as a rock. He supposes that ultimately he can’t judge a book by its cover. Or wax poetic about a guy he barely knows outside of the boundaries of school. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Hanbin appears unperturbed by this topic of conversation so Zhang Hao pushes his luck. “Are they serious?”

“Not really. I’ve been dealing with them all my life, after all.” He shifts, fingers lazily circling an old stain on the table. “They were a lot worse when I was younger. Harder to control.” He flashes a smile at Zhang Hao. “But I have everything in hand now.”

“Well, that’s good,” Zhang Hao says, genuinely meaning it. “But, you know, monthly trips to Seoul don’t stop you from making friends.”

Hanbin laughs and raises a hand, the gold of his ring glinting in the fluorescents. “Okay, you caught me.” His hand lowers and he rests his cheek in his palm, a soft light in his eyes. “If only you were easier to fool.”

Zhang Hao mimics his posture mockingly. “Are you actually gonna answer my question?”

“Truthfully,” Hanbin says indulgently, that warmth still in his eyes, “I just didn’t find anyone here very interesting.”

The meaning behind those words is not lost on Zhang Hao. He, unfortunately, likes compliments; flattery goes to his head. He probably shouldn’t clue Hanbin in on that fact though, in case he takes it as permission to be even worse. Zhang Hao makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Stop flirting with me.”

Hanbin’s grin widens. “Guilty as charged,” he says faux-solemnly, leaning back and away. His expression twists for a moment, so quickly Zhang Hao thinks he must have imagined it, before it smooths back out as he watches Zhang Hao eat. “Have you been shown the forest around the back of the school? It’s pretty cool.”

The answer is obviously no, as Hanbin hasn’t taken him there and Zhang Hao doesn’t hang out with anyone else. Hanbin must know this too but he’s probably trying to be polite about it. “No,” Zhang Hao says, “I haven’t.” He glances at the wall on the clock and does a double-take, shocked to find they only have ten minutes left before classes start again. “We can go now? I’m done with this.”

“It’s a date,” Hanbin says cheerfully, either uncaring or oblivious of the warning look Zhang Hao gives him.

That’s Hanbin’s one flaw, Zhang Hao muses as he stacks his tray up. He speaks too carelessly. Someone else (someone like you, his brain mutters stubbornly) would read too much into his words when, really, they don’t mean anything.

“Hey,” Hanbin says next to him, waving a hand in front of his face. “Everything good?”

Zhang Hao ignores the pulse of embarrassment that comes with realising he was spacing out. Spacing out over something totally stupid, no less. “Yeah.” He coughs. “So what’s this forest?”

Zhang Hao is generally a clumsy person. It’s small things, mainly: tripping over his own two feet, accidentally knocking glasses down at the dinner table, falling flat onto his back when it’s the tiniest bit slippery outside. Granted, it used to be a lot worse when he was a child. His mom probably could have trained to be a nurse with the amount of first aid she carried out.

Accident-prone, she’d sighed to him once as she yet again cleaned up a shallow wound on his knee. It was kind of gross to look at, dark red blood welling up like a stream of tears, but Wang Yifeng in the year above would think it was cool when Zhang Hao showed him tomorrow. He liked impressing Yifeng because then he would smile at Zhang Hao in that way that gave Zhang Hao butterflies and, for a moment, everything would be okay.

“What does it mean when someone’s smile makes your stomach feel all weird?” he wonders aloud, and his mom’s hand pauses.

“Whose smile are you talking about?”

Here, he hesitates. He still tells his mom everything even though his friend Xiaoming tells him he should really be growing out of that now. Zhang Hao often ignored Xiaoming during these moments, which was something he was doing more and more. He couldn’t even remember why they were friends at this point. He’d complained about that to his mom too. He really did tell her everything; maybe Xiaoming was right. But there were a couple of things he thought he should keep private. Like if his mom asked why were you running so fast in the first place then he wouldn’t be able to answer. And now something was telling him to evade this question too.

“No one,” he lies. “I was just wondering ‘cause I read about it in a book. It sounds strange.”

“It can be,” his mom says, watching his face intently. Zhang Hao watches the blood on his knee instead, a meandering trail of red. “But it can make you feel very giddy too.”

“What’s giddy?”

She looks down, a clean wipe in hand. Zhang Hao can see that faraway look in her eye, the same one she gets when she’s thinking of his dad. “Like,” she says softly, “you have proof that you’re alive.”

That’s how Yifeng makes me feel too, Zhang Hao wants to say in excitement. Only he doesn’t and they sit in silence as his mom does one final dab and tapes a plaster over the wound.

Zhang Hao finds himself stuck on that conversation now, the way his nine-year-old self had lit up at finally having his feelings articulated. His life then was a wildly oscillating series of peaks and troughs, repeatedly flying high before the sudden nosedive into the crash with no safe in-between, and nothing made him feel more alive than being infatuated with another person.

Naturally he finds himself thinking of Yifeng too, starkly outlined in Zhang Hao’s memory for being his first real crush. Only this time the Yifeng of his memory looks a lot different.

Oh God, Zhang Hao despairs. You gotta be kidding me.

Zhang Hao blames that thought for the reason he doesn’t spot the debris on the ground in time and stumbles over it. He’s not quite fast enough to catch himself, wrist hitting the wing mirror of the empty car next to him, and he faceplants right onto the concrete.

“Ow,” he hisses automatically, then winces. Ow is a fucking understatement.

The fall is bad enough but the universe must enjoy playing cruel jokes on him even more than it usually does. As he attempts to sit up, there's a flash of movement across the parking lot that gives him pause. He squints as he tries to—is that Hanbin? What’s Hanbin doing here? Zhang Hao had offered that they stay after school to study together, but Hanbin had declined and said he needed to get home.

Zhang Hao is too focused on trying to work out if he's hallucinating or not; it's why he doesn't spot the delivery van skidding right towards him until it’s directly in front of him. He jerks back in shock, head making a heavy thunk against the metal of the car behind him. He doesn’t even have time to think, mind a wash of white noise and frantic streams of thought overlapping, but—

A squeal of tyres, an even more insistent deep grind of metal.

The next time Zhang Hao opens his eyes, he’s in a protective half-crouch and there’s a solid, familiar body in front of him. The van has come to a stop, parallel with the car Zhang Hao is leaning against. He’s close to being squashed between them.

"Are you hurt?" Hanbin asks him forcefully, voice cutting through the shock. He's looking over Zhang Hao's shoulder at the driver currently stuttering out apologies through the open window.

There's a terrifying blankness in his eyes which Zhang Hao has never come close to seeing before; he shrinks back from it even though the look isn't directed at him. It makes the words about how Hanbin somehow just stopped a full-speed vehicle with his bare hands die on the tip of his tongue.

“Not majorly,” Zhang Hao gasps, the adrenaline making his words hitch. He’s overcome with the urge to start running away from that expression on Hanbin’s face and never stop. “I think.”

"Good," Hanbin murmurs, then takes great care in helping Zhang Hao up. Zhang Hao is grateful for the help — he probably needs it too, judging by the way his legs feel like they're made of jelly.

"My mom," he whispers. That, more than anything, makes him come back to himself, the reality of the situation hitting him at full force. If Hanbin hadn't—

"I know," Hanbin soothes, gently directing him through the gap between the backs of the two cars. The driver is still apologising profusely from the car window, blood on his temple, but Hanbin ignores him and so does Zhang Hao. Once they've made it through, Hanbin lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. His brow is furrowed in concern. "Do you want to call her? Or I can do it?"

"Yeah," Zhang Hao croaks, fishing around in his pockets. "Let me get my—"

His phone screen has completely shattered, a web spiralling out from the point of impact in the middle. Zhang Hao stares at it in dismay, momentarily lost for words, then looks up to find Hanbin with that same blank expression on his face. He only sees it for a moment; Hanbin's face clears as soon as Zhang Hao lifts his head.

Hanbin's hand dives for his own pocket. "Do you remember her number? I can call her."

“Yeah,” he says weakly. “It’s—”

The wrong number. Her old number on her Chinese phone. Try as he might, Zhang Hao can’t remember her new one; memorising it got a little lost in his list of priorities.

“That’s okay,” Hanbin says quickly, starting to lead Zhang Hao to Hanbin’s own car via the hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure the school must have it on record but I’m gonna take you to the hospital first, okay?”

Now that the adrenaline has started to wear off, Zhang Hao can feel the pain reverberating through the right side of his body. He must not be as unhurt as he thought. Trying to escape Hanbin's notice, he curls his left arm around himself and gingerly prods at his waist, then has to bite down on his tongue to suppress a hiss. Okay, definitely bruised at the very least.

The pain in his head is far worse and far more urgent, though. Zhang Hao has no clue if it was caused by the initial fall or his head slamming against the car but he would very much like it to stop now please. He can feel himself rapidly losing the ability to think straight.

“Hanbin,” he rasps. “Is my head bleeding?”

“No,” Hanbin says decisively without even looking. Zhang Hao frowns, wanting to press the issue, but before he can they reach Hanbin’s car and he’s bundled inside. Hanbin joins him a second later, immediately starting the car and pulling out.

“I saw you,” Zhang Hao mumbles. “Across the parking lot. Right before.”

“You didn’t,” Hanbin says, voice pacifying as if he’s consoling a small child. “I was walking up to you. I called out your name.”

He can’t dissect that right now. The world feels like it’s melting away which Zhang Hao, even with his limited medical knowledge, knows is definitely not a good sign. “My head really hurts,” Zhang Hao whispers after a particularly bad explosion of pain in his cranium. His body instinctively tilts forward to accommodate it. “Really, really bad.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Hanbin says desperately. Zhang Hao can barely hear him over the pounding in his head, vision sliding in and out of focus. “You need to stay awake, okay? You need to focus on staying awake."

"Mmm," Zhang Hao hums, closing his eyes. The relief is immediate.

Hanbin's voice sounds like it's coming at him from across a large strait of water, words snatched away before Zhang Hao can truly comprehend them. "Why don’t you tell me about your father?”

“I hate him,” Zhang Hao says immediately with a vehemence which he shouldn’t be able to muster right now. He thinks he might have switched to Chinese somewhere along the way but he can’t be sure.

“Tell me why.”

“Because…” He frowns; he can’t remember. Everything seems so far away. He’s saved from answering as the car comes to a smooth stop. He registers the slam of Hanbin’s car door, followed by the opening of his own.

Hanbin’s worried face swims before him as he reaches over to unbuckle Zhang Hao. Distantly, Zhang Hao notices that he smells really good. For a fleeting second he wants to burrow his face in Hanbin’s neck and inhale the scent there, which is really not a thought he should be having. Jesus.

“I can walk,” Zhang Hao mutters as Hanbin helps him out of the seat, some of his clarity returning to him. The pain is beginning to fade to a muted roar, the dying breaths of fluttering ashes rather than the raging fire it was.

The bright fluorescents of the hospital make him wince. Hanbin speeds to the reception desk, relinquishing his hold on Zhang Hao, and Zhang Hao watches him converse with the receptionist in low tones. The sharp lines of his cheekbones grow more accented as he speaks and Zhang Hao bites his lip.

The receptionist looks over at him then says something to Hanbin, who nods and crosses the distance between them. "She said you'll be seen soon. You should sit."

"Probably," Zhang Hao agrees absently, and they find an empty pair of seats. They're those plastic chairs that are designed to be as uncomfortable as possible. Zhang Hao has to sit in the most awkward position possible so he won't aggravate the right side of his body. He shifts closer to Hanbin, seeking comfort.

Hanbin grants him it, flipping his wrist over so Zhang Hao can rest the pads of his fingers on the thin skin there. Zhang Hao is about to attempt articulating his thoughts on how Hanbin had reached him so fast in the first place when Zhang Hao swore he saw him across the parking lot, let alone what he was doing there in the first place, but Hanbin suddenly jolts. "I still need to let your mom know."

"It can wait," Zhang Hao says, less panicked now that he knows he's, in all probability, not going to die. Some painkillers would be very much appreciated, though. "It probably won't even faze her. I used to get into accidents like this all the time as a kid."

Hanbin gives him an unreadable look. "You used to get into car accidents all the time?"

"Well, no. But—"

"Zhang Hao?" a nurse calls out, and they stand in unison. She smiles at them. "This way, please."

She leads them into a room with four beds, all of them thankfully empty. She directs Zhang Hao to sit on the edge of one and he does so, hand still wrapped around Hanbin's wrist. He blinks at it.

Hanbin's other hand comes up to gently curl around Zhang Hao's wrist. "Your mom," he reminds him.

"But…"

“Five minutes,” Hanbin promises, not making a move to shake Zhang Hao off. “Then I’ll be right back.”

With great reluctance, Zhang Hao lets him go and watches his back until he disappears out of sight. He sits patiently as the nurse conducts her examination, efficient without being abrasive. It doesn’t take very long and she nods to herself once they’re done, stepping back in finality.

“The doctor will be with you shortly,” she tells him, and he nods his thanks.

Sure enough, a minute later she walks back in with a man who must be the doctor, studying something on a clipboard. He's handsome, Zhang Hao notes absently — he's probably been the star of a few patients' fantasies, if you were into that whole dark and brooding thing. Which Zhang Hao isn't. These days, at least.

They exchange greetings and the doctor gets right into it after feeling for bumps on Zhang Hao's head. “No serious injuries at all, which is very lucky. You have a mild concussion which will clear up with plenty of rest.” He pauses as if expecting Zhang Hao to contest the mild part. “No looking at phones or television for the moment. You also—” He’s interrupted by Hanbin’s entrance. Zhang Hao sees the doctor instinctively dismiss him as a relative or friend, but then he blinks. "Hanbin-ah."

“Hello, hyung,” Hanbin says, as sheepish as Zhang Hao has ever seen him.

The doctor looks at Zhang Hao again, his gaze this time uncomfortably weighty with consideration, then back to Hanbin. Zhang Hao watches them exchange a series of looks, evidently having a conversation he's not privy to. The nurse is bustling around, preparing the bed and space for Zhang Hao and generally occupying herself. Zhang Hao doesn't have that same luxury.

They seem to come to an impasse after a few awkward moments, as the doctor turns back to Zhang Hao to pick up where he left off. "Well, as I was saying, you have no major injuries. There is some heavy bruising which will heal naturally and we’ll prescribe you some painkillers to help with that. You'll stay here overnight as a precaution but if nothing else arises, you can be discharged tomorrow morning.” In the corner of his eye, Zhang Hao can see Hanbin listening attentively. "Any questions?"

"No," Zhang Hao answers. "Thank you."

The doctor nods and leaves without a second glance at either of them. The nurse distracts Zhang Hao by explaining the emergency call button by the bed, before advising him to lie down and rest. Then she takes her leave too.

Zhang Hao raises an eyebrow at Hanbin. "What was that about?"

Hanbin looks puzzled. "Do you disagree with needing to rest?"

"Not that. Your weird moment with the doctor."

"Oh, I told him we'll talk at home," Hanbin says breezily, as if it's normal to hold entire silent conversations with random doctors. He smiles wryly at the expression on Zhang Hao’s face. “That was Jiwoong-hyung. My brother.”

Zhang Hao stares at him. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“Oh, we’re not that close,” Hanbin says dismissively. “Big age difference, which you probably gathered already." Zhang Hao wants to delve further into that but Hanbin continues, “I was so scared when I saw…”

“About that. What were you doing there in the first place? I thought you said you were busy.”

“I was,” Hanbin replies, “but I remembered I left one of my workbooks at school, so I came by to pick it up. I was just getting out of my car when I saw you and called out to you.”

Zhang Hao doesn’t remember hearing his name shouted at all. He could’ve sworn Hanbin was nowhere near him when it happened. And that wasn’t even getting onto the whole matter of Hanbin seemingly stopping the van from hitting Zhang Hao.

All of this is adding up to a picture that doesn’t make sense.

Hanbin is watching him try and piece this together, usual imperturbable expression on his face but something defensive in his body language. Like he’s daring Zhang Hao to question his version of events.

He’s saved from coming up with a response by the arrival of his very shaken mother, who must have driven here like a bat out of hell. He's tasked with providing her with the run-down of what exactly happened, where he's hurt, how much did it hurt, how much does it hurt now, and what the doctor told him.

"Oh, honey," she sighs when he's done, patting his hand. "I'm just so relieved you're okay. You have no idea how terrifying it was to receive that call from the school."

"Well, you have Hanbin to thank for that," Zhang Hao segues smoothly. "He was there when it happened and he was the one that demanded the school to call you."

He doesn't say and he was the one that stopped the car from crushing me in the first place because that sounds…outlandish. It's physically impossible; he must be imagining something that never happened.

Hanbin, for his part, looks very surprised at being called out like that. "Oh, it was nothing," he says modestly. "I was just doing whatever I could."

"Thank you," his mother says sincerely, then squeezes Zhang Hao's hand. "I'm glad we're finally meeting. A-Hao talks so much about you, you know."

"I literally do not," Zhang Hao mutters defensively, though it's drowned out by the sound of Hanbin's laughter.

"It's a pleasure to meet you too." Hanbin sneaks a sly glance at him before turning back to his mom. "I can see where your son gets his good looks from."

"Urgh," Zhang Hao complains at the same time his mom laughs. Zhang Hao knows that laugh and is horrified to discover that she's already thoroughly charmed by Hanbin. He would feel betrayed if it weren’t for the fact that he is also, unfortunately, thoroughly charmed by Hanbin.

"Oh, this one's a flatterer," she says, grinning to herself. Hanbin's still smiling but he's looking at Zhang Hao for some reason, as if gauging his reaction. Zhang Hao frowns at him in question. His mom looks between the two of them and gives his hand one last pat before standing up. "Well! Looks like I have a long night ahead of me so I'm gonna grab a coffee." She pauses. "Hanbin-ssi, perhaps you should be getting home? I don't want your parents to worry."

"That's okay," Hanbin says placidly. "I think I'll stay for now."

"If you're sure," she says, and slips through the door.

All of a sudden, Zhang Hao feels very sleepy. He wonders if the nurse drugged him with anything and he says as much to Hanbin, who only gives him one of his trademark soft smiles. Zhang Hao's thankful that he's too drowsy to ruminate on the fact that's the same exact smile he'd been thinking about right before he landed face-first on the asphalt.

"If they did, then I'm glad that you'll at least be able to sleep well tonight," Hanbin says quietly. "Good night, Hao."

"Thank you for everything today," Zhang Hao murmurs back, eyes falling closed. "Good night." He manages to add a slurred, "No more flirting with my mom." The last thing he hears before he drifts off is the sound of Hanbin's soft laughter.

As Hanbin’s brother promised, Zhang Hao is discharged from the hospital the next morning. He'd been somewhat disheartened — and then promptly berated himself — to wake and find that Hanbin had left while Zhang Hao was sleeping. He knew it was a childish reaction to have. Hanbin had done more than enough for him and he had his own life to get back to. Still, it was easier said than done to ignore the sharp ache of missing him.

His mom looks over at him once they're situated in her car, ready to finally drive home. "Soooo."

"Soooo," Zhang Hao parrots.

"You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend," she says casually as she starts up the car and pulls out of the hospital parking lot.

Zhang Hao sighs inwardly. "That's because I don't."

"Uh-huh," she says, unconvinced. "There's definitely something there with that Hanbin boy. And he seems very nice, far better than—"

"Mom," he interrupts before she can start discussing the tragedies of Zhang Hao's love life. "Whatever's there is from my side only, trust me. He's a good friend to me and that's all."

She sighs. "You know, he kept vigil by your side the whole night. He didn't even sleep, he was just…watching over you. Then he left sometime around four only because he said he had to get back home. You don't think that kind of care is noteworthy?"

Horribly, his body betrays him; his ears must be on fire with the amount of heat they're giving off.

"See?" she crows in delight, catching his reaction. "Now you see what I'm talking about."

“But we’re not boyfriends,” Zhang Hao mutters, tapping his fingernail against the upholstery. “Just friends.”

His mom mm-hmms skeptically. “For now.”

Zhang Hao really wishes he wasn’t having this conversation. In fact, he thinks there’s another, more pertinent conversation they should be having. “Um. I don’t know if Hanbin told you but my phone got completely smashed. Do you know any places where I can buy a new one?"

"Of course." She continues down the main road rather than pulling down the side roads, as they would do if they were headed home. "Let's get it out of the way now. But remember what the nurse said — you need to avoid screens."

"I know," he mutters, then blinks. "Wait, aren't you going to work today?"

She gives him a weird look. "I took the day off. Obviously. My only son was injured in an accident, of course I need to spend the day looking after him."

"I'm technically an adult," he says reflexively, like that changes anything.

"And yet you're still my son. Funny how that works."

"Point taken," he concedes around a yawn. He must have slept for at least twelve hours but the compulsion to sleep still pulls at his sleeve like an insistent child. He can never sleep in a moving vehicle and it will be a short journey anyway, but he finds himself halfway to dozing off. He stares listlessly out of the window and sees the school in the distance. Hanbin must be there and running on an hour of sleep, if that.

“Mom,” he says suddenly, and she hums to show that she’s listening. “Do you think it’s possible for the brain to sort of…hallucinate during an accident?”

"Hallucinate?" she inquires. "In what way?"

“Well,” he starts with trepidation. “When the—when that van was coming towards me and Hanbin was next to me, it looked like it was still at full speed and Hanbin was the one to stop it. Like he pushed it away with his hands. And this one I’m less sure of but I swear a few seconds before it happened, I saw Hanbin all the way across the parking lot. There’s no way he could’ve gotten to me in time.”

Also he might’ve called me sweetheart on the way to the hospital, Zhang Hao thinks but he would rather fling himself out of the car than mention that particular tidbit to his mother. She doesn't need any more ammo.

“I see,” his mother says delicately. Zhang Hao already knows what she’ll say; that’s the tone she uses when she’s trying to break difficult news. “Well, you said it yourself. He was next to you when it happened so we know he can’t have been too far away from you beforehand. And unless he’s some kind of superhuman then he can’t have done anything to the van. So yes, I think it’s possible your brain was just…trying to comprehend what happened. And remember, you hit your head as well.”

“I guess,” he says quietly. Everything she’s saying is one hundred percent correct so why isn’t Zhang Hao one hundred percent convinced?

She glances at him. "Don't think on it. In fact, I want you to move past the accident completely. Put it behind you. You shouldn't be straining your brain otherwise you won't heal."

Zhang Hao snorts. "I'm not totally sure that's how brains work. And my brain can handle a little thinking, thanks."

"Useless thinking," she says haughtily. "If you're gonna insist on using your brain then at least focus on your studying. Or university applications. You have the grades to get into SNU."

"Oh," he says, surprised. "I thought you—I thought you wanted me to go back to China when the year was over."

His mom, from the little he can see of her face, looks stricken. There's an odd silence where Zhang Hao worries he somehow majorly messed up, even though by all accounts he was supposed to only be here for a year. He would obviously like that to change, now that there's nothing pulling him back to China and there are…things rooting him in Korea.

"A-Hao," she says finally, "you are my son."

"I know," he mutters, a little ashamed for a reason he can't place. He brushes imaginary lint off of his pants and presses forward. "I was thinking more Yonsei than SNU, anyway. Their chemistry program is really good."

"Yonsei it is," she agrees, perking up. "As soon as we get that new phone you can text your Hanbin to keep you updated on classwork."

"Fun," he remarks dryly. "And he's not my Hanbin."

"We'll see," his mom says airily, and Zhang Hao twists his mouth to hide his smile.

Zhang Hao is lost. He knows he's lost because he hasn't seen another living soul in about twenty minutes and the reception here is…faltering, to say the least; the navigation on his new phone keeps redirecting him down streets that lead to absolutely nowhere. He's currently walking down a street that's apparently so negligible it doesn't even have a name, only home to a collection of seemingly empty warehouses. He's suddenly overcome with an odd skittering feeling across the back of his neck and he stops in his tracks, right under one of the few street lights here. He squints down at his phone, urging him further ahead, then squints into the heavy darkness in front of him.

It was probably a monumentally stupid move to travel to Seoul on a Wednesday evening without telling anyone, but today he had the unshakeable urge to go exploring alone. Since the accident a couple of weeks ago, he's experienced a lull in homework — either his teachers are taking pity on him or there wasn't much to study at the present moment, but either way Zhang Hao could anticipate the incoming boredom today and seeked to rectify it. His first port of call was Hanbin who shook his head in regret and said he had to get home, and his second port of call was—well, Seoul apparently. Something he's beginning to regret now.

Okay, he thinks. If I turn around now and keep walking back the way I came from, I'll have to hit civilisation again eventually.

Mind made up, he spins on his heel and—

“Hello,” a man says, appearing from the darkness in one of the side alleys. He grins at Zhang Hao with canines that look way too sharp and Zhang Hao recoils. He didn't know there were dental procedures that could achieve that. "Come thrill-seeking?"

For all of his faults, Zhang Hao isn't stupid enough to engage in conversation with a stranger who's just emerged from a dark alleyway, so without further ado he sidesteps him and flees. The man huffs a laugh, not even putting up a chase, and grabs Zhang Hao's arm with a grip like iron. What the fuck, he panics, trying to break free to no avail. There's a flash of headlights at the end of the road and he frantically waves his free arm, attempting to grab their attention. The car speeds towards him while the man is dragging him back closer to the entrance of the alleyway, like Zhang Hao weighs literally nothing, until the driver jumps out of the car and he catches sight of their face. What the hell.

The man lets go of him roughly and Zhang Hao stumbles, knocked off-balance by the sudden freedom. Hanbin steadies him and draws Zhang Hao behind him.

The man frowns at Hanbin. "This isn't your—"

"He's already accounted for," Hanbin says acerbically, voice so sharp it could cut. "Go elsewhere."

The man looks at Hanbin, then Zhang Hao, then Hanbin again and must come to the conclusion that Zhang Hao isn't worth the ensuing fight. Without another word, he turns back to the alleyway he came from and vanishes into the darkness.

Silence shrouds them like a cloak and Zhang Hao stares at the tense set of Hanbin's shoulders in front of him, trying to decide what to say first. After a few moments that feel like an eternity, Hanbin's shoulders relax and he turns to face Zhang Hao. There's a few moments where they just stare at each other, Hanbin with an unreadable expression. Zhang Hao has no idea what his own face is projecting.

"Just what," Hanbin says evenly, "were you doing in this area?"

"I got lost," Zhang Hao says lamely. Hanbin doesn't look very happy at all to hear that. "Well, I did. And my phone wasn't helping at all but, uh, I probably would have found my way out eventually."

"Probably," Hanbin echoes tightly. “Have you no concept of your surroundings? You shouldn’t have been wandering around here anyway, who knows what—”

"That's not very fair," Zhang Hao protests. "It’s not like I wanted to come here, I just got lost! And do I even want to ask what you were doing here? I thought you said you were busy today!"

"I was. I had to pick up an order from a store here." Zhang Hao makes a great show of looking around at the unoccupied, derelict buildings on this street. "Not here. I was on my way back when I…"

Zhang Hao raises an eyebrow. "When you what?"

"Saw you," Hanbin says stiffly. "I was driving past the turning to this road and glanced into it and saw what looked like a struggle, so I turned around and drove in. And then I saw it was you.”

"My hero," Zhang Hao says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, then winces and drags a shaky hand over his face. "Sorry. I have no idea what that was for. Think I’m just…”

“Scared,” Hanbin finishes softly. “I know.”

“Yeah,” Zhang Hao sighs, breath leaving him in a rush. He takes a couple of steps back, body half-turned towards the road behind. Hopefully the buses are still running at this time. “But thank you for—”

Hanbin interrupts him. “Where are you going?”

“The bus stop? You came from the main road, right?”

Hanbin stares at him like Zhang Hao’s grown a second head. “You’re not getting the bus, I’m taking you home.” He opens the passenger door so smoothly it looks choreographed. “Get in.”

“Well,” Zhang Hao flounders, unable to think of a good protest, and follows Hanbin’s orders. The engine has been idling the whole time they were talking and Hanbin moves off without another glance; Zhang Hao half-expects that man to jump out at them and land on the bonnet of the car or something. But that’s not what happens, obviously, and he begins to relax in his seat. “That’s twice you’ve saved my life now.”

“What are friends for,” Hanbin says. He’s trying to go for his usual amiable tone but it falls flat, evidently still frustrated at Zhang Hao for getting himself into that situation. Zhang Hao decides to allow him to cool down and the ride continues in silence.

He uses the opportunity to mull over what just happened in his head; there’s a few things bothering him. And he’d rather dissect the logistics of it than think about what a close call that was. He has no clue what that guy’s intentions were.

What kind of line was come thrill-seeking?, he wonders. Maybe that street is known as a notoriously dodgy part of town — no surprises there — and Zhang Hao was actually about to be dragged to a drug den or something. The way that man had said it so casually, it was almost like he was expecting someone to show up. Like this was a regular occurrence for him.

And why did he seem to recognise Hanbin? Why did Hanbin saying that Zhang Hao is accounted for make the man give up and let himself be ordered around by a schoolboy? What did that even mean, being accounted for? It’s a phrase that doesn’t make sense in or out of context. There’s always the possibility that he could be translating it wrong; he figures that’s actually a likely explanation and resolves to search it up when he gets home.

Or he could ask Hanbin about everything and see where that gets him.

“Hey,” he says as they join the highway. “Have you ever met that guy before?”

“Of course not,” Hanbin says immediately. “He must have mistaken me for someone else, I’ve never seen him in my life.”

“But he seemed to know you, he said—”

Hanbin’s voice grows terse. “Like I said, I’ve never seen him before.”

“But…” Zhang Hao gives this up. Onto the next one. “I have another question. What does ‘accounted for’ mean?”

Hanbin doesn’t answer him for so long that Zhang Hao thinks he might not have heard him. He’s about to repeat himself when Hanbin speaks.

“It means,” Hanbin says slowly, “that you’re off-limits.”

“I’m off-limits,” Zhang Hao repeats incredulously. Whatever the fuck that means. “And that apparently convinced him to leave me alone?”

“Well, it was two against one anyway,” Hanbin says, adopting his most reasonable tone of voice. As if Zhang Hao is the one who isn’t seeing sense here. “Perhaps he understood that his efforts could be better sowed someplace else.”

Zhang Hao stares at the side of his head. “Seriously? That’s what you’re going with? I don’t think he would be scared of two skinny,” he ignores Hanbin’s brief noise of offence, “teenage boys.”

“Okay,” Hanbin sighs. “Then maybe he takes orders from the person that he believed I was.” When Zhang Hao says nothing, Hanbin continues, “Look, he was clearly unstable. I don’t see the point in trying to search for a reason why he did what he did. We’re not going to find the answer so I think the wisest course of action would be to put it behind us and move on.”

Hanbin is, unfortunately, right. Zhang Hao will take his advice and mark that failed kidnapping down as a funny icebreaker story to tell one day. Once he gets over the mild trauma of it. He thinks he’s entitled to a little complaining first, though. "Man, I really haven't had a good last few weeks, huh?"

"Trouble finds you," Hanbin agrees readily, then promptly gets an odd expression on his face.

Zhang Hao’s distracted from working out what that expression means because the turn-off to his house is coming up sooner than he anticipated, and now he needs to work out what he’s going to tell his mom. He sneakily checks his phone and finds more than a few missed calls. Oops.

She’s not the type of parent to ground him or anything like that, but he needs to think of an explanation and he needs to think of one quick. I was hanging out with Hanbin and we both lost track of the time? She’ll only take that one way and he doesn’t want to answer a whole round of uncomfortable questions. He supposes he could opt for the truth, only leaving out the big event of the night. She’ll be annoyed he went to Seoul without telling her but it’s doable.

Hanbin parks up outside his house and patiently waits for Zhang Hao to finish his train of thought. It’s too silent with the engine off and as Zhang Hao turns to look at Hanbin, Hanbin’s gaze slides past him. “I think your mother is waiting for you.”

“Right,” Zhang Hao says after a beat, opening the door and standing up. He bends down to look at Hanbin. “Thanks for the ride. And for—you know."

“Of course.” With the inside car light flaring to life, Zhang Hao can properly look at Hanbin for the first time tonight. It could simply be down to the light but he can’t help noticing how washed out Hanbin appears, face holding none of its usual life. Even his eyes, normally so full of warmth, seem dull. There’s a brief, unsettling lurch of worry in Zhang Hao’s stomach. “Next time, tell me when you’re going to Seoul and I can drive you there.”

“I wasn’t aware I was taking personal chauffeur applications.”

“No need for applications when I’ve already got the job,” Hanbin says breezily. Zhang Hao doesn’t even tell him off for his presumptuousness, since he’s just pleased to see a flicker of something returning in his eyes. “Sleep well.”

“You too,” Zhang Hao says quietly, stepping back. I still really want to kiss you, he thinks, looking at Hanbin’s tired face, and lets the door fall shut.

Hanbin doesn't show up to school the next day or the day after that. And then it's the weekend and Zhang Hao is hit with the uncomfortable feeling of missing Hanbin. Missing him a little too much, if he’s being honest. Hanbin must not have the same reservations as he doesn’t reply to any of Zhang Hao’s texts asking him if everything’s alright and, later, what he’s doing over the weekend. Zhang Hao knows that Hanbin’s reading them because the two ticks appear underneath each message.

are you seriously ignoring me right now, he types out in their chat on a whim, then backspaces and flings his phone back onto the bed.

Of course, being suddenly alone means that he has time to himself. And having time to himself is always a big problem because Zhang Hao is a thinker, the type to stare up at the ceiling and lose himself in thoughts for hours. Usually he just thinks about whatever's been plaguing him recently, which is normally school stress or family stress, but occasionally it’s boy stress. Zhang Hao used to be a pro at ignoring his boy stress and pretending it didn’t exist. Used to be. He's ashamed to admit that, once again, his mind turns to Hanbin.

There’s two things he could think about here. The first is his impressively large (and growing even larger) crush. The second is the possibility that Hanbin could kind of possibly be stalking him. Naturally, he leans towards the second.

See, Zhang Hao likes to believe that he’s a smart person. He can put two and two together when he needs to. And this is a time where he definitely needs to.

If it had been only one time, he could overlook it. He could accept Hanbin’s claim that he was at the school in the evening because he’d forgotten one of his workbooks and needed to pick it up for homework reasons, that he just happened to arrive at the exact same time that Zhang Hao was leaving, that he’d been rushing to greet Zhang Hao when the van came too fast around the corner and almost crushed him. That was all believable.

What wasn’t so believable was Hanbin somehow finding him in that no-go area in Seoul, home to only a few warehouses and creepy men. What were the chances of Hanbin stumbling across him there? It isn't technically impossible but, then again, nothing is technically impossible; Zhang Hao prefers to look at it in terms of probability. Impossible, no — but improbable, yes.

He quickly looks around his room, as if making sure that a cameraman isn't going to jump out of his closet and yell surprise! like on one of those American prank shows, and opens Naver. Should he be opening a private browser for this in case Hanbin is somehow, like, tracking his Naver searches or something? He does need to be prepared for all possibilities, he thinks. But Zhang Hao has never been the type of person with something to hide, even from his potential stalker.

As expected, the search for i think my friend is stalking me doesn’t yield many results. He supposes people aren’t actually friends with their stalker. That seems to be a trait exclusive to Zhang Hao. Settling for something a bit more common this time, he types in i think someone is stalking me.

Okay, this is more fruitful. He ends up scrolling through a myriad of sites with different numbers to call and advice to give, before he stops on a webpage which details the signs of being stalked. Some of it fits, some of it doesn’t, but the bullet point that his eyes are glued to is the sense that you’re in danger.

But Zhang Hao doesn’t feel like he’s in danger. Quite the contrary, in fact — Hanbin really has saved his life twice. And not in the hyperbolic way, but literally saved his life. Uncomfortably, Zhang Hao sort of owes Hanbin. If anything, Hanbin following him has led Zhang Hao to not be in danger. Which is a really unsettling realisation to have.

Maybe he should give one of those numbers a call for some friendly guidance, though for some reason he doesn’t think they would react very kindly to the whole actually, having someone look out for my safety kinda feels…nice? Because Hanbin, for better or worse, was looking out for him: he’d driven Zhang Hao to the hospital, made sure his mom knew he was in an accident, stayed with him overnight, driven him back from Seoul…the list went on. He didn’t need to do any of that but he had anyway.

Zhang Hao has no clue what to think about any of this. Perhaps he should start with confronting Hanbin in search of the truth.

He could, if he wanted to, text Hanbin right now with something along the lines of i know you’re stalking me. See how that goes down. But what’s stopping Hanbin from ignoring that text like he’s done to all of Zhang Hao’s other texts over the past few days? No, Zhang Hao needs to be delicate with this. After all, Hanbin can’t avoid him forever; they’ll be sitting next to each other all day on Monday. So: Zhang Hao needs a plan.

He's woken up early Monday morning by a vague queasiness in his stomach that rolls with an alarming persistence. Zhang Hao keeps his eyes closed and attempts to will his body back into sleeping, then gives up after approximately three minutes and reaches for his phone. 5:47 a.m. And no new text messages. Not that he was expecting any.

The ache in his stomach is altogether familiar; he knows there's no cure for anxiety-induced nausea. All he can do is get on with life. In a bid to distract himself, he rolls out of bed and fishes through his schoolbag for some material to study. The first book he pulls out is history. Perfect.

After he feels that he’s sufficiently learnt enough material relating to the Qing invasion of Joseon, he sets that aside and does some yoga, which might be the first time he's exercised of his own volition in literally his entire life. After that, it's mechanical: shower, get dressed, breakfast. He keeps his mind off of Hanbin throughout by reciting math formulae over and over again, as Hanbin creeps in whenever his brain has a single free moment. It’s tiring in its own way to make sure that he’s constantly engaged, and by the time he’s done washing up he feels the fog of exhaustion return to him. Food will wake him up a little, hopefully.

His mom has always been an early riser, so Zhang Hao isn't surprised to find her already sitting downstairs even though she told him that she has the day off work today.

"Good morning," she greets as soon as he steps into the kitchen, then frowns at him once she looks up from her phone. "You look tired."

"It's a Monday," he mutters by way of explanation, and searches the fridge for something to eat. Actually, Mom, I'm trying to get Hanbin to tell the truth about possibly stalking me — do you have any advice for that? If only.

She turns back to her phone with a sympathetic hum, apparently content to leave him to his sulking. She's always had a habit of muttering to herself while reading the news and Zhang Hao usually lets it wash over him like white noise. This time, though, he half-listens to her mutterings as a way of keeping his brain latched onto something.

“Minister of health sacked as false numbers come to light,” she reads in a mumble. Zhang Hao finds some cubes of melon in a bowl and grabs hold of it eagerly. The melon looks a little off but it tastes fine, and Zhang Hao is content to munch through the cubes as he scrolls through his phone. “New school curriculum to come into effect. My God, listen to this, torso discovered by woman in Seoul—”

Zhang Hao almost drops his phone in shock at the text he receives. I’m driving you to school. From Hanbin.

Zhang Hao opens their chat and finds that Hanbin hasn’t even given Zhang Hao the dignity of reacting to the string of unanswered messages with a thumbs-up or something.

it's only a 20-minute walk, Zhang Hao texts back before he can think too hard on it. Hanbin leaves him on read. Typical. And so fucking presumptuous, as usual. Anger smarts within him. He thinks he’s a little justified in wanting some kind of explanation for the sudden no-contact or, failing that, at least an obligatory apology before expecting Zhang Hao to be at Hanbin’s beck and call.

Zhang Hao might have left for school already for all Hanbin knows. For revenge’s sake, he could pretend exactly that: ignore any texts and calls from Hanbin, ignore the inevitable knocking on the door and tell his mom to do the same, wait for Hanbin to leave. But Zhang Hao isn’t that petty. He thinks.

Besides, this could be sort of advantageous for him. He was planning to enact his plan at school but actually the car is just as good. Even better, really, as they’ll be in an enclosed space and Hanbin won’t be able to laugh it off and change the topic. And doing it as soon as possible is really the way forward, before Zhang Hao starts doubting himself in the face of Hanbin's kind smiles. It's hard to reconcile the Hanbin he knows, his friend Hanbin, with—

Zhang Hao's phone vibrates in his hand and he jolts. I'm outside.

Zhang Hao doesn’t need telling twice. He dithers for a moment, readying himself, then straightens. “See you later, mom.”

“Okay, honey,” she says absently, mug of tea halfway to her mouth. “Have a nice day.”

“You too,” he replies, pocketing his phone and swinging his bag over his shoulder.

Sure enough, Hanbin’s car is idling by the kerb. He promptly stamps down on the small, embarrassing thrum of pleasure that runs through him at the sight. He has a job to do.

"You didn't answer any of my texts over the weekend," Zhang Hao accuses as soon as he gets in. The door hasn't even closed by the time he finishes his sentence. He sits there impatiently, waiting for Hanbin's excuse, and Hanbin raises an eyebrow at him.

"Seatbelt," he reminds Zhang Hao, and doesn't pull away until Zhang Hao straps himself in with a grumble.

"I was busy," Hanbin deflects once they're on the road, and it's such an obvious lie that Zhang Hao can't even be bothered to call him out on it. "My apologies. I read them this morning and saw you said last night that you wanted to talk about something."

"Were you so desperate to know that you couldn't wait until school?"

"That's half of it." He smiles, flicking a teasing glance at Zhang Hao. "The other half is that I wanted to see you."

Zhang Hao pointedly doesn't react to that statement. He really needs to get the ball rolling before he convinces himself that he's delusional and Hanbin is simply a regular, run-of-the-mill friend.

"Well," Zhang Hao sighs. Here he goes. "I don't really want to drag this out any longer so I guess I'll just have to do it now. I wanted to tell you that I'm moving back to China."

The more theatrically-inclined side of Zhang Hao was possibly expecting a slam of the brakes, a jerky lurch forward while Hanbin grapples with the shocking news he's just heard.

Instead, after a short pause Hanbin repeats tonelessly: "You're moving back to China?"

From this position Zhang Hao can barely see his face and he can’t turn towards him; he can't make it obvious that he's seeking out a reaction from Hanbin. Now he's regretting not doing this at school.

"Most likely, yeah," Zhang Hao says into the silence. "Me and my mom discussed it and thought it was the best thing to do. It was my idea."

Hanbin takes the next bend a little too fast. Now Zhang Hao's really regretting not doing this at school. Trying to provoke his possible stalker into admitting he's stalking him while they're in a moving car has to be one of the stupidest ways to die. At least top fifteen, surely.

"Why?" A hint of a demand creeps into Hanbin's tone. "What's the reason? I thought you—I thought you were happy here."

"I was. I am." He licks his lips. Time for the big reveal. "But I don't exactly feel…safe."

"You don't feel safe?" Hanbin repeats softly, voice dropping dangerously low. "What? Why? Did something else happen?"

"Well," Zhang Hao says again, then puffs up his cheeks and blows the air out. "Okay. This is gonna sound really crazy but bear with me." Without comment, Hanbin pulls up on the side of the road and watches him expectantly. Zhang Hao looks around at the empty fields on either side of the road. "Um, school is gonna start soon."

"This is more important," Hanbin says decisively. He rests his hand on top of Zhang Hao's, rubbing his thumb across the skin in comfort. "Tell me. Please."

And now Zhang Hao wishes they were driving again. He can feel himself start to crumble in the face of Hanbin's wide-eyed earnestness and he looks down at their hands instead, only to find that that's almost worse. God, maybe he's got it all wrong and Hanbin really is just his sweet best friend. But Zhang Hao always finishes what he starts.

"I think," Zhang Hao says carefully, lining the dominoes up as practised, "that someone might be…following me. I know how it sounds. But I've just had this feeling of always being watched and—and other weird things which I don't want to get into."

Zhang Hao very much would like to get into those weird things, actually, but he wants to wait for Hanbin to come clean before outright accusing him. Hanbin himself seems to be weighing up the decision, if his lack of forthcoming response is any indication.

In most of Zhang Hao's predictions of this scene, this is supposed to be the point where Hanbin confesses. He's worked out by now that, in some capacity, Hanbin does care for him; he wouldn't want to see Zhang Hao leave. Hanbin, in his unfailing optimism, would surely think they could work it out somehow. Zhang Hao is, generally, considerably less optimistic and even he thinks they can work it out. Although he's not sure if that's solely the crush (yes, it still exists) speaking or not.

(A very tiny part of his mind wonders if he really did leave, would Hanbin find a way to follow him to China? The rest of his brain answers that the dramas his mom likes to watch are a bad influence.)

The hand resting on top of Zhang Hao's hand is calm, but the fingers of Hanbin's other hand are tapping relentlessly on the steering wheel as he stares straight ahead. "And say if this person stopped following you…you would stay here?"

Got him, Zhang Hao thinks viciously, only his mouth has other plans.

"It's not just that," Zhang Hao mumbles. "It—it can get lonely sometimes. Nothing to do with you, but I'd forgotten how isolating it can be when you're…"

Saying that hadn't been part of the plan at all. Fall back, Zhang Hao, fall back.

Another, more distant part of him is egging him on.

"When you're…?" Hanbin prompts after a few seconds.

Zhang Hao swallows. "Gay." The word is clumsy on his tongue. He doesn't think he's ever said it out loud in Korean.

Hanbin's hand doesn't move. “What makes you think,” he intones, “that I don’t like men?”

"Do you?"

Hanbin sends him a look of pure exasperation. "And here I was thinking that I was making my intentions obvious."

“Your intentions,” Zhang Hao repeats dumbly. He feels wholly unprepared for this new conversation; at least he had some semblance of a plan for the previous one.

“Hao.” The exasperation has wormed its way into his voice too. “I like you very, very much. More than friends.”

“Oh,” Zhang Hao says, strangled.

He’s definitely unprepared for this. He hadn’t wanted to examine the why behind the stalking too deeply, preferring to chalk it up to standard protectiveness. From a friend. It made sense in a way: Zhang Hao was new to the area and didn’t have a great number of people looking out for him, so Hanbin could’ve taken it upon himself to confirm all was well. It made him feel better when he thought about it like that, like it was friends looking out for each other. Could there have been some wishful thinking on his part for the other end of the spectrum? Maybe, but it's not like he believed it to be true.

"I thought you knew already," Hanbin says, a little hesitant.

"You haven't actually been that obvious, you know," Zhang Hao points out, mouth running free of his brain. "No big romantic gestures or anything."

Hanbin's mouth ticks up. "I didn't want to scare you off." Zhang Hao has to suppress a slightly hysterical laugh at that. "If you're in need of a big romantic gesture…"

Hanbin's eyes are so, so warm. His eyes have this secret power, Zhang Hao thinks, of making the rest of the world fall away. Nothing else matters outside of the two of them.

"What if I am?" Zhang Hao whispers, a small thrill running through him at the spark of intensity in Hanbin's gaze. The acknowledgement of the tacit permission Zhang Hao's granted him.

As it turns out, that warmth extends to his mouth too. It's a sweet, closed-mouth kiss, one that Zhang Hao eagerly reciprocates. In books and movies, they describe it as a burst of fireworks, a shimmer of stars behind eyelids: Zhang Hao isn't exactly predisposed to that level of poetry, but he feels an inherent rightness. Of something slotting into place. Oh, he thinks helplessly. Oh, that's what it's supposed to feel like.

Hanbin's hand curls around Zhang Hao's waist at the same time Zhang Hao's mouth falls open, and the kiss turns more exploratory, urgent. Zhang Hao's head fills with a white noise as Hanbin's tongue slips inside. With previous partners, Zhang Hao had never been able to truly relax — he'd worry if he was doing the correct thing, if he needed to tilt his head more, if he needed to make more noise. With Hanbin, he can't conjure up a single thought for the life of him.

Hanbin's hand squeezes his waist as they break apart to catch their breath and he rests his forehead against Zhang Hao's, eyes still closed. There's the sound of panting like one of them's just ran a marathon and Zhang Hao, humiliatingly, realises it's coming from him. It's no doubt the best kiss Zhang Hao has had in his life. And he’s had a lot of kisses.

It's why he's so conflicted. Because that kiss was incredible and he would really like to savour the moment, but they still have one pressing issue to handle. “I know you’re stalking me,” he blurts out. So much for a big romantic gesture.

Hanbin pulls back then, expression smoothing out into an impenetrable mask. Zhang Hao feels his absence coldly.

The ensuing silence is only broken by the sound of Zhang Hao's breathing which he painstakingly tries to regulate. It's not helped by the fact that Zhang Hao would very much like to kiss Hanbin again, feel his grip on Zhang Hao's waist.

“Stalking is a very loaded word,” Hanbin says finally. They stare at each other, Hanbin's hand hovering in the air between them as if Zhang Hao is a scared animal about to bolt. He would run if he had better self-preservation instincts.

“...I think that’s the worst defence of stalking I’ve ever heard in my life,” Zhang Hao says, and buries his head in his hands. Argh. His taste in men seriously needs to be studied.

“Okay,” Hanbin says, voice teetering on the edge of panic. “I didn’t—I couldn’t tell you because I knew you would think I was creepy.” Zhang Hao makes a noise which can only be construed as obviously. Hanbin hurries on, “But it was like a compulsion for me, there was something constantly pulling at me to check that you were safe. I promise that I never wanted to scare you, not at all. And I'll absolutely stop, I—"

"Hanbin," Zhang Hao interrupts, raising his head. Hanbin almost looks frightened of what he’ll say and Zhang Hao abruptly realises that he’s the one holding all the cards here. There’s a sudden surety within him that Hanbin would do whatever he asked. And, most importantly, he believes Hanbin when he says there was no malice in his actions. Finally, the truth. “I understand.”

Hanbin’s eyebrows skyrocket up his forehead. “You do?”

Does he? “I mean. There are better ways of going about it. But it is what it is.”

Hanbin stares at him, as if waiting for the impending berating. But it doesn't, and it won't, come. Zhang Hao needs anger for berating and for whatever reason, he's missing it here despite the absolute violation of privacy.

“It is what it is,” Hanbin repeats faintly. “Right.”

"But," Zhang Hao continues, "it should go without saying that I'm asking you to stop." Hanbin nods in such rapid succession it looks like there's a danger of his head falling off his neck. "And if you wanna, um, check on me then just…text me?"

"I will," Hanbin says fervently, eyes wide in sincerity. "I promise. And I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well." How does he feel so exhausted when the day hasn't even properly begun? "I think we should head to school."

The next eight hours, Zhang Hao thinks, are gonna be really fun.

Zhang Hao doesn’t have an excuse or an explanation for what happens next. It would make his life a whole lot easier if there were something, or someone, to blame other than himself. He can't even blame Hanbin because it takes two to tango when it comes to dating.

If he owned a diary, this would probably be the point he would stop writing in it out of shame. It would be a difficult feat to write down the words I'm dating the guy who stalked me.

That is, if Zhang Hao isn't projecting.

(The thing is, he’s not totally sure if they are dating or not. They've made out a few times with hands constantly above the waistline, nothing that progresses beyond simple kissing. Apart from that, their relationship hasn't changed much. Zhang Hao's not an idiot; he knows that there's feelings other than pure friendship involved but to go from friendship to dating is still a big leap.

Ordinarily, Zhang Hao is a blunt person. If it were anyone else, he would just ask if they were dating or not — in fact, that’s how he bagged his first boyfriend when they’d been stuck in that awkward phase after friendship but before officially dating. Back then, his boyfriend had said sure, why not? which, looking back on it now, isn’t exactly the level of romantic response Zhang Hao was hoping for. He definitely doesn’t want to hear Hanbin replicating that laissez-faire attitude when it comes to them dating. For now, Zhang Hao’s perfectly content to pretend that they are dating and that’s that.)

Fortunately for him, a) he doesn’t own a diary and b) Hanbin keeps him preoccupied enough that the rational part of Zhang Hao’s mind (however small it may be, it still exists!) doesn’t start lecturing the rest of him about what he thinks he’s doing. It’s possible that Hanbin knew Zhang Hao might get cold feet, which is why he decided to throw Zhang Hao into the deep end.

Meeting the family. Well, officially they’re working on a project for their history class together, but Zhang Hao is very conscious of the fact that this is his first time visiting Hanbin's house. Which means meeting his family in some capacity. He'd tried to subtly check his reflection in the wing mirror while Hanbin was driving, but hadn't achieved much.

“There’s one thing I should tell you,” Hanbin says just as Zhang Hao is undoing his seatbelt. Zhang Hao looks up at him, hand poised over the buckle, and finds Hanbin watching him steadily. “You already know I live with Jiwoong-hyung. My brother.”

“Yes,” Zhang Hao confirms, and doesn’t say anything else. There must be a good reason why Hanbin never mentions his parents and Zhang Hao won’t pry, despite his curiosity.

“I never mentioned that I, we, live with our younger brother too. Yujin. I’m just telling you now because he’s…very shy around strangers. Don’t be offended if he suddenly runs off mid-conversation.”

“Got it.” When Hanbin sits there and makes no move to leave, fingers tapping anxiously against his thigh, Zhang Hao raises his eyebrows. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“No,” Hanbin says after a very suspicious pause, and gets out of the car.

“O-kay,” Zhang Hao mutters to himself.

As he follows Hanbin to the front door, Zhang Hao can’t help noting how nice his house is. It's pretty out of the way, nestled in a thicket of trees with only a dirt path leading to it, but its isolation means it can afford to be bigger and more Western-style.

"Interesting place to build a house," he comments as they take off their shoes in the entryway.

Hanbin shrugs. "We wanted some freedom. Living like this always has its perks." He takes Zhang Hao by the hand. "Let me show you around a little."

Their first stop is the kitchen, where Jiwoong and a boy who must be Yujin are sitting at the table. Jiwoong is scrolling through his laptop while Yujin is tapping his pencil against the page of a textbook in thought. They both look up at their arrival and when Yujin makes eye contact with Zhang Hao, his face breaks into a wide smile. Zhang Hao has to resist the urge to turn around and check there's no one behind him; people generally don’t get that happy to see him.

"Hao-hyung, right?" Yujin says brightly, jumping out of his seat to bow to him. Zhang Hao and Hanbin simultaneously make odd spluttering noises. "It's so nice to finally meet you, hyung practically never stops talking about—"

"It's great to see you again," Jiwoong cuts in smoothly, gently directing Yujin back down. He grins, the stoic drama lead image disappearing. "And uninjured this time."

"Well, the night is still young," Zhang Hao jokes, and they both share a laugh at the memory of Zhang Hao's clumsiness.

"I was going to do the introductions,” says Hanbin, slightly disgruntled, “even though I seem to have been beaten on that front. But: hyung, Yujinnie, this is Zhang Hao. My boyfriend."

Hanbin says it so casually that Zhang Hao is momentarily thrown. He takes a beat to recover from that cold douse of shock and bows unsteadily. Should he have brought something with him as a gift? He feels like he should have. Social etiquette for meeting the family is largely undiscovered to him and, in fairness, Hanbin sprang this on him.

As he straightens up, he sidles closer to Hanbin so they're practically pressed together. "Hi. It's nice to meet you both properly." In an undertone to Hanbin: "Um, do you have any water? I'm kinda thirsty."

"Of course," Hanbin says, detaching himself from Zhang Hao's side to head to the fridge. Then, his movements quickening when Jiwoong also moves, "Wait—"

Jiwoong wins the race and opens the fridge while Hanbin abruptly stops in his tracks; Zhang Hao shifts, unintentionally spying on the fridge contents. There's…a six-pack of mineral water. And nothing else. Zhang Hao blinks.

Jiwoong passes him one of the water bottles and Zhang Hao accepts it with a thanks, though his confusion delays his movements.

Something like panic flashes across Jiwoong’s features and he hastily explains, “We…we keep everything in the freezer instead. It’s easier that way.”

“Everything?” Zhang Hao's gaze bounces between them. “Even, like, milk?”

"I like to defrost milk first," Jiwoong says, voice lilting up at the end like it's a question. Zhang Hao is discreetly watching Hanbin out of the corner of his eye, which is how he catches the blatant what the fuck, hyung look directed at Jiwoong.

Hanbin tops off that look with a tight, brittle laugh. His annoyance is obvious. “Hyung is very weird.”

Zhang Hao can’t see anything defrosting out in the open, but he decides to take pity on Jiwoong. "Well, we all have our vices. I knew a girl who used to eat pickles with ice cream so in the grand scheme of things, defrosting milk isn't that strange."

"Exactly," Jiwoong says, relieved. "Just one of those quirks, you know?"

Yujin's eyes flick between them, Jiwoong then Zhang Hao then Hanbin then Jiwoong again, like he's watching a very fascinating three-way tennis match. Hanbin seems strangely pissed off over something very minor but Zhang Hao assumes the real reason behind it is usual sibling friction. He wouldn't know how that works, after all.

“Doesn’t it get annoying having to defrost everything, though?” Zhang Hao wonders aloud as he fiddles with the bottle cap. “Like, having to remember to take food out?”

“We’re used to it,” Yujin says sagely. “Plus the hyungs don’t cook anything anyway, it’s all down to me.” He gets a sly look on his face as he glances at Hanbin. “Actually, hyung has recently—”

“Anyway,” Hanbin says loudly, “I think it’s best if we get going.”

Jiwoong nods. "Sure, we won't disturb you." Then he shares an amused, conspiratorial look with Yujin which makes Zhang Hao flush.

Hanbin places a hand on his back to steer him out of there and Zhang Hao twists around awkwardly. "It was nice meeting you!"

"You too," Yujin replies cheerfully. "Have fun, hyungs!" If it were coming from anyone else it would seem salacious, but from Yujin he seems to genuinely be wishing them well.

“Yujin seems nice,” Zhang Hao observes once they're out of earshot, and Hanbin hums in agreement. Zhang Hao nudges him playfully. “What happened to him being ‘very shy’?”

“A question I’m asking myself,” Hanbin says dryly. “The excitement of seeing you must have gotten to him.”

“So I must be a celebrity in the Sung household, huh?”

“The Kim-Sung-Han household,” Hanbin corrects, throwing him a look. Zhang Hao isn’t quite quick enough at covering up the surprise on his face. “We’re not biological. It’s complicated.”

Zhang Hao shrugs as he digests that. That explains the parental situation. “It doesn’t seem that complicated to me. And it makes sense now that I think about it, considering you guys look nothing alike.” Hanbin snorts at that. “Does Yujin go to a different school? I haven't seen him around."

"Ah." Hanbin bites his lip, looking uncharacteristically anxious. "Yujin has not…integrated into society well recently. We're currently homeschooling him, but I'm hoping that he'll see the school here is nothing to be scared of and enroll next year."

"Oh," Zhang Hao says, for lack of anything better. There must be a lot of uncomfortable family history here and he's wary of being too inquisitive; Hanbin has been happy to answer his questions so far but he must have a limit somewhere.

"He's a good kid," Hanbin says quietly. "He's had a difficult life and just needs some help figuring things out. And he's getting better." He grins. "I can tell he really likes you already."

“Oh,” Zhang Hao repeats, oddly touched. “Well, I’m glad.”

Hanbin stops in front of an oak door on the right. "So," he announces grandly, "I wanted to show you something first."

Zhang Hao isn't sure what he was expecting but a music room definitely wasn't at the top of his list. There’s an array of musical instruments lining the walls and dotting the corners, violins and clarinets and flutes and a grand piano in the far corner.

"Wow," Zhang Hao breathes, awed. He turns slowly in a circle. "This is amazing."

Hanbin ducks his head shyly. "I thought you'd like it. I remember you told me you play the violin."

"It's been a while," Zhang Hao says absently, stretching a reverent hand out towards a particularly nice violin on the wall. He snatches it back once he realises what he's doing. "Do you guys not like brass?"

"No," Hanbin answers with an air of finality, and strays closer. He takes the violin off of the wall along with its bow and proffers them to Zhang Hao. "I want to hear you play."

Zhang Hao blinks at the violin, noticing the de Barbieri label, then at Hanbin's impassive face. "But…these are so expensive."

The amount of money that must have gone into a collection like this — Jiwoong's salary has to be amazing.

"Yes but," Hanbin practically thrusts the items into Zhang Hao's arms, "instruments are meant to be played. Not displayed as trophies."

"So you can play every instrument in this room?" Zhang Hao says skeptically.

"Between the three of us, yes." He raises an eyebrow at Zhang Hao in a clear challenge. "I'll give you a demonstration so long as you play the violin for me first."

Zhang Hao rises to the bait with a scoff. "Fine. Just let me tune it first." He adds as he begins the process of turning the pegs and plucking the strings, "And don't expect greatness. I'm out of practice."

"I wouldn't dare," Hanbin says cheekily, moving to the opposite wall and leaving Zhang Hao to his own devices. Zhang Hao still chooses to watch him out of the corner of his eye — the soft glow to him, the rumpled quality to his clothes. There's a humanness to him like this, one that Zhang Hao usually doesn't see when he's so often perfectly put-together at school and at Zhang Hao's house. Being in his own home must allow him to fully relax.

Once Zhang Hao thinks he's tuned the violin to the best of his ability, he starts playing without preamble. This violin has a richer sound to it than his old violin and it doesn't take long for him to lose himself in the music, the memory of playing this piece over and over again in the confines of his bedroom. His fingers move on autopilot and, without any conscious thought behind the action, his eyes fall shut as he continues to play.

There's a ringing silence once he's done, ears uncomfortably empty. He blinks his eyes open and comes back to life, shedding the memories that cling to him like cobwebs. His thumb brushes against the hairs of the bow; he's missed playing.

"Like I said," Zhang Hao says quietly, hanging the violin and the bow back up onto the wall, "a bit out of practice."

"So modest," Hanbin murmurs, voice a low thrum. "Playing Brahms so expertly yet still denying you're any good."

Hanbin must have migrated to him while he was playing. He’s standing so close to him that if Zhang Hao took a half-step back, he would be pressed solid against Hanbin's front. He swallows at the thought — he could, technically, do that. That's probably what's expected of him.

Instead, with great strength of will, he forces himself to the side. His back feels uncomfortably bare as Hanbin grants him his space, moving away to the piano in the corner.

"I guess it's muscle memory," Zhang Hao says shakily, frantically grasping for the thread of conversation. "But it will probably be a while before I can play Sibelius."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Hanbin says brightly and just like that, Zhang Hao feels like he can breathe again. He makes sure to take deep breaths too, so he can control his racing heart.

Zhang Hao eyes Hanbin sitting at the piano, staring down at the keys with a thoughtful expression on his face. He's careful to keep this distance between them. "Your chosen instrument."

"Yes." Hanbin tests out one of the keys and the note rings out, as high and clear as a bell. "I go through phases with it. I only play when I feel the need to.”

Like magnets, Zhang Hao drifts closer. His previous resolution goes out of the window. He can’t help it when Hanbin has that expression of wistfulness on his face. “Like now?”

“Like now,” Hanbin confirms, and waits for Zhang Hao to be practically leaning over him before he starts playing.

It's a high, lilting melody — gentle but not sweet, with an undercurrent of passion shaping each note that reverberates through the room. Unsurprisingly, Hanbin plays it expertly and Zhang Hao gets caught up in watching the way his fingers move elegantly across the ivory. Then he watches Hanbin's face instead: the slight furrow of concentration, the bow of his head, the subtle pout to his lips. Zhang Hao thinks he could watch him all day.

"You play so well," Zhang Hao praises once Hanbin's fingers fall off the keys, not bothering to hide how impressed he is. His knowledge of classical piano music is a little rusty these days, but Zhang Hao thinks he would know if he’s heard that melody before. "I don't recognise it. Who's the composer?"

"It's an original.” Hanbin looks up at him, a trace of apprehension in his features. “Inspiration has struck, recently.”

Zhang Hao’s throat clicks when he swallows, so loudly that Hanbin must hear it too. Unwittingly, he's reminded of how Hanbin had introduced him in the kitchen. "So. Your boyfriend, huh?"

Hanbin frowns a little, confused more than anything else. "Was I wrong?"

"No," Zhang Hao says quickly. "Not at all. Just…I wasn't sure. Which was probably stupid of me, right?" Hanbin's mouth twitches; Zhang Hao's sure that the only reason he doesn't laugh is because he's too nice of a person for that. He amends, "Okay, it was stupid."

"Not stupid," Hanbin admonishes, standing up from the stool and placing the fallboard back over the piano keys. Zhang Hao doesn't move which means they're left with only a few inches of space between them. "That's too insulting. But it never ceases to amaze me that for someone so intelligent, you can be remarkably dense."

"And 'stupid' was apparently too insulting," Zhang Hao mutters as he loops his arms around Hanbin's neck, and Hanbin laughs into his mouth.

Afterwards, once they've both judged that they've made sufficient headway into the project and can call it a day, Zhang Hao grins over at Hanbin as they pack up. "I guess asking for dinner is out of the question." When surprise floods Hanbin's face, Zhang Hao rushes to clarify, "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Just making a joke about the defrosted milk situation."

"Oh." Hanbin looks away from him, hiding his face. "That. I'll buy you something on the way to your house?"

"I'm kidding," Zhang Hao repeats, a hint of exasperation bleeding through. He wraps his arms around Hanbin from behind and pops his head over his shoulder, aided by the small height advantage he has over Hanbin. "My mom probably has dinner waiting for me anyway. I totally forgot to text her and tell her I'll be late today…"

"I already did," Hanbin informs him, resting his hands over Zhang Hao's. "Texted her, I mean."

Zhang Hao draws back from him in horror. "You texted my mom? How'd you even get her number?"

Hanbin spins to face him. "It was when I came over to yours and you were in the bathroom, so she let me in and we got to talking. And exchanged numbers." He offers a tentative, "I like talking to her?"

"Urgh," Zhang Hao says miserably. "Please don't tell me the two of you, like, talk about me."

Hanbin presses his lips together and mimes a zipping gesture, eyes sparkling. Okay, that's a yes. That's kind of embarrassing.

"Uh," Zhang Hao flounders. "What even is there to talk about?"

"Relax," Hanbin says in amusement, starting to lead him out of the room and back down the stairs. He squeezes Zhang Hao's hand. "It's mainly just me proving my worth as your boyfriend. She keeps me on my toes."

Zhang Hao shakes his head. "I don't even want to know what that means."

Their conversation is cut short once they reach the ground floor. They spot Yujin in the exact same position as they left him, slouched over a textbook: the only difference is that he’s relocated to the living room. As they pass by him, Zhang Hao can see that he’s working on an impressive doodle of a flower in the paper margins. The questions look largely abandoned.

Hanbin tuts. “Yujin-ah.”

“I know,” Yujin mutters, not looking at either of them. “I’m tired, I’ll work on it later."

Zhang Hao squints at the pages and stops. "Not a big fan of chemistry?"

"No," Yujin says peevishly, glancing up at him. "It doesn't make any sense to me no matter how much I read. I hate learning it."

Zhang Hao nods in commiseration. "I used to feel the same. You know, I was completely terrible at chemistry. Like, maximum twenty percent on every single test I did. But one day I just got sick of always failing it and changed my entire outlook on it, and now it's my best subject." He shifts, abruptly aware he may be crossing boundaries. "If you want, I can tutor you in it? I like to think I'm pretty good at it now…"

"You are," Hanbin says immediately, squeezing his hand. "The best, in fact."

"Thanks," Zhang Hao mutters, not looking at him. He prays that he's not blushing.

"I'd really like that, hyung," Yujin says sincerely. He sort of reminds Zhang Hao of a deer. "Thank you." He fumbles for his phone. "Can I get your number?"

Hanbin waits patiently by his side as they swap numbers, then tugs gently at his hand once they're done. Zhang Hao says his goodbyes to Yujin (Jiwoong has disappeared somewhere so he doesn’t need to worry about being polite, Hanbin assures him) and walks in step with Hanbin back to the car. There's an inward sigh of relief at the realisation that, all things considered, it went quite well. Hanbin must agree judging by the smile that hasn't left his face since they spoke to Yujin.

Zhang Hao glances at him as he does his seatbelt. "What?"

"Nothing," Hanbin says evasively, still smiling to himself, and starts the car.

In the end, there’s no jigsaw falling into place. There’s no gradual realisation, no growing suspicion, no hmm, that was kinda weird. Of course there isn’t — Zhang Hao wasn’t aware he should be on the lookout for fucking vampires. Least of all his boyfriend being an actual, honest-to-God vampire.

It happens on a normal Thursday afternoon, triggered by a papercut of all things.

"It's not that," Zhang Hao is saying patiently. "See, if this angle is seventy then we can assume the opposite one is also seventy as they're paired together. So that leaves these two. Now—" Hanbin isn't even trying to hide that he's studying Zhang Hao rather than the textbook. "Are you even listening?"

"Of course," Hanbin says innocently, blinking guilelessly at Zhang Hao. "But I don't get it." His eyes drop to Zhang Hao's mouth. "Perhaps seonsaengnim could give me a more in-depth explanation?"

"I'm afraid there's not much seonsaengnim can do to spice up trigonometry," Zhang Hao says wryly.

Hanbin smirks and leans in. "I can think of a few ideas."

Usually, Zhang Hao would be all for a little making out but the upcoming exam is, sadly, his priority at the moment. In his haste to not get distracted, Zhang Hao quickly turns the page and is rewarded with a sharp burst of pain on the pad of his index finger. "Ow!"

"What?" Hanbin says, pulling back, then there's a swift intake of breath from him. It makes a harsh whistling noise but Zhang Hao is busy staring in dismay at the red bead of blood that wells up. He pops his finger into his mouth and sucks on it to ease both the pain and blood flow.

He pops it back out after a few moments to examine it and winces at the way the air stings the cut, then clenches his hand into a fist. He'd forgotten how much papercuts can hurt. He stands, on his way to get some tissues. "I'm just gonna—"

Zhang Hao's words die in his throat as soon as he looks at Hanbin. The first cause for worry is the — there's no other way to explain it — downright ravenous expression on his face directed at Zhang Hao's clenched fist. The second, bigger cause for worry is the what can only be described as fangs on show.

Zhang Hao gasps. "Your teeth—"

Hanbin blinks, expression melting off his face as he jolts out of whatever stupor he was in, and jumps up as if scalded. His hand guiltily flies up to cover his mouth and Zhang Hao lunges for it instinctively, determined to see what exactly Hanbin is hiding from him. Hanbin rips his wrist out of Zhang Hao's hold and the sheer force of it sends Zhang Hao staggering back, knocking into his dresser. He yelps in pain.

"Sorry," Hanbin gasps, suddenly right in front of him again. His hand is still hovering over his mouth. "Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Let me see," Zhang Hao demands, pulling at Hanbin’s wrist to no avail. Hanbin's arm doesn't budge no matter how much Zhang Hao tugs at it.

"I can't," Hanbin says miserably, shaking his head frantically. Zhang Hao catches flashes of his—fangs every time his head moves.

"I've already seen them," Zhang Hao points out in frustration, "so what's the point of hiding now?"

This time, Hanbin reluctantly allows his arm to be lowered. The guilt on his face meshes with something else Zhang Hao can’t read, but Zhang Hao isn't concentrating on that anyway. He's concentrating on the very real fangs that are on show.

"Okay," Zhang Hao says in a high, reedy voice that's very unlike him. "Okay, what…"

Hanbin's shoulders straighten as he braces himself. "I'm a vampire."

"A what," Zhang Hao says flatly. He's never heard that word before.

A startled kind of recognition dawns on Hanbin's face. Then, in Chinese: "A vampire."

Zhang Hao opens his mouth only to find that he's speechless. He audibly snaps it shut and stares at Hanbin, lost for words. Hanbin stares right back at him, fangs still poking out. What. The. Fuck.

"I don't believe you," Zhang Hao says weakly, watching Hanbin's face shutter. It's a lie; he does believe Hanbin because he always believes Hanbin, no matter what, but Zhang Hao has to say something. He's grasping at straws here. "I don't— what—"

"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you before," he enunciates clearly. "But you can imagine—"

Zhang Hao interrupts him, neurons going haywire in their bid to make any sense out of this. “A vampire. Like… Twilight.”

Not like Zhang Hao has ever watched it, but still.

Hanbin appears briefly pained. “In a sense.”

Zhang Hao's fingers unfurl. The papercut has stopped actively bleeding, thankfully, but he has blood smeared on his palm from where his fingers had been curled together.

Like clockwork, another inhale from Hanbin and a flash of something across his face that makes Zhang Hao's stomach drop. Then he closes his eyes and his face settles again. He takes a few steps back from Zhang Hao, wrist disappearing from Zhang Hao's hold.

He wants me, Zhang Hao realises with a thrilling sort of lurch. He wants me.

"Hanbin," he exhales, throat dry.

"I should go." His fangs finally seem to be receding. Now Zhang Hao's left with his Hanbin, the Hanbin he knows. The human Hanbin. "I imagine you need time."

He doesn't even give Zhang Hao a chance to respond; he's out of the door before Zhang Hao can rub two synapses together. He's left with dead silence, a Hanbin-shaped hole in the air, and his own thoughts.

Probably for the best, Zhang Hao thinks as he looks down at his palm. Who knows what he would've offered Hanbin if given a few more seconds.

Hanbin picks up on the second ring. "Hello."

"Hello," Zhang Hao says, oddly formal. "I mean. Hi. Are you free today? To talk?"

"Of course," Hanbin says, voice gentling just that little bit. It's enough: Zhang Hao closes his eyes and lets the tone of it sink in. He's missed that voice. "When were you thinking?"

"In about…" He checks the time. "Forty minutes?" Then, before he can think too deeply about it, "At my house."

There's a beat of silence as Hanbin interprets that. “Of course. I’ll see you then.”

"See you," Zhang Hao replies, unintentionally forlorn, and the line beeps.

It turns out there's a great deal of things to think about when your boyfriend is a vampire.

He’d stumbled right past the vampires don’t exist roadblock and landed firmly on acceptance. In its own way, it makes sense. He holds fragments of Hanbin up to the light, turning them this way and that, and is unsurprised at how the beam of light neatly cuts through them. Perfectly transparent. A lot clicks into place. Zhang Hao had written off some quirks of Hanbin as just that: quirks. But now he understands why Hanbin’s speech patterns aren’t typical for a boy his age, why he’s a little too intense, why his hands stay cold no matter how long Zhang Hao holds them for. It puts everything into perspective.

What he keeps coming back to is the need to see that Hanbin is still—Hanbin. That vampire Hanbin and his Hanbin can coexist peacefully, at least in Zhang Hao’s head. Hanbin didn’t show up to school the day after the whole papercut debacle (how chivalrous, Zhang Hao had snarked to himself when the first bell rang and he’d realised Hanbin wasn’t coming in) and then it was the weekend.

It’s nice of him to give Zhang Hao space, he supposes, but the part of him ruled by emotions wants Hanbin back by his side, vampire or no vampire. And this kind of wanting was desperate, nothing like Zhang Hao had ever felt. He’d fleetingly entertained the notion that Hanbin had cast some kind of vampire spell on him to make him feel this way—but no, this is all on Zhang Hao.

At least it’s a small comfort to know that Hanbin must want him just as bad, if the look on his face a few days ago was any indication. In his replay of every interaction with Hanbin, his brain had gifted him a memory from two months ago: a girl in their class, Park Soojin, had shot up out of her seat in front of them when she noticed her nose was bleeding. Hanbin had been entirely unaffected, to the point he’d even handed her tissues before the teacher granted her permission to go to the bathroom. The look on his face then bore no resemblance to the look on his face when he smelled Zhang Hao’s blood. Zhang Hao had noticed that with a small thrill.

The buzz of his phone against his stomach is a welcome distraction. Already knowing that it's Hanbin announcing he's outside, Zhang Hao swings his legs off the bed. He quickly checks his reflection in the mirror hanging by the front door before he opens it.

Hanbin looks—dull. Nervous, maybe, except he's not sure because he's never seen Hanbin properly nervous before. He wonders if Hanbin’s expecting the worst, that he thinks Zhang Hao is about to tell him he never wants to see Hanbin again.

Zhang Hao breaks the silence first. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Hanbin follows him inside and Zhang Hao shuts the door behind them. He’s not wearing a coat, which Zhang Hao is about to nag him for until he realises Hanbin doesn’t need to wear one. “How have you been?”

Zhang Hao really wants to kiss him but he’ll have to withhold that from Hanbin for now. He settles for a hug instead, only because Hanbin vaguely looks like a kicked puppy, and Hanbin’s arms encircle him immediately. They simultaneously inhale the other’s scent and Zhang Hao closes his eyes at the comfort it brings him.

“Missed you,” he whispers, then steps back before he’s tempted to do more. At least the kicked puppy look on Hanbin’s face has disappeared, replaced with an expression of being knocked askew. “My room?”

He doesn’t wait for a response from Hanbin and spins around. He mentally runs through what he’s prepared for today. Hanbin is silent behind him and silent still as they enter Zhang Hao’s room, posture stiff as Zhang Hao flings himself onto the bed. Sue him for getting comfortable.

He points at the empty space on the bedspread next to his legs. “Come sit.” Hanbin does and Zhang Hao shifts, resting his shin against Hanbin’s back. “So. A vampire. I guess it explains the whole stalking me thing, huh?"

Hanbin gets that I wish you wouldn't call it that look on his face, like he always does whenever Zhang Hao brings it up, though at least he's wise enough not to say it.

"And," Zhang Hao continues, "I have some questions. As you might expect." Hanbin nods and Zhang Hao starts to falter at this point; he can't believe he's having this conversation. "So I—I assume sunlight doesn't kill you. Or even burn you at all."

"It burns younger vampires," Hanbin corrects. "But I am not that young. So, no, it doesn't bother me unless it's especially strong."

"Right." Zhang Hao watches the dust motes swirling in the sunlit air by the window. "So how old are you really? When were you turned?"

Hanbin glances upwards in thought. "I was turned at nineteen. I would say in total I am…somewhere around one hundred and fifty. I don't know my exact age as my memory has faded with time and there are some things from my past I would rather forget."

"I see," Zhang Hao says faintly. That has to be a record-breaking age gap. "I thought that knowing your age would be a big deal. For hierarchy reasons or something."

Hanbin shrugs. "Not to me. A vague estimation is enough. There are some vampires who mourn their birthday every year, but that seems a little macabre to me." He pauses. "Though, yes, you're right that older vampires are more powerful and generally more respected."

There's such a well of knowledge sequestered away inside Hanbin that Zhang Hao would have never known existed if he didn't accidentally cut his finger. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

He had meant for that question to come out demanding, forceful, but instead it sounds more like a plea.

“At some point.” He shoots a glance at Zhang Hao. “And I mean that. But I wanted to do it the right way.”

"Which is what?"

"I hadn't gotten that far yet." A half-smile. "I couldn't think of the most…relaxing way to word it for you. I find you very difficult to predict."

Zhang Hao raises his eyebrows. "I think how I ended up finding out was, like, one of the least relaxing ways for it to happen. Vampire in the presence of blood and all that.”

Hanbin’s face abruptly drops. “Did you think I would hurt you?”

Zhang Hao blinks. That thought hasn’t crossed his mind once. “No. Were you…”

“No,” Hanbin says vehemently. “Never. Absolutely not.”

Hanbin looks genuinely rattled at the implication so Zhang Hao reaches a hand out to him in comfort. Hanbin takes it immediately, their fingers interlocking and coming to rest over Zhang Hao’s hip, and the line of his shoulders loosens. Zhang Hao’s missed him so much.

“I knew you wouldn’t,” he reiterates. “I know you wouldn’t. Please believe me.”

“I do,” Hanbin whispers, bringing their hands up to place a kiss on the back of Zhang Hao’s hand. Zhang Hao withdraws his hand after that, only because Hanbin would probably start peppering kisses down the length of his arm or something and they’d get carried away. And Zhang Hao has questions he wants answers to.

He studies his hands instead so he won’t be tempted, ticking the questions off on his fingers as he goes along. “I assume Jiwoong-hyung and Yujin are also vampires, right? That’s why there was no food in your fridge. Then obviously cold skin, super speed, strength, hearing. That would explain…everything. Oh, and that guy in Seoul who seemed like he knew you—don’t tell me he’s also a vampire.” He coughs and straightens up a little, growing more animated as he speaks. “Because I thought you guys were supposed to be rare. Or flat-out not exist but that's clearly not the case anymore. And why even go to school in the first place?”

In his shifting around, his eyes land on the one figure he'd been trying to avoid. Hanbin is watching him with a gleam in his eye that Zhang Hao can't place. "Have you thought of everything?" he murmurs fondly, and Zhang Hao's eyes skitter away from him again so he won't do something stupid like sit up and kiss him.

"Had to do a lot of thinking," Zhang Hao fires back. "I just thought my boyfriend was a weirdo, I wasn't aware I had to contend with the possibility of vampirism."

"Yes," Hanbin says nonsensically, then he's the one to lean forward to try and kiss Zhang Hao.

Zhang Hao grabs him by the shoulders before he can fulfil that mission, though he's now thoroughly aware of the fact that Hanbin only allows himself to be stopped as a pretence. In reality, Zhang Hao might as well be constructing a wall made of papier-mâché. "Questions first."

Hanbin willingly goes along with the pushing away. “Correct on all fronts. Jiwoong and Yujin—we are technically a," in Chinese, "coven. But they are my brothers in all the ways that count." He sighs a little. "Which has to do with why I enrolled in the school here. I mentioned this to you before: I wanted to show Yujin that it's nothing to be scared of, that it will help him to feel more human."

"That's kind of ironic."

Hanbin waves a hand. "He is young. And the circumstances of his turning mean that he clings to whatever shreds of humanity he can find."

As someone who only recently learned that vampires exist, Zhang Hao feels he isn't quite qualified to judge how Yujin deals with immortality. He moves on. "And your…health issues."

"Ah," Hanbin says delicately. "Technically not a lie, but they're Yujin's issues rather than mine. He needs a lot of…encouragement to feed, so I have to stay with him in Seoul for a few days each month."

"I see." Here, he hesitates. The one question that Zhang Hao hasn't asked him yet. And probably the most important one. "Do you kill them? When you feed?"

"Not anymore." He regards Zhang Hao steadily, watching for any hint of a reaction. "Does it bother you that I used to?"

Zhang Hao thinks. Truthfully, he feels nothing except solace in the knowledge that Hanbin was simply doing what he believed he had to do for survival. And it’s not like he knew those people. Others would probably find this a cause for concern but with Zhang Hao…

"I don't know," he says finally. "It probably should."

"Probably," Hanbin agrees, gently squeezing Zhang Hao's ankle. He turns his head towards the window so his face is in profile. He really is so handsome, Zhang Hao thinks dizzily.

"Why did you have a change of heart?"

"I was a very different person before getting to where I am now. If I could even be called a person at all, then." He smiles sadly, tracing shapes on Zhang Hao's ankle in earnest. "I don't think you would have liked me very much."

"Well, I wasn't born then," Zhang Hao points out. "So no point in getting caught up in hypotheticals." He kicks his foot a little to wipe that moroseness off of Hanbin's face. "How do you feed now?"

Hanbin visibly hesitates, a shadow passing over his face.

"I promise you I'm not going to run screaming,” Zhang Hao tries to joke, though it falls flat. He switches to earnestness. “I won’t.”

Hanbin squares his shoulders and says, very neutrally: “I glamour them so that they are unaware. Then I feed from them. It leaves them dazed but alive.”

Zhang Hao frowns. “Glamour?”

Another beat of hesitation before he shifts, eyes searching Zhang Hao’s face. “It would probably be easier if I showed you.”

Zhang Hao nods in permission. Hanbin locks eyes with him, a slight apprehension there, and then Zhang Hao is—gone. There’s no other way to describe it. Floating untethered, trapped uselessly inside his own body. It’s like his mind doesn’t even belong to him anymore; there are snatches of faint whispers that feel foreign, an invasion. Those thoughts don’t belong to him but Zhang Hao can’t do anything about it. Instead, they grow louder.

Then Hanbin says, a compulsive push behind his words, “Touch your ear,” and that deep voice reverberates inside Zhang Hao’s skull until his head is subsumed in that command, the need to touch his ear. It’s impossible for Zhang Hao to think of anything else. But why, a very very small voice says but too late, his hand is already rising to touch his ear as if he’s a mere puppet.

Hanbin looks away, breaking the eye contact; the veil lifts and the whispers abruptly vanish, along with that aching need to follow orders. Zhang Hao’s mind has been returned to his possession.

The sound of his heavy breathing fills the room as his hand limply drops to his lap. That was…

“What the fuck,” Zhang Hao bursts out. He’s not angry, just—shaken. “That’s—that’s practically mind control! It is mind control!”

Already, it’s becoming a black hole in his memory. A blip that he’ll never recover.

“It is,” Hanbin agrees quietly, rubbing a nervous hand up and down Zhang Hao’s shin. The touch helps to soothe him and acts as a reminder that this is Hanbin. Just Hanbin. “I only do it when I’m feeding.”

“You could literally do anything you wanted with that.” His stomach drops in horror. “Can all vampires do that?”

Hanbin is shaking his head before Zhang Hao has finished asking the question. “Not at all, it’s a honed skill. As is resisting it.” He bites his lip and adds, “I don’t want to overwhelm you with all this information today.”

Zhang Hao rubs a hand over his face. Get a grip on yourself, he tells himself sternly. It’s Hanbin, Hanbin who would never hurt him except in the ways Zhang Hao wants him to. “No, it’s okay. I’d rather get everything out of the way now so we can, um, move on.”

He purses his lips, thinking, and Hanbin waits patiently.

“The feeding,” he questions, and Hanbin makes an affirmative noise. “So I’m assuming thanks to the glamour, they don’t remember anything. Otherwise you’d have a lot of people telling the police that some crazy guy just bit them.”

Hanbin nods. “Exactly. Other covens have to frequently move around as they get sloppy, whereas we try and cover our tracks as best as we can. Like feeding from more inconspicuous places than the neck. The bruise left over on an arm, for example, means they believe they hit something and were unaware of it.”

"That makes sense." He tries to keep his tone casual though the cogs in his mind are spinning rapidly in interest. "I guess the wrist is probably the most convenient place then."

If Hanbin thinks this line of questioning is odd, he makes no indication of it. "Yes."

Zhang Hao keeps his eyes trained on the window as he offers, "Why don't you drink from me instead?"

There's probably not much point in this facade of indifference, as Hanbin must be able to hear his heart pounding in anticipation.

"From you?" Hanbin echoes, a rasp from the back of his throat.

"It makes sense, right? Like, it's a thing?"

He's hyper-aware of every little detail: the way his voice sounds a little thin and unsure, the way Hanbin has gone completely still in his peripheral vision, his elevated breathing. Hell, if he concentrated hard enough he could probably hear his own blood roaring in his ears.

"It is a thing," Hanbin says after an elongated pause. At least he sounds as discomposed as Zhang Hao. "It's reserved for…"

When he trails off, Zhang Hao opens his mouth to prompt him, but the breath catches in his throat when he glances at him. Hanbin is looking at Zhang Hao like he wants to devour him.

In one fluid movement, Hanbin rises from the bed and stands over him. He blocks the light from the window and it silhouettes him instead, a pale glow framing the broadness of his shoulders. He tilts his head, appraising Zhang Hao.

Zhang Hao hasn't even lost any blood yet but he already feels faint.

"I've dreamed of this," Hanbin confesses quietly, almost a whisper. The weight of his gaze pins Zhang Hao to the bed.

"And now you're getting the real thing," Zhang Hao says shakily, unable to look away from him. "So dreams do come true, huh?"

“Evidently," Hanbin murmurs, hand fitting along Zhang Hao's jawline. Then he bends down and slots their mouths together, Hanbin’s mouth insistent in its desire to thoroughly claim him.

Zhang Hao's lips part for him with no resistance and Hanbin licks inside. Zhang Hao runs his own tongue across Hanbin's teeth: still blunt. He winds his arms around Hanbin's neck and gently tugs him further down, a request for Hanbin to climb on top of him. He does so with a hum, hand moving from Zhang Hao's face to the bedspread and knees bracketing Zhang Hao's hips.

“And no glamour,” Zhang Hao breathes as soon as they break apart, eyes immediately landing on Hanbin's spit-slick mouth and staying there. “Don’t glamour me. I want to remember it.”

Hanbin pauses. Their faces are too close together for Zhang Hao to properly read his expression. “I wasn’t planning to.” He presses a kiss to the corner of Zhang Hao’s mouth and straightens up, fingers trailing down the length of Zhang Hao’s arm. He rolls his sleeve up and swipes a thumb across the inside of Zhang Hao’s wrist. “Here?”

"Come on," he wheedles, attempting to shake his wrist out of Hanbin’s immovable grip. "We're dating, aren't we? You can give it to me on my neck." He flushes as soon as he says it, realising a second too late it sounds like a line from a bad porno, but Hanbin's eyes darken. There's a tangible shift of energy in the room and Zhang Hao swallows way too loudly.

Hanbin settles over him like a predator, one hand next to Zhang Hao's head and one hand on his waist. He's wearing a curious expression on his face, a mix of anticipation and hunger and desire and something else. Ownership, Zhang Hao realises after a beat. Like this is exactly where Zhang Hao belongs. He watches as Hanbin's fangs appear with a snick, heart pounding so hard he wouldn't be surprised if the bed started shaking.

Hanbin's head starts to tilt down, face obscured from view as he positions his mouth over Zhang Hao's neck. His animal instincts are going into overdrive, warning bells ringing as they recognise a far superior hunter. Zhang Hao ignores them steadfastly.

"You're beautiful," Hanbin murmurs, oddly loud in the silence of the room. He noses against Zhang Hao's neck, a crisp inhale. "Smell so good."

Then—

A white-hot shock of pain. Zhang Hao instinctively tenses, body immediately stiffening at the intrusion, and Hanbin sweeps a hand down his side to soothe him. He can physically feel Hanbin's fangs in his neck and he breathes in, out, in, out to calm himself down. This was his idea.

Soon enough, the pain dulls and shifts into something that leaves his neck tingling instead. He exhales, his muscles relaxing, and Hanbin shifts slightly to accommodate this. It's pleasant, actually — a sort of numbing haze acting as a filter, everything narrowing down to that one point of contact. He closes his eyes and floats aimlessly, as if splayed out on a raft on a very calm sea.

After an undetermined amount of time, Hanbin's head lifts with a wet smack. The fog begins to clear and he comes back to himself. The first thing he notes is how sticky that whole side of his neck is, not helped by Hanbin licking at it to presumably clean the wound. The second thing is that Zhang Hao would definitely like that to happen again.

The third thing is that he's hard. Zhang Hao's eyes open as Hanbin withdraws from him, settling back onto his knees. And—yep, an unmistakable swell in his jeans too. With an air of melancholy he watches Hanbin climb off the bed, heroically resisting the urge to tell him to come back.

He could ask one final question: is it supposed to be that sexual? But Zhang Hao wagers the answer is no, so he won't bother. Not that he's complaining.

Zhang Hao studies Hanbin's feverishly bright eyes rather than the smears of blood on his chin. He clears his throat to save himself the embarrassment of his voice cracking. "How do I taste?"

"Even better than I had let myself imagine," Hanbin replies instantly, voice the deepest Zhang Hao has heard it. Jesus.

"Good," he manages, trying not to get self-conscious of the way Hanbin is tracking the movements of his mouth. "That's…that's good."

"Mm," says Hanbin, half-hum and half-breath. His gaze is still fixed on Zhang Hao; he looks very much like he wants to devour Zhang Hao a whole new way. Zhang Hao is extremely tempted to just snag his hand and yank him back down over himself without a word, but then Hanbin visibly shakes himself and smooths a hand down the front of his shirt in an attempt at composure. Very unfairly, all it does is highlight his build and Zhang Hao comes close to blurting out a you're so hot. "Bathroom?"

"Down the hallway, left, then left again." He almost adds don't have any fun without me but that's a bit too blasé even for him.

"Thanks, sweetheart," Hanbin says softly and, God, why did he have to get up off the damn bed? "Be back in a moment."

"Yeah," Zhang Hao croaks, then flings an arm over his face once Hanbin is gone.

An electric buzzing is setting up shop all over his skin now. Either because of the euphoria of the blood-drinking or his body has tricked itself into believing there's more fun to come, he doesn't know. Or blood loss, that's a possibility. Except, he thinks scornfully as he looks down at himself, that doesn't seem to apply here. He allows himself a small groan at his current predicament.

How to tell Hanbin, he muses, that I need him just as much as he needs me.

Yujin, on all counts, is a bad student. Or not particularly bad — he just doesn't care. Ordinarily, such blatant nonchalance would come close to pissing Zhang Hao off but he doesn't have the willpower when it comes to Yujin. Yujin is too sweet to get annoyed at; it's something Zhang Hao likely has in common with both Hanbin and Jiwoong.

Plus Zhang Hao supposes that vampires don't have much use for maths and science, so he can't exactly begrudge Yujin his laziness. Regardless, he teaches as much as he can until Yujin gets bored and begs that they end the lesson here.

After their very first tutoring session, Yujin had blinked up at him while Zhang Hao was packing up and asked haltingly, do you need to leave now? Zhang Hao, curious, had said no and ever since then they settled into a routine: long walks through the surrounding forest where they talk about anything that comes to mind.

(“What a twist,” Hanbin had said after Zhang Hao told him of these walks. “Yujin likes you best.”)

Today, Hanbin is off running errands with Jiwoong in Seoul — what kind of errands do vampires even need to run, Zhang Hao wonders — and Yujin seems eager to end their session sooner than usual. Zhang Hao indulges him only because this is the first day the sun's come out in literal weeks and he'd like to soak up a little vitamin C. The sun is partially hidden by clouds but it's there, so they ditch the house and set off.

"What do you like?" Zhang Hao blurts out as they navigate a way around a toppled tree. At Yujin's questioning glance he clarifies, "It's just that…I've noticed you're not fond of anything I teach you, and I feel like you should have some kind of hobby. Eternal life must get so boring after a while."

Yujin shrugs. "It is boring. That's why Hanbin-hyung wants me to keep studying. Jiwoong-hyung said I should just do what I want."

"And what do you want?"

"Nothing," he mumbles, kicking a rock out of their path. It sails away, airborne for a brief moment, before it comes crashing down on a bed of leaves. "That's the problem. So I'm following Hanbin-hyung's advice for now. He said that every vampire eventually needs something to focus on, to keep them going. Otherwise they end up becoming a shell of their previous self."

It's such a Hanbin thing to say and Yujin says it in the exact same cadence, too, that Zhang Hao can't help but smile. "So he wants your focus to be on education?"

"For now," Yujin says cryptically. "Until I find something better. Who knows when that will be."

"You will," Zhang Hao assures him. "Besides, learning can be fun when it's not so…academic?" He makes a face; he's gotten too used to switching to Chinese with Hanbin when needed. "No textbooks, I mean."

"No textbooks," Yujin agrees. "You should tell that to Hanbin-hyung."

"I think I will,” Zhang Hao says thoughtfully. He clears his throat. "Speaking of…what does Hanbin focus on then?"

Yujin throws him a mildly exasperated look. "You. Duh."

Zhang Hao tamps down the blush at both Yujin's words and the casual way he says it. "But before me," he insists. "He's had such a long life that—"

Yujin gently knocks his shoulder into Zhang Hao's. "So ask him about it. He would tell you." He adds meaningfully, "There are things he won't tell me."

"Oh." Zhang Hao watches the leaves crunch underfoot as they come to their favourite resting place, a small clearing home to a row of tree stumps. Zhang Hao sits with an oof and rests his bag on his legs. "Am I allowed to be nosy?"

Yujin sits next to him and stretches his legs out in front of him. "Sure."

"Can I ask," he starts carefully, watching Yujin's expectant expression, "which one of them turned you?"

Yujin doesn't even blink. “It was neither of them,” he intones dully, face shuttering off. “My throat was ripped out by a vampire who had no clue what she was doing. I wasn’t supposed to turn, I was supposed to die.”

"Jesus," Zhang Hao is startled into exclaiming. "God, Yujin, that's terrible." He scrubs a hand over his face at his earlier blunder. "I'm sorry, I just thought—"

"I know," Yujin interrupts, almost gentle. "It's a valid assumption to make. My life would have been easier if that were the case." He picks at a loose thread on his sweater sleeve. “And then I almost died all over again when Jiwoong-hyung killed my sire. Have you heard of something called psychic shock?” When Zhang Hao shakes his head, Yujin elaborates: "When someone's turned into a vampire, they develop a mental link with their sire. Automatically. Like…you always know where your sire is, you can feel their emotions, even read their thoughts sometimes."

Zhang Hao nods encouragingly when Yujin stops, despite the fact he can see where this is going.

Yujin, having fully unravelled a thread on his sweater sleeve, starts picking at a new one. "Well. It's kind of a fucked-up relationship to have, right? But some sire bonds are weaker than others and Jiwoong-hyung…he thought he was doing the right thing." He pauses and amends, "He did do the right thing, he just miscalculated. He thought that killing my sire would only hurt me a little but…my mind couldn't handle it. It was like someone had cut off all my senses. I couldn't feed, I couldn't sleep. I just felt so empty all the time." He recounts all of this in a flat monotone, as if merely informing Zhang Hao of the weather. "It took me a loooong time to recover from that. I was turned thirty years ago, you know, and it's only now that…"

"I'm sorry," Zhang Hao repeats quietly, hand finding Yujin's knee and squeezing in an attempt at comfort. "No one should have to go through that, but especially not you."

Yujin makes a noncommittal noise. "Yeah, well. I'm mostly past it these days. The hyungs helped me a lot."

"Good," Zhang Hao says fiercely. "I’ll help you too, if I can. You deserve to live a happy life, Yujin-ah."

Zhang Hao's balance is momentarily thrown off when Yujin surges forward to hug him, hair tickling Zhang Hao's cheek. Yujin is such a lanky teenager but there's an unmistakable strength in the arms currently surrounding Zhang Hao. Zhang Hao still doesn't know how strong vampires really are. At least strong enough to push away a full-speed van, which has to be pretty damn strong. He returns the hug and pats Yujin’s back.

"Thank you, hyung," Yujin says quietly to him as he rocks back onto his own stump. "I really appreciate it. All of it."

"No need to thank me for it," Zhang Hao states, squeezing his shoulder. He glances up at the rapidly-darkening sky and offers, "Maybe we can talk more on the way back to my house?"

Yujin leaps to his feet. "Oh, sure!"

On their second walk together, Yujin had shown him the shortcut from this clearing to Zhang Hao's home. Or near enough, anyway — it spits him out a few streets away. This is his first time actually using it for its purpose though, as he prefers tracing his steps and hanging out with Hanbin before Hanbin inevitably drives him home. It saves him the walking time.

(Hanbin always calls him spoiled for this. Zhang Hao points out it's a monster he created, and then Hanbin looks supremely pleased with himself.)

As they walk, they move onto lighter topics. Yujin seems to greatly enjoy listening to Zhang Hao's familial anecdotes so Zhang Hao gets wrapped up in telling a funny story involving his mother, a stray cat, and a prized house plant. Yujin laughs at all the appropriate times but, more than anything, he seems to be hungry for a glimpse into human family life.

Thirty years stuck as a teenager, frozen in the throes of puberty. Never truly able to have your own life. Zhang Hao couldn't do it.

"So my mom learnt an important lesson that day," he finishes narrating as they emerge from the treeline. "Always lock your windows."

Yujin makes a pssh sound. "Sounds to me like there was some kind of divine intervention going on, locked window or not. I mean, fifteen floors is just impressive."

Zhang Hao grins. "I had a friend who claimed his cat could climb double that, but he was also a pathological liar."

"The friend or the cat?" Yujin asks, and the sound of their laughter fills the empty street. Zhang Hao's breath puffs out in front of him.

Like he predicted, the sun has long been engulfed by the encroaching blackness of night. The cold has crept in with that, albeit more slowly, but Zhang Hao is grateful to arrive at his home when he does.

He says his goodbyes to Yujin and fishes for his keys. His mother had texted and said she was getting dinner with a few colleagues tonight, so Zhang Hao's slightly taken aback when he tests the door handle and finds that it's unlocked.

He's even more taken aback to find Hanbin sitting in his living room, sifting through his mom's magazines. "Uh. Hello?"

The smile Hanbin shoots him is dazzling. "Hi."

Zhang Hao throws him a look and starts towards his bedroom. "Am I unaware of the fact we've apparently moved in together?"

"I could feel you heading this way," Hanbin says simply, catching up to Zhang Hao's stride within a second. "So I thought it would be easier to just wait for you here."

Zhang Hao pointedly doesn't think about the similarities between that statement and what Yujin was describing in the forest. "Right."

"Besides, I wanted to catch up with your mother anyway. She was the one who let me in."

The concept of Hanbin and his mom having mini get-togethers without him doesn't even faze him anymore. "If you're not careful," he sighs, "I'll start to think you're only with me to get to my mom."

"Who's to say I'm not?" Hanbin says cheekily, then swoops in for a kiss as soon as they cross the threshold into Zhang Hao's bedroom.

Zhang Hao finds himself pressed against the door jamb, Hanbin's hand supporting his lower back. Selfishly, a part of him looks forward to any separation as it means he gets kisses like this when Hanbin returns to him: harsh and desperate, like he thinks Zhang Hao has forgotten him in the hours they haven't seen each other.

Zhang Hao gentles it so that they're trading soft kisses instead of anything more taxing and, eventually, simply pushing their lips together without any real force. Hanbin all around him, enveloping every single one of his senses. Zhang Hao revels in it.

Hanbin smiles and bumps their noses together. "Hi."

"Hi," Zhang Hao breathes back, embarrassingly fond, and leans in again to cover it up. Hanbin accepts the kiss graciously.

"I forgot to mention," Hanbin murmurs after a peck to Zhang Hao's cheek, "that I'm also with you because you're incredibly gorgeous."

Zhang Hao always has to fight the urge to hide his face in his hands when Hanbin says things like that. He coughs and deflects with a dry, "What about my winning personality?"

"I'm afraid that's yet to be discovered," Hanbin says seriously, then yelps as part of an act that the resulting pinch from Zhang Hao actually hurts him. Zhang Hao knows that it must feel more like a tickle to him but Hanbin humours him regardless.

Reluctantly, they detach from each other. Zhang Hao takes the bed while Hanbin moves over to the other side of the room, absently caressing what he finds on Zhang Hao's desk or shelves. Zhang Hao lets him be. Hanbin gets like this when they've been apart, the need to glide his hands over whatever articles of Zhang Hao are in reach: his clothes, his books. Zhang Hao himself, eventually. He's not sure if Hanbin does it as a way of marking his territory or if he's making it clear that he's inserting himself back into Zhang Hao's life. As if Zhang Hao ever needs reminders of his presence.

(Yujin's words ring in his head again.)

Hanbin flips through a book of his that he bought months ago but still hasn't touched. “How was your time with Yujin?”

“We didn’t do much studying.” He pauses. "He told me about the…story with his sire."

"Really?" His tone holds nothing more than casual interest. "Then he must really like you. It took him a while to get to that stage with me."

Zhang Hao frowns. "I thought you would know from the start. Considering you must've been there when it happened."

Hanbin looks up at this, brow furrowing. "I wasn't. Jiwoong found me months after Yujin had been turned."

"Oh," Zhang Hao says after a prolonged silence. "For some reason I thought—I thought Jiwoong-hyung turned you."

Hanbin laughs a little. "Hyung? No. He would never turn anyone, he's against the whole concept of it."

"What, of vampires?"

"In a sense. He loves humanity too much."

Zhang Hao scrunches his face up at the ceiling. He doesn't know what to make of that. "You don't have the same reservations?"

"No," Hanbin says simply. "Humanity is humanity. I've seen the best and the worst of it."

Zhang Hao's curiosity practically bursts out of him. "So if not Jiwoong-hyung, then who was your sire?"

"My mother," Hanbin says softly, as if saying it quieter will elicit less of a reaction from Zhang Hao. "She turned me in my sleep."

Zhang Hao pops his head up in shock. "Like your human mother?"

"Yes. Only she wasn't very human when she turned me, of course." He pauses and says even quieter, "To this day, I'm still not sure if she knew what she was doing."

"Why did she…" Hanbin is standing stock-still, looking out of the window unseeingly. Zhang Hao gets the impression that Hanbin is somewhere far away from him right now. "Sorry. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"It's fine," Hanbin assures him, coming back to himself. His smile is strained. "I will tell you one day. But I think two sire stories in a day is too much even for you."

"Understandable." He starfishes onto his back. "I could get Jiwoong-hyung to tell me his vamp history too."

"Maybe," Hanbin says noncommittally. In a flash, Hanbin flits over to the bed and taps the pulse point on Zhang Hao’s neck with his index finger, right where a faint bite mark lies. Zhang Hao knows because he’s stared at it so often in the mirror that he can visualise its exact placement on his neck.

Zhang Hao’s not sure if he’ll ever grow used to seeing Hanbin move like that; it’s so easy for him to forget that Hanbin isn’t human. Even when Hanbin bites him there's something still oddly human about it, the need for sustenance. To see a reminder of the contrary makes him swallow. “I hate it when you do that,” he whispers.

Hanbin presses down slightly harder and Zhang Hao’s pulse jumps, then starts racing in earnest. Hanbin’s fangs peek out as he smirks. “I think hate may be the wrong word,” he says wryly, sliding a hand up to cup Zhang Hao’s jaw. He uses that leverage to tilt Zhang Hao’s head away from him so that his bare neck is on full display. Zhang Hao can’t see Hanbin like this but he can imagine what he looks like, can imagine the unabashed way he’s staring at Zhang Hao hungrily. Hanbin’s voice drops to a low murmur, “Wouldn’t you say so?”

“Yes,” Zhang Hao says mindlessly, not even knowing what he’s agreeing to. He squeezes his eyes shut and pleads, “Hanbin.”

It was a mistake to close his eyes. It means his senses are heightened: he feels Hanbin climb onto the bed and settle over him, carving out a space for himself between Zhang Hao's legs. He hears Hanbin's rough inhale above him as he drinks in this new angle. His hand is still splayed over Zhang Hao's neck before it disappears, leaving him uncomfortably bare.

A rustle of movement, Hanbin's hair brushing the underside of his jaw. Another inhale but this time, Zhang Hao feels it more than hears it. Hanbin's lips tickle his neck, only a hint of sharpness where his fangs superficially graze the skin there.

"Please," Zhang Hao begs, and Hanbin complies in the same second.

This will never get old no matter how many times they do it, Zhang Hao is sure of that. Simply nothing matches up to the fact that Zhang Hao's blood is what keeps Hanbin on this earth, that his life-force keeps Hanbin alive in turn. It's a heady feeling.

Unaware of Zhang Hao's thoughts, Hanbin feeds from him noisily; the lewd sounds of it make Zhang Hao's ears burn. Hanbin, growing more enthusiastic, flattens his body against Zhang Hao's to get a better angle. They're both hard, the swell of Hanbin's cock through his jeans obvious even out of the corner of Zhang Hao's eye.

He instinctively tilts his hips up, chasing that friction, and they moan in tandem. Hanbin's moan vibrates through his neck and Zhang Hao grits his teeth against it. He draws his knees up, effectively trapping Hanbin between his legs, and Hanbin rocks against him. A very embarrassing high-pitched whine falls out of his mouth before he can catch it and Hanbin ruts against him harder; Zhang Hao's brain whites out, even moreso when Hanbin hurriedly detaches from his neck.

There's a wild sheen to his eyes which makes Zhang Hao want to bare his neck all over again, let Hanbin do whatever he wanted to him. Maul him for all he cares.

"Come on," Zhang Hao slurs, pushing his fingers into Hanbin's mouth. Hanbin's mouth parts for him easily, greedily. "You can take more, take—"

There's another burst of pain as Hanbin bites down and Zhang Hao gasps involuntarily, unprepared for Hanbin's fangs slicing through his skin as if it were made of butter. The pain lances through him but it feels good too, nerve endings firing off on all cylinders. Overwhelmed with Hanbin's tongue swirling around his fingers and Hanbin's bulge rubbing against his and Hanbin's hand surely leaving a mark on his waist.

Hanbin gives one final suck to his fingers, eyelids lowered, and draws back with a wet sound. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth as Zhang Hao lets his hand fall back onto the bed carelessly.

"Perfect," Hanbin breathes, eyes roving over Zhang Hao ceaselessly. "You're perfect."

He re-aligns them slightly, dragging Zhang Hao down until Hanbin is completely draped over him. His hand flexes on Zhang Hao's waist, thumb digging into his ribcage, and Zhang Hao watches his fangs recede in real-time. Zhang Hao would've happily given him more.

"The things I want to do to you," Hanbin confesses, voice low in wonder. His hand trails down to Zhang Hao's thigh where he lifts it to wrap around his own hip.

"Anything," Zhang Hao promises, voice wavering with this new angle. "Anything you want."

He's basically putty in Hanbin's hands now, manhandled wherever Hanbin sees fit, and Zhang Hao sucks in a breath at the thought. He’s desperate, all of a sudden, and he uses the little leverage he has to twist his hips and frot against Hanbin. His cock strains in his underwear, begging to be released, but Zhang Hao likes it like this, likes that they’re too desperate to get off they won’t stop for even a single second.

"Fuck," Hanbin bites out, covering the distance between their mouths. The only thing Zhang Hao can taste is his own blood, which should be gross but isn't. Hanbin presses him down harder into the mattress with his body so that Zhang Hao’s trapped. This somehow feels more intimate, every movement shooting a shower of sparks up his spine.

A thin line of red-tinged saliva hangs between them before Hanbin moves further back, pupils blown wide.

"Gonna take such good care of you," he swears, gripping Zhang Hao's thigh with a strength which will no doubt leave bruises. "Never gonna have to ask me for a thing."

Zhang Hao seizes up, the tension in his stomach finally reaching its boiling point. He arches up, a stuttering gasp forcing its way out of his throat, and clutches at the hard give of Hanbin's shoulder. A floatiness invades his mind as he comes back down to earth and he exhales, head lolling to the side. Now Hanbin can see his handiwork.

The satisfaction practically rolls off of him in waves. "Mm," Hanbin murmurs tenderly, rhythm slowing and shifting into more of a gentle rocking now that he's not trying to get Zhang Hao off. Zhang Hao files that away for future reference as one finger trails down his neck, skirting the wound. "Like showing it off, do you?"

Zhang Hao's eyes flutter closed. "Just for you."

"Yeah," Hanbin sighs in pleasure, finger disappearing. "That's right, sweetheart. Just for me."

Zhang Hao's eyes blink open and he turns his head back to face Hanbin. His pants are starting to itch but that's nothing compared to the blood sticking to his neck, the blood leaking from his fingers onto the bedspread. The wounds on his hand look pretty gnarly, actually, and the throbbing is bringing itself to the forefront now. But that's a problem for future Zhang Hao to deal with.

"Made such a mess," Zhang Hao whispers, and Hanbin shudders and bows forward like the wind has been knocked out of him.

Zhang Hao only sees the crown of his head as Hanbin dips down, forehead resting on Zhang Hao's collarbone. His shoulders are making little hitching movements, like he's trying to catch his breath but forgetting that he doesn't need to breathe. Zhang Hao presses his unmangled hand down between Hanbin's shoulder blades and rubs it in soothing circles. Hanbin clings to him desperately, so at odds with the fearsome vampire he should be, the monster lurking in the dark.

This is mine, Zhang Hao thinks fiercely. You're mine.

There's a bone-deep knowledge that, at least not on his end, none of that was just an addled mind speaking — he would do anything for Hanbin, be anything for him. Zhang Hao simply refuses to let him go.

He never used to think much of fate, of two paths bound to meet because the universe wills it. It seemed like too much of a childhood fantasy, something naive people clung to in hopes that the stars would somehow cure their loneliness. He always dismissed it for that reason; he believed that there was no great happiness waiting for him in his future, that his life would follow the same trajectory of everyone else on this planet. A failed career here, a broken heart there. And finally: gone from this world with only a select few to grieve over his cold, lifeless corpse.

He doesn’t believe any of that now. Hanbin has shown him that his life will be different.

"I love you," Hanbin says quietly, interrupting his reverie. Everything in Zhang Hao's brain screeches to a halt. "You don't have to say it back. But I—"

"I love you," Zhang Hao interrupts before he can get too far, watching relief bloom on Hanbin's face. He has Zhang Hao's dried blood all over his mouth and chin. Yet he still looks so cute like this, blinking up at Zhang Hao with his eyes clear and bright. His hand moves to tug at one of Hanbin's earlobes affectionately. "Of course I'm going to say it back. Whatever happened to those vampire senses of yours?"

"I don't know," Hanbin mumbles, head dropping down so his forehead rests against Zhang Hao's sternum. "It's one thing to feel it, another to say it. You know vampires can get…intense. Scary."

"Intense, yes," Zhang Hao says seriously, "but you've never once scared me. Not properly." He mentally replays a speed run of their relationship. "Though that probably says more about me than you."

He feels Hanbin smile against his skin. “I think so too,” he says, adopting Zhang Hao’s tone, and Zhang Hao flicks his ear in punishment.

Hanbin pushes himself up cleanly, a subtle grace at the core of his movements. Zhang Hao watches the length of his body with a keen interest. No, scared isn’t exactly the right word. Hanbin gives him an amused look before climbing off of the bed fully.

“Clean up?” Zhang Hao suggests. God knows what he looks like right now.

“Yes.” Hanbin sweeps a thumb against the beauty spot underneath his eye. “I think bandages too. For your hand.”

“It’s not that bad,” Zhang Hao protests, though he pointedly doesn’t flex it. The reaction that would get would only prove Hanbin’s point.

Hanbin makes a noise from the back of his throat which Zhang Hao assumes to be one of polite disagreement.

Zhang Hao gives in with a sigh. “There should be some in the cabinet in the bathroom."

“Thank you,” Hanbin says, leaving the room after one last lingering touch.

Zhang Hao has to bite the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from grinning like a maniac. Then he jumps up when he realises that he should get to cleaning up the more intimate parts of himself instead of languishing in bed.

Later, when Hanbin is diligently wrapping his hand, Zhang Hao plucks up the courage to voice what's been on his mind lately.

“Hanbin.”

“Mm.” When Zhang Hao remains silent, thinking of how exactly to word what he wants to say, Hanbin glances over at him. “I’m listening.”

Zhang Hao sips from the juice procured for him by Hanbin and watches the elegant criss-cross motions of the bandage rather than Hanbin's face. He fiddles with the rim of the carton and sets it aside.

"What would you say," he starts cautiously, "if I asked you to turn me?"

Hanbin drops the roll. He fumbles for it clumsily and rescues it before it can hit the floor. "What?"

"I wanted to be turned into a vampire," Zhang Hao repeats, enunciating each word so there's no danger of miscommunication. "By you."

Hanbin looks like a cartoon character that's just been electrocuted, which would be funny if Zhang Hao didn't feel like he was about to throw up. Anxiety courses through him; he can’t even tell if his hand is shaking or not because Hanbin is still holding it up.

He observes the way Hanbin forces each part of his body to relax: first the legs and hips, then the torso and arms, then the neck and shoulders. A travelling release of tension. Hanbin exhales, continuing the wrapping of Zhang Hao’s hand. Not as elegant this time.

He doesn’t look at Zhang Hao as he asks, voice void of any emotion, "What about your mother?"

Zhang Hao has thought about that, of course. At some point, when it's been too many years where he hasn't aged a single bit, he’ll have to go off the radar. Stop returning her calls and vanish off the face of the earth. He hopes that he'll get lucky and she'll believe him to be dead, rather than fruitlessly wishing for the reappearance of a son that she'll never see again.

His eyes drift away from Hanbin, up over his shoulder to the shelves on the wall. "My mom is…she's a strong woman. She's survived a lot and I know she'll get through this too." He winces. It sounds harsher when he says it in Korean. "I know that sounds like I'm just giving her one more thing to survive, but I don't mean it like that."

"And yet you're doing exactly that." Hanbin is looking down at Zhang Hao's hand in his lap with an unreadable expression, wrist still caught in his grip even though his hand is all wrapped up now. "Giving her one more thing to survive."

He hadn’t imagined a rebuttal from Hanbin, insofar as he hadn’t imagined a response from Hanbin at all. As soon as he tried to envision how this would go, his mind slammed up against a concrete wall.

Zhang Hao doesn't have a response of his own to that.

The silence grows more unbearable with each second that ticks by and he shifts. "Say something."

"This should be the point I try to convince you to change your mind," Hanbin mutters, more to himself than Zhang Hao.

"Should be?" Zhang Hao echoes blankly.

Hanbin sighs and passes a hand over his face. It was easy to forget that Hanbin had been turned at only nineteen when he often carried himself with the air of someone much older. "I see no point in wasting my energy on something I don't believe myself."

“Oh.” Then: “Oh.” Zhang Hao swallows, heart in his throat, and stretches out his free hand. “Come up here.”

Hanbin hesitates. "Your sheets…"

"They can wait. This can’t.”

After a beat, Hanbin takes his hand and aligns himself next to Zhang Hao. Zhang Hao rolls onto his side so that they're facing each other, drops of dried blood on the mattress between them. This kind of intimacy feels like a good sign for this conversation.

Zhang Hao's fingers splay across Hanbin's ribcage. "So you thought about it?"

"I hoped," Hanbin says gravely. "It never went beyond that. Giving up your life…it's a lot to ask of you."

“It’s really not—”

“It is,” Hanbin cuts him off, voice hard. “This is something that can never be undone, there’s no way of turning back time. If you regret your decision then you will have to live with that for the rest of your long, long life. It is not uncommon for many vampires to…give up and I never want to see that happen with you.” His voice softens but his gaze remains unyielding. “You will watch everyone you’ve ever known die. It’s a tough burden to carry.”

“Not everyone,” Zhang Hao reminds him quietly, and Hanbin sighs. He shuffles an inch closer, legs tangling with Hanbin’s. “Look, I understand everything you’re saying. I’ve thought about this too, you know, and I get the worry. I do. But this is the one time where I think I know what I’m doing. I trust what I’m doing. Don't try and convince me of the opposite."

"I'm not," Hanbin denies a tad sharply. "I want this even more than you do, you have no idea how much. But…"

He searches Hanbin's face for a clue. “But what?”

Hanbin is silent for a few more moments, lost in thought. He chews on his lip, emotions flashing over his face too quickly for Zhang Hao to grasp. He doesn't exactly mind, though — one thing he adores about Hanbin is how expressive he is. Zhang Hao could spend a hundred lifetimes looking at that face and never tire of it.

"My worry is," Hanbin speaks, voice blunt and emotionless in a way that's at odds with his nervous finger-tapping against Zhang Hao's back, "what would happen if you stop loving me?"

Zhang Hao pulls back so quickly his neck twinges. He looks at Hanbin in bewilderment. “Are you kidding? Please tell me you’re joking.”

Hanbin’s mouth twists. “It’s a valid question."

“Hanbin,” he starts, then shakes his head. “I’m crazy about you. As in, bona-fide crazy. I…I think about you twenty-four seven, it's like there's physically no room in my head for anything else.” He laughs breathlessly. “Literally fifteen minutes ago I was thinking about fate and the universe and all of that. I can't envision a world where we're not together."

He has to kiss Hanbin then, a simultaneous outpouring of love and a need to make Hanbin see, to make him understand. Hanbin reciprocates fiercely, kissing him like he's starved.

I love you, Zhang Hao thinks, mentally shouting it like that will help Hanbin hear. And I always will.

He exhales afterwards and rests their foreheads together. "Also, as a reminder, I literally want to spend the rest of eternity with you."

"Honeymoon phase," Hanbin mumbles unsurely, and Zhang Hao pulls back in annoyance. Hanbin sounds like even he doesn't believe what he's saying. He adds, "And it happens more often than you think, the love between two vampires evaporating. I've seen it."

"We're not other people," Zhang Hao says automatically. "You know that as well as I do." His mind works rapidly. "And going off of that logic, how do you know you’re not going to fall out of love with me and I’ve, like, vampire-trapped you?”

Hanbin scowls, then, which is an expression that Zhang Hao so rarely sees on his face it actually takes him aback. "There's a less than zero chance of that happening."

"Exactly," Zhang Hao says, exasperated and fond in equal measure, "it's the same with me too. Less than zero."

Hanbin still doesn't look entirely convinced so Zhang Hao presses on.

"You know," he starts conversationally, rolling onto his back, "ever since I was young, I just had this…disconnect with other people. I was sort of a weird kid but—it was okay. No one really expects anything of you when you’re a kid, right? It’s the only time you’re free to be as weird as you want. So I was happy, then, even though some of the other kids would make fun of me. But I never understood what they were making fun of in the first place, so the teasing just passed me by.

“Then: growing up. The sudden weight of expectations. Not just academic, which was draining enough, but social too. I would look at the circles of friends around me and think what do they have that I don’t.” A hollow laugh. “Most of all, I felt alone. Like everyone around me knew this huge secret that I didn’t and they were all determined to keep it from me. Even wandering the streets of Fujian, surrounded by strangers, it was as if their faces were shrouded in veils. I wasn’t seeing them and they weren’t seeing me, but they saw each other; it felt like a life-long inevitability to me, always being the outsider. Until I met you.” He chances a glance at Hanbin and finds him rapt, eyes shining. Probably best to leave the ex-boyfriend stuff for another day. "Anyway. Didn't mean to tell you my whole life story but that should provide some perspective."

"I want to know your whole life story, every last bit of it," Hanbin protests, arm encircling Zhang Hao and tucking him further into him. He presses a kiss to the crown of Zhang Hao's head. "Thank you for telling me that."

He leans into Hanbin. "My life is nowhere near as long or exciting as yours."

"It's plenty exciting to me," Hanbin declares. "And you'll know mine too.” Another kiss. “We have all the time in the world for that."

Zhang Hao's heart thunders in his chest. “So you'll do it?"

"Yes," Hanbin affirms, head dipping down. "Whatever keeps you by my side." In a tone of quiet awe, right before their lips meet: "How did I even find you?"

They share a soft kiss, one filled with promise and relief and happiness. Zhang Hao hums into it, so full of love it thrums through his body. Hanbin begins to dot kisses over his face until Zhang Hao is giggling, before capping it off with an exceedingly gentle kiss over the bite mark in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. That's its own kind of promise, Zhang Hao thinks faintly.

"You're going to make such a good vampire," Hanbin says with a trace of pride, picking up Zhang Hao's train of thought. "Have you thought about when?"

Zhang Hao shuffles closer to him and tucks his head underneath Hanbin's chin. "I was thinking after I graduate university. If that works for you."

"If that works for me," Hanbin repeats flatly. Zhang Hao feels the vibrations in his chest when he speaks. "Of course that works for me. It's entirely up to you."

"Even if I asked you to turn me at, like, eighty?"

"That's what I was hoping for," Hanbin sighs mournfully, not reacting at all to the hard jab that Zhang Hao drives into his side.

Zhang Hao makes an inquisitive noise. "Wait. Are there eighty-year-old vampires?"

"Oh yes," Hanbin confirms, hand wandering over Zhang Hao's back and up to his head so he can play with the strands there. "There’s vampires of every age. Even children."

His tone makes it clear what he thinks about that practice.

Zhang Hao purses his lips. The more he can glean about the world of vampires, the better. “So why do vampires turn people?”

Hanbin’s hand pauses in his hair before resuming. “I imagine,” he says lightly, “that everything can be grouped under three motivations.”

When Hanbin doesn’t expand, Zhang Hao huffs in annoyance. Let it be known that vampires have a biological penchant for the dramatic. “Which are?”

"Number one." He sounds like he's reading off of a test paper. "Beauty. Many vampires cling to an appreciation of the aesthetic and, consequently, they believe it would be a shame for beauty to go to waste. Some humans are turned as an act of preservation so their faces would be forever frozen in time, unchanging."

Zhang Hao raises his eyebrows. "Sounds like a recipe for vampire beauty pageants."

Hanbin snorts. "You're not far off the mark." Before Zhang Hao can parse through that, Hanbin continues, "Number two. Greed. It encompasses a lot, I think. The hunt for power — on either end of the bargain. The desire to build a coven. Loneliness. And so on and so forth. Did you ever ask Jiwoong about how he was turned?"

Zhang Hao doesn't feel awkward with Jiwoong, per se, but he feels a certain level of familiarity is required before he broaches such a topic. "I haven't gotten around to it yet."

"You should," Hanbin says meaningfully, and leaves it at that. "Onto number three." He pauses. "There are some who believe this one is the most selfish.”

Zhang Hao already knows. He uncurls himself, wanting to see Hanbin. “Love.”

Hanbin is looking at him with so much open affection Zhang Hao can feel his ears redden. “Yes. This one is perfectly self-explanatory.”

"So which one am I?" Zhang Hao jokes, though Hanbin doesn't smile.

"With you," Hanbin says somberly as he tucks a lock of hair behind Zhang Hao's ear, "it would be all three."

The spring after graduation is the happiest Zhang Hao's ever been in his life. Which, technically, doesn't say much but that's precisely the reason it means so much to him. Pure, unfiltered happiness has always been a rare occurrence for him, so excuse him for getting a little sappy.

Of course, the cause for it is solely down to one person.

Even in his native Chinese, Zhang Hao isn't as good with words as Hanbin. Hanbin is fond of using flowery metaphors and turns of phrase that make Zhang Hao's heart skip a beat. Zhang Hao speaks too bluntly for that. The meaning behind his words is never lost, but it could be dressed up a little prettier.

Privately, he thinks even if he were skilled at translating his feelings into words it would be lost on him anyway. He's just never been the type of person to express his innermost thoughts so…outwardly. That's why they're called innermost thoughts.

He tries to express it as much as he can though, tries to show Hanbin the absolute depth of his love for him through his actions instead of his words. He hopes Hanbin sees right through it. He knows Hanbin does, but he still hopes.

He looks forward to the future for this reason. When Hanbin turns him, there'll be a clear, tangible link between the two of them and Hanbin will be able to see Zhang Hao's thoughts for himself. He likes the sound of that.

Some time after graduation, there's a small spark of happiness which has nothing to do with Hanbin: he gets accepted to Yonsei. He knew he most likely would be anyway, but it's a welcome relief to read the proof in the letter.

"Clever boy," Hanbin says proudly, kissing Zhang Hao where he sits at the kitchen table. "What did I tell you?"

"I thought seonsaengnim told me I need to do some extra work to raise my grade," Zhang Hao says innocently, looking up at Hanbin from underneath his eyelashes, and then the letter is briefly forgotten.

Apart from lazing around in bed together, they occupy their newfound free time in other ways.

They start cooking together in preparation for university — well, Hanbin cooks and Zhang Hao laughs at him. It's the one thing Hanbin can't do therefore Zhang Hao finds this to be a source of endless amusement. Hanbin always complains that he needs to give him a break and take into account that he hasn't cooked a single thing in over a century, but it's hard to take him seriously when he has flour in his hair. And Hanbin also gets really cute when something goes wrong, pouting at Zhang Hao like he's going to fix it, but Zhang Hao won't tell him that.

Music is also something familiar to the both of them, returning to Zhang Hao with its arms outstretched like an old friend. They compose and play together, the violin and the piano side by side, and each time Zhang Hao thinks, yeah, I could easily do this for all eternity. Hanbin has started to teach him the piano recently, too, and Zhang Hao is unsurprised to find that he excels in teaching as well.

Then there was the matter of actually taking the step to inform Jiwoong and Yujin that Zhang Hao will, at some point, be permanently joining them.

Hanbin had been the one to tell Jiwoong so it would be on him to deal with the fallout — his words — and he'd left Yujin to Zhang Hao, citing Yujin's affection for him. Zhang Hao decided to wait until he was clear of exams, on the off chance Yujin didn't take to the news kindly and Zhang Hao would have to juggle that on top of exam season.

As it turned out, his stress had been for nothing.

(Yujin practically squeals, which is such an un-Yujin sound Zhang Hao almost bursts out laughing. "Congratulations, hyung!"

"Thanks," Zhang Hao says wryly, patting Yujin's back where he's flung himself at Zhang Hao in a hug. "Looking forward to being stuck with hyung forever?"

Yujin grins at him; he always looks so much younger when he smiles. "You know it." They begin trudging through the mud again. Zhang Hao has totally worn the wrong type of shoes for this. "I'm not looking forward to being stuck with an even more insufferable Hanbin, though. No wonder he's been so happy recently."

This isn't news to Zhang Hao, considering he's spending almost all of his time with Hanbin these days, but he reddens regardless.

"Ugh," Yujin complains heartfeltly, catching sight of his blush. "I changed my mind, both of you are insufferable.")

Zhang Hao grins to himself at the memory, uncaring of how he must look right now. He could be scaring off some future classmates at this very moment.

The Yonsei campus is very beautiful, he has to admit. And the chemistry program does look great. All in all, it’s been an interesting taster day. Although while he was being led around campus, he realised what he's really looking forward to isn't university itself but the prospect of sharing a space with Hanbin.

They've taken on the arduous job of apartment-hunting in Seoul, which is giving Zhang Hao a bigger headache than the whole my boyfriend is a vampire thing did, but Hanbin assures him that they'll find something eventually. Zhang Hao sure hopes so because staying over in a house where everyone possesses superhuman hearing is getting old fast.

Today Yujin is out in Seoul by himself too, as part of their collective re-integrate Yujin into human society plan. Zhang Hao had been hesitant to bring it up to Hanbin and then later Jiwoong, the idea that schooling wasn't the be-all end-all for Yujin to adjust. There were other paths in life and Zhang Hao wanted to do right by him, wanted Yujin to know that he shouldn’t have to feel stuck. It was fortunate that both Hanbin and Jiwoong had been supportive.

So Yujin had been sent out into the world to see if he could acclimate in the first place. The test for him today was…shopping.

("My poor bank account," Jiwoong had said sorrowfully as he handed his card over.)

Yujin must've managed well if the smiling face in the backseat is any indication. And the countless number of bags piled next to him.

He greets Hanbin with a barely-there peck on the lips — too many people milling around for anything more, he figures. And a kid sitting in the backseat.

"Yujin also asked me to pick him up," Hanbin explains, long-suffering. He gives Zhang Hao his best plaintive look. "Cruelly taken advantage of by the ones I love most."

"Please," Yujin scoffs. "Don't act like you don't love this."

“Yes,” Hanbin draws out, somewhat sardonically. “My life’s goal. Ferrying people to and from places.”

Yujin laughs and says something very quickly in Japanese. Hanbin gives him an unimpressed look in the rearview mirror and Yujin grins wider, unrepentant. “You know it’s true.”

“It’s rude to talk in languages that others present can’t understand, Yujin-ah,” Hanbin chastises mildly, pulling away from the kerb.

“Sorry, Hao-hyung,” Yujin says obediently, leaning forward in his seat. “I would tell you but I think Hanbin-hyung would get embarrassed if I did. And then kill me.”

“I wouldn’t,” Hanbin denies, hand falling on Zhang Hao’s thigh. "Get embarrassed, that is."

"Ha ha," Yujin deadpans. "Don't forget I have the leverage here, I haven't even told Hao-hyung about the endless moping. Oh, will Zhang Hao like this song, do I look good in this shirt, is the house clean enough, what will he think once I tell him I'm a vampire, will he still talk to—"

"I wasn't moping," Hanbin says scornfully. "You're making this up as you go along." He spots the smile that Zhang Hao bites down on and gasps. "Traitor!"

"Sorry," Zhang Hao says, then dissolves into a fit of giggles. Hanbin grins at him, previous consternation forgotten.

Yujin waits for him to calm down before he speaks.

"I'm really happy you're turning, hyung," he tells Zhang Hao sincerely. It's not the first time Yujin has professed this to him and it probably won't be the last.

"I'm happy too, Yujinnie," Zhang Hao replies, as he always does. He sneaks a glance at Hanbin, one hand on the wheel and soft smile still on his face. Happy doesn't even begin to cover it.

“Can we go see my grave?” Yujin implores. “I think it would be cool for Hao-hyung to see it.”

Zhang Hao blinks. “Your what?”

“My grave,” Yujin says patiently. “Obviously I was assumed to be dead so they, my family, carried out a burial. Just without the body. And Jiwoong-hyung said the funeral was really extravagant too.”

“He went to your funeral?”

“Yep. Apparently a lot of people showed up but that’s just because of my father. They weren’t really there for me.”

"I'm sure that's not true," Hanbin cuts in, his voice measured as if they've had this discussion a few times before.

"Well, not like we'll ever really know for sure." Yujin’s head swings between them. “So can we go?”

Zhang Hao looks at Hanbin, who’s already watching him surreptitiously. He raises an eyebrow when he catches Zhang Hao looking. So the decision is with Zhang Hao.

“Sure,” Zhang Hao says. “Let’s go.”

“Cool,” Yujin enthuses, and finally leans back.

Hanbin seems to know the way from here as he takes a different turning off the highway without comment. Zhang Hao’s never been this way before so he rests his head against the headrest and watches the world speed by through the window. A comfortable silence falls inside the car; he often forgets how vampires actually get silent in a way that’s impossible for humans. Humans fidget, shift around, breathe, hum under their breath. Vampires do none of that.

Without moving his head, his eyes flick to the rearview mirror. Yujin sits there stock-still, as Zhang Hao suspected, and there’s an aura of contemplation around him. Perhaps rethinking his decision, though that same aura disappears as soon as they park up.

Yujin strides confidently past row after row of graves, a boundless sea of nondescript headstones and mounds, before making a sharp right. Hanbin walks in step with Zhang Hao, hands brushing with every swing of their arms. There’s no one else around except Yujin, considering it’s four p.m on a Tuesday, but Zhang Hao would rather not risk the ire of a few hundred homophobic spirits.

They come to a stop before a grey headstone with a mound directly behind it. It looks the same as all the other graves here, which means Yujin must come here often enough that he knows its exact placement in the cemetery.

Han Yujin, 1978 - 1993, the faint inscription reads. Beloved son and brother. Then, accompanied with an engraving of a fern below: Evergreen alone when white snow covers the whole world.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Yujin says, nonchalant. "They ended up predicting it."

"Not the alone part," Hanbin refutes quietly, and he and Yujin share a loaded look.

“It’s a nice expression,” Zhang Hao says lamely, feeling like Yujin wanted to show him this for a reason. He doesn’t exactly know what to say when he’s staring at the grave of someone who’s standing next to him.

Yujin grins and says, reading Zhang Hao’s thoughts, “Weird for you to see it, right?”

“A little,” Zhang Hao admits, conscious of Hanbin’s presence next to him. He wonders if Hanbin has his own grave, though it seems unlikely if he doesn’t know the year he was born. Or possibly he never went looking.

It’s quiet for a few moments before Yujin breaks it.

“My grandmother was buried here,” he says suddenly, and turns on his heel. It doesn’t seem to be an invitation to join. Zhang Hao watches him rejoin the main path and pace the endless rows of graves. He waits until the distance between them grows before he speaks.

“I just realised,” Zhang Hao murmurs to Hanbin in undertones, “I mean, thirty years actually isn’t very long. Wouldn’t his human family still be alive?”

“His father and sister are,” Hanbin replies, not missing a beat. “From what I’ve gathered his father is—not a very nice man.”

Hanbin says it with such disdain that Zhang Hao can imagine exactly what kind of man Yujin’s father is.

“And his sister?”

“You want to know whether Yujin is still in contact with her,” Hanbin accurately guesses.

“Is he?”

They both watch Yujin slowly pick his way back to them, shoulders sloped and eyes scanning the ground for uncut thickets of bramble. Heartbreakingly young. Too young to be thinking about family matters and mortality and time.

“Sometimes,” Hanbin says to him quietly, “it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie. Especially when there is a danger of getting fixated on the life that could have been.” He only raises his voice a little: “Let’s head home, Yujin-ah!”

Yujin raises a hand in acknowledgement, silhouetted against the glare of the evening sun. "I'll meet you back at the car!"

Yujin's headstone has a physical pull to it, a way of forcing him to read the words over and over again. Zhang Hao wonders what inscription they will write on his own grave, when the time comes.

Hanbin is watching him. "It's still some time away," he says lightly.

"What?"

"That's what you're thinking of, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he sighs. Impossible to hide anything from Hanbin. He tilts his head up towards the sky, eyes squinting. "My death."

"It's not a death," Hanbin lectures, faintly disapproving. "It is a change. If you think of it as a death then you allow them to box you in."

Zhang Hao grins, amused despite the topic of conversation. "Who's 'them'?"

Hanbin is silent next to him. He takes Zhang Hao's wrist in hand and traces over the thin scar there, a leftover from last week. "You know," he starts, "Jiwoong-hyung told me recently that I'm a very selfish person."

Zhang Hao drops his head to look at him. "For changing me?"

"Mm-hmm. He thinks you should be entitled to live a full life as a human."

"That's not exactly his decision to make."

"I said the same thing." Hanbin is still looking at his wrist, mouth downturned. "But I suppose he doesn't see it that way. I think, perhaps, he believes that I have my own best interests at heart and not yours."

"But we want the same thing," Zhang Hao says slowly, puzzled. "It's unfair for him to blame you for anything. According to his logic, I must also be a very selfish person as I'm the one who brought it up in the first place. I'm the one who doesn't want to be apart from you, I'm the one who can't live without you. Shouldn't this be pinned on me instead?"

Hanbin's head whips up at that, eyes wide and shocked. He looks like a feather could bowl him over.

"What?" Zhang Hao says, even more puzzled. "It's true."

Hanbin makes an odd, stifled noise. That shell-shocked expression won't leave his face. He drops Zhang Hao's wrist and practically collapses into him, gripping his shoulder and winding tight around him. He hides his face in Zhang Hao's neck and Zhang Hao rests his cheek atop his head.

"I can't lose you," Hanbin says, muffled but no less emphatic. His hair tickles Zhang Hao's face and he breathes him in. "I just can't."

"And you won't," Zhang Hao promises, thumb stroking over the nape of Hanbin's neck. This angle means that he's facing towards the headstone; the dying sunlight skitters over it so the engraving gleams. He keeps his eyes on it. "What would mine say?"

Hanbin shifts a little to see what he's looking at, head peeking out of the crook of Zhang Hao's neck.

"Beloved," he murmurs in response, and the breeze picks up enough so that it sounds like the air around them is carrying whispers of beloved beloved beloved. "Just 'beloved.'"