Chapter Text
Hao knows it’s going to be a bad day when he doesn’t see a balance of 100,000 won in his Venmo account on the first of the month.
Monday - 10:03 AM
Hao: of course you fucking forgot to pay child support this month
Hao: you’re such a deadbeat father
Hao: i’m giving you only one hour to venmo me
Hao: by the time i get out of my lecture it better be in my account
Hao: idiot
He sighs, shuts his phone off, and takes notes on his geology lecture that is so boring that it makes him consider clawing his eyes out.
All he can think about is Hanbin. Not because he particularly wants to. More because there’s rage that twists in his gut whenever he even thinks of his stupid perfect face: at the way he thinks he can get away with ignoring Hao, at the way he refuses to pay child support even when Hao is drowning in bills this month, at the way he’s probably out fucking a ton of guys or something instead of texting Hao back, effectively neglecting the fact that despite being separated, they still have a household to maintain.
After the lecture ends, the guy who’s been sitting next to him for the entire semester waves his hand; Hao sees it from the corner of his eye. The guy has glasses perched on his nose, a devious grin tracing his lips. Hao still doesn’t know his name this far into the semester.
He tilts his head, confused at the sudden call for his attention. The same look he used to give Hanbin when they were dating, and Hanbin would call him a puppy, kiss his face silly even when Hao protested. Thinking about that forces a frown on his face. He doesn’t want to think about that good-for-nothing deadbeat father anymore. He really should consider getting a brain lobotomy.
“Are you okay?” the guy asks. There’s a concerned undertone there.
“Yeah, why—”
Hao stares down at his hands. There’s blue ink splattered all over them from a pen that he must have exploded.
When Hao gets back from his lecture (after cleaning his hands in the run-down academic building bathrooms), he crashes on the semi-dysfunctional futon that he got on Facebook Marketplace for dirt cheap. Zero Cola crawls out of the den that is Hao’s bedroom and flocks over to him within a minute, meows until he scratches her in the place that she always loves to be scratched.
An alarm that he set right before his lecture goes off, blaring the iPhone’s default radar ringtone that annoys him to death. It’s his reminder to continue harassing Hanbin on the dot at 11:03 AM, who still has not answered any of his text messages, so startingly unlike him.
Hao smothers the worry rising in his chest, curses at his fingers that fling across the keyboard to maintain their original mission and channel all the anger he can into each message.
Monday - 11:03 AM
Hao: no venmo still?
Hao: do you want zero cola to STARVE and DIE
Hao: because thats the route youre going you cunt
Hao: i need money to pay for her food i dont get paid until next week
Hao: one more hour and i’m spamming the fuck out of your phone
Hao bites his lip a bit too hard; Hanbin isn’t here to yell at him when he does that, not anymore. Stares up at the ceiling, keeps his hand moving through Zero Cola’s black fur to prevent claws from digging into his skin.
This is really unlike Hanbin. He usually responds within an hour maximum. Even after they broke up. When they were dating, he used to respond to Hao within seconds, minutes—was chronically online just for him. That obviously changed when they broke up about six months ago, but the length to wait for Hanbin to message him back has never been this extreme and climactic.
He’s going crazy. Hanbin has to be dead or something. There’s no way in any universe he would ever take this long to respond to Hao’s message. As much as Hao calls him a deadbeat father as a stabbing remark, Hanbin has never neglected his duties of being Zero Cola’s separated father. He always gives the money to Hao on time.
His heart hammers in his chest. When he closes his eyes, all he sees is Hanbin’s dead face staring back at him. He sees scenes of a car crash, where Hanbin is driving exactly the speed limit and obeying all of the traffic laws known to mankind because he is that good of a driver, and then a semi-truck just has to head-on-collide with him, kill him to death. He sees scenes of a break-in at Hanbin’s insanely expensive apartment where he lives with Matthew, an intruder somehow skilled enough to bypass the advanced security system and receptionist at the front who only allows residents and their guests into the building unless they’re on the exclusive guest list (Hao would know). He sees himself at Hanbin’s funeral, helplessly watching the open-casket at the front, delivering a eulogy that reduces everyone to tears. It isn’t conventional for an ex-boyfriend to deliver a eulogy, but they would just have to find it in their heart to make an exception (even if Hanbin and him weren’t dating anymore, nobody can argue against the fact that he loves Hanbin more than anything, anyone. Regardless of if he bothers to pay child support or not).
That’s it. Hao wants to throw up thinking about it, doesn’t want to have Hanbin’s dead face behind his eyelids anymore.
Monday - 11:09 AM
Hao: are you okay?
Hao: hanbin i’m sorry for being mean are you okay
Hao: answer your goddamn phone
Hao: you’re worrying me are you dead or something
Hao: please don’t be dead please answer me
Hao: did you get into a car crash
Hao: did someone break into your stupidly nice apartment we get it you’re rich
Hao: i really wont forgive you ever if you die like this
Hao: i will NOT be nice to you in my eulogy i hope you know
He watches the clock on his phone, aimless. Bites all of his fingernails off until he can’t anymore.
One minute passes.
Two minutes pass.
Three minutes pass.
And then he’s out the door in his blue puffer coat. Sprinting through the streets of Seoul, all the way to the subway station.
“Zhang Hao.” He says his name sickeningly sweet because he wants to be mean.
The receptionist glares at him, averts her if-looks-could-kill gaze to the computer where she rifles through Hanbin’s apartment guest list. Hao has always known that the receptionist hated him, but Hanbin never believed him. It’s definitely because she wants to fuck Hanbin or something.
“I’m on the list,” he adds, just to flaunt that he is indeed on “The Exclusive List Of Guests Who Can Visit Hanbin’s Apartment,” even after their break up.
It takes the receptionist longer than usual to locate his name on the list, and Hao forces himself to stifle any panic in his body. If Hanbin took him off the list, that grievance would go straight to the eulogy, among a string of many other grievances.
The receptionist narrows her eyes at him. “Ah, found it. Surprised he still has you on the list,” she says, her voice sugary sweet. The edges of her lips quirk upwards, and it’s so fake that Hao wants to jump behind the counter that’s currently separating them and take her down to the ground with him.
“You can go, Zhang Hao,” she dismisses, lacking the attachment of any formalities or honorifics. Which he doesn’t even mind that much, because he has always thought the Korean honorifics system was odd in itself, but it’s more about how this is a targeted attack designed to be hostile towards him.
“Thanks.” He squares his shoulders towards the elevators, adjusts his posture. “Bitch,” he mumbles under his breath as he walks away, loud enough for the receptionist to hear.
It’s all muscle memory as he presses the button to Hanbin’s floor in the expensive elevator that muses classic cliché elevator music. There are mirrors plastered on every wall of the elevator. Hao doesn’t even have an elevator at his apartment, and he lives on the fourth floor.
Every time Hao rides the elevator to Hanbin’s floor, heat involuntarily creeps onto his cheeks. He always looks at those goddamn mirrors and thinks about that one time when they were still together and had sex in one of the elevators, how it became some sort of strange erotic game when they tried to determine if a person would walk in when the elevator door would stop at a floor and open.
It’s a secret that Hao is planning to carry to his grave. Or maybe he’ll add it into Hanbin’s eulogy, because it was his idea in the first place to have sex in the elevator. Hao definitely didn’t want to do it—not at all. Dragged against his will.
Hao speed-walks down the hallway of the 12th floor until he’s standing in front of room 1210. It’s 11:45 AM now, and it’s been a lengthy affair to get to Hanbin’s apartment by walking, taking the subway, and then walking again through the neighborhood where all the fancy financial companies agglomerate.
He checks his phone yet again. There’s no notifications overlaying his lock screen’s wallpaper of Zero Cola laying on her back in a silly pose, which means Hanbin still had not texted him back, which means Hanbin was assumedly dead in a ditch somewhere.
He lifts his hand, balls into a fist, and then knocks loud onto the door. When there’s no answer, he continues to knock, possessed by the growing dread of Hanbin really being dead.
That’s when the door swings open.
His ex-boyfriend stands there, his skin as white as a sheet. He blinks through his sleep crusted eyes, more than confused when he mumbles, “Hao?”
Hao’s heart clenches in his chest, and he releases a breath that he had been holding since he left his own apartment to hunt down Hanbin. “You’re not dead?”
“What are you talking about?” His voice is deeper than usual, gravely. It’s his sick voice. For some reason, that makes Hao panic even more, the panic of Hanbin dying smothered but promptly replaced with the panic of Hanbin being physically unwell.
“Are you sick?” he asks, even when he knows the answer. “You’re sick! Sit the fuck down, Hanbin, stop standing—“
“You’re the reason I’m standing. I was in bed before you came,” Hanbin says, and he sounds exhausted, but his tone isn’t accusatory.
“Whatever, you asshole,” Hao bites out, but it falls out of his mouth more affectionately than he intends. “You need to be horizontal right now.”
He drags Hanbin deeper into his own apartment, slams the door behind them both. It still looks moderately clean, similar to the way it looked when Hao was in Hanbin’s apartment four days ago. He forces Hanbin into his room and pushes him to the bed so he can lay down, which would be a strange picture for any pair of exes, but they are different.
“Do you have a fever?” He places his palm to Hanbin’s forehead but doesn’t feel the skin burning up beneath his hand. “Strep?”
“I haven’t gone to the doctor yet. I’m too tired,” Hanbin admits, adjusting his head on the pillow as Hao hovers over him. “Why did you come?”
Hao sticks his tongue out at him. The nerve of him to ask that question when Hao has all of the right to come and invade his apartment. “You didn’t pay your child support this month, thank you very much. Zero Cola is going to starve now.”
“Oh.” His mouth falls open for a brief second. He looks stupid but beautiful like that, as he stares up at Hao, who cages him to the bed with his hands on each side. “I’m sorry. I was sleeping. I’ll do it now,” he says, reaching for his phone on the nightstand.
Hao hates him. He hates that his simple words always somehow soften his heart and make him weak, unable to be angry at him no matter how much resolve he has. It’s undecidedly Hanbin’s worst quality, by far, if he had to choose.
“I thought you were dead. I was drafting your eulogy in my head,” he says, cheerfully. After a pause, he adds: “It was really mean.”
There’s a small barely-there smirk on Hanbin’s pink lips as he holds his phone screen to his face, with Hao still hovering over him. The warm weight of Hanbin under him is comfortable, makes him not want to move. He should unpack that in therapy. “Because I didn’t respond to your texts in two hours? You must’ve been really worried about me.”
“I wasn’t worried about you,” Hao retorts. “You being dead would just be a huge inconvenience to me. I’d have to be a single father to Zero Cola.”
Hanbin spills out a weak laugh that definitely doesn’t make Hao’s heart beat a beat too fast, clicks on his phone screen a few times until Hao’s phone rings. He digs it out from his jean’s pocket, sees the notification that Venmo user binhamster has sent him 100,000 won with the caption “sex with my ex.”
Hao tries to stifle his laugh when he reads it but fails. It’s a recurring joke between them, Venmo-ing each other with the same caption every time to scare their mutual friends that lurk in the friend activity section of Venmo. They’ll probably be receiving a berating text from them in the group chat soon.
“There, my child support has been paid,” Hanbin confirms. Then he squints more at his phone screen, scans it like he’s reading something. “You said you weren’t worried about me.”
“I wasn’t,” Hao says.
“Do you want me to MLA cite your text message? 11:09 AM, from Haogguri, ‘you’re worrying me are you dead or something.’ Maybe my reading comprehension is off, but you sound a bit worried to me.”
“That’s still my contact name?” he says, incredulous, because he doesn’t know how to defend himself against the being worried about Hanbin allegations, and he doesn’t want to address Hanbin’s sarcastic remark about having bad reading comprehension, especially when his English CSAT score is perfect, and he knows it. “You shouldn’t have a cute contact name for your ex.”
“Well, you shouldn’t be busting down the door to your ex’s apartment when he doesn’t respond after an hour, and yet here we are,” Hanbin counters.
Hao rolls his eyes, flicks his finger at Hanbin’s nose. Not enough to hurt, just enough to shut him up for a little bit. “You shouldn’t still have your ex on the exclusive guest list so he can have access to bust down the door to your apartment.”
He rises up from Hanbin’s bed, stretching his semi-numb legs. Without any words, he makes his way over to the door, ignoring the confused look glazing over Hanbin’s eyes at his retreating figure.
“Where are you going?” Hanbin shouts through the open door of his bedroom.
His ex certainly lacks a brain on occasion. “To get you soup at that soup place across from your apartment. Because you’re sick.” Duh.
“You don’t have to do that.” Hanbin adjusts his position so he’s sitting on the bed, staring at Hao through the door in an intense way.
He really doesn’t have to, but his skin is still crawling. The dread from earlier of Hanbin being dead that later transformed into the dread of Hanbin being alive but sick still hasn’t been quelled, and he blames it on how he knows all too well about Hanbin’s tendency to not take care of himself, more prone to letting the sickness fester in his body until it passes him over.
“Whatever. I’m going and coming back whether you like it or not,” he says. “I can’t believe you’re going to make me interact with that evil receptionist again. She wants you so bad.” He ignores the jealousy curling in his stomach. It really doesn’t get to him like this, usually.
“She’s not evil,” Hanbin says defensively. “And I’m not making you do anything. You’re the one with the agency here, and you’re choosing to go to the soup place.”
He ignores Hanbin’s last sentence, only focuses on his defense of the evil receptionist. “She told me today that she was surprised that I was still on your guest list,” he says, already plotting what he’ll do when he has to see her after going across the street to the soup place.
A considerate hum. “I’m surprised too, honestly,” Hanbin admits, but he’s promptly met with a pillow to his face, thrown by nobody other than Hao, who then sneaks out the door to get soup from the soup place, because Hanbin never takes care of himself, so naturally Hao has to endure that burden as his ex-boyfriend.
It’s the natural order of things around here.
“Sex with my ex? Again? Just get back together already.”
“We didn’t actually have sex,” Hao insists like he always does, but that doesn’t change the bewildered look plastered on Ricky’s face, like he’s solving an extremely difficult math problem. Furrowed eyebrows and wide eyes as he stares at the most recent Venmo caption. “It’s literally a joke.”
They’re huddled together on Taerae’s navy velvet couch, pleasantly buzzed with warm cheeks. Their friend group usually parties like this every Friday, so that’s to say it doesn’t qualify much as a party and is better characterized as a get-together of some sorts. Everybody usually drinks cheap beer or soju, plays drinking games, and eats greasy takeout food once the night stretches too long and they need something to drown the alcohol in their stomachs.
Tonight, they’re playing Beerio Kart with Gyuvin’s Nintendo Switch, a version of Mario Kart where the racers have to finish their drink before they cross the finish line and aren’t allowed to drink and drive at the same time. Hao’s already played enough to be teetering on the edge of tipsy and drunk, with a record of 3-2 in wins to losses. The floating feeling is already making him dizzy, so he opts-in to leaning against Ricky on the couch and spectating the rest of the races.
Hanbin isn’t at the party this Friday because he’s still fighting his mysterious disease that turned out to be strep throat, which was discovered when Hao finally dragged him to see a doctor. Although he’s on bed rest for the time being (doctor’s orders… and also Hao’s orders), he’s stacked with antibiotics that he has to take at various times. It may have been a blessing in disguise, because Hanbin is absolute shit at Beerio Kart, always finishing in last place even when playing against bots, which Hao has never understood because he’s a great driver in real life. But maybe real life skills don’t translate well in the video game world when under the influence of alcohol.
Ricky narrows his eyes, picks up some chips in a pink ceramic bowl that Taerae has laid out on the table in front of them. “Sure you didn’t. You two are weird as fuck.” Hao thinks he’s going to leave it at that, but Ricky decides to keep on running his mouth, like always: “We’re all starting to think it’s a bit between you two, you know.”
“A bit?” Hao tilts his head.
“Yeah. Taerae has a conspiracy theory that you two never broke up and are just acting like it for the bit.”
The loud laugh flees from Hao’s mouth before he can control it, but it’s drowned out by Gyuvin and Matthew’s emphatic shouting at the television. They’re fighting for second and first place, both of their drinks finished, but Hao can see how Gyuvin is already white girl wasted judging by the way he can’t keep himself from swaying.
“To do this for six months would be an extremely dedicated bit,” Hao admits.
Ricky rubs his finger at his brow, like he has a headache from listening to Hao, even thinking about the situation at hand. “And that still wouldn’t be above you two. That definitely sounds like something you guys would do to spice up your relationship.”
“You all are so delusional. I’m sure you have a betting pool too.” Hao grabs at a handful of chips, tosses them in his mouth. When he averts his eyes back to Ricky, he’s met with the other staring back at him, and he has the decency to look guilty, like he’s been caught. Hao rolls his eyes. “Oh, shut up, Ricky,” he says, even when Ricky technically hasn’t said anything.
Ricky shrugs. “What? I’m going to make good money from Gyuvin because he doesn’t believe it’s a bit.”
“For once in his life, Gyuvin is right,” Hao says, until he looks across the room at Gyuvin, who is yelling a ton of incomprehensible things at the top of his lungs before drinking a cup of beer, soju, and vodka mixed together. His face contorts into something really ugly after he swallows the evil alcoholic concoction, and it makes Hao want to retract his previous statement.
“Sounds a lot like what someone would say if they were lying about being in a bit,” Ricky points out.
Hao smiles sweetly, announces his exit from the conversation by pulling out his phone from his pocket and not paying Ricky any more attention. “I’m done with you,” he bites out to Ricky, navigating to his messaging thread with Hanbin, where the bulk of his phone storage lies. He needs to delete the thread at some point so he can get back 20 GB of his phone storage (he can’t even take pictures on his phone anymore), but the thought of deleting every single one of his messages with Hanbin makes him think it’d be a greater loss to humankind than the burning of the Library of Alexandria. Their texts are important historical archives.
Friday - 11:35 PM
Hao: don’t you dare forget to take your antibiotics
Hanbin: Thanks mom I won’t
Hanbin: Just took one hope you’re pleased
Hao: mom????
Hao: oedipus complex much
Hao scoffs and shakes his head, the blush (from the alcohol and the alcohol only) splattering across his cheeks. He feels insanely dizzy, and he doesn’t miss Hanbin, but he somewhat wishes that he were here so he didn’t have to deal with Ricky grilling him over nothing or Gyuvin drinking the worst mixed drink known to mankind.
Hanbin: How’s the party
Hao: “party”
Hao: it’s fine you’re not missing much
Hao: ricky and apparently all the other kids think we broke up for the bit LOL
Hanbin: Wtf why
Hao: i think it might have to do something with the “sex with my ex” venmo captions so they think we’ve been fucking with them
Hanbin: What a dedicated bit that would be
Hao: exactly what i said
Hao: what are you up to
Hanbin: Trying to find something to watch on Netflix so I can ignore my sore throat
Hao: you mean trying to find something to watch by leeching off my netflix*
Hanbin: What can I say
Hanbin: Waiting for you to get a Hulu so I can leech off that too
Hao: in your fucking dreams
“Why are you smiling at your phone?” Ricky asks cutely, invading Hao’s personal space by hooking his chin over his shoulder on the couch so he can peek at Hao’s phone screen. It’s a surveillance state out here in Taerae’s apartment.
“I’m not,” Hao lies, shoves him off. Tries to maintain his neutral face and suppress the smile that somehow always creeps onto his face when Hanbin is involved in things. “Stop being nosy, you cunt.”
“You are smiling,” Ricky sings, and he must have not learned anything, because he leans further into Hao’s personal space, knowing that Hao is soft enough to not push him twice. “Are you texting your boyfriend?”
Hao looks right at Ricky, his smile morphing into a smirk. “No, I’m texting my ex-boyfriend who isn’t actually my ex-boyfriend who I broke up with for the bit.”
That must be the end of Ricky’s bandwidth of dealing with all things Hao and Hanbin, because he grabs a handful of chips, stands up from the couch, and shoots a glare at Hao, who is still sitting and cradling his phone with his hands.
“I get a headache dealing with you,” Ricky says as his parting words, and then he ventures over to Gyuvin, who is wobbling on one of the kitchen chairs and trying to make a grand drunk speech on how they should all go to a karaoke bar.
It’s slightly concerning that the masses all somehow agree with Gyuvin’s alcohol-induced speech, because everyone ends up filing to go to the karaoke bar soon after, making sure to clean enough so Taerae, the host of all their shenanigans, doesn’t wake up in the morning with a mess.
“I think I’m going to pass,” Hao says. His social battery has been slowly declining since the start of the night when they all went out to eat together, and he misses his uncomfortable and stiff mattress, wants to sink into it and let the alcohol carry him away into sleep.
His friends protest a moderate amount to the point where Hao knows they’re only protesting so he doesn’t feel like he isn't wanted, but he appreciates the sentiment all the same. They eventually accept Hao leaving, and he boards the subway train after promising to text them when he’s back at home safe.
Hao takes a drunk shower when he’s back, his stomach still curling over with sticky heat from the many shots of soju he took during dinner and Beerio Kart. He gets into his bed with the covers pulled over his face. Zero Cola immediately joins him, jumping up and finding her way under the covers.
He opens his phone and sees the text that Hanbin sent about ten minutes ago.
Saturday - 12:17 AM
Hanbin: Matthew said he’s coming home late because they're going to a karaoke bar because Gyuvin somehow convinced them
Hanbin: Are you with them?
Hao: check my location
Hanbin: Don’t have it anymore
Oh. Hao always forgets that he stopped sharing his location with Hanbin right after the breakup, in that strange three to four week period where they weren’t speaking to each other.
He can’t tell if Hanbin is upset at that. His responses are always so goddamn vague that it makes Hao feel delusional.
Hao: oops lol
Hao: yeah im home now i didnt have the stamina for karaoke
Hanbin: Okay good
Hao: you still netflix’ing?
Hanbin: Yeah I’m watching Breaking Bad
Hanbin: I miss human contact though I can’t wait until I’m strep-free
A smile somehow finds its way onto Hao’s lips when he remembers how pouty Hanbin was when they were dating and he had to go into quarantine after catching COVID. Hao is pretty sure his phone’s screen time reports were around 11 hours every day for that entire week, constantly texting and calling Hanbin so he could kill his lonely.
Hao: poor thing you must be bored
Hanbin: I am
Hao: do you... want company?
Hanbin: Are you drunk?
Hao’s face involuntarily twists at that. It feels like an accusation. And he is drunk, thank you very much, but that isn’t the reason for why he asks Hanbin if he wants company.
Hao: yeah sooooooo
Hao: i’m fine now the shower sobered me up
Hanbin: Okay sure hyung lol
Hanbin: Company might be good
Hanbin: Netflix party?
Hao: on MY netflix account
Hao: we can’t do that because you’re on my account you need two diff netflix accounts to do that
Hanbin: Oh whatever
Hanbin: Zoom then and I can share the screen
Hao: so corporate
Hao: i’m pretty sure netflix doesn’t let you share screen on zoom bc they hate us
Hanbin: Discord?
Hao: same as above
Hanbin: Rahhhh capitalism
Hanbin: I could FaceTime you and point the camera towards the screen
Hao: you know how this problem could be so easily solved hanbin
Hanbin: How?
Hao: if you didnt leech off MY NETFLIX ACCOUNT
The night unfortunately ends with Hao watching Breaking Bad through Hanbin’s blurry iPhone camera (because, again, he doesn’t have any resolve when it comes to Hanbin), falling headfirst into slumber twenty minutes into the show, and thinking it’s all in his sleepy imagination when he hears Hanbin’s deep voice mumble the softest and most gentle, “Sweet dreams, Hao.”
A few days later, he sees Hanbin in the flesh, completely free of any bacterial infection. Earlier, Matthew had spam-texted the group chat after getting out of one of his exams, saying that he completely blew it and he needed emotional support in the form of bubble tea and his dear friends. So here they all are, huddled in a boba shop as the day approaches late afternoon. Hao is admittedly half there for Matthew, half there because he wants a sweet treat to make life worth living, and only one tenth there for Hanbin, who loved the message immediately upon Matthew sending it, which meant he was making his grand re-entrance back to society.
Hanbin walks into the shop right as Hao swallows a tapioca pearl. The plain white shirt he has is too big for him and doesn’t cling to his figure, but it dips below his collarbone line enough that Hao sees his tattoo peaking out. Gyuvin waves him over to their table in the back with an enthusiastic hand, to which he perks up and makes his way over, his cat whiskers coming out when he smiles.
When he arrives at the table, he makes small talk with everyone (yes he’s finally disease free, yes he’s sorry that he’s late he got held up at dance practice, yes he’s jealous that they went to karaoke without him because he was really looking forward to singing that new NCT song). Goes to the counter to order, picks up his drink, and then slides right next to Hao, even when there’s plenty of space near Matthew.
“You’re no longer diseased,” Hao remarks as a greeting. Keeps his voice level, even if it’s an act of effort on his part to not let any excitement bleed out.
“Haha,” Hanbin deadpans. His voice doesn’t sound sick anymore. “Don’t sound too thrilled, now.”
“Impossible,” Hao says, dripping in sarcasm, even when he wants to scream that he really is thrilled that Hanbin is strep-free.
Ricky’s eyes are trained on the two of them as they have their own private conversation to the side of the rest of the group, and Hao knows better than to trust those eyes. He scowls at Ricky from across the table as everyone animatedly talks about the newest K-Pop girl group comebacks, and Ricky simply lifts his middle finger up at him, just barely above the table so only Hao can see.
“You haven’t sent me any pictures of Zero Cola lately,” Hanbin says, lips jutting into a pout.
“You have her all of next week,” Hao points out. As the primary guardian, Hao gets Zero Cola for three weeks of the month, while Hanbin gets Zero Cola for one week of the month.
“But you get pissed at me whenever I don’t send you hourly updates on her whenever it’s my week to have her.”
Hao is literally a hypocrite. How does Hanbin not understand that after dating him for three years straight? “I’m the exception to the rule,” he simply says.
“Says who?”
“Says me, when I literally birthed Zero Cola, and the court decided that I would gain custody of her because they thought I was a better guardian.”
Really, the truth is that Hao is the one who actually adopted the cat in the first place, which is why he has more rights in their agreement. But it’s funnier to believe that he and Hanbin were actually engaged in a long-winded custody battle that wore both of them down until they came to their agreement, with jurors and lawyers and judges mediating everything.
“Something is deeply wrong with you,” Hanbin declares, but he doesn’t sound hostile at all. Normal people wouldn’t expect Hanbin to follow up with this offer after saying that there’s intrinsically something wrong with Hao, but Hao isn’t normal, and Hanbin knows that: “Do you want to try some of my drink?”
Hao nods, to which Hanbin holds the drink out to him even though Hao has two hands of his own, carefully guides the straw towards his lips. Hao takes a sip. The taste of lychee melts on his tongue.
“Mmhm, it’s good. Wow. That’s really good,” Hao says after he pulls off the straw with a nod of approval, then he mutters with his cheeks all puffed up, “I should’ve gotten that.”
“We can trade,” Hanbin suggests, like it’s that easy, even though he just ordered his drink approximately three seconds ago, so he clearly wanted that flavor above all flavors that were offered.
Hao squints at him. “But I already ate all of the tapioca in my drink.”
Hanbin quirks an eyebrow. “So?”
“But you love the tapioca.” He can’t take the tapioca pearls from Hanbin. It’s the same as stealing a dog’s favorite toy. Or dangling candy right in front of a child’s face only to not hand it over. It’s incredibly evil no matter how you spin it; there’s no justification for that sort of action.
“Just take it.” Hanbin shoves the drink in his face, already switching the drinks as Hao’s mouth falls open to protest. “Payback for me always leeching off your Netflix account.”
“Do you think your bubble tea is worth me paying 13,500 won every single month for the past three years we’ve dat—”
He’s promptly shut up from the start of his rant when Hanbin brings the drink, and thus its straw, to Hao’s gaping wide mouth, and all Hao can do is clamp his lips around the straw, his skin tingling when Hanbin has that cocky smirk playing on his pink lips, as if he has the upper hand (he does).
When Hao pulls off the straw, he immediately locks eyes with Ricky, who is staring at him like he’s amazed or disgusted or bewildered. Or maybe all of the above. Ricky then scoffs and mutters under his breath (can you call it muttering when the entire table hears?), “They make me sick.”
Some short backstory on Hao and Hanbin’s relationship. Or, what was once their relationship. With footnotes involved.
They’ve known each other for eight years. They’ve dated for three of those eight years.
They first kissed two months into those three of eight years. They had their first official date (even though they’d been technically going on dates that weren’t called dates) three months into their first year of dating. They went on their first trip together five months into their first year of dating, to Jeju.
They had sex for the first time a year into their relationship, but they had been trying before that, it just never worked. They said “I love you” for the first time when they had sex (successfully) for the first time.1 Hanbin first called Hao “jagiya” a year into their relationship. Hao first called Hanbin “bǎobèi” a year into their relationship.2
They bought couple rings two years into their relationship. They came out to their parents two years into their relationship: when Hanbin brought Hao to his hometown for Chuseok, when Hao brought Hanbin to China for Christmas.
They broke up this April, when the cherry blossoms were starting to bloom, a few weeks after their three-year anniversary. It was a mutual breakup, but Hao was the one who brought it up in the first place.3 They didn’t talk for three to four weeks immediately following their breakup, mainly due to Hanbin’s wishes.4
Hao is aware that they have an unconventional relationship for ex-boyfriends. His therapist drills that into his mind all the time. They know no boundaries, they have mutual friends who think they’re insane, and they probably still love each other.
But the truth is that their relationship has always been unconventional. A whirlwind. Something that swallowed them whole. They were always winging it, never playing by any previously established rules or social conventions.
So they’re stuck in this gray area of exes-who-are-not-exes, and Hao doesn’t know if they’ll ever leave it. They made a stupid, terrible, horrible mistake that they both don’t know how to reverse.
It’s easier to pretend that they’re together, so they say too many inappropriate things that cross the line, they text each other far too often than what is socially acceptable, they continue to show their care in the most silent ways, even when they’re bursting at the seams to not say “I love you.”
But Hao has a secret. He says the words when nobody is listening, not even Hanbin. Silently hopes that it will somehow melt into him and trickle through his brain, and Hanbin will know he is loved by Hao, even when the words are said when he’s unconscious.
He’s said “I love you” when they were having a movie night, and Hanbin fell asleep when his head just happened to fall onto Hao’s shoulder.
He’s said “I love you” when Hanbin got too drunk off strawberry soju that one time, and he tucked him into his bed after helping Matthew carry him back home, left behind a glass of water and ibuprofen on his nightstand to alleviate a potential hangover.
He’s said “I love you” when Hanbin passed out from dehydration at dance practice, called over to the infirmary because Hao is still somehow listed as his emergency contact, cursing Hanbin for making it a habit to only drink coke zero and not take care of himself.
I love you.
Like a prayer, like an oath, like a promise.
1. Hao was the first one to say it. Hanbin said it immediately after, then got mad that Hao beat him to it. return to text
2. This was immediately said in response to Hanbin calling him jagiya. return to text
3. If there’s one thing in Hao’s life that he regrets, it’s being the first to bring up the idea of breaking up. return to text
4. They were the worst three to four weeks of Hao’s life. return to text