Chapter Text
Zhang Hao was dancing around the living room.
Pausing halfway down the staircase, this was the first thing Hanbin noticed when the lower level came into view.
Familiar synthy pop blared from someone’s phone. Zhang Hao, a ChaPanda milk tea in hand, was shimmying around the couch, body rolling and twirling in time with the strong dance beat.
Touch me like you touch nobody
Put your hands all up on me
Tired of hearing sorry
Kiss and make, kiss, kiss and make up
Gunwook, legs folded up beneath him on the couch, was watching with his lips curled into his mouth. Next to him, Taerae, looking very invested, had the nail of an index finger pressed against his bottom lip, his wide smile pushing his eyes into crescents.
Strutting in front of them, Zhang Hao raised his drink loosely in the air, swaying, before rolling his hips in little circles while spinning in a generous 360. His eyebrows were furrowed as if angry at how good the beat was, and when he faced his audience again, his popped down into a slutdrop. Taerae shrieked.
A Zhang Hao with this much energy at home was unusual. Hanbin watched, blinking, as Zhang Hao coaxed a cackling Taerae off the couch with wordless persuasion and the two began to dance like stereotypical white people at a club.
“Hyung!” Gunwook cried suddenly. Hanbin had been spotted. “Hyung, save me!”
At his plea, the dancing duo brought their show right up to the edge of the couch, trapping Gunwook against the cushions. He hid behind his arms, laughing and yelling in mock desperation.
“Hyung—hyung!”
Hanbin snorted. He descended the rest of the way down the stairs, brow raised and eyes wide with amused bewilderment.
“Why are we dancing, exactly?”
Taerae’s giggles collapsed him into the couch, where he flopped down beside Gunwook. One of his fingers lifted to point.
“Ask him,” Taerae panted, and Hanbin followed his finger to Zhang Hao, who was now performing a series of little body waves. “I was playing music, and then he came home and started dropping it.”
It was a free day, and the group had decided to spend it according to individual whims. Most of them were out. Hanbin had been getting organized for their next week of schedules and had emerged at the commotion, curiosity about the state of the lower level compelling him to check on it.
Zhang Hao was twirling closer to Hanbin, and Hanbin watched him approach with a little smile. The song had changed, and his dancing slowed to adjust to the change of pace.
Yeah, we ridin’, n’ ridin’, n’ ridin’ on up
So shinin’, n’ shinin’, n’ shinin’ for sure
Ooh-ah, I’m lookin’ so lavish
Ooh-ah, put in work like it’s a habit
When Zhang Hao was close enough to be decidedly within Hanbin’s personal space, he toned down his dancing, though his shoulders continued to sway in time.
“Hanbin-ah,” he declared, looking at Hanbin with a serious face. “My ChaPanda—” he paused, bringing the straw to his mouth to take a sip before continuing, “—is so good today.”
“Huh? Hyung, that’s why you’re being crazy?” Gunwook exclaimed from the couch, looking exaggeratedly disturbed. Taerae snorted into a renewed giggle fit.
Hanbin kept his eyes on Zhang Hao, who returned his gaze. The milk tea was thrust in front of his face.
“Try it,” Zhang Hao demanded, cute expectation written all over his stern expression.
Taking him in, Hanbin swallowed. Denying that face was something he had never been able to do. When he leaned in for the straw, their eye contact held. Hanbin took a sip.
“Mm,” he exclaimed, straightening. “That’s—wow, that’s good. Huh.”
Zhang Hao nodded solemnly. Then, the music seemed to reenter his body, and he turned so his back was facing Hanbin with a little hair flip. He was still snugly within Hanbin’s bubble when he looked behind over his shoulder to meet his eyes again.
“Thirty percent,” he said, providing this vague information like a piece of life advice. His body was centimeters away from Hanbin’s. Again, their eye contact held.
Then, he was stepping away – in rhythm, of course. He headed to the stairs with a smug, “You’re welcome!” and cheers-ed the living room before disappearing up to the second level.
Gunwook scoffed, and Taerae turned the music down, asking him his opinion on the likelihood that the milk tea was spiked.
Hanbin’s eyes lingered on the staircase, and he let out a little breath.
Zhang Hao was a man of many talents. He had looks and personality, dance skills and vocals – all of which were of an uncommon degree of excellence. He had ambition, presence, and popularity; book-smarts and street-smarts and a general grade of high intelligence.
Indeed, Zhang Hao had many things – including Hanbin wrapped around his little finger.
Accordingly, getting to witness his out-of-the-blue excitement over a particularly tasty milk tea spread a fuzzy warmth through Hanbin’s chest. Zhang Hao finding joy in something so small, and with baffling spontaneity, was impossibly endearing. Such enthusiasm from him in the dorm was rare; he spent most of his time at home recharging energy, the profound introvert that he was. Thus, when his energy did make an appearance, Hanbin was always made sure to pocket the memory.
He was also probably going to dwell on how Zhang Hao’s eyes had held his own; how they captured him with a depth he saw in no one else. But, of course, this came as no surprise. To Hanbin, Zhang Hao was special – perhaps the only person among his friends and family with a place in his heart that was not shared. Hanbin was beginning to think that it couldn’t be shared. It didn’t seem realistic that he would ever think of more than one person as the epitome of all that deserved reverence.
To Hanbin, Zhang Hao was precious beyond words.
-
Hanbin’s entanglement in Zhang Hao had started at some point during Boys Planet, when they both seemed to recognize not only the desperation they shared, but the sense that their respective souls operated on the same wavelength, as cliché as that sounded. Past the polite introductions and initial jitters, it was as if they’d known each other for years, so comfortable were they in the presence of the other. Hanbin had never met someone with whom he’d clicked at such speed, and with such intensity. It was, frankly, astonishing.
At the time, it had also been terrifying. Their joint survival on the show was not guaranteed, even when their ranks held steady at the first and second spots. The fact that debuting together through Boys Planet was Hanbin’s only shot at working with this person, who he could comfortably label as his second half mere months after first meeting him, had kept him up for many a night throughout the duration of the show.
The announcement of who had won first place – intended, of course, to be the climax of the Boys Planet journey – had caused him no anxiety. Instead, all he had felt in that moment was relief. For him, the stress had ended the second he saw both his and Zhang Hao’s faces projected on the big screen, confirmed as members of ZEROBASEONE; confirmed to be working alongside each other for the foreseeable future.
Once he’d recovered enough from his relief to acknowledge the final ranking, Hanbin hadn’t been shocked that Zhang Hao had won first place. It made perfect sense to him, who had been privileged enough to see his talents up close and personal for months. Zhang Hao was electric. Handsome and sweet, goofy and cheeky – even when he hadn’t been nearly as confident in Korean as he was now – and in possession of the raw talent honed by an unbending work ethic to back it all up. Hanbin had known long before the finale that Zhang Hao was a showstopper, capable and deserving of securing the first seat. Even the public, though floored in the moment, hadn’t necessarily been surprised after the initial excitement wore off. After all, one couldn’t look at Zhang Hao and make a reasonable argument that he was unsuitable for that center spot.
The real shock came a few weeks later, when, as a standard part of a press release on the nine boys soon to debut as ZEROBASEONE, their denominations were released.
Zhang Hao was not only the first foreign participant to win a K-Pop idol survival show – he was also the first omega.
Perhaps because of systemic inequalities; unequal access to industry support and opportunities, since companies preferred to take on alphas and betas; and the prejudiced bias of the public, subconscious or not, to vote for candidates they felt resembled alphas, an omega taking the top spot had never happened before. That is, until Zhang Hao took Boys Planet and its hundreds of thousands of viewers by storm.
The headline made national news.
Hanbin figures this is where his entanglement progressed into a mass of true and honest knots, because Zhang Hao, in addition to being the first omega to win a survival show, was the only omega who made it into the final lineup.
ZEROBASEONE had one omega, and he happened to be Hanbin’s other half.
No one knew each other’s designations throughout the show. All participants were required to take prescription-strength scent blocking medication on top of heat and rut suppressants, if they weren’t already. Even trainees from the same companies were generally unaware of each other’s subgenders: it was standard practice among K-Pop companies to place trainees under strict regimens of medication to ensure their denominations remained under wraps.
These requirements were touted as a way to protect trainees in environments that would otherwise be full of newly presented, overly hormonal youth, though there was suspicion that it had more to do with making them easier to manage. The policy had also recently come under public scrutiny following a slew of high-profile studies on the health detriments of long-term use of hormonal masking and suppressant drugs. At present, however, the requirements were still commonplace. Trainees weren’t inclined to tell each other privately, either: If a trainee’s subgender got out, it could damage their future prospects, so sharing this information was not a risk most wanted to take.
All that is to say, the members themselves didn’t learn of each other’s subgenders until a few days before the press release, and one day before they were scheduled to move into their dorm.
They were sitting around a long table in a company conference room with a handful of staff to discuss some administrative details and the move-in process. The information came out as part of a briefing on group dynamics and interpersonal cooperation.
“Starting tomorrow, you will no longer be required to take scent-blocking medication and, of course, you’ll need to know each other’s denominations. Obviously, how you interact among yourselves shouldn’t change much, but keep this information in mind because these things are important and biology is biology.”
Hanbin hadn’t let himself speculate about the others’ subgenders much, although he was, admittedly, a little curious. It was a curiosity that stemmed more from wanting to get closer with his members than anything else, though. He’d never been the type of person to base his impressions or expectations of someone on their subgender.
“Alright, Jiwoong, Hanbin, Ricky, Gunwook, Yujin—you’re all the alphas. Yujin presented last week, so be sure to congratulate him.” Gyuvin, who was sitting next to Yujin, elbowed him with a little grin, and Yujin smiled bashfully into his lap. “And for betas, we have Matthew, Taerae, and Gyuvin.” Hanbin looked around the table. Wasn’t that almost all of them?
“That leaves Zhang Hao—he’ll be the only omega.”
There was a deafening beat of stunned silence following this statement. All eyes shot to Zhang Hao. Hanbin, too, couldn’t help the sharp turn of his head.
Zhang Hao, despite the sudden spotlight, kept his chin up, eyes fixed strongly ahead. There was a moment of tense ambiguity, where it felt like the information had yet to be received one way or another and was teetering on the fence of judgement. The staff member had paused to check a notification on her phone. Zhang Hao swallowed, but his gaze didn’t waver.
“Daebak,” came a whisper from the opposite side of the table. Glancing over, Hanbin found Gyuvin staring at Zhang Hao with unfiltered awe painted on his face in big, glittering strokes. “That means Hao-hyung’s the first…”
The sentence went unfinished, but, like magic, it broke the room out of the shocked freeze it had entered.
“Whoa,” Gunwook breathed, open mouth turning up at the corners as he exhaled a quick burst of air, shoulders jumping with it. “Hyung, at this point you should just change your name to Jjang Hao.”
Hanbin looked back at Zhang Hao. A small but genuine close-lipped smile was rounding out his cheeks, and he sent it to Gunwook with a playful look. Jiwoong, who sat next to him, put a hand on Zhang Hao’s shoulder and gave it an affectionate shake. Zhang Hao smiled at him, too, and Hanbin could see his body relax as his gaze fell to his lap.
The staff member started speaking again, shifting the focus back to her. Hanbin, however, let his gaze linger on Zhang Hao, whose eyes were still angled down at his thighs. He watched as Zhang Hao’s lips parted slightly; watched as they pursed to release a slow and subtle exhale. It only then occurred to Hanbin just how nervous Zhang Hao must have felt in that moment.
Hanbin tuned out most of the remainder of the meeting, which really only concerned technicalities for how moving was going to work. His mind was instead stuck on Zhang Hao, who would be the sole omega in their group. In his group – the group he was responsible for leading. Remembering that Zhang Hao had also just learned of his singularity, Hanbin wondered if he was spinning on it, too.
He glanced at Zhang Hao, and a split second later, by some act of fate, Zhang Hao happened to glance back. Their eyes caught, and something brief but startlingly fierce flashed through Hanbin’s chest. He gave Zhang Hao a little smile, one that he hoped was reassuring; that promised nothing between them would change following the reveal of their respective subgenders. Zhang Hao’s eyes softened, crinkling a little at the edges, before he returned his gaze to the staff member.
Nothing between them would change. Hanbin said this to himself a few times, but the more he repeated it, the less it felt like the truth. Nothing between them would change for the worse – this, at least, he was confident in. The prior flash of fierce emotion felt like it had seared something permanent onto Hanbin’s heart – something that made him think there had already been a change within him.
When the meeting ended and members stood up to leave, a staff member called out to Zhang Hao, asking him to stay behind. Hanbin’s mouth twitched downward. He watched Zhang Hao sit back down, and then watched as four staff members took seats next to and across from him. The group members, somewhat awkwardly, called out their goodbyes and ‘see-you-later’s and were ushered out of the room.
Before they left the building, Hanbin stopped, an apology rolling off his tongue as he dipped away to ‘use the restroom.’ Was this a change? Was he already acting differently? Hanbin didn’t have the space to ponder such questions now. He hurried back to the conference room, hovering just outside the door, and focused on his hearing to catch what was being discussed inside.
“…to the next point, then. So, as I’m sure you saw in your contract, standard procedure for our management of omegas involves medical assessments every two months to guarantee that you are taking birth control consistently, as is required by the company, and to verify that you are not pregnant. This means you’ll have six of these particular appointments per year, and your first is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon following the move to the dorm.”
There was some shuffling of paper, and then, “This is, of course, assuming that you aren’t fixed?”
Hanbin blinked, the term flooding his mind with recent controversy. It was coming to light that omega trainees were often pressured, if not forced, to undergo sterilization so their companies could work them without needing to accommodate their heats. The most popular sterilization method was less expensive than a typical procedure of the same vein, and had been hailed as quick, easy, and involving little recovery time. Recently, however, stories of the long-term harm these procedures did to young omegas began trending on Naver; reports of intestinal damage, chronic pain, and irreparable hormone disturbance flew around netizen spaces. And, of course, the procedure stripped vulnerable omegas of their ability to bear children in the midst of a declining population crisis.
It was quite the hot topic. It made Hanbin, who kept up with the headlines, very aware of the weight of his privilege. He listened closely, sudden fear creeping into his chest that Zhang Hao might have been subjected to such malpractice.
“That’s correct, ma’am. I haven’t been.”
Relief washed through Hanbin, visceral enough that it surprised him.
“And you are currently on birth control, then?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What medications specifically?”
“Um, let me translate them. I don’t know how to pronounce the names in Korean.” There was a pause, and then a careful pronunciation of medications Hanbin didn’t recognize.
There was more clacking of keys on a keyboard. “We’ll discuss company procedure regarding unfixed omegas and estrus cycles next. When exactly was your last…”
Hanbin turned and walked quietly away from the door, feeling a light flush spread across his cheeks. He was being nosy. He’d had a similar conversation with a staff member regarding his ruts, but it had been quick and limited to the expected timing and average length of his rut period, which was fairly standard: twice a year, lasting two to three days at a time. Zhang Hao seemed to be swamped with much more complicated fine print – to a somewhat unfair extent, Hanbin realized as he jogged down the stairs to the building entrance.
That day, Hanbin stewed in the beginning stages of what would become his immense, ferocious pride in ZEROBASEONE’s omega center; and of his relentless determination to ensure that Zhang Hao felt equal, safe, confident, and comfortable in a group where he was, in a single but significant aspect, entirely alone. Where there was no one he could trust to understand him on a total, intrinsic level. Hanbin would try his absolute hardest to make this up to him.
-
Hanbin laid the groundwork early.
On a free afternoon about a week after they’d moved in together, he’d asked the betas to take Zhang Hao out of the dorm for a bit. More precisely, he’d asked Matthew, and Matthew had caught on that this request served an ulterior purpose. It didn’t take much for him to cajole the other betas into going out, and then for all three betas to subsequently cajole Zhang Hao into joining them for a milk tea excursion. Matthew scurried them all out the door before they could try to invite anyone else, and Hanbin saw them off. Gyuvin had an arm around Zhang Hao’s shoulders, and Taerae was glued to his other side, giggling with him about something that had to do with asking for sushi in Japanese. Watching them, Hanbin felt warmth gather in his chest and radiate out to the rest of his body. Was it cliché that his alpha delighted in seeing his group get along so well?
(Was it cliché that his alpha delighted in seeing their omega stuck safely between two people he trusted, being led down the street by a third?)
This was new for Hanbin – these feelings of pride in and concern for others that felt directly tied to his alpha. He was still adjusting to them, mindful of making sure that they didn’t overwhelm him or become overbearing for the others. Hanbin supposed being made the leader of a group was somewhat similar to the outdated, though still instinctually relevant, idea of being leader of a pack, and assumed that was where these Pavlovian feelings were coming from. Surely it made sense, then, that he felt them with a particular intensity toward the only omega in his ‘pack’ – but deep down, he knew there was more to it.
When it came to Zhang Hao, there was always more to it.
Hanbin gathered everyone else around the kitchen table and sat amongst them. He checked in with how they were doing after a week of living in the dorm, and they chatted for a few minutes before he changed topics.
“So, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, I got just the alphas together—Hao-hyung and the betas are out.” Seeing Hanbin shift into a serious posture, the table, in kind, sobered. Three pairs of big, younger eyes watched him intently, and Jiwoong paid him a more seasoned gaze of respectful attention.
“I feel really fortunate that I get to be on the same team as you guys. I know we haven’t known each other for that long, and we haven’t even officially debuted yet—but I’m genuinely grateful that I get to work with you. I promise I’ll work hard and do whatever I can to make ZB1 a success as your leader.” He paused, taking a breath.
“And because I’m your leader, there are some things I have to make sure we’re all on the same page about. This doesn’t mean I don’t trust you, or that I think you would ever purposely cause harm, but it’s something I need to go over regardless. Okay?”
Hanbin received attentive nods from around the table.
“If anyone here,” Hanbin began, sweeping his gaze from face to face, “puts their hands on Zhang Hao-hyung in a sexual, nonconsensual, or aggressive context, I will personally see to their prompt removal from the group and, if need be, will involve law enforcement.”
His strong, point-blank words seemed to echo around the room, phantom reverberations bouncing off the walls from the sheer gravity of his tone. No one moved an inch.
“If anyone here uses their alpha voice on him for any reason other than an emergency, which means keeping him out of immediate danger, they can expect similar consequences depending on the circumstances.”
The dorm was so silent, one might have been able to hear an eyelash drop. Hanbin took some of the edge off his voice.
“I don’t anticipate us getting along all the time. Actually, I’m expecting there to be arguments among all of us, including Hao-hyung, at some point down the line. That’s just part of being a team. We can fight, and we’ll work through it. But fighting as equals is very different from leveraging your biology to take advantage of someone else,” Hanbin said evenly.
“The same goes for skinship. Hao-hyung is cuddly—and I think the rest of us are, too. You can touch him, you can find comfort in him—and I’m more than certain he’s going to want to do the same with you—but that comfort should never turn into something sexual. I don’t care how pretty he is. I don’t care how good he smells. I don’t care how close you are to your rut. If you feel like your hormones are encouraging you to behave inappropriately with him, then you remove yourself from the situation immediately.”
Hanbin scanned his listeners. “I know we have young alphas here. I want to emphasize that strong urges, especially in the first few years after presenting, are normal. You’re not a bad person if you have these kinds of thoughts. But what’s important is that you tell someone. If you’re even a little bit worried, you can always come to me, anytime, anyplace. Or find another member who can help.”
Yujin was watching him with large eyes. Hanbin softened.
“I want to take care of all of us, and I want all of us to take care of each other. This is part of that. Let’s trust that we’ll be there for each other, okay?”
Another round of nods went around the table.
“Hao-hyung is our only omega. Think about if it was reversed, and you were in his situation. Working in a group as the only alpha would be a real adjustment, right? Just try to keep that perspective—be mindful that while none of our lives are particularly easy right now, Hao-hyung was dealt some tough cards. Please do your best not to make things harder for him.”
Hanbin brought a smidge of his prior intensity back into his voice to wrap things up.
“Have I made myself clear?”
A variety of ‘yes, hyung’ equivalents hit the air.
“Can I answer any questions?”
When no one had anything to say, Hanbin clasped his hands together and gave a reassuring smile, relaxing his body language. This seemed to help drain the room of some of its silent solemnity. “That’s all I had, then. Thanks for everything—I really appreciate you guys. And again, you can always come to me about anything. Doesn’t have to be related to what we talked about today.”
The table dispersed with some mild conversation. Jiwoong remained seated to Hanbin’s left, and once the other three were out of earshot, Hanbin turned to him with a sheepish smile.
“How’d I do?”
Jiwoong laughed a little, putting a hand on Hanbin’s shoulder. “’How’d you do?’ Hanbin, you’re a born leader. I’m serious.”
Hanbin’s smile turned bashful. He ran a couple hands through his hair to release some of his tension, then fanned the collar of his shirt. “Really? I’m sweating, though, phew.”
Jiwoong jokingly waved a hand to fan Hanbin. “You did great. And it’ll probably get easier, too.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment.
Then, Jiwoong shifted a little. “Good for you, Hanbin-ah.”
Hanbin glanced at him, confused. “Huh?”
“It’s obvious that you really care about making him feel comfortable—Hao, I mean. In my experience, that’s not always the case for omegas.”
Hanbin smiled, but it was on an otherwise stressed face.
“I just worry since he’s all alone.”
Jiwoong huffed. “Yah, he’ll be just fine, especially if you keep this up. He’s not exactly fragile.”
Jiwoong was right – Zhang Hao was set far apart from the common stereotype of a weak, dependent omega. And he’d quite literally come out on top of Boys Planet, so there was that, too.
“And,” Jiwoong continued, backing his chair out and standing up from the table, “he’s not alone, Hanbin.” He patted Hanbin’s shoulder once more, and then walked out of the kitchen.
No, Hanbin agreed in thought, with sudden and strong conviction. He’s not.
He had seven groupmates who adored and admired him regardless of his denomination.
And, he had Hanbin, who would find a way to give him the moon if he asked for it.