Archive of Our Own

I would do whatever you wanted

We don't have to leave the apartment

Met you at the right time

This is what it feels like

“I have to tell you something,” Sung Hanbin says, drunk on cheap beer and soju, cross-legged on the floor of Zhang Hao’s tiny one-room. He blinks shiny eyes and leans closer. “A secret.”

Zhang Hao is much closer to sober and currently regretting a lot of things, particularly ever being friends with Kim Taerae. He watches, tongue-tied, as Sung Hanbin puts a hand on his knee. It’s hot through the thin layer of his old sweatpants; it’s hot in this room, even though it’s currently the dead of winter and Zhang Hao’s windows are layered in frost.

Sung Hanbin looks so serious, even disarmed like this. Zhang Hao didn’t expect him to drink so much. He thought that they would be kissing by now, maybe down a few articles of clothing, and tomorrow morning he would greet Taerae full of smug triumph.

Instead, he finds himself putting his hand over Hanbin’s and saying, “wait.”

Wait. Go back.

The beginning: a small, but prestigious arts university in the heart of Seoul, dominated by two campus crushes—Zhang Hao in the School of Music and Sung Hanbin in the School of Dance. Both gifted with unreal face cards and staggering talent; both so popular that candid pictures of them often go viral and once when they featured in a campus promotional video, cheers shook the auditorium every time they were on screen. Rumors go that they’ve been given at least a dozen confession letters each, from both men and women; that they were street cast to be idols but turned the opportunity down; that any club they join will be immediately blessed.

Zhang Hao is the cool, elegant moon to Hanbin’s warm, bright sun, and the rest of the student body has been swept up in their dueling orbits.

In one way, though, their reputations diverge. Zhang Hao is known for the occasional fling—often willing to take up space in a boy’s bed (for it is always a boy, much to the devastation of a large portion of the female population on campus), and gone like smoke the next day. In contrast, Sung Hanbin has never dated, never hooked up, never even been spotted in one of the neighborhood's popular bars and clubs where students go to unwind.

There are whispers that he has a secret partner at a different school or he experienced such a terrible breakup in the past that he swore never to date again or, in the meaner circles, that he’s simply frigid. People try and try and try and he turns them all down—gently and with a polite smile to lessen the sting, but firm in his rejection.

And here is where the trouble starts: two weeks into a new semester, tipsy at a bar that he dragged Zhang Hao to, Kim Taerae leans over and says, “I bet one hundred thousand won that you can’t score Sung Hanbin.”

Zhang Hao is also tipsy and already tired—classes stacked high in his final year, part-time jobs bleeding together because scholarships only stretch so far. For three years, he has heard about Sung Hanbin, been compared to Sung Hanbin, but never exchanged more than a few casual conversations with him. He’s cute, like a little squishy hamster, and seems just enough of a dork to be Zhang Hao’s type, but that’s where his thoughts about Sung Hanbin end, beyond a vague sense of competition that has plagued him for his entire university career.

Maybe it’s that competitiveness that causes him to down the rest of his drink and say, “Five hundred thousand won that I can.”

Taerae blinks at him, clearly not expecting him to agree. Because Zhang Hao is an introvert at the end of the day, hardly a slut no matter how the rumors go, and not someone to make bets like this. He glares at Taerae, all stubborn defiance, and Taerae nods slowly.

“Okay,” he says. “Five hundred thousand won, but you have to do it by the end of the semester.”

“Deal,” Zhang Hao holds out his hand.

They shake on it.

It carries on like this: Zhang Hao sets his plan in motion. He attends a dance showcase to support Kuanjui but makes sure to compliment Hanbin after the performance, watching startled blush spread across the prominent bones of Hanbin’s cheeks. He starts frequenting the cafe where Hanbin works under the guise of discovering a new study spot. He calls Hanbin cute when Hanbin delivers his coffee, making sure their fingers brush as he accepts the cup, and insists that Hanbin call him hyung. He signs up for a dance workshop that Hanbin is teaching on campus, managing to beat out a staggering amount of hopefuls and smugly positioning himself near the front of the room. He leans into Hanbin’s hands when Hanbin comes to adjust his form, fighting down his own nerves because Hanbin is hot like this: shiny with sweat, arms and tattoos on display, eyes dark with focus. Hanbin lingers after the class to talk to him, all bashful smiles and shy encouragement of Zhang Hao’s dancing, and Zhang Hao seizes the opportunity to get his KT ID.

From there, they start messaging—hesitant at first, then a growing flood of pictures, anecdotes about their days, and heated debates about a drama they’re both watching that usually end with Hanbin grudgingly admitting defeat.

It’s easy, in the end. Sung Hanbin is easy. He flushes at the slightest compliment; he snags into Zhang Hao’s orbit like multiple boys have before him and spins there, starry-eyed. The problem is that Zhang Hao likes him. He is kind and funny and smart and cute, cute, cute and so easy to talk to it’s kind of alarming. They have the exact same taste in food, in media, even in cute room decorations. Zhang Hao regrets wasting three years not knowing him.

Zhang Hao thinks he might be in trouble.

But five hundred thousand won and his pride is on the line so he invites Hanbin over to study at his apartment one evening, a month after the start. They do study, but they also drink a little too much, and now Sung Hanbin frowns at him, an adorable furrow to his brow, flushed red all the way down to his pretty collarbones.

“Why?” he asks, blinking between Zhang Hao’s face and the staying hand Zhang Hao still has over his. “‘S okay, I trust you.”

Well that does a lot of complicated things to Zhang Hao’s chest and stomach that he can’t even blame on the alcohol.

There are also a lot of things he should say here: you’re drunk or this is only the third time we’ve spent longer than an hour together in person or we’ve only known each other for a month. None of them make it past his suddenly leaden tongue so he sits there, mute and helpless, as Hanbin hiccups and says, “I know … you probably wanted t’hookup. I’m not naive.”

Another little hic. Hanbin breathes through it and Zhang Hao continues to stare at him.

“But it’s complicated. It’s why I haven’t—” Hanbin sways even closer. Squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m trans,” he blurts into the quiet hush of the room. It lands heavy and the air between them bloats with it.

“I’m transgender,” Hanbin repeats, as though that might reduce its weight. As though that might help Zhang Hao figure out what to say. “And I don’t want anyone to know.”

But I trust you is obviously implied.

This is too much for a stupid bet, for a casual one-off hookup to brag to Kim Taerae about, for even five hundred thousand won that he was going to use to buy a fancy lamp. He should make his excuses and bow out, but god, he likes this boy. Sung Hanbin who trusts him. Who is looking at him now with fear that grows the longer the silence distends, and all Zhang Hao wants to do is cup this confession in his palms with all the tenderness that it deserves.

Taerae is going to laugh at him for the rest of his life.

“I see,” he says and winces at the awkward lurch of the words. Hanbin starts to deflate, cringe away, and Zhang Hao chases him, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him close. “Thank you for telling me,” he rushes to add. “For trusting me with that.”

“It’s ‘cause I like you,” Hanbin says, rendered too honest by the alcohol. “I’ve never really liked anyone before.”

Zhang Hao sort of wants to cry, which is not the mood he was expecting out of this evening. “I like you too,” he confesses, amazed at how easy it is. He touches Hanbin’s hot face, runs gentle fingers through the fluff of his sideburns. “But I think we should stop here until we’re both sober.”

Hanbin hums. Squints. He looks so much like a hamster that Zhang Hao wants to coo. “Right. Good idea. I should…”

He fumbles to stand, clearly intending to go home, but Zhang Hao knows that his building is at least a fifteen-minute bus ride away and Hanbin currently looks incapable of even making it down the stairs.

“No, no, just sleep here,” he declares, mouth ahead of his brain. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Hanbin frowns at him. “I can’t kick you out of your own bed.”

“You can,” Zhang Hao insists, clambering to his feet. “I have a pallet.” Usually, he makes guests take it, much to Kuanjui’s annoyance, but Hanbin is different.

He wants to take care of Hanbin with a ferocity that is vaguely alarming and deeply embarrassing.

“Don’t worry about it,” he soothes, poking Hanbin’s cheek. “I’ll get you some pajamas. You can change in the bathroom.”

“Okay,” Hanbin relents.

Zhang Hao picks out a sweater and a pair of sweatpants that he thinks should fit Hanbin’s slightly larger frame and keep him covered. He places them in Hanbin’s arms and turns him in the direction of the bathroom by the shoulders.

“I don’t have a spare toothbrush,” he confesses. “But you can use any of my skincare.”

God. Who has he become?

“Okay,” Hanbin repeats. “Thank you, Hao hyung.” He shuffles off like a drunken turtle and Zhang Hao takes the opportunity to slap himself lightly across the cheek.

Focus, he tells his stupid heart. At least keep some dignity, goddamnit.

His stupid heart does not seem inclined to listen.

He sighs and cleans away the detritus from their study session, then retrieves the pallet that he managed to shove into the single closet he has, along with his spare blanket. He’s finished changing into his own pajamas when Hanbin emerges and the sight of him in Zhang Hao’s clothes is startling.

He still hasn’t really processed the scope of Hanbin’s confession—what it might mean for them. That’s a problem for the more sober Zhang Hao of tomorrow, he decides. Tonight, he pulls back the covers on his bed, moving a few of his plushies out of the way, and gestures for Hanbin to make himself comfortable.

“Thank you,” Hanbin says in a small voice, burrowing under the covers until he’s mostly invisible. “I’m sorry,” he continues from that safe cocoon. “If…if this was too much.”

It feels like he’s trying to apologize for the nature of his own existence and that makes Zhang Hao sad and angry in equal measure.

“It wasn’t,” he promises, resting a hand on the lump of Hanbin’s body. “Sleep, Hanbin-ah. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Okay,” Hanbin murmurs, already sounding half gone.

Zhang Hao retreats to his pallet and stares at the wall for a long time.

_ _

Morning brings a fuzzy mouth and the faint, burgeoning threat of a headache. It also brings Sung Hanbin sitting politely in his desk chair—fully dressed and clutching two cups of steaming coffee from a cafe around the corner that Zhang Hao is also a regular patron at.

“Oh god,” Zhang Hao groans. “You’re a morning person.”

“Sorry,” Sung Hanbin says, looking akin to a cornered rabbit. Besides some puffiness around his eyes, there are no traces of a hangover on his face. He holds one of the coffees out like a peace offering.

Zhang Hao sits up with another groan, fumbling for his glasses. He doesn’t want to know how disheveled he currently is as he shoves the glasses unceremoniously on his face. So much for his untouchable image—he’s already realized that he isn’t going to maintain any dignity around this boy.

He accepts the coffee with a dip of his head and takes a fortifying sip. It’s good, sweet like he usually orders it.

“I used some of your moisturizer,” Hanbin says, making no move to drink his own coffee. “Sorry, I can replace it.”

Zhang Hao notices the faint sheen of it on Hanbin’s skin and hides his pathetically endeared smile behind his coffee cup.

“It’s okay,” he says, voice still mostly a sleepy croak. “I gave you permission, remember?”

“Right,” Hanbin says. His leg bounces. “So you…remember last night?”

He looks hopeful. And scared. Zhang Hao wants to sit on his lap and kiss the red blooms on his cheeks.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Do you want me to forget?”

Because Hanbin told him something enormous and Zhang Hao isn’t sure how to hold it, or if it’s even his place to.

“No,” Hanbin says. The fear lingers at the pinched edges of his mouth, but he stays seated. “I’ve been—I wanted you to know. The alcohol just gave me enough courage.”

Zhang Hao’s chest is warm and achy. “I’m glad you told me,” he reassures Hanbin.

Hanbin chews on his bottom lip. “I…what do you want out of this? You and me?”

Zhang Hao considers this, nursing his coffee. He probably should be honest with Hanbin too, considering how much Hanbin is trusting him with. “Well, originally I wanted to hook up with you so Kim Taerae has to pay me five hundred thousand won.”

A slow blink. “You—this was all a bet?”

Zhang Hao holds up a placating hand. “Let me finish. That was before I got to know you. When you were just ‘unattainable Sung Hanbin’ and I was feeling competitive. Now?” He draws his knees up, shy and a little anxious. “I’d like to take you on a date, if you’re interested.”

“I am,” Hanbin says immediately, then flushes.

At least Zhang Hao isn’t the only one being embarrassing about this.

Hanbin coughs and rallies. “I am interested,” he says in a more measured tone. “And me being trans wouldn’t be a problem?”

Zhang Hao shakes his head. “I admit, I’ve never—I’m out of my depth about all of that, but no. It doesn’t change anything for me.”

Hanbin is still Hanbin. Hanbin is still cute. Hanbin is still a boy that he likes. Everything else, Zhang Hao figures they can deal with as it comes.

Hanbin finally relaxes and Zhang Hao claims the victory. “Then let’s go on a date, hyung.”

“Great,” Zhang Hao says, valiantly trying to ignore the butterflies that have taken violent flight in his stomach as he finally extracts himself from the sleeping pallet and sets his nearly empty coffee on the desk next to Hanbin. “Give me like ten minutes.”

“Wait.” Hanbin cocks his head. “A date right now?”

“Why not? Are you doing anything today?” All that was on Zhang Hao’s schedule was violin practice, studying, and probably paying for Kim Taerae’s lunch. A date with Sung Hanbin sounds infinitely better.

“Nothing important,” Hanbin concedes, then frowns down at himself. He’s dressed in the same clothes he was wearing yesterday—a little rumpled from a night on Zhang Hao’s floor. “How about I go home and change first, though?”

Zhang Hao nearly says you can just wear my clothes again but fortunately hears how fucking insane that would sound before the offer escapes his mouth and nods instead. “Okay.”

“Meet me on campus in like an hour?” Hanbin asks, rising from Zhang Hao’s desk chair. “In front of the library?”

Another nod. “See you there.”

Hanbin collects his shoes, then surprises Zhang Hao by pressing a hesitant, but determined kiss to his cheek. “Looking forward to it, Hao hyung.”

He leaves before Zhang Hao can react, which is probably for the best because Zhang Hao’s response is to bury his burning face in his hands and scream quietly against his palms.

_ _

Fifteen minutes later, in the middle of a hot shower, he comes to the incredible realization that the parameters of the bet were simply that he had to score Sung Hanbin. And sure, that was interpreted as fucking him, but dating him should absolutely count.

Kim Taerae still owes him five hundred thousand won.

He cackles brightly and doesn’t even care that he nearly gets shampoo in his eye. This is the greatest day of his life.

_ _

Naturally, Hanbin is already waiting for him when he makes it to the library. He’s freshly showered, too, and sporting a black tank top under a plaid button up that shows off his chest tattoo. Several nearby students are blatantly staring at him as he perches on the steps, rattling with nervous energy.

“Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao calls and revels in the shocked expressions sweeping across their observer’s faces.

Hanbin lights up at the sight of him, surging to his feet, and Zhang Hao is so endeared that he has no hope of suppressing the sappy grin he can feel stretching his cheeks.

“Hyung,” Hanbin says, practically skipping over to him. “You made it.”

“I made it,” Zhang Hao agrees, dripping affection.

And then he takes Hanbin’s hand, twining their fingers together. It might be risky, doing this so publicly, but the possessive creature that lives burrowed in his bones wants to make a statement: Sung Hanbin is mine. He has turned down everyone else who asked him out, but he said yes to Zhang Hao.

Zhang Hao won.

And sure enough, he hears at least four separate gasps in response, especially when Hanbin leans into him with a bashful smile that etches whisker dimples into his cheeks.

“Where are you taking me?” he asks and Zhang Hao gets the impression that normally Hanbin would have trouble giving up control like this.

“You’ll see,” he says—a cute brunch cafe in Hongdae already in mind. He wants to spoon feed Hanbin sugar and take Instagram-worthy couple photos with him.

He wants Hanbin to keep smiling just like this: face scrunched up in pure joy, as radiant as the sun.

_ _

Fast forward now. The first date goes well, as does the second and the third and the fourth. After the fifth, Hanbin turns to Zhang Hao in the ramyeon aisle of a 7/11 at one a.m. and says, “will you be my boyfriend?”

“Of course,” Zhang Hao replies, arms laden with a week’s supply of packets. “Aren’t I already?”

“I wasn’t sure,” Hanbin admits, rescuing several packets from the precarious tower Zhang Hao is cradling and depositing them in their joint basket.

“Well, I am,” Zhang Hao declares and Hanbin beams at him.

_ _

Gossip spreads across campus like a wildfire: Zhang Hao and Sung Hanbin are dating. In some corners, there is denial: they’ve barely interacted; people are making up stories for clout; in three years, neither has had a serious relationship; is anyone even sure that Sung Hanbin likes men? In others, there are posts akin to celebrity sightings: I spotted them eating together three times this week; or I saw them holding hands outside the music building last night; or here is a picture of them, don’t they look close?

Zhang Hao ignores most of it, just occasionally checking message boards to make sure nothing too disparaging is being said about Hanbin. He doesn’t care about his own reputation, but Hanbin’s shouldn’t be tarnished, especially considering the delicate nature of his secrets.

“It’s fine,” Hanbin insists with a shrug when he notices Zhang Hao looking. “People have been saying things about me for three years, I don’t care about any of it.”

Just the one thing is heavily implied, but neither of them mention it. They don’t really talk about it all, and Zhang Hao isn’t sure if that’s good or bad.

_ _

“You owe me five hundred thousand won,” he announces to Kim Taerae as the end of the semester comes into view and they’re all staring down the long, intimidating barrel of finals.

Taerae looks up from the music theory books covering every centimeter of the cafe table he’s been occupying for at least four hours, blinking owlishly behind his glasses as Zhang Hao takes the seat across from him.

“What?”

“The bet,” Zhang Hao reminds him. “I won.”

A long pause, though Zhang Hao can’t tell if it’s because Taerae is shocked or if he’s generally struggling to process human speech at the moment. “So … the rumors about you and Hanbin are true?”

Zhang Hao nods and fishes his phone out of his pocket. He proudly holds up Hanbin’s contact profile, complete with a series of hearts after Hanbin’s name, and then shows Taerae the latest message, which is also a string of hearts from Hanbin—thanks for bringing him coffee when he’s been locked in a studio for two days.

“For like two months now.”

Taerae’s mouth drops open.

“And before you try to wiggle out of this,” Zhang Hao continues. “We just said score him and dating him totally counts as that, so you owe me five hundred thousand won.”

“Two months,” Taerae says slowly. “You’ve been dating someone for two months and you didn’t tell me?” He looks outraged, really gathering steam now. “We hang out at least once a week! I see you all the time and you didn’t think to mention you have a new boyfriend?”

Zhang Hao grimaces. Whoops.

“I—” In truth, he doesn’t have much of an explanation. He wanted to keep Hanbin to himself; he didn’t want to deal with the teasing or disbelief that might come since he’s spent the last three years proclaiming he doesn’t have time for a relationship; dating Hanbin is so easy that he forgot it’s a new development and that his friends didn’t know.

Take your pick.

“I’m sorry,” he says to Taerae. “It just kind of happened? And then I didn’t really think about it.”

Taerae sighs in exasperation, rubbing his temple. His glasses tilt across the bridge of his nose. “Does he make you happy?”

“Very,” Zhang Hao promises.

“I guess that’s good.” Another pause while Taerae fidgets with his notebook. “And it’s real real? It’s not casual?”

Zhang Hao hesitates. He and Taerae rarely have emotional conversations, choosing to go to other people for that kind of support, but Taerae seems to be asking with sincerity so Zhang Hao figures he should return in kind.

“It’s real,” he says. Then doesn’t meet Taerae’s eyes as he admits. “He’s … he’s really precious to me. I want to treat him well. It’s not some fling.”

Taerae whistles, but it isn’t as mocking as it could have been. “Well, I’m happy for you, then. Congrats, Hao hyung. No PDA when I’m within a five meter radius, please.”

Zhang Hao sticks his tongue out like the mature adult he is, then holds his hand out expectantly. “Glad you’re happy for me, Taerae-yah. Pay up.”

Taerae frowns at him. “You’re serious?”

At Zhang Hao’s nod, he leans halfway across the table, hissing under his breath. “I don’t have five hundred thousand won. I’m a broke college student, where do you expect me to get five hundred thousand won?”

Zhang Hao crosses his arms across his chest, leveling Taerae with a pout. Taerae is mostly immune to them now, but old habits and all that. “Then why did you agree to the bet?”

“Because I thought you’d lose!”

Zhang Hao gasps in offense. “Excuse me? I never lose.”

“You have never beaten an arcade game in the three years I’ve known you,” Taerae says flatly. “Just last week, you challenged Ricky to table tennis and he annihilated you. Two days before that, we drew straws to see who would pay for dinner and you lost. You literally lose all the time.”

Zhang Hao’s pout deepens. “Yeah, but not when it’s important.”

Taerae throws up his hands in exasperation. He looks a little like an angry bird with his messy hair and pursed mouth. “Well I don’t have five hundred thousand won.”

Zhang Hao leans forward to give him a consolatory pat on the arm. “It’s okay, Taerae-yah. You can pay me in installments.”

“You are the worst hyung I’ve ever had and I regret knowing you.”

Zhang Hao gets to his feet, brushing off the insult. Taerae never means it. “Just have the full amount paid by the end of the semester or I’ll start charging interest.”

He leaves Taerae to groan despondently into his hands.

_ _

And okay, remember how he said that he and Hanbin never talk about The Secret? Yeah, so he kind of forgets about it. It gets lost in the whirlwind of a new relationship and then the larger whirlwind of academics. Hanbin is his boyfriend, whom he likes more and more every day, and he doesn’t give it much thought beyond that. They’re often so busy, they only get snatches of each other, anyway. No time for more than semi-rushed dates that end in a quick kiss and darting off in opposite directions, summoned by one responsibility or another.

Hanbin is captain of the university’s dance team, teaches classes, works at a cafe on the weekend and some evenings, and is in the midst of choreographing his own graduation showcase. Zhang Hao is a TA, first chair violin of the school orchestra, plays weddings to earn extra money, and is drowning in his thesis. And that isn’t even factoring in their respective social groups and commitments.

So it sucks, only having small pieces of Hanbin when Zhang Hao wants everything. It sucks and he forgets.

Until they have a rare afternoon off at the same time. Hanbin texts Zhang Hao that his afternoon class got canceled due to a problem with the A/C at the studio and Zhang Hao eagerly texts back that his afternoon TA class also got canceled because the professor has the flu. Ten minutes later, Zhang Hao is pulling Hanbin into his apartment and kissing him before he even manages to get his shoes off.

He makes a stunned little sound against Zhang Hao’s mouth but doesn’t pull away, eagerly parting his lips for Zhang Hao’s tongue while he somehow steps out of his sneakers at the same time.

Dancers.

Zhang Hao doesn’t really have a plan beyond long makeout session with hot boyfriend and maybe more than that if Hanbin’s up for it, so he guides Hanbin by the arms to his bed, pushing him gently into a sitting position on the mattress and getting between his spread legs.

For a while, everything’s fine. Hanbin is a slightly inexperienced, but enthusiastic kisser, and he makes the best noises when Zhang Hao gets teeth on his throat and hands on his thighs—soft whimpers and sighs, pitching into a full moan when Zhang Hao licks over the mark he made near Habnin’s collarbone.

Hanbin is so pretty with his hair all mussed and his long lashes fluttering against his high cheekbones. Zhang Hao wants to devour him.

But when his hands shift higher, brushing Hanbin’s inner thighs and then empty air where he’s expecting a bulge, Hanbin’s answering gasp is one of distress. He shoves Zhang Hao lightly backwards and slams his legs closed, eyes blown wide.

In that moment, gaping in the middle of his one-room, Zhang Hao remembers.

Oh shit.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a jumbled, guilty rush, loathing the fear on Hanbin’s face and the taut, anxious lines of his body. “Oh god, Hanbin-ah, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Hanbin says, recovering enough to untense with a careful exhale. The fear dissipates. “You just startled me.”

“Um,” Zhang Hao swallows nervously. “I kind of … forgot? About the—the whole transgender thing, I’m so sorry.”

Hanbin blinks at him, then laughs. It’s a loud, bright cackle that eases some of Zhang Hao’s own terror. “Oh my god, hyung.” Hanbin’s face scrunches. “That’s actually really flattering.”

“Oh?” Zhang Hao’s shoulders also sag. “Really?”

Hanbin giggles. “Yeah. Guess I didn’t have to be worried about you seeing me differently after you knew.”

Zhang Hao splutters a protest. “Ya, I already said—”

“I know,” Hanbin cuts him off and then holds out his arms, nodding for Zhang Hao to step back into them. Zhang Hao obeys, resting his chin on top of Hanbin’s head as Hanbin’s thighs bracket him in. “I guess I should apologize too,” Hanbin continues, hands on Zhang Hao’s waist. “I know we should have talked about it more. But I didn’t know how.”

“I didn’t want to bring it up,” Zhang Hao says, running his knuckles down the side of Hanbin’s flushed face. “In case it would make you uncomfortable. And I didn’t really know how to talk about it, either, and then I just…”

He trails off with a grimace but Hanbin laughs again. “Forgot?”

“Yeah. Kind of.”

Hanbin hums and scoots back on the bed to give Zhang Hao space to sit down next to him. “Okay. Well, I guess we should start now.” He plays with the hem of his plaid overshirt with dextrous fingers and keeps his gaze on the light pink comforter between them. “And I guess I should tell you that I, um, I’ve never done anything.”

That hits like a punch. “Anything?”

Hanbin smiles, pained and a little embarrassed. His ears are fiery red. “Nothing. I’m a total virgin. As you can expect, my body’s always been … complicated. So I just haven’t bothered.”

Wow. Okay. Zhang Hao can be normal and cool and supportive about this and not let it turn him on like some kind of degenerate. Is it wrong that he finds it hot? The idea that he could be the one to deflower Sung Hanbin….

God. Focus.

“Lame, right?” Hanbin jokes, self-deprecating, and Zhang Hao can’t stand for that.

He takes Hanbin’s hands, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of them. “Not at all. Never, Hanbinie. And if sex is off the table, that’s fine.”

He realizes as the statement is coming out of his mouth that he really, truly means it. If Hanbin never wants sex, he wouldn’t care. He would be delighted just being by Hanbin’s side, just having him close, just having him at all.

Oh god. He’s totally in love.

Hanbin is searching his face, eyes wide with awe. “Wow, you’re serious about that.”

“I am,” Zhang Hao promises him with a squeeze of his hands.

“That means a lot to me,” Hanbin says softly, squeezing back. “But um, I think I might want it on the table? If it’s with you? Also I really want to stop saying ‘on the table,’ it feels like I’m conducting corporate negotiations or something.” He pitches his voice lower. “Ah yes, well if we put Sung Hanbin’s virginity on the table, what will you offer us in return?”

Zhang Hao laughs helplessly, hunching over to press his forehead to Hanbin’s hands. “Okay, no more corporate speak.” He looks up to meet Hanbin’s gaze and knows that affection must be blooming bright and obvious across his face.

Hanbin looks a little stunned by it.

“What do you want, Bin-ah?” Zhang Hao asks quietly. “We can do whatever you want.”

“It’s not going to bother you?” Hanbin replies. “That I don’t have a dick?”

Zhang Hao shakes his head, straightening back into a proper sitting position. “Nope. I mean, I’ve never, um, worked with anything else?” He grimaces at the awkward phrasing. He doesn’t know how to word it more eloquently in Korean. “So like I said, I might be out of my depth but I don’t care.”

Hanbin absorbs this, looking adorably serious. “Okay. And we can go slow? Like, it might be really slow.”

“That’s fine.”

“Glacially slow,” Hanbin emphasizes. “And I might not like stuff after we’ve tried it so—”

Zhang Hao cups his face, squishing his cheeks to stop the rapid pour of words out of his mouth. “Hanbin-ah.” Hanbin blinks at him. “I like you very much. I’m happy to just hold your hand and go on dates and be your boyfriend. I will admit, being your first is um … wow. But I also don’t care if we take our time or if it doesn’t happen at all. Okay?”

Hanbin gives a tiny nod. Gets some of equilibrium back. “Wow, huh?” he asks when Zhang Hao releases his face.

Zhang Hao absolutely does not blush. Embarrassment is beneath him. “Yeah. Have you seen yourself?”

Hanbin’s brow furrows. “Sort of? I mean objectively? But ‘Sung Hanbin Campus Crush’ doesn’t feel real? It’s like a character. He’s not me. I’m….” He twists his shirt again. “My body’s always kind of been a battle. So I just ignore it as much as I can. I mean, I try to look nice and take care of myself and all of that but, mostly because my body’s a tool. It’s important to keep it healthy so I can perform and I want to look good on stage, for the performance, so…” He trails off with a shrug.

Zhang Hao’s heart is aching again—a tender bruise in his chest. “Well, you’re gorgeous, Sung Hanbin,” he declares.

Hanbin’s mouth twitches in a wan smile. “I’m going to work on believing you.”

“Don’t worry,” Zhang Hao promises, leaning in to ghost his breath over Hanbin’s still-swollen mouth. “I can prove it.”

Hanbin’s breath hitches, which is flattering.

“I think you should,” he murmurs, reaching up to cup the back of Zhang Hao’s head and draw him in.

_ _

They end up making out for long enough that Zhang Hao loses track of the time—Hanbin sprawled out across his sheets, Zhang Hao perched carefully above him. He learns that Hanbin likes it a little rough, likes it when Zhang Hao nips at his lips, sucks marks into his sensitive skin. He learns that Habin’s stomach and thighs and waist are safe territory, but Hanbin will tense up like a startled rabbit if Zhang Hao’s touch strays anywhere near his chest or pelvic area.

It’s okay, Zhang Hao wants to believe they’ll have time.

In turn, Hanbin is a little awkward, a little hesitant, but not shy. He digs his fingers into Zhang Hao’s hips, skirts them dangerously along the elastic waist of Zhang Hao’s sweatpants, and gasps at the feel of Zhang Hao’s growing hardness against his thigh.

“Sorry,” Zhang Hao murmurs, trying to shift away, but Hanbin shakes his head. Responds by sealing his mouth over Zhang Hao’s Adam's apple until the skin turns red and Zhang Hao is groaning.

The persistent buzz of Hanbin’s phone finally breaks their warm cocoon. Hanbin fumbles for it with a disgruntled noise. The shadows have lengthened into evening outside, draping the city in the golden light of setting sun. It renders Hanbin golden too, softening him into something blurry and tender as he squints at the messages on his screen.

“Shit,” he mumbles with those swollen lips. “I have to go. I forgot I’m meeting friends for dinner.”

Stay, Zhang Hao wants to insist. Wants to press him back down to the mattress and keep him there all night. Maybe forever.

But he tells himself to be calm and rational, to reluctantly sit back and let Hanbin wiggle out from under him. Hanbin sways a little, getting to his feet. His hair’s a riot; his neck and collarbones are a mess; he’s the best thing Zhang Hao has ever seen.

“I really like kissing you,” he declares as he tries to tame his appearance into a presentable image, fixing his hair and shifting the collar of his shirt to hide the worst of the hickeys.

Cute. He’s so cute.

“Me too,” Zhang Hao agrees with a lazy smile. He sprawls strategically so that his shirt reveals a flash of stomach and his legs part in invitation, wanting to make Hanbin’s cheeks even redder.

Hanbin swallows what sounds suspiciously like a squeak, coughs, and then comes over to give Zhang Hao a goodbye hug and kiss.

“See you soon,” he says.

Zhang Hao hums, holding him tight. “Soon.”

Once Hanbin is gone, Zhang Hao sheepishly jerks off in the shower—teeth sunk into his forearm to keep quiet for the paper-thin walls, head full of Hanbin, Hanbin, Hanbin.

_ _

It hits Zhang Hao a week later that he has no idea how to approach sex with Hanbin. He knew he was gay by middle school, no experimentation phase, and so he’s never been with anyone with Hanbin’s anatomy. He’s not stupid. He has some basic knowledge, but not much. Mostly from a handful of smutty novels he picked up out of bored curiosity, a skipped-over section in his high school textbook, gossip from a few female friends, and one hentai that an ill-advised hookup convinced him to watch and was vaguely traumatizing.

Oh god, he might as well be a virgin too.

And then there is the fact that he’s never been turned on by a vagina in his life and what if the same thing happens with Hanbin, in spite of what he promised?

This combination of worries has him actually searching straight porn on a VPN, navigating to a site he remembers Gyuvin mentioning once and hardly able to believe himself.

He chooses a video of a woman getting fingered to start—framed on a close-up on her cunt with almost nothing else visible. He watches, a little dispassionate, as a man’s fingers rub over her clit and then slip down to press into her wet hole, two at a time. He mutes the video when her moans increase in volume and tries to picture Hanbin in her place. Hanbin’s thick thighs spread for him; Hanbin’s stomach heaving with every curl of Zhang Hao’s fingers; Hanbin’s deeper voice moaning in his ear.

The cunt on the screen clenches in orgasm and he imagines a helpless whine spilling from Hanbin’s pretty mouth—whispered gasps of hyung or even better: gege—and shoves a hand down the front of his pants with a shocked gasp, blindsided by the sudden force of his own arousal.

It only takes a few strokes to come like he’s some teenager, lost in the phantom sensation of Hanbin clenched hot around his fingers, sobbing Hao-gege as Zhang Hao keeps going, pushing him to another orgasm, then maybe a third.

He collapses sideways on his bed once he’s finished, panting open-mouthed into his pillow. His forgotten laptop lays on the sheets, still playing the video.

Wow, he thinks, struggling to regain some equilibrium. Okay. This won’t be a problem, good to know.

Still, he knows that logically porn isn’t going to be accurate at all so his next step is to pivot to diagrams and any articles he can dig up. It feels weird, though, to be reading stuff like ‘How Best to Stimulate the Clitoris’ or ‘What is the G-spot?’ and trying to apply it to Hanbin. As though this is some kind of science experiment.

He just wants this to be good for Hanbin—to a degree that is a little staggering when sex to him has always been casual and weightless, often a form of stress relief more than anything else. But with Hanbin it’s heavy. With Hanbin he cares. Sometimes it feels like there is a maw opened in his chest, all ravenous desire, and it sits ready to consume him. Maybe he should be afraid of it, but he’s never done anything halfway. How could falling in love be any different?

Still, after his third article he decides to give up. He’ll be fumbling and awkward right alongside Hanbin, even if it’s embarrassing. They can figure all of this out together.

Maybe that’s part of being in love too.

_ _

Zhang Hao is saddened to report that nothing else happens for a while—a long stretch of days consumed by the chaos that always comes with the end of a semester. Zhang Hao struggles to balance studying for finals, practicing for the orchestra’s final concert, the uptick of wedding season, and awkwardly soothing the anxieties of the first years he’s TA’ing. His time with Hanbin shrinks from fleeting moments to nothing at all. On the worst days, they don’t manage more than a single text exchange.

Zhang Hao hates it.

I miss you, he whines one evening, standing on the steps of the library trying to decide if his soul can take another three hours of studying or if he needs fortification first. This far into June, the night is already muggy and even late, the light lingers, rendering the world a hazy blue.

Come see me? Hanbin texts back, followed by a selca of him sprawled on the wooden floor of the studio he’s been practically living in, sweat curling the ends of his bangs and sticking his shirt to his chest.

Zhang Hao is pivoting in the direction of the dance building before his brain fully catches up. Studying can wait an hour.

He does stop to get iced coffees for them both, knowing Hanbin probably hasn’t been outside in hours. The dance team has a competition coming up, as well as an end-of-the-semester showcase and a festival appearance so Hanbin has been practicing to the point of almost collapse and all Zhang Hao can do is tut at him via sad KT stickers.

He finds Hanbin still curled up in the studio, body curved in the direction of the portable A/C unit desperately trying to churn cold air into the room. Their campus is full of old, beautiful, aesthetically ivy-covered buildings that lack centralized air and modernizing has been an ongoing battle for years before Zhang Hao arrived.

Hanbin’s head jerks up at the thud of the door closing behind Zhang Hao and his exhausted face instantly brightens.

“Oh my god,” he says, making cute grabby hands. “You brought coffee.”

“Excuse me?” Zhang Hao says, stopping above him to keep the coffee out of reach. He pins Hanbin with one of the best pouts he can muster. “You care more about the coffee than me? Your boyfriend you haven’t seen in nearly a week?”

“Of course not,” Hanbin says immediately, weaponizing big, innocent eyes right back. “How could you ever think that, hyung? I’m so happy to see you.”

Zhang Hao rolls his eyes at the deeply insincere tone but settles next to Hanbin to give him the coffee. Hanbin kisses his bare knee in thanks and flops back against the wood like a dying fish, trying to take a sip from his prone position without spilling all over his face.

“You’re ridiculous,” Zhang Hao declares, imperiously sipping his own coffee.

“I honestly don’t think my legs can support me right now,” Hanbin replies, finally managing to utilize the straw and making a truly pornographic sound of delight.

Zhang Hao refuses to let it affect him.

He set his coffee down and says, “I have maybe fifteen minutes.” He shifts, intending to rest his head on Hanbin’s stomach and get some desperately-needed physical contact but Hanbin puts out a hand to stop him.

“Wait, I’m all sweaty.” He gestures to his shirt, which is indeed damp.

Zhang Hao makes a face. “Do you have a towel in here?”

Hanbin points weakly to the counter in the corner and Zhang Hao goes to retrieve one for him like the incredible, caring boyfriend that he is. As he returns, Hanbin levers himself into a sitting position with a groan and plucks at his shirt, frowning.

“I have a spare in my bag, but I don’t want to ruin that one too.” He glances at the door.

It’s late enough that the building seems quiet. Zhang Hao didn’t see anyone else on the way in. All the residents are probably locked in various studios, pouring their energy into the dance floors like Hanbin is.

Still, he doesn’t question it when Hanbin softly asks, “can you lock the door?”

Once the lock has clicked into place and Hanbin has pushed himself against the far wall, away from the view from the glazed window of the door, he strips his shirt off, before using the towel to wipe the sweat from his skin, and Zhang Hao suddenly understands the precaution.

The first thing he notices are thick pectorals paired against a slightly softer stomach—an expanse of glistening skin that makes his mouth go dry. Then he spots the faded scars that run under each pec and curve along Hanbin’s side, disappearing beneath his armpits. Hanbin notices the direction of his gaze and tenses.

“You’re the first person to see me with my shirt off in years,” he murmurs, clutching the towel like a shield, though he isn’t really trying to cover himself with it. “Outside of maybe Matthew. Are—they’re not ugly, right?”

He sounds genuinely anxious and Zhang Hao kneels on the hardwood so he can bring their foreheads together. “You’re gorgeous,” he repeats. “I totally noticed your muscles first.”

Hanbin laughs, face scrunching, and Zhang Hao pulls back in mock indignation. “I did!”

“Hyung, what muscles?”

“These?” Zhang Hao carefully runs a finger over one of Hanbin’s pecs. “And these?” A palm cupped over his shoulder, trailing down his bicep. Hanbin’s breath stutters and Zhang Hao can’t tell if it’s a bad sound. “Sorry, should I not touch?”

“No, it’s fine,” Hanbin insists. “I’m feeling very flattered right now.”

“You should,” Zhang Hao says. “I really want to grope you properly but I’m also exhausted so…” He nudges Hanbin’s legs further apart and shuffles on his knees between them, pitching forward so he can curl half into Hanbin’s lap, tucking his face into Hanbin’s neck.

Hanbin startles but quickly moves to hold him, resting a cheek on Zhang Hao’s temple. “I’ve missed you too,” he murmurs, rubbing a hand down Zhang Hao’s back. “So much, hyung.”

“You should call me gege,” Zhang Hao blurts, then freezes in mortification—mind tipping back to the fantasy from a few weeks ago.

He can feel Hanbin tilt his head to the side in question. “Gege? What does that mean?”

“It’s kind of like an honorific,” Zhang Hao explains through the burn of his embarrassment. Thank god Kuanjui isn’t here to witness this. “But it’s, um, romantic. In context. Well, ge isn’t but gege is.”

“Ohhh,” Hanbin says and Zhang Hao can already hear the teasing edge creeping into his voice. “So is this like a sex thing?”

“No!” Zhang Hao rocks back to glare indignantly, hoping his face isn’t too flushed. “It’s a romantic thing, Sung Hanbin. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Sure,” Hanbin says easily, eyes sparkling. “But it’s also totally a sex thing.”

“Fine,” Zhang Hao rolls his eyes to the ceiling in humiliated exasperation. “It might be a little bit of a sex thing. But isn’t hyung for some people?”

“Absolutely,” Hanbin says and drags Zhang Hao against his chest again. Zhang Hao is pleased to note that he seems to have stopped feeling self-conscious. “And I like it, Hao-gege.”

Oh, it sounds perfect out of Hanbin’s mouth.

Zhang Hao hums in contentment, kissing the ridge of Hanbin’s collarbone.

“You know,” Hanbin says softly. “I’ve had my shirt off for over five minutes and I’m not freaking out.”

And here Zhang Hao’s chest squeezes. It’s becoming a familiar sensation. “That’s good, Hanbin-ah. I’m glad.”

“This feels a bit like a miracle,” Hanbin continues. “But honestly, everything’s easy with you.”

“I want it to stay that way,” Zhang Hao says with another kiss.

I love you, bubbles in his mouth but he swallows it back.

Not yet. Just a little longer.

Until it can be perfect.

_ _

“Here,” Kim Taerae says halfway through finals week, slapping fifty thousand won down on Zhang Hao’s cafe table. He looks a little like he’s been through a war but Zhang Hao doubts he’s faring any better, considering that he hasn’t slept in close to twenty-four hours, got gojuchang on his shirt earlier but hasn’t had time to go back to change, and is wearing his nerdiest, most comfortable pair of glasses.

“You’re a little short,” he says, just to be annoying.

“I’ve decided to give myself a discount, considering that I’m the reason you’ve met the love of your life,” Taerae announces.

Zhang Hao blinks. “You think he’s the love of my life?”

He’s met with a truly impressive eye roll. “One of these days, when I’m not regretting choosing to get a college degree, I’m going to take a picture of your face literally whenever he texts you. It’s embarrassing.”

“Oh,” Zhang Hao says, realizing that he doesn’t really have a rebuttal.

“So here’s fifty thousand and we’re even.”

“I guess I can accept this,” Zhang Hao grumbles, scooping up the cash.

“Good,” Taerae says and turns to go.

Zhang Hao catches his wrist. “Stay, Taerae-yah. Let hyung buy you lunch, you look like death.”

“So do you,” Taerae sniffs but he sinks into the chair opposite of Zhang Hao and orders a giant sandwich.

Zhang Hao hides his fond smile behind his notebook.

_ _

They all survive the end of the semester by the skin of their teeth—a normal affair, really—and pitch head-first into the relative freedom of summer break.

“Tell me you’re staying in Korea,” Hanbin says in the middle of their celebratory dinner at a cheap, but delicious noodle shop near campus.

“I’m staying in Korea,” Zhang Hao promises around a mouthful of noodles. He hates disappointing his parents, who wanted him home, but he got a job teaching at a summer music academy through the university and he wants the experience.

Hanbin slumps in relief.

“Are you staying in Seoul?” Zhang Hao asks, knowing that Hanbin’s hometown is about two hours south by train.

Fortunately, Hanbin nods. “Yeah, I usually teach at a studio here over the summer and work as a backup dancer where I can.”

Zhang Hao hesitates because this is potentially insane when they’ve known each other less than six months, but it feels right.

“My lease on my one-room is up,” he says, fiddling with his chopsticks. “Normally, I try to get one through a whole school year but I had to move suddenly last summer because of electrical problems in my old building, so the timing ended up kind of awkward—” You’re rambling, stop it. “Anyway, Iwaswonderingifyoumightwanttofindaplacewithme?”

Hanbin has complained to him several times about the goshiwon he’s currently living in—most notably the lack of privacy that makes him paranoid. Zhang Hao is mostly able to afford a one-room thanks to the year off he took to work and hone his violin skill between high school and university, even if it’s put him a year behind where he should be. (If he’d already graduated, he never would have met Hanbin, anyway.)

He utilized his savings to get him slightly more comfortable housing but he wouldn’t mind splitting the cost with someone.

He wouldn’t mind having Hanbin all the time.

Hanbin, who is staring at him in shock across the cheap plastic table.

“I’m sorry,” he says, cringing. “It’s too soon, isn’t it? Forget I said any—”

“Yes,” Hanbin says and Zhang Hao’s mouth drops open. “I want to live with you.” Red has consumed the tips of his ears, but he looks certain when he adds, “I’d like that a lot, Hao-ge.”

Zhang Hao isn’t sure what to do with the sudden riot of emotion coursing through him. He settles for clasping Hanbin’s hands tight in his own and letting some of it pour into the smile he can feel puffing up his cheeks.

“Good,” he says, which doesn’t begin to sum up the vastness of the warmth consuming him. The love that burns. “Let’s get an apartment, Hanbinie.”

_ _

Their new apartment is on the tenth floor of an officetel, as equidistant as possible between Zhang Hao’s hagwon and Hanbin’s dance studio. It’s a newer build and they were lucky to score it, oohing and ahhing over the fancy modern appliances, the cozy loft area, and the copious amounts of light. The key money is a little eye-watering, but split in half it’s doable. They just might have to be extremely frugal until their first (or second or third) paychecks come in.

The apartment ends up full of a combination of Zhang Hao’s furniture, Hanbin’s aesthetic touches, and their combined plushie collection. They buy a new, criminally comfortable mattress as their one joint splurge and manage to haul it up the narrow stairs to the loft together.

On their first night, Zhang Hao pins Hanbin to it and eagerly kisses him senseless, so happy he thinks he could float.

Hanbin hums into his mouth, arches beneath his hands, and blurts, “I want you to touch me,” with red cheeks and stubborn determination.

Zhang Hao’s heart makes a valiant leap for his throat. “Yeah?” he asks, settling against Hanbin’s side, their legs tangled together.

Hanbin nods and Zhang Hao nuzzles his cheek as he slides a hand down, down, down over Hanbin’s stomach and hip. He stops there, tracing idle patterns from Hanbin’s navel back up to his chest, thumbing at his nipple through the thin layer of his tank top.

“Where do you want me to touch you? Here?”

Hanbin shifts, restless and red-faced. “You’re being mean.”

“I’m not,” Zhang Hao argues, though he is, a little. He just loves how Hanbin gets all flushed and squirmy, so sensitive for him. “I’m doing what you asked.”

“Hah,” Hanbin hiccups when Zhang Hao pinches his nipple.

Zhang Hao kisses his neck and pushes up the hem of his shirt to touch bare skin, teasing along the waistband of Hanbin’s shorts. “Unless you want to be more specific?”

“My cunt,” Hanbin blurts, squeezing his eyes shut. “I want you to touch my cunt.”

He looks embarrassed, nervous, and Zhang Hao curls closer to him in reassurance. He loves teasing, but he never wants Hanbin to feel bad.

“Your wish is my command,” he says because he knows Hanbin will laugh and it’s a good distraction while he cups a hand over Hanbin’s cunt. It’s hot against his palm, even through the layers of Hanbin’s shorts and underwear, and when he presses in, he can feel a hint of wetness on the soft fabric.

Fuck.

Hanbin’s breath hitches and his shoulders are tense, but he doesn’t look panicked.

“I’m not really sure what I’m doing,” Zhang Hao admits, which seems to relax Hanbin enough to huff out another quiet laugh. “So tell me what feels good?”

Rubbing, he remembers, so he starts with that and is rewarded with another gasp from Hanbin. “You said you’ve never done anything before,” he continues, amazed at how calm he’s managing to sound. “Does that include touching yourself?”

Hanbin shakes his head. “I have tried that. But I’ve never liked using my hands and it’s never been … I don’t know—it’s always felt perfunctory? If I need to let off some steam, I grab a vibrator and use it until I come and that’s it.” He flaps his hand in a dismissive motion. “It doesn’t feel hot or exciting or anything like that. This is—hah—better already.”

The strangled noise out of Hanbin’s throat suggests that Zhang Hao has found his clit. He smirks in triumph and focuses there, making circles with three fingers and dragging damp fabric over Hanbin’s skin. He’s getting so wet, steadily soaking through his shorts, and it’s a little dizzying. Zhang Hao wants to devour him, from his flushed face to his trembling thighs.

“Is this good?” He teases, wanting more of Hanbin’s breathless voice.

“Yeah,” Hanbin hiccups. His hips move under Zhang Hao’s hand, like he’s searching for more friction. “Really good.”

Zhang Hao pulls gently at the waistband of his shorts. “Can I take these off? Can I see you?”

Hanbin deliberates about this for a second before nodding. “Only if I can see you too?”

“Of course.”

Zhang Hao has never been particularly shy about his body. He knows he looks good. Boys like his long legs and his narrow waist and his features that occupy a space somewhere between masculine and delicate. From the way Hanbin’s mouth drops open when Zhang Hao strips down to his underwear, he’s going to be no different.

But it’s never felt quite this flattering before.

“God, Hao,” Hanbin says, honorifics forgotten. “You’re beautiful.”

Zhang Hao preens, climbing back on the bed to kneel between Hanbin’s spread legs. “I’m glad you like what you see,” he says, kissing Hanbin’s bent knee.

“Are you kidding?” Hanbin huffs. “I’ve always thought you were stunning. I couldn’t believe it the first time you talked to me.”

“Hmm,” Zhang Hao reaches for Hanbin’s shorts. “We look good together, don’t we?”

Hanbin makes a breathless, airy sound as Zhang Hao eases his shorts and underwear off, exposing him to the cool night air. He throws an arm over his eyes, clearly embarrassed, but he keeps his legs open for Zhang Hao to look.

Pretty, is Zhang Hao’s first hazy thought.

Pretty stomach, pretty thighs, pretty little cock, peeking out from dark pubic hair, and pretty, pretty, pretty cunt—swollen and pink, blushy just like the rest of him, glistening already along the seam.

“Oh, Hanbin-ah,” he says, listening to the shallow wheeze of Hanbin’s breath. “You’re perfect.” He crawls further in between Hanbin’s legs, wiggling out of his briefs so he can press skin-to-skin.

Hanbin shivers at the brush of Zhang Hao’s hard cock against his inner thigh and Zhang Hao carefully pulls his arm away from his face, exposing wide, red-rimmed eyes.

Now, his heart breathes.

“Hanbin-ah,” he says softly. “I love you.”

Hanbin blinks at him, stunned. His body uncoils on a sigh, like Zhang Hao has drained all the anxiety out of him. “Oh, I love you too,” he says. “Kind of a crazy amount.”

“That makes two of us,” Zhang Hao promises, kissing Hanbin’s cheek, nose, forehead—everywhere he can reach until Hanbin is laughing again.

See? He wants to say, though he knows it isn’t so easy. This doesn’t have to be scary.

Hanbin shifts so they’re kissing properly, bracketing Zhang Hao in with his knees pressed to Zhang Hao’s sides. Like this, Zhang Hao is right up against the wet heat of him and it’s heady, both knowing what Hanbin is trusting him with and imagining how good he’d feel inside.

“Can I use my fingers again?” Zhang Hao asks when they pull away for air, trailing his mouth along the curve of Hanbin’s jaw.

Another nod.

This time, Zhang Hao rolls them so they’re on their sides, face to face. This way, it’s easy to draw Hanbin in for another kiss as he gets a hand between Hanbin’s legs again, searching. He finds Hanbin’s clit much faster without clothing in the way, hard and swollen against the pads of his fingers as he draws back the hood.

“Ah,” Hanbin pants in his ear, fingers digging into his hip. Zhang Hao hopes he leaves a bruise.

“So sensitive,” he murmurs, rubbing slowly. “So good for me.”

Hanbin hiccups, shivering as Zhang Hao dips lower, exploring. He presses against the sides of Hanbin’s slit to open him up, traces the edges of his hole. “Inside okay?”

“I think so,” Hanbin says. “I don’t usually put anything in me, but I want to try with you.”

Flattering.

Zhang Hao kisses his cheek affectionately. “Tell me if I need to stop.”

And then he’s dipping a finger into where Hanbin is dripping, swallowing down a gasp of his own at the sensation. The glide is so easy and Hanbin is so soft inside, wet enough that Zhang Hao can hear the filthy squelch as he sinks in deeper, feeling the spongy give of Hanbin’s walls.

It’s mind-numbingly hot, especially paired with the stunned look of pleasure on Hanbin’s face when he adds another finger and curls them, searching. It takes him a few seconds of hesitant fumbling before he locates a rougher spot that makes Hanbin keen, mouth dropping open.

“Ha, found it.”

“R-right,” Hanbin mumbles, twitching as Zhang Hao presses in hard, rubbing in earnest now.. “Forgot I—f-fuck—had that….”

“Can you come like this?” Zhang Hao asks, wanting to see it. Feel it. He’s so hard it’s almost hurting, but his sole focus is Hanbin.

Hanbin whines at the next pass of Zhang Hao’s fingers, teeth sinking into his lower lip. “P-pretty sure. ‘M c-close.”

Zhang Hao sucks a mark into the side of Hanbin’s neck as he thrusts in harder, rough sweeps over Hanbin’s g-spot that have him unraveling. He clutches the back of Zhang Hao’s head and cries out as his cunt spasms in orgasm, clenching tight around Zhang Hao’s fingers in hot pulses. Zhang Hao moans at the feel of it, dragging his cock over Hanbin’s thigh in a desperate bid for friction.

Hanbin gasps and gets a hand between them, wrapping around Zhang Hao’s shaft. It’s a little too dry on the first stroke, but Hanbin decides to fry Zhang Hao’s brain by coating his palm in his own wetness to ease the glide. He goes too fast, though, uncertain of the right rhythm, and Zhang Hao has just enough thought left to guide him, putting a hand over his to show him the pace he likes.

“Yes,” he rasps, hips bucking as Hanbin rubs a thumb over his slit. “Just like that, Hanbinie, like that—”

He comes with a groan, spilling all over Hanbin’s hand.

“Fuck,” Hanbin croaks. “Oh fuck, gege.”

No kidding, Zhang Hao’s mushy brain concurs.

“Hold on,” he mumbles and levers himself up on jelly legs to wobble down the stairs to the bathroom. He returns with a damp towel to clean Hanbin’s hand and both of their messy groins.

Once that’s done, he deposits the soiled cloth in the sink to deal with later and burrows back into bed with Hanbin, who has finally taken his sweaty tank top off and is lying naked under the covers.

“So,” he asks, gently drawing Hanbin in to cuddle him, reveling in all the warm bare skin he can feel against his own. “Verdict?”

“Ten out of ten,” Hanbin says, voice a little hoarse. “Would do it again.” He wraps his arms around Zhang Hao. “I barely even feel self-conscious right now, though I was kind of scared at first.”

“Ten out of ten for me too,” Zhang Hao agrees, nosing at Hanbin’s cheek.

“I wasn’t too much of an awkward virgin?” Hanbin asks.

Zhang Hao squeezes his hip under the covers. “You’re the hottest person I’ve ever been with.”

Hanbin squirms. “Yah, you don’t have to just say things to make me feel—”

“I’m not,” Zhang Hao insists. “This is the best sex I’ve ever had.”

And he means it. Everyone else has become an immediate blur, regulated to a past he won’t dwell on because they’ll never measure up to Sung Hanbin. He doesn’t care that it was just trading slightly-awkward handjobs—Hanbin and the enormity of what Zhang Hao feels for him has eclipsed everything.

Hanbin’s mouth drops open. “Really?”

“Really, really.”

“Well,” Hanbin coughs, bright red again. “We’ll have to do it again sometime, then.”

Zhang Hao cackles and Hanbin giggles with him. It’s the middle of the night, but everything is sunlight—a warm, radiating glow.

_ _

After that, it’s like a floodgate opens, drowning them both. It becomes difficult to keep their hands off each other in the safe cocoon of their shared apartment. Zhang Hao fingers Hanbin again on the couch while a drama is playing, not even bothering to take Hanbin’s shorts off this time as he pushes in deep and Hanbin whines to the ceiling. Hanbin jerks him off in the shower, both of them still blurry with sleep, rapidly learning how to easily undo him—just the right speed and pressure to turn his legs to liquid and his head to heated mush.

It’s easy, comfortable, much more than Zhang Hao thought it would be. He’s used to maintaining a certain distance with romantic partners, keeping himself aloof to preserve both his image and his often fragile heart. Because when he cares about something, he has no idea how to approach it casually. School, music, friendships—he has treated each with an intensity that he knows can be off-putting.

You’re too needy, his one high school boyfriend told him right before dumping him, an expression of exasperated disdain on his face. Zhang Hao took the lesson to heart. Moving forward, it was easier to simply have his walls firmly in place, to draw boundaries, to make sure nothing lasted past a couple hook-ups.

With Hanbin, it’s like he’s been turned into paper. All of his pretenses are gone. Hanbin sees him with riotous bedhead and cackles in delight; Hanbin witnesses his near death in the shower when he manages to get shampoo in his eyes; Hanbin listens to him whine like a dramatic baby when his ramyeon takes too long to cook or his grocery bags are too heavy or he’s met with pretty much any minor inconvenience.

And none of it fazes him. He helps Zhang Hao get the shampoo out of his eye, even though it makes him late to the studio. He takes some of the bags or kisses Zhang Hao until the food is done or simply giggles at him with overwhelming affection, like Zhang Hao is the best, funniest thing he’s ever seen.

It’s gratifying, even as a part of Zhang Hao remains afraid that Hanbin will grow tired of him. Will realize how fast they’re moving and politely let Zhang Hao know that he wants to find his own place at the end of the summer.

But Zhang Hao learns things about Hanbin too. Like that he is a wealth of ridiculous gremlin voices and noises that Zhang Hao finds himself parroting throughout his day. That he’s so extroverted, he could probably make friends with strangers on a crowded subway and seems to know people everywhere. That he carries a notebook around with him that he doodles choreography moves in, a cryptic shorthand that Zhang Hao can’t decipher.

And that being trans is a strange mixture of simplicity and endless complication. Hanbin takes medication every morning and every evening—a little pill of testosterone he swallows with other supplements over breakfast and dinner. He has cream that he rubs on his chest scars when they occasionally ache with old phantom pain. He has a packer he sometimes puts in his underwear, though he says he doesn’t often bother with it because it can be annoying to dance with. When he needs to clean it, he boils it in a pot on the stove, which Zhang Hao finds hilarious for some reason, and Hanbin laughs along with him.

(“You should have seen Matthew’s face when he first saw me do it. After that I always told him I was cooking my dick, just to get him to groan at me.”)

All of these things are an easy routine for Hanbin that Zhang Hao makes sure not to interfere with, clearly motions he’s been going through for years.

There are other things, he discovers, that Hanbin is still figuring out. Like the makeup stuffed into a drawer in the bathroom that Hanbin dons for performances but confesses that he might like to try more often. The skirt in the back of the closet that Hanbin bought on a whim and thinks looks good on him, but hasn’t quite been brave enough to wear yet. The old school pictures that Hanbin hesitantly shows him, where his hair is already in a short bowl cut but his features are clearly more feminine.

“I knew by middle school,” he explains softly. “I think. I didn’t have all the pieces yet, just knew that even though I liked waacking and voguing and more ‘feminine’ dances, I didn’t like being a girl. My parents let me cut all my hair off and that helped somewhat. I told them when I was fifteen and they were supportive, thankfully.”

He traces his finger over the chubby cheek of the Hanbin in the photo. “They said that if I had been a boy, they were going to name me Hanbin, so did I want to be called that instead? And they took me to doctors, got me on hormone therapy early.” He huffs a laugh. “I think that’s why I’m so tall.”

“You were cute,” Zhang Hao says gently, putting a hand over Hanbin’s.

Hanbin hums, a neutral sound. “In some ways, the physical transition was the easy part? Everything that came with it has been harder. Like my sexuality. I didn’t really figure out I was gay until I was almost done with high school. And I still—I don’t know, I like how I present now but sometimes I do want to be more feminine, but I just—what if that erases everything?”

He rubs an agitated thumb over his temple, above his glasses. “Sorry, it’s complicated. I’m working on it.”

Zhang Hao rests a chin on Hanbin’s shoulder, out of his depth but loving this boy so much. “I think, Hanbin-ah,” he murmurs tenderly, “that’s all that matters.”

Two days later, Hanbin gets a call from one of his dance friends. “Unnie!” He answers brightly, cradling his phone against his ear as he keeps frying the eggs he’s making for breakfast.

Zhang Hao was essentially banned from the kitchen less than a week into living together, but he is good at cutting fruit so he’s been delegated to that. He startles, slightly, at the unexpected honorific out of Hanbin’s mouth.

Hanbin chatters for a few minutes—apparently this dance friend is performing at an upcoming festival that Hanbin is also participating in—and turns to face Zhang Hao once he’s hung up, an uncertain expression on his face.

Zhang Hao has come to recognize when Hanbin wants to have a conversation but isn’t sure how to start, so he falls on the metaphorical sword. “Unnie?” He’s careful to keep his tone gentle and neutral, an open floor for Hanbin to occupy if he wants.

Hanbin licks his lips. “Yeah, she’s one of the few that knows me from before.” His face twists. “And it felt strange to change how I addressed her. So I just kept ‘unnie.’ I still have some friends that are ‘unnie’ and I just … I like it? I didn’t hate everything about who I was when I was presenting as a girl. Some of it I didn’t want to lose. Does that … make sense?”

“Of course it does,” Zhang Hao assures him. “And either way, I don’t think you need to justify it to anyone, Hanbinie. You should move through the world how you want.”

“Easier said than done,” Hanbin notes without any rancor.

“It is,” Zhang Hao agrees, then shrugs. “I don’t know … I’ve always been myself. I’m gay, I’m blunt, I can be intense and too needy sometimes, but I’ve never wanted to be anything else, even if that gets me into trouble. I don’t think I should have to apologize for who I am, and you shouldn’t either.”

Hanbin’s mouth quirks in a smile. “Thanks, Hao-gege,” he says softly. “That feels good to hear.” His smile widens. “And I like how needy you are. It’s cute.”

“Naturally,” Zhang Hao says with a confidence he’s never truly felt until perhaps this moment. “Everything I do is cute.”

Hanbin reaches across the counter to pinch his cheek, cackling brightly, and Zhang Hao imagines marching up to that old boyfriend that cut him to bone and declaring, look, I found someone who loves me anyway.

_ _

“Hao,” Hanbin says with a note of exasperation in his hoarse morning voice. “Nothing is going to happen if you just keep staring.”

He’s once again naked from the waist down, their duvet tangled around his spread legs, because Zhang Hao began their morning with a declaration that he wanted to eat him out. Which he was extremely confident about until he got into position and realized that he had no idea where to start. Sucking a dick is much more straightforward, honestly. This is a little intimidating.

“I know,” he says petulantly.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Hanbin continues, heels of his palms pressed over his eyes. “I don’t even know if I’ll like it—”

“You’ll like it,” Zhang Hao cuts him off because being bad in bed is just unacceptable. “I’m going to blow your mind.”

“Right,” Hanbin croaks. “Anytime, then.”

Zhang Hao pinches his thigh gently in retaliation, but knows he needs to stop being a coward. Start at the most sensitive place, he decides, and presses his tongue to the hard nub of Hanbin’s clit. Hanbin sucks in a sudden, sharp breath, which Zhang Hao knows is a good sound.

Ha.

He stays focused on Hanbin’s clit, lapping over it and once it’s nice and swollen, taking it into his mouth like he would a cock.

“Fuck!” Hanbin half-shouts at the ceiling when Zhang Hao sucks. He’s getting so wet that Zhang Hao can feel it smearing it against his chin, taste the bitter tang of it, and he drifts down, spreading Hanbin open with his fingers. If he angles his head just right, he realizes, he can dip his tongue into Hanbin’s hole while still rubbing his nose against his clit.

Hanbin’s legs shake when he does that and fingers tug in his hair, as though Hanbin isn’t quite sure if he wants Zhang Hao to stop or keep going. He fucks into Hanbin as deep as he can, letting slick drip into his open mouth so he can swallow it down. His entire face must be a mess, he thinks, and it’s a little hard to breathe like this but he loves the suffocating warmth, loves feeling the heave of Hanbin’s stomach and the press of Hanbin’s thighs to either side of his head.

Hanbin is babbling above him—a litany of praise that mostly includes repetitions of “oh your mouth, that feels so good, fuck, fuck” punctuated by heady whimpers.

Still, he knows Hanbin probably can’t come just from this, so he shifts up to suck Hanbin’s clit back into his mouth, keeping a steady pressure while he replaces his tongue with two fingers inside. Hanbin curses loudly again, whimpers, “gege,” and then he’s coming after a few more sharp flicks of Zhang Hao’s tongue.

“Mmm,” Zhang Hao hums, pleased. He pulls off when Hanbin twitches in oversensitivity, rests his chin triumphantly on Hanbin’s stomach. He feels sticky from his nose to his jaw, halfway across his cheeks, but he loves the way Hanbin’s gaze darkens at the sight of him.

“See?” He says. “I told you I’d wreck you.”

“Okay,” Hanbin hiccups, a bit of a flushed mess, red all the way down his neck and chest. “I liked that.”

“Me too,” Zhang Hao reassures him, knowing Hanbin sometimes feels a little insecure about their differing anatomy.

“Good.” Hanbin nods, still looking dazed. Still, he rallies enough to tap his fingers against Zhang Hao’s bare shoulder. “Now get up here and teach me how to suck you off.”

Fuck, that’s hot.

“God,” Zhang Hao breathes, flopping down on the mattress and spreading his legs so Hanbin can kneel between them, stripping off his shirt as goes. “Look at you.”

Hanbin smiles at him from his position as he pulls Zhang Hao’s damp underwear down his legs. “C’mon, gege,” he says, all weaponized innocence. “Tell me what to do.”

Sung Hanbin is going to be the death of him, Zhang Hao realizes, and what a death it will be. He gets a hand in Hanbin’s hair and guides him down. “Just take it slow,” he murmurs. “Focus on the head first. And be careful of your teeth, please.”

Hanbin hums in acknowledgment and he gets immediately lost in the wet heat of Hanbin’s mouth as Hanbin stretches red lips around him. He looks so pretty like this—hair all mussed, blushy cheeks, lashes fluttering. Zhang Hao wants to ruin him, wants to keep him here forever, and at the same time hold him like precious, fragile china.

“That’s it,” he breathes, petting Hanbin’s bangs back. “Just like that, baobei, just like that.”

In all things, Hanbin is a quick learner. He figures out all the perfect places to curl his tongue, digging into Zhang Hao’s slit, flicking against the sensitive spot just under the head that makes Zhang Hao moan. And soon he’s pushing his limits, sinking further and further onto Zhang Hao’s cock until he’s taken nearly half of it. Zhang Hao cups his face, feeling his hardness through the skin of Hanbin’s cheek, and desperately tries not to come like a teenager.

“So good, baby,” he coos. “Now move like this.” He guides Hanbin’s head up and down in a steady rhythm, coaxing Hanbin a little deeper each time. Hanbin whines around him, tears gathering in those long lashes, and keeps himself pliant, letting Zhang Hao take what he wants, even when Zhang Hao starts to rock his hips, slowly fucking Hanbin’s mouth, stretching him until spit leaks out past the tight seam of his lips.

Embarrassingly, it’s that level of trust that sends Zhang Hao over the edge, not anything in particular that Hanbin physically does. He barely has time to gasp “coming” before he’s spilling down Hanbin’s throat. Hanbin chokes a little, cum trickling down his chin, but swallows the rest and sits back with a gasp.

“Fuck, sorry,” Zhang Hao says, knowing he should have given more of a warning. Let Hanbin decide if he was ready for it.

“It’s okay,” Hanbin says, wiping his face with the back of his hand. His voice sounds smoky, ruined, and that is hotter than Zhang Hao thinks it has any right to be. “I liked that too.”

“You were so good for me, Hanbinie,” Zhang Hao says, tugging Hanbin up to straddle him. Feels fresh wetness from Hanbin’s cunt against his thigh and gets two fingers around Hanbin’s cock. “Can I make you come again?”

“Please,” Hanbin rasps—arms on his shoulders, sweaty forehead to his temple, hips moving with the stroke of his fingers.

It’s a good morning.

_ _

On a Saturday in August, in the middle of their fleeting summer break, their friend groups collide in a park by the river. Zhang Hao finally meets the Matthew he’s heard so much about, along with Matthew’s oversized puppy of a boyfriend, Gunwook, and a grad student named Kim Jiwoong who looks like he belongs on billboards instead of getting a masters in psychology. In turn, Zhang Hao introduces Gyuvin, Taerae, Kuanjui, Ricky, and Yujin, the little first year that Gyuvin has inexplicably adopted—who graduated high school early and looks twelve instead of seventeen. (He scowls whenever Zhang Hao points this out.)

Miraculously, everyone gets along like a house on fire. By the end of the afternoon, Gyuvin is hanging off Hanbin like they’ve known each other their whole lives while Yujin is shyly asking about the studio Hanbin teaches at; Ricky and Matthew are having an enthusiastic conversation in English; Jiwoong and Kuanjui are talking about a play they’ve both seen recently; while Taerae seems to be educating Gunwook on car models.

It makes Zhang Hao’s heart warm to witness, even if it drains his social battery to critical levels. When the sun starts to set and everyone gets ready to disperse with phones full of new contacts, Matthew pulls him aside.

“Hey,” he says brightly. He’s tiny but muscular enough that Zhang Hao is pretty sure he could bench press a grown man easily. “I just wanted to say that I was super worried when Hanbin hyung told me he was moving in with someone he’d known less than a semester, but I think you’ve been good for him.”

Zhang Hao blinks. “Am I getting your stamp of approval, then?”

Matthew nods and the anxiety in Zhang Hao’s test eases. “Yeah, you’ve made him really happy, Hao hyung. I’m glad.”

“I love him a lot,” Zhang Hao confesses.

“I can tell,” Matthew teases and Zhang Hao huffs imperiously. “But it’s okay, he loves you a lot too. Hanbin hyung loves people really easily, even when they don’t deserve it. I’m glad you do.”

“Thank you, Matthew-yah.”

Matthew hugs him, nearly picking him up off his feet even though he’s a full ten centimeters taller. “See you around, new hyung.”

Finally home in the quiet safety of their apartment, Zhang Hao burrows under the covers in spite of the heat, sighing in exhaustion. Hanbin curves around him, chin on his shoulder.

“You have good friends, Hao,” he murmurs. “I like them.”

“So do you, Hanbin-ah.”

“We haven’t known each other very long, I know,” Hanbin continues, open and honest in their dark cocoon. “But I want you in my life for a long time.”

“Oh, me too.” Zhang Hao lifts his hand to kiss the back of it. “A long time.”

“Good,” Hanbin sighs against his skin. “Good.”

_ _

“So,” Zhang Hao says a few evenings later, feet in Hanbin’s lap as they lounge on the sofa, enjoying a rare night free of obligation. “What are your thoughts on strapons?”

Hanbin chokes on the bite of yogurt he just took. Whoops.

Zhang Hao pats him sympathetically on the arm until he’s managed to clear his airway again. “Uh, I’m not sure I have any?”

“Okay,” Zhang Hao says patiently. “Let’s reframe. What are your thoughts on fucking me?”

Predictably, Hanbin’s ears go red and his gaze turns hooded, eyes blown dark. “I like the idea of that,” he says.

Zhang Hao squeezes his knee. “Then I think we have some purchases to make.”

It turns out, though, that the world of strapons is vast and overwhelming. Harnesses, vibrating boxers or briefs, double ended ones that could stimulate them both at once—and that isn’t even getting into the array of dildos that can be fitted as attachments. They both gape at the laptop as Zhang Hao scrolls through the site Hanbin said he’s bought vibrators from before.

“Okay,” Zhang Hao declares, recovering first. “This is your dick. You should be in charge here.”

Hanbin elbows him, but he’s laughing. “Baby, isn’t the real question how much you can take?” He points at a huge, curved pink dildo that boasts to be thirty centimeters. “Like, is that in consideration?”

“Are you asking if I’m a size queen?” Zhang Hao asks with mock outrage.

“It’s an honest question!” Hanbin insists.

“I’m not,” Zhang Hao confesses. “Honestly, I tried to be but taking something that big is so much work and prep and I’m lazy.”

He’s been with a couple men who were on the much larger end and while it felt pretty amazing in the moment, he also didn’t like how sore it left him. After only a few hookups, he laid his size queen ambitions to rest.

“So you’re a pillow princess?” Hanbin teases.

“Yah.”

“You said it, not me.”

“Okay, a bit of one,” Zhang Hao relents. “But regardless, that one is not in consideration.”

Hanbin cackles but obediently keeps scrolling. Ultimately, he decides that he’s not ready for anything double-ended and the underwear feels too far in the other direction, so they settle on a good, old-fashioned harness and a perfectly acceptable, average-length dildo that Hanbin still gets in sky blue because he says he loves the color.

“If I can have any dick I want, why not make it pretty?” he asks and Zhang Hao can’t argue with him.

“God,” he says once Hanbin has placed the order. “I can’t wait for you to fuck me.”

He already knows, no matter what happens, that Hanbin will be the best he’s ever had.

But Hanbin’s brow furrows. “I hope I live up to expectations,” he jokes and genuine anxiety lurks beneath the cheerful tone.

“Hey,” Zhang Hao says, cupping his face. “I’m going to love it, I promise.”

“How do you know?” Hanbin asks. “I don’t—is a dildo really going to be better than the real thing?”

“Yes,” Zhang Hao says. “Because you’re involved. And I happen to love you, Hanbin-ah, so you already have everyone else beat.”

“Oh,” Hanbin says in a small, stunned voice. He bites his lip, glancing at the order confirmation. “Hao,” he continues, still in that quiet tone. “I think I want you to fuck me too.”

Zhang Hao shudders, already imagining it, and gathers Hanbin into his arms.

“I’d be honored,” he says in a deep, solemn tone, just to get Hanbin to let out another loud bark of laughter.

Happiness fizzes bright in his veins.

_ _

Unbeknownst to Hanbin, Zhang Hao makes another, secret purchase, designed to compliment the skirt still hanging in the back of Hanbin’s closet, concealed behind a myriad of checkered shirts. It’s pale pink, ankle-length and made of soft material that Zhang Hao enjoys running his hands over. He tries it on when Hanbin is out, turning in slow circles in front of their hallway mirror.

It feels insanely comfortable, if a little drafty, and he likes how he looks in it. It accents his legs nicely, along with his waist, and he has several tops in mind, including a cropped sweater. He goes for that one first. It drapes perfectly, shows off a coy strip of stomach, and he decides that this might be the hottest he’s ever felt.

Skirts weren’t something he’d really considered before, but he immediately wants to buy more. Men are missing out.

He takes several pictures in various poses and chooses the best ones to send to Hanbin, who should be on his way back from lunch with friends soon. He grins at the incomprehensible string of emojis he gets back a few minutes later, waiting by the door when he hears the telltale sign of Hanbin heading down the hall from the elevators.

“Oh my god,” Hanbin says as soon as he opens the door, gaze raking down Zhang Hao’s body like hot coals. “Jagi.”

“You like it?” Zhang Hao gives a little twirl, making the skirt flare.

Ten seconds later, Hanbin’s hands are on his waist and Hanbin’s tongue is in his mouth. Zhang Hao groans into the kiss, letting Hanbin ravish him.

“You look amazing,” Hanbin says when they part for air.

Zhang Hao drapes his arms over Hanbin’s shoulders, resting their heads together. “I thought,” he says with careful tenderness, “you could try on yours too? We can match.”

Hanbin freezes. “Oh…you remember that?”

“I remember everything you tell me about yourself,” Zhang Hao says. “Like the trophy you won for jump rope in elementary school, or the time you tried to dye your hair pink, or the time Matthew dared you to eat as many cups of spicy noodles as you could and you nearly passed out—”

“Okay, okay, point taken,” Hanbin says, putting a hand over his mouth to shut him up. He licks Hanbin’s palm in retaliation. Hanbin rolls his eyes, so Zhang Hao digs his teeth in until Hanbin lets go.

“I want to see you in it,” he says, unwilling to drop this until Hanbin explicitly tells him to. “I bet you’d look stunning.”

“Fine,” Hanbin relents. Takes a deep breath. “Wait down here?”

Zhang Hao nods and Hanbin clambers up the stairs into the loft, sliding open their little closet to dig around inside. Zhang Hao perches on the couch, smoothing down his skirt with his palms. He looks up when he hears Hanbin descending again and his breath catches in his throat.

Hanbin’s skirt is the same length as Zhang Hao’s, but black and thicker. He’s paired it with a loose black shirt that contrasts well against hair he recently dyed blond. As predicted, he looks absolutely stunning.

He stops at the bottom of the stairs, hovering awkwardly. “Well?” He asks, an anxious pitch to his voice.

Zhang Hao surges up to grab his hand and pulls him over to the mirror. “Look,” he says, draping himself against Hanbin’s side. “Don’t we look incredible?”

They look like they could be on the cover of a magazine, in Zhang Hao’s humble opinion. A little makeup, some accent jewelry, and they’d turn every head on campus if they went out like this.

Hanbin blinks at his reflection, gaze darting from Zhang Hao back to his own body. Slowly, he nods and it feels like a victory. “Yeah,” he whispers. “We do.” He pats the front of the skirt. “And I still look like me.”

“You do,” Zhang Hao promises, kissing his cheek. “Come on a date with me? There’s this new wine bar in Jongno Kuanjui was telling me about.”

“Okay,” Hanbin agrees and Zhang Hao squeezes his hips in delight.

“And help me with my makeup? I have no idea what I’m doing, Ricky always used to just do it for me when we went out clubbing.”

“I’m not very good either,” Hanbin says like he hasn’t been doing his own makeup for performances for years.

But he dutifully crowds against Zhang Hao in their tiny bathroom, lip pinned between his teeth and brow pinched in concentration as he sketches liner along Zhang Hao’s lids. He has a hand on Zhang Hao’s chin to keep him still and it makes something squirm in Zhang Hao’s stomach that he decides he’ll examine later.

“There,” he declares after a few minutes, turning Zhang Hao’s head to the mirror. He’s done a warm, shiny color on Zhang Hao’s lids, contrasted by dark liner and a touch of mascara.

“Wah,” Zhang Hao says in amazement. “And you said you weren’t good at this. Liar.”

“Not compared to most of my dance friends,” Hanbin insists.

Tragically, he leaves Zhang Hao to apply his own lip gloss while he does his eyes in a similar style. Before they go, Zhang Hao coaxes Hanbin into taking several mirror selcas together and then they’re venturing out into the warm summer evening. Hanbin fidgets on the metro, legs tucked in close like he’s trying to make himself smaller, but on a weekday the car is mostly full of tired workers on their commutes home or fellow university students preparing for a night on the town. No one pays them any attention.

Hanbin relaxes a little once they’re in the crowded, aesthetic bar, with glasses of fancy wine in their hands.

“How do you feel?” Zhang Hao asks.

“Scared,” Hanbin admits, gaze darting around. “But proud of myself.”

“Don’t be scared,” Zhang Hao says, hand on Hanbin’s arm. “If anyone insults you, I’ll throw my wine in their face.”

That gets Hanbin to smile, but he tenses right back up when a young woman leans into their space. She looks around their age, eyes bright, cheeks flushed with alcohol, and long hair spilling down her back.

“Hey,” she says in a deep, booming voice. “I love your outfits!”

Zhang Hao preens. “Thank you.”

“More men should wear skirts!” She continues, drunkenly gripping Hanbin’s other arm as she raises her glass for emphasis. “Fuck gendered fashion, right?”

Hanbin nods. “Fuck it.”

“I’m Youngji!” the girl announces.

“Hanbin.”

“Zhang Hao.” He hangs back, though, letting Hanbin steer this conversation.

“I’m 02,” Youngji continues brightly.

“01,” Hanbin announces.

“Oh, oppa, then.” She pats Hanbin’s arm a little too hard, but Hanbin doesn’t seem to mind. “You look great, oppa!”

Zhang Hao can see what this is doing to Hanbin’s confidence. He’s blooming, lighting up with more of his usual charm.

“Thank you! You do too!”

“Psh,” Youngji flails her free hand. “I always look awkward in dresses, but my girlfriend—”

“Oh my god.” Another woman appears—smaller than Youngji, with her hair styled in a shoulder length bob and look of exasperated mortification on her pretty face. She grabs Youngji’s arm and Youngji beams at the sight of her.

“Yujin-ah! I was just telling these oppas about you—”

“I’m so sorry,” Yujin says. “She’s had a bit too much to drink.”

“It’s fine,” Hanbin reassures her.

And because he’s Hanbin, he gets both of their KT IDs before they disappear back into the crowd. When he turns to Zhang Hao, he’s beaming.

“Told you,” Zhang Hao says smugly, smirking over the rim of his glass. “You look like you. Just hotter. Not that you don’t always look hot—”

“Thank you,” Hanbin says, fortunately cutting off Zhang Hao before he keeps going and starts waxing poetic about specific features or personality traits. His heart is just full, drunk on Hanbin’s radiating joy. “Thank you, Hao-ge.”

“Oh, always, Hanbinie,” Zhang Hao replies, hating that he can’t kiss Hanbin right now. He’d rather not risk it in such a public setting. “I love trying new things with you. I’m buying more skirts.”

Hanbin giggles, slotting against his side, an arm around his waist. “Maybe we both should.”

Zhang Hao clinks their glasses together in a toast of agreement.

_ _

Hanbin blinks up at the ceiling, mouth open in adorable confusion, and normally Zhang Hao loves getting him to make that expression, but not when he has two fingers in Hanbin’s ass. It was Hanbin who shyly suggested trying this, wanting to get a sense of what Zhang Hao will be experiencing when they use the strap on, and Zhang Hao was more than happy to oblige. He took his time, made him come first with a mouth on his cock before getting anything inside of him, and as Zhang Hao scans his face now, he doesn’t seem to be in pain, at least.

Just also not turned on in the slightest.

“Um,” he says, squirming. “I’m so sorry, gege, but I don’t think this is doing anything for me.”

“I’m seeing that,” Zhang Hao says, hiding a twinge of disappointment. “Nothing at all?”

He curls his fingers experimentally, dragging them along Hanbin’s hot inner walls. Hanbin shakes his head.

“No, it just feels vaguely uncomfortable.” He squints at Zhang Hao. “You like it?”

“I love it,” Zhang Hao admits. “But I have a prostate so maybe that’s the difference?”

“It feels much better in my cunt.” Hanbin laughs, shaking his head again. “Which is something I never thought I’d say.”

Zhang Hao presses a kiss to his bent knee and withdraws his fingers. “Let’s stop, then.”

Hanbin grabs his wrist, tugging him up to mouth at the column of his neck. “Show me?” he murmurs. “How you like it, instead?”

So Zhang Hao ends up on his back with his legs spread for Hanbin and a pillow under his hips to help prop him up. He watches Hanbin coat his fingers with lube, stomach tight with anticipation.

“Go slow, okay?” he says, curling a hand around Hanbin’s wrist. “It’s been awhile.”

Hanbin nods and rubs gently over the pucker of Zhang Hao’s hole. “You’re pretty here, too,” he murmurs, which Zhang Hao would scoff at (what’s special about an asshole?) if he didn’t sound so sincere.

“Keep going,” he replies. “And I’ll look even prettier for you.”

Hanbin makes a flattering sound of helpless arousal in the back of his throat and sinks a finger past Zhang Hao’s rim.

“Fuck, gege,” he breathes as Zhang Hao tilts his head back with a quiet gasp. “You’re so tight.”

“Told you,” Zhang Hao says, embarrassed that his voice is already wobbling, “It’s—mmm—been awhile.”

Hanbin pushes in deeper, searching.

“Curl your fingers a little,” Zhang Hao instructs. “T-towards my stomach—” He cuts off with a sharp inhale and Hanbin grins at him.

“Ha,” he says in an echo of Zhang Hao’s words to him, what feels like forever ago. “Found it.”

“Uh-huh,” Zhang Hao manages, clinging to the tatters of his dignity as Hanbin so easily begins to unravel him. “G-great job. Go-gold star.”

Hanbin ignores the sarcasm. “Can you take another?”

“Yeah,” Zhang Hao says, deciding not to point out that he’s taken so much more than this. He likes the care that Hanbin is treating him with, as though he’s something fragile, precious.

He likes being precious to Hanbin.

Taking two fingers burns, but with Hanbin focusing on his prostate the discomfort quickly dissolves into a haze of growing pleasure. He can feel sweat trickling down the side of his face, sticky air thick in his heaving lungs, and the steady leak of his cock onto his stomach. Hanbin glows above him, washed out in the light of this golden morning, but he’s looking at Zhang Hao like he’s the ethereal one.

“You’re taking me so well,” he says, pushing in deep and wringing a groan from Zhang Hao’s dry throat. “God, Hao, you’re perfect.”

Only with you, Zhang Hao thinks, most of his coherency gone as Hanbin’s slender fingers make him shake.

Hanbin withdraws for a moment and Zhang Hao makes an undignified sound of protest. Until three fingers press against him in silent question.

“Yes,” he babbles. “I can, I can.”

It’s overwhelming on the first thrust—the stretch all-encompassing, a blurry line of pleasure and pain. But Hanbin is there, drawing his leg up with a searing grip on his thigh.

“Look at you,” he marvels, gaze darting between Zhang Hao’s slack mouth and the space between his legs, tracing the stretch of Zhang Hao’s rim around him as pulls out to the tips of his fingers, then fucks them back in. Zhang Hao whimpers at the fullness, imagining how incredible Hanbin’s cock is going to feel, how much deeper it’s going to reach inside of him.

“Can you come from this?” Hanbin asks, punctuating the question with a slow drag across Zhang Hao’s prostate that makes the ceiling blur.

Still, Zhang Hao shakes his head in regret. “N-not usually.”

He’s desperate for any kind of attention to his aching cock and fortunately, Hanbin doesn’t push him. “Okay,” he says simply and surprises Zhang Hao by withdrawing again.

Zhang Hao frowns at him in confusion as he shuffles forward on his knees, straddling Zhang Hao’s prone form. He takes a deep breath and suddenly, Zhang Hao realizes what he’s about to do. They’ve talked about this, but always in vague terms—never with a concrete plan of when they wanted it to happen. Zhang Hao has been content to simply wait for Hanbin to tell him when he’s ready, but he thought there would be more buildup, maybe another discussion, not something this spontaneous.

“Hanbin-ah.” He reaches out in alarm to grab Hanbin’s arm. “Are you sure?”

Habin nods. “I want this,” he says with quiet conviction. “I want you.”

Zhang Hao swallows around a fresh stone lodged in his throat, blinking against a sudden rush of tears. He rubs a thumb over the pulse of Hanbin’s wrist in tender sweeps.

“Okay, baby. You’re too far away, though.” He urges Hanbin up and slides backwards so he can prop himself up against the wall. This way, he can rest his forehead against Hanbin’s, kiss his flushed skin as he carefully positions Zhang Hao’s cock at his entrance.

“Go slow,” Zhang Hao says, cupping the back of his head. “Stop if it hurts you, okay?”

“I will,” Hanbin promises. A smile dimples his face. “I’m actually not nervous at all.”

And then he’s sinking down and Zhang Hao is gutted by both his declaration of trust and the soft heat of his cunt.

“Oh,” he groans into Hanbin’s ear. “Oh, fuck, baby, you feel incredible.”

So fucking wet, so tight, but the hottest part is the way Hanbin’s face goes slack in stunned pleasure—the tight discomfort smoothing away as his body quickly adjusts, opening around Zhang Hao’s cock.

His first, Zhang Hao thinks, dizzy with love and want and possession. His first, his only.

“Is it good?” he asks. “Hanbinie, do you feel good?”

“Uh-huh,” Hanbin manages, voice thick. “It’s … a lot. You’re in s-so deep.”

Zhang Hao isn’t particularly big, but still quite a step up from fingers, by far the most Hanbin’s ever taken. It turns his veins molten—to think that he’s carving a new, intimate space in Hanbin, molding Hanbin’s body to his. He kisses Hanbin’s jaw, neck, pushing his head back to scrape teeth over his tattoo and make him whine.

“Come on, Hanbin-ah,” he coaxes, punctuating it with a small roll of his hips to remind Hanbin that he can move. “Use me, take whatever you want.”

“Fuck,” Hanbin hiccups, but then he’s rocking up and sinking back down, thighs stretched on either side of Zhang Hao’s hips.

“That’s it,” Zhang Hao murmurs, digging his fingers into Hanbin’s sides. “That’s it, baobei. Look how well you’re taking me. I knew you would.”

“’S good,” Hanbin pants, steadying himself with hands on Zhang Hao’s shoulders as he slowly finds his rhythm. “I wasn’t sure—but it’s so, so good.”

He leans back, hips undulating, and Zhang Hao curses in his native tongue at the sight of his cock disappearing into Hanbin’s wet cunt, the clench of Hanbin’s stomach, the gorgeous lines of his body. He runs a hand from Hanbin’s chest to his little swollen cock, stroking it roughly.

Hanbin whines, nails scraping lines into Zhang Hao’s skin.

“Come on, baby,” Zhang Hao hiccups. “I want to feel you come.”

It only takes another flick of his fingers to tip Hanbin over. He cries out and clenches hot and tight around Zhang Hao’s cock, making Zhang Hao shout at the sensation, the warm rush of fluid that leaks down with each fresh pulse. His own body is a taut, desperate wire, but he manages to remember that he didn’t put on a condom.

“Fuck, fuck, Hanbinie, I can’t—”

Mercifully, Hanbin understands and lifts off with trembling thighs. He rubs his cunt along Zhang Hao’s shaft instead, whimpering through the overstimulation, and Zhang Hao comes with his mouth on the curve of Hanbin’s shoulder to muffle his shout, adding to the mess between Hanbin’s legs.

Hanbin collapses against him and Zhang Hao pets his damp hair—the only sound in the apartment the mingle of their heavy breaths.

“Wow,” Hanbin finally manages, stretching up to nuzzle against Zhang Hao’s cheek. “That was….”

“Good first time?” Zhang Hao asks.

“Think I came too hard,” Hanbin mumbles. “Can’t think.”

Zhang Hao laughs. “You’re welcome.”

“Shut up.” Hanbin pokes him without opening his eyes. “I did most of the work.”

“You did,” Zhang Hao agrees affectionately. “And you feel okay?”

A nod. “I’m okay. It’s you, so I figured I would be, but I feel great.”

Oh Hanbin. Always saying the most devastating things like it’s nothing, like it’s easy.

“Thank you,” Hanbin continues with a peck to Zhang Hao’s cheek, oblivious to what he’s just done to Zhang Hao’s heart. “For taking care of me.”

“Of course,” Zhang Hao says, returning the kiss. “It’s never a hardship, Hanbin-ah. I love taking care of you. I love being with you. I love sex with you.”

Hanbin makes these things easy to say, too—all these vulnerabilities, all this raw love that Hanbin holds like a gift.

“I love you,” Hanbin declares, butting his forehead against Zhang Hao’s chin. “I was terrified of this for so many years, couldn’t really imagine it for myself, but you make it good. Make it easy to want more.”

Zhang Hao sniffs and pulls Hanbin even closer. “I think you did plenty of the hard work yourself, baby, but I get what you mean. I usually worry that I’m too much for people. I have been in the past, but not with you. I’m not afraid of that with you.”

“You’ll never be too much for me,” Hanbin promises with all the solemnity of a sworn oath. “Even when you make me carry you up four flights of stairs because your feet are tired.”

“Yah,” Zhang Hao smacks him on the arm, eliciting a giggle. “My feet were super tired and you could have just told me to stop whining. You like being my strong boyfriend, admit it.”

“Okay I do a little bit,” Hanbin says. “It makes me feel good.” He gestures vaguely to his body. “About all this.”

“Sung Hanbin, you’re perfect,” Zhang Hao insists, sitting up a little so he can properly squish Hanbin’s cheeks. “There is nothing about you that’s lacking. Did you see how hard I came too?”

“I did,” Hanbin says, not bothering to remove Zhang Hao’s hands. “And logically I know that. I just need you to keep telling me.”

“I will,” Zhang Hao promises. “Every day.”

Hanbin blinks, eyes a little wet, and Zhang Hao bestows a tender kiss to his forehead. “Now let’s clean up, hm? We’re a mess.”

Hanbin glances down and grimaces at the cum drying between his thighs. “God, yeah.”

They trip down the stairs together to cram into the shower, even though it would be far more practical to take turns. Once they’re both clean and dressed for the day, they wrestle the soiled sheets off the mattress and Hanbin spritzes some perfume around the loft to chase away the reek of sex.

“Breakfast?” he proposes after they’ve stuffed the sheets into the washer. “At the cafe up the street?”

It always has incredible pastries and they usually indulge once a week. Zhang Hao nods in agreement, since he has a few hours before he needs to be at the academy for an afternoon gauntlet of tutoring sessions.

Hanbin beams at him.

They walk down the street hand in hand and Zhang Hao doesn’t care who might be staring.

_ _

Near the end of the summer, Zhang Hao’s schedule finally allows him to attend one of the festivals that Hanbin is performing at, both as a member of his dance team and a solo artist with a self-choreographed routine. That routine Zhang Hao has caught glimpses of for the past week—all their living room furniture shoved against the walls to make a small space for Hanbin to try out moves in. He’d looked so focused and hot that it was an effort not to interrupt him for at least a heady makeout session. Zhang Hao ended up retreating up to the loft in an attempt to behave himself.

(He’d made up for it later that night—three fingers in Hanbin’s cunt while Hanbin braced trembling arms against their kitchen counter, gasping a symphony into the hush of the apartment. And then, because he’s an insufferable overachiever, Hanbin ate him out until he quite literally saw stars.)

Now, he gets to see it all come together and he’s buzzing with excitement. He’s seen Hanbin perform but that was before. That was when he was just Sung Hanbin—golden boy, campus crush, Zhang Hao’s sort of distant rival—and not his Hanbin. He’s procured flowers, knowing they’ll probably make Hanbin cry, sappy, soft-hearted boy that he is. But it comes as a surprise when Gyuvin messages that he’s also attending, along with Yujin.

He didn’t realize they’d gotten so close to Hanbin.

“I’ve gone to a couple of his classes,” Yujin explains while Gyuvin bounces on the balls of his feet like a giant, overexcited puppy. The three of them have procured spots right near the stage, shuffling Gyuvin off to one side because of his height. “He keeps giving me a discount even though he doesn’t need to.”

“And he took me to lunch!” Gyuvin says. “Twice.” He grins down at Zhang Hao. “He’s really cool. You found a good one, hyung.”

“I know,” Zhang Hao says, not even able to be imperious and aloof about it.

Hanbin has taken the time to get to know his friends, to make them his own, and that once again makes Zhang Hao’s heart overflow.

And then there is Hanbin on stage. He’s always been naturally charming, Zhang Hao knows. Magnetic even, pulling people into his orbit with a smile, a kind word, a supportive shoulder, a glowing aura of sheer loveliness that endears everyone to him within minutes. From the ahjumma at their corner grocery store to the sullen high schooler working the late shift at the nearby 7/11—Hanbin has them all leaning towards him like flowers to a sun. But on stage, in his element, he radiates.

The group performance is a tutting and waacking routine set to more traditional music, featuring costumes of modernized hanbok. Hanbin is the only boy on the dance team, a full head taller than some of the women, but he blends in with them perfectly, flowing from one move to the next like an elegant river. His dark eyeshadow and lipstick sets off his golden hair, his blue coat spins around him as he dances, and Zhang Hao thinks dizzily that he looks like a god, like some mythological being worshippers build shrines to.

He shouts himself hoarse in support, practically drowned out by Gyuvin. Even quiet, little Yujin is yelling his heart out by the time the performance is over and Hanbin is bowing with his fellow dancers, face scrunched in happiness.

His solo showcase is much different—a gothic look that features silky black clothing, a fucking corset, and a lace blindfold. Zhang Hao is so thankful the excited crowd drowns out the truly humiliating noise he makes at the first glimpse of Hanbin’s full ensemble. No wonder Hanbin refused to give him a preview. He wouldn’t have survived it. He’s pretty sure his soul has left his body.

He has the hottest boyfriend in the world. Everyone should congratulate him.

Gyuvin wolf whistles when Hanbin finishes on a stunning, fierce pose—barely looking out breath if not for the subtle hitch of his shoulders. Zhang Hao elbows Gyuvin in the side for it and Gyuvin just waggles his eyebrows like the insufferable brat he is.

“Hyung, I knew he was good,” Gyuvin says as Hanbin exits the stage. “But I didn’t know he could dance like that.”

“Me neither,” Zhang Hao replies weakly, clutching his bouquet in a deathgrip.

He waits off to the side of the stage for Hanbin to emerge. Another group has taken Hanbin’s place and the boom of the speakers is starting to get to Zhang Hao now that he isn’t enraptured. Fortunately, Hanbin appears fairly quickly, dressed in street clothes but still wearing his performance makeup.

His face lights up at the sight of Zhang Hao.

“Hao hyung,” he says, hurrying over only to be waylaid and swept off his feet by Gyuvin. He squawks as Gyuvin spins him in a wild circle.

“Hyung! You were so cool! I thought you were just kind of a dork but you’re sexy? Now I see why Hao won’t shut up about you—”

“Kim Gyuvin, I will kill you,” Zhang Hao says as Yujin laughs quietly off to the side, no help at all.

Hanbin looks a little dazed when Gyuvin finally sets him down but he’s grinning. “Thanks, Gyuvin-ah. I think.”

Gyuvin pats his head. “It was a compliment.”

Zhang Hao clears his throat, tired of other people monopolizing his boyfriend, and the way Hanbin whips around to face him is flattering. He shuffles forward, extending his bouquet of roses, and sure enough Hanbin’s eyes adopt a telling sheen.

“You got me flowers?”

Zhang Hao nods, suddenly tongue-tied. “You were amazing, Hanbinie. Of course I got you flowers.”

Hanbin clutches the bouquet to his chest and then must decide that they’re at a safe enough venue or he just doesn’t care, because he leans in and kisses Zhang Hao square on the mouth, in public. Zhang Hao jerks against him in surprise but quickly reaches up to cup his face, ignoring the exaggerated gagging sounds Gyuvin is making.

“Thank you,” Hanbin says, resting his forehead against Zhang Hao’s to smile affectionately at him. “I’m so glad you came.”

“Me too,” Zhang Hao says, squeezing Hanbin’s waist.

Back home, Hanbin puts the flowers in a vase he magics from somewhere and displays them proudly on their tiny dining table that they never eat at.

“I have to make it your next performance,” he says. “So I can give you flowers too.”

Zhang Hao smiles at the thought. “It won’t be as exciting as yours.”

“Are you kidding?” Hanbin asks, coming over to hold him by the waist. “Hao-ge, last year I watched your solo—that one where you wore the white suit?—so many times Matthew called me pathetic.”

Zhang Hao’s mouth drops open. “You did?”

An enthusiastic nod, though Hanbin is blushing. “I told you I thought you were stunning,” he mutters. “I might have had a bit of a crush before you started talking to me.”

Well that is immensely gratifying.

“Aww,” Zhang Hao coos. “Cute.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Hanbin says, but he’s smiling.

“I’m performing with the orchestra at the start of the semester,” Zhang Hao informs him. “Bring me a giant bouquet.”

“I will,” Hanbin promises, and kisses him.

_ _

(“Oh,” Zhang Hao says later, sitting up in bed. “Please tell me you own that corset.”

“I borrowed it from a dance unnie,” Hanbin says, a smirk lurking in the corner of his mouth.

“I think,” Zhang Hao informs him with great dignity and extreme casualness, “that you should ask to borrow it again.”

Hanbin laughs at him like the terrible, disrespectful boyfriend he is.)

_ _

Zhang Hao’s fingers curl into rumpled sheets, mouth open against the mattress as he pants loudly into the muggy room, drowning out the whir of the aircon unit. His body is a live wire, sparking between the burn of Hanbin pushing into him and the hot press of Hanbin’s chest to his shivering back.

Hanbin’s teeth scrape his neck and shoulder and Hanbin’s voice sounds reverent when he says, “Gege, you’re so tight. Do you like this?’

“I love it,” Zhang Hao gasps, breath hitching close to a sob when Hanbin splays a palm across his stomach, lifting his lower body off the bed so he can get even deeper. “It’s so good, Hanbinie. You’re so good.”

They’ve barely even started but Zhang Hao already knows, “You’re the best I’ve ever had.”

“God,” Hanbin groans, pulling back and sinking in again.

It’s a little too hard of a thrust, making Zhang Hao yelp, and Hanbin drapes over him in alarm, tilting his chin to check his expression. “Sorry, sorry! The rhythm’s a little different than getting fucked. I’m still getting the hang of it.”

A giggle bursts out of Zhang Hao’s mouth. Hanbin looks like an anxious hamster, petting Zhang Hao’s back to soothe him, and Zhang Hao loves him so much it’s ridiculous.

“It’s okay, it just startled me,” Zhang Hao assures him, grabbing his hand to kiss the back of it before he rests his cheek against the mattress again. “I don’t mind it kind of rough, so you can commence with ruining me.”

Hanbin lets out a shuddering breath against his skin and levers himself up again, resuming his earlier pace. The stretch of him is glorious and Zhang Hao isn’t even self conscious of the whimpers soon spilling out of his mouth with each perfect snap of Hanbin’s hips. Hanbin is an attentive lover, just like Zhang Hao knew he would be, adjusting the angle until he’s hitting Zhang Hao prostate and sharp pleasure punches all the air out of Zhang Hao’s lungs.

“You look perfect,” Hanbin says, sounding breathless too. “You’re gorgeous, I could have you like this forever—”

Zhang Hao whines, clenching helplessly around Hanbin’s cock.

“Oh,” Hanbin murmurs. “I can feel that. Are you close?”

A jerk of his head. Normally he’d be embarrassed about it happening so quickly, but he knows Hanbin won’t shame him.

“Please,” he babbles. “Please, baby, I need—”

Hanbin gets him on his knees and wraps his leaking cock in a tight fist. Zhang Hao half-sobs, rocking back onto Hanbin’s cock and forward into the warm ring of his fingers. Everything is slick and perfect and the wire coils tighter and tighter in Zhang Hao’s guts.

“That’s it,” Hanbin kisses his shoulder, dips his fingers into Zhang Hao’s slit to smear more precome down his shaft, rubs his fingers under the sensitive underside and it’s so good it almost hurts.

“That’s it, gege, come for me. Show me how good I’m making you feel, you said I’m the best, so show me—”

Zhang Hao comes with a broken cry, spilling all over Hanbin’s hand— body strung so taut that Hanbin is forced to still inside of him while he shakes through his orgasm. Hanbin pets his damp bangs off his forehead with his clean hand, cooing gentle words into his ear that Zhang Hao can’t really decipher at the moment. When he finally goes limp, Hanbin eases him to the mattress and pulls out slowly.

The emptiness makes him whine and Hanbin’s thumb digs into his lower back, massaging out the ache. “It’s okay, I just need to….”

Zhang Hao impatiently listens to the sound of Hanbin stripping off the harness and wiping himself clean of Zhang Hao’s spend.

“Come here,” he pouts, flailing a hand in Hanbin’s general direction. “Did you come? Let me make you come too.”

Hanbin flops onto the bed next to him, panting. “I didn’t, but god, ‘m so close. Hao….”

“Let me,” Zhang Hao says, worming a palm between Hanbin’s body and the bed to get fingers around his flushed cock. “Let me, wanna see you too. You were incredible, you took such good care of me, baby, I knew you would….”

It doesn’t take much before Hanbin is coming with a jerk of his hips and a moan muffled against the pillows. Zhang Hao dips the tips of his fingers into his slit, feeling the wet of his orgasm, and tilts their heads together as Hanbin rolls onto his side, still twitching.

“That was perfect,” he sighs, throwing a leg over Hanbin’s hip even though they’re both sticky and gross and it’s too hot in this room.

“Did I sufficiently ruin you?” Hanbin asks.

Zhang Hao hums in satisfaction, nodding. “I am thoroughly ruined, good job.” He reaches up to rest a hand in Hanbin’s sweaty hair. “And it was good for you?”

Hanbin nods immediately, drawing him closer with a hand on his thigh. “Yeah, a little longer and I probably could have come just from getting to see you like that. I do wish I could have felt you because I bet you feel incredible inside, but I still loved it.”

“I wish you could have felt me too,” Zhang Hao says. “But look on the bright side, Hanbinie, we’re unlimited, we have the world at our feet. There are so many dicks we can try. Did you know there are tentacled ones?”

“Well now I do,” Hanbin says with wide eyes. “You want to try a tentacle dick?”

Zhang Hao shrugs. “I’ll try anything at least once. I bet the texture feels really good.”

Hanbin’s face scrunches but he does look intrigued so Zhang Hao files it away for a later conversation, along with the idea of a double-ended dildo, maybe one that vibrates? God, they’re going to have so much incredible sex in the future. Zhang Hao can’t wait.

“We should clean up,” Hanbin mumbles, always the responsible one.

“In a minute,” Zhang Hao. He shifts so that his softening cock is pressed up against where Hanbin is still flushed and slick and watches Hanbin’s eyelashes flutter as the sensation. “I want to stay like this a little longer.”

“Okay,” Hanbin agrees easily, even though he must be roasting. They definitely didn’t turn the A/C up high enough but they’ve been trying to avoid a ridiculous electric bill.

“I love you,” Zhang Hao continues, tracing a finger along one of Hanbin’s cheek dimples when Hanbin smiles in response. “I’m so glad I made a stupid bet with Taerae to get in your pants.”

Hanbin laughs brightly. “Me too. I still haven’t thanked him yet.”

“Please don’t,” Zhang Hao says. “He’s already insufferable.”

He called you the love of my life.

The scariest part is that it’s unquestionably true, and that really, Zhang Hao isn’t scared at all.

“I love you,” Hanbin says, kissing him. “I love you so much.”

Zhang Hao opens easily for the hot curl of his tongue, knowing they’re both far too exhausted for a second round but enjoying the languid pleasure that rolls through his stomach.

He could stay here forever, he thinks.

Just him and Sung Hanbin and this safe cocoon they’ve built together.

_ _

The start of their final semester of university is around the corner, less than a week away, and the short-term lease on their apartment is up around the same time. Which is probably for the best, since it’s a bit far from campus and Zhang Hao hates long bus rides. He knows they need to talk about it, keeps trying to broach the topic and losing courage, plagued by too many doubts.

What if Hanbin wants separate places? What if Zhang Hao loses him? What if this turned out to be a summer fling after all and Zhang Hao is going to spend the final semester of his university career nursing the worst heartbreak of his life? So he keeps mute as the days tick mercilessly down and Hanbin does the same.

But they seem destined to have life-important conversations in a 7/11 because when they’re on a late-night snack run fueled by Hanbin’s craving for shrimp crackers, Hanbin suddenly turns to him and blurts, “we’re still going to live together, right? I know we should have talked about this sooner and we’re going to have to move in the middle of starting classes, but I don’t want to stop living with you.”

All the built-up anxiety leaves Zhang Hao’s body in a dizzying rush. “Yes,” he manages, clutching Hanbin’s arm. “Yes, I want to.”

It’s been about two months and he already can’t fathom not coming home to Hanbin every day.

Hanbin pecks him on the cheek in the middle of the chip aisle and in full view of the CCTV cameras, eyes bright and misty.

His perfect, lovely boy.

_ _

Thus kicks off an insane whirlwind of frantic apartment hunting, signing a new lease, booking movers, and packing. Their new apartment is in a smaller building only a fifteen-minute walk from campus, at the top of the hill that has an incredible view of the city. They get a discount on the key money because Hanbin is Hanbin and after half an hour of conversation, the landlord is ready to adopt him as her grandson.

Zhang Hao loves it, already can’t wait to move in, even though he’ll be sad to leave the place they’ve made so many memories.

On the last night in their summer officetel, Hanbin surprises him with the corset he did indeed borrow from his dance friend again.

“I owe her so much for this,” he says as Zhang Hao tries valiantly not to drool at the sight of him in it—the line of it pushing up his pecs, the cinch of it around his pretty waist, the dark contrast of the fabric against his skin. “It was so embarrassing asking, she knew exactly what I wanted it for and she told me to just keep it.”

“She told you to keep it?” Zhang Hao says, hearing nothing else.

Hanbin rolls his eyes with a mutter of “men,” like he isn’t one and he isn’t already turned on too—a telling damp patch on the underwear he bought to match the black of the corset. Zhang Hao wants to take him apart, wants to be taken apart by him, anything and everything as long as he can get his hands all over Hanbin while it’s happening.

In the end, it’s him on his back while Hanbin fucks him open, looking like a vision over him, some flawless, higher being. Zhang Hao tangles his fingers in the strings of the corset, pulling to draw a whine out of Hanbin’s parted lips, utterly lost in Hanbin’s cock and Hanbin’s thighs and Hanbin’s chest, and just Hanbin, Hanbin, Hanbin.

“God,” he mutters. “You have no idea how good you look right now, we should film it next time so you can see, Hanbinie, you’re gorgeous—”

“You too,” Hanbin says because he can never take a compliment without giving back even more. “Love you like this, love how you take me, oh fuck—”

“Too much?” Zhang Hao asks, searching Hanbin’s face for pain after another tug on the corset.

Hanbin shakes his head. “No, I didn’t cinch it that tight, it’s fine, do it again—”

So Zhang Hao does. Until Hanbin hikes his legs up and dismantles him, fucking him hard enough that he’s crying by the time he comes and he has to assure a nervous Hanbin that he’s good, he’s amazing, Hanbin should be proud of himself for reducing him to such a mess.

Then he gets those thighs over his shoulders and his hands under the corset while he eats Hanbin out, dragging one orgasm out of him, then two, then three and Hanbin is crying too—so oversensitive he’s sobbing, so wet he’s soaked the sheets, finally pushing Zhang Hao’s face away with a whine of no more, can’t take anymore, please, gege, oh my god.

“I’m so glad you’re keeping it,” he sighs when they’ve both come down a bit and Hanbin has stripped the corset off, complaining that it’s itching now.

Hanbin snorts, fingers running through the hair at Zhang Hao’s nape. “You’re wearing it next time.”

“Oh definitely,” Zhang Hao agrees, already imagining the expression that will be on Hanbin’s face.

“God,” Hanbin groans. “We have to finish packing.”

And that ruins what’s left of the mood. Zhang Hao pouts at him for it, but he can’t be too mad because their new apartment is a little more spacious and the lease guarantees he’ll get Hanbin for at least another year.

Though he suspects, in his giddy heart, it will be a lot longer than that.

_ _

The start of classes swallows them as expected, though by unspoken agreement, they come home in the evening as much as they can, making room for each other’s textbooks on their crowded coffee table.

Zhang Hao decides that he doesn’t care about the rumor mill that churns back into motion by the end of the first week. He’s going to bring Hanbin coffee in the studio and hold his hand on the walk to the building where they both have afternoon classes, in full view of the rest of the student population.

He does still worry that Hanbin might be self-conscious, but he never seems to be. And then he’s checking the forums one day, on a break from violin practice, and sees a new thread speculating about them. It wonders if they’re dating, if it’s serious, if everyone should be mourning the removal of both campus crushes from the market.

He thinks about replying, because he’s possessive enough that he wants to stake a public claim, but then he sees a response that’s already two hours old from user beeeen_613, which happens to be the same handle as Hanbin’s Instagram.

beeeen_613: yes, we’re dating! Since last semester :)

It has dozens of replies that have gone unanswered, ranging from congratulatory, to shocked, to saddened, to even a few disgusted ones that fortunately have numerous downvotes.

Zhang Hao puts a hand over his heart, taken aback by the sudden tightness in his chest, the air turned sharp in his lungs.

His brave, perfect boy.

He sniffs—embarrassed to be almost crying even though he’s in a practice room with the door shut—and hits reply on Hanbin’s comment.

haohao_725: <3 <3 <3 (and yes, it’s serious)

Then he closes the forum and resolves never to look at it again.

When he gets home, Hanbin is already there, dozing on the sofa with his choreography notebook splayed on his chest. Zhang Hao sits right in his lap, ignoring his startled oof, and rests their foreheads together.

“Ah,” Hanbin says, reaching up to hold his hand. “I saw your reply.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Zhang Hao murmurs.

“I’ve been afraid for a long time,” Hanbin replies, rubbing a thumb along the back of Zhang Hao’s hand. “I’m tired of it. You’re not something I’m ashamed of, I don’t care who tries to make me. You said it yourself, right? We should move through the world how we want. Well, I want to move through it with you.”

“Cheesy,” Zhang Hao says, closing his eyes to hide a fresh round of tears.

“But true,” Hanbin insists. “And I’m sure we’ll be old news eventually. New campus crushes will rise, someone will get into some stupid scandal–like those two students who got caught having sex in the auditorium last year—and we’ll fade into sad obscurity. Isn’t that the celebrity gossip cycle?”

“It is,” Zhang Hao agrees.

“I thought about mentioning I’m trans too,” Hanbin continues. “But I realized no one needs to know that. I can stay private without being afraid.”

“You can,” Zhang Hao promises him. “You don’t owe anyone anything, Hanbin-ah, didn’t I tell you that, too?”

“You did,” Hanbin says and draws Zhang Hao down to lay against his chest. The notebook squishes between them and Zhang Hao removes it with a soft laugh before snuggling in again.

Hanbin is so warm. This is becoming one of his favorite places to be. He sighs in utter contentment.

“We should still post a picture of us kissing. They’ll go wild.”

Hanbin’s chest moves with his laughter. “We can save that for graduation day. Really cement our legacy.”

“Perfect,” Zhang Hao says. “Go out with a bang.”

Hanbin hums and Zhang Hao swallows his pride enough to say, “Hanbin-ah, I want to move through the world with you too.”

Hanbin kisses him, gentle and loving, and Zhang Hao’s thoughts turn hazy, ephemeral.

The love of my life.

And he feels the tender weight of it settle between his ribs.

Make a home there.