Archive of Our Own

It turns out that after years of trying to get the group back together, it’d be a wedding that brings them all back.

The first member he sees is Ricky, because of course he does. Even with all his global ambassador duties and acting roles, Quanrui still manages to find time to bug him, bombing his phone with messages the second he’s back in the country. He can’t ever seem to escape the blond even off-duty either, the man practically living at his apartment. It’s a bit weird calling him Ricky, though; it’s been years since he’s referred to the blond with that name, the more familiar ‘Quanrui’ rolling off his tongue easily as they settled into their careers back at home. 

He tries not to notice the way Quanrui’s eyes light up whenever he calls him by name, and the way he seeks out Hao in all the events they attend at the same time.

“Hao-ge,” he calls from his seat, still keeping up that unflappably cool facade that he likes to portray whenever he’s out in public. He’s relaxed as he pours himself a glass of the complimentary champagne, sunglasses still on despite them already being in the plane. The leather jacket that hangs off his broad frame clashes badly with the rest of his ensemble, the material worn enough to let one know that it was probably something old, yet still cherished. 

Still, it is familiar, as if it was something Hao must remember him wearing, having known Quanrui for so long.

It takes Zhang Hao a while to remember that it’d been the one Gyuvin had given him at their last party as ZEROBASEONE, the night before the long-awaited disbandment notice. Quanrui had worn it for weeks following their return to China, Yuehua wasting no time in shipping them home to kickstart their careers in the Chinese entertainment industry. 

(Time is money, after all, he remembers the CEO greeting him as they step off of their flight, that’s why you’re off to record your solo debut right after this! 

And as for you, the CEO turns to Quanrui, you have a contract with Saint Laurent sitting pretty in my office, right now!

But what about the others back in Korea, he remembers Quanrui replying, his eyes heavily expectant. They had assumed the flight back home had been just for a vacation, and then they’d come back to redebut with the others.

Well, of course, they’ll do their own thing, just like you are!

When asked when they’ll start preparations for their group debut, the CEO just laughs. 

Two weeks later, an announcement is released saying that Gyuvin and Yujin, alongside Yunseo and Seungeon, will be debuting in a group together.

He and Quanrui just watch from the sidelines.)

Quanrui raises a brow at the violin case hanging off his shoulder, seemingly able to immediately recognize it at first glance. Hao can feel his judgemental gaze roam the time-worn case, noticeably old yet intact enough that it was obviously treated with love and care. What’s most damning is the K-group sticker plastered at the front, the blue and shininess of it fading with time but still mostly there. He has to stop himself from moving the case entirely to block it from Quanri’s view, the embarrassment turning his ears a soft red.

“Will you really play at his wedding?” Quanrui starts, and Hao can’t help but avoid his judgmental, yet knowing gaze. Over time, Quanrui has learned to slowly but surely read his cues, the nuances that made him Zhang Hao. He knows that if he looks at Quanrui now, the taller man would find nothing but the truth in his eyes.

“I promised, you know.”

But some promises aren’t meant to be kept, a voice pipes up from the back of his mind, spoken in a language that he has long since uttered, the syllables now foreign and unfamiliar to him. It strangely sounds like Gunwook, that is, the Gunwook he last met three years ago when work brought the boy to China. God, has it really been that long?

“But with that violin? Really?” Quanrui pesters, emphasizing ‘that’ as if the violin on his back was something vile that shouldn’t have been allowed back out into the sunlight. As if the memories associated with it are too heavy for even Quanrui to bear, preferring to keep them—along with the violin—hidden away, locked up in a part of his mind that he’d only visit once he was too deep in his drinks to properly function.

He’s had a variety of violins gifted to him over the past few years, enough to warrant a room just dedicated for them in the new penthouse he’s recently moved into. He keeps almost all of them there, the star of the show being the Stradivarius Quanrui had gifted him on the fifth anniversary of their return home to China. 

There is only one that he keeps in a case stored in the back of his closet.

(What is going on with him, he remembers Kuanjui say as the shorter man walks around his apartment, clad in only a robe, entering what he dubbed as the violin room and seeing the Stradivarius on display. 

Red marks bloom on his neck and exposed chest as he surveys the violin, the remnants of when Zhang Hao bent him over the bed and fucked him after a schedule hadn’t gone as well as he had hoped. Hao thinks there’s still cum caked on the back of Jui’s thighs, but he doesn’t bother cleaning it up. They’ll just become dirty again, anyway.

You see the way he looks at you, right, Kuanjui says after some time, his fingers caressing the violin’s body, the way he’s looked at you for months now.

He remembers being unable to say anything, except: It’s not like that. You know I only see him as a brother. Of course, I’d treat him well.

But does he know that? Kuanjui quips back, a singular eyebrow raising.

Hao raises an eyebrow back, It’s just the attachment, Jui. When we came back, we only had each other. He’s confusing familiarity for whatever he thinks he’s feeling.

He does not mention the way Quanrui had broken down a month after they had come home, clutching a leather jacket to his chest as he mumbled unintelligibly. It wasn't his story to tell, after all.

I mean, you do have a track record, Hao, Kuanjui continues, and he knows where this is going. Kuanjui always tries to bring him up whenever they get together, never mind the fact that he’s got Zhang Hao’s cum still warm inside him, the mess of their fuck still fresh on the bed. 

Drop it, he remembers saying instead, crossing the room to plant a harsh kiss on Kuanjui’s neck. He doesn’t know why Kuanjui always bothers to mention him and ruin the peace Hao has established for himself in the past few years. Doesn’t know why Kuanjui needs to always bring him up, when they could just fuck.

Kuanjui moans, and Hao backs him up against the wall.)

“Again, I promised him, Quanrui.”

Quanrui opens his mouth to rebut, but ringing is heard over the speakers, the pilot’s voice soon following: Good morning. ladies and gentlemen. Welcome aboard, Air China flight 127, bound for Seoul.

“Drop it.”

Quanrui does. He pours Hao a glass of champagne, instead.

His phone pings, and when he looks it’s a message from Kuanjui. Good luck, it reads, don’t do anything stupid.

Zhang Hao downs the glass in one big gulp. Then he asks for more. Thank god for first class.

—

Hanbin gifts him the violin right after the title track of their first album hits number one on Melon.

“Hyung, come here!” he hears Hanbin whisper-shout through the slightly open door of his, Jiwoong and Matthew’s room, an excited smile on his face as he gestures frantically. Zhang Hao hears Matthew’s snores cease for a second, the younger boy making a confused sound, and he turns towards Hanbin with a frown, disapproving of his actions. 

Hanbin only gives him a sheepish grin, but continues to gesture-call for him, anyway. Like always, Hao is helpless to follow, standing up from the bed to approach the boy. Goosebumps  rise on his legs from the sudden onslaught of cold air as he leaves the safety of his weighted blanket, but he pays it no mind as he closes the door behind him.

“Hyung, let’s go!” Hanbin grabs his hand and drags him toward the living room. Hao notices that it’s nearly midnight when he looks up at the clock, and he internally cringes at the eyebags he knows he’ll have once day breaks and they’re off to another MCountdown recording. 

The makeup noonas are going to kill me, he thinks, as Hanbin sits him down on the sofa and goes back to his room, muttering something about gifts and not enough time. In the downtime between him sitting down and Hanbin leaving, Hao can’t help but glance warily toward the door, double-checking the many locks, despite his bad eyesight. It had been a new habit that he’d picked up, the anxiety of always being watched at an all time high even in the comfort of the dorms.

A few months ago, a sasaeng had broken in and stolen his violin, the one prized possession he brought to Korea. He had been inconsolable for weeks, desperate to get it back, only for the police to turn up with nothing. Zhang Hao distinctly remembers the feeling of hopelessness that swallowed him up in that very moment, feeling more unsafe in his life than he ever did. 

If someone can just waltz in and steal my violin from me like it was nothing, who’s to say they couldn’t steal my career—my passion— from me just as easily?

“Hyung?” he hears Hanbin pad towards him, something held behind his back, “I know how much you loved your violin. And that I can’t really give it back to you, but…here.”

In Hanbin’s shaking hands is a violin case, obviously new from the way it glistens and the absence of any scratch marks. Hao cannot do anything else but gasp, as Hanbin stands before him with his head bowed low, hands still shaking. From the weight of the instrument, or from sheer nerves, Hao does not know.

“Bin-ah…” is all Hao can say, his voice shaking as what is happening finally sinks in. 

Hanbin is giving him a violin. A violin. The instrument that he had loved and lost, something that he had resigned himself to pushing aside in favor of the idol life. The calluses on his fingers exchanged for marks  on his feet and sore throats, feeling like the instrument had no place in his life ever since that damned sasaeng had ruined everything.

“I…I don’t know what to say, Hanbin. This is too much, I,” his voice shakes as he addresses Hanbin, the younger boy finally meeting his eyes and sitting next to him. This close, he can see the way Hanbin’s cheeks crinkle as he softly smiles, depositing the case on Hao’s lap.

Zhang Hao opens the case, and there it is, his boyhood and his love sitting pretty in the case before him, and he can’t help but be transported back in time to when he got his first violin. The same overwhelming emotions threaten to overcome him now as tears start to build up in his eyes. It’s Hanbin’s hand, though, grounding as he rests it in Hao’s, that makes the dam burst.

“Aiya, Hao-ge, why are you crying? Isn’t it a pretty gift? Happy late birthday, ge,” Hanbin coos, running his hand through Hao’s hair as the older boy sobs, tears hitting the lacquer of the violin like spring rain. 

He can’t say anything, too busy sobbing his heart out as Hanbin carefully moves the violin aside to draw him in a hug. He thinks he’s staining Hanbin’s shirt with his tears now, but he’ll apologize for it later when he’s all calmed down. Right now, all he can say is two words, over and over, while Hanbin caresses the back of his head.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you. Hanbin-ah, thank you.”

Time passed just like that, with Hao in Hanbin’s arms as the older man slowly calms down, the only evidence of his sobs from earlier the redness of his ears and the tear tracks left on his cheeks. He thinks his crying from earlier had been pretty loud, and for once, is grateful that the other members are deep sleepers. He can’t imagine the embarrassment he’d face if Gyuvin, or God help him, Taerae was awake, the younger boy now comfortable enough with him to tease him incessantly.

“Seriously, Hanbin, this is too much. I don’t know how to repay this,” he says, flustered by the thought and money put into the gift. He knows how expensive violins are, especially if they’re like the one Hanbin gave him. His mind is spinning.

“Like I said, Hao-ge. It’s a gift. A gift for your birthday. But if you want, well, you can pay me back with a song,” Hanbin smiles, and Hao decides, fuck it. If Sung Hanbin wanted a song at ass’o clock in the morning, then Zhang Hao would give him a fucking sonata.

Hao puts the bow to the strings and tests it, the resulting sound ringing throughout the otherwise silent dorm. It’s in perfect condition, if not in need of some tuning.

“Play me something, hyung!”

“Bin-ah,” he starts, overwhelmed with an emotion that he can not refuses to name, feeling like there’s a lump in his throat that he can not swallow, “do you remember the piece I was talking about in our hotel room in Hong Kong?”

“Ah,” Hanbin pauses for a second and gets a far away look on his face. He looks so serious, as if remembering a piece Hao offhandedly mentioned during a post-concert cooldown was as important as memorizing lines for a drama, “what was it again?”

Hao tries to interrupt, but Hanbin shushes him. He’s focused, as if he’s going through the Library of Zhang Hao in his head and he’s still sorting through the archives. Hao thinks it cute, especially when Hanbin’s eyes light up when he finally remembers the piece, widening just the slightest bit as his mouth forms a perfect circle. Hao thinks he kind of looks like an emoji.

“Salut d’Amour, was it?” Hanbin asks, voice stumbling over the French but still saying it right enough to be understood, “I don’t really know how to say it, but it’s Love’s Greeting, right?”

Hao feels that lump in his throat again, as he watches Hanbin’s self-satisfied smile widen when he nods his head. There are words begging to come out of his mouth as Hanbin looks at him expectantly.

I lov— his mind seems to want to scream out, and it takes everything in Zhang Hao to push it down and compose himself.

You are an idol, he reminds himself as he busies himself with tuning the violin in his hands, Hanbin’s eyes tracking his every moment, and he is one, too. Control yourself.

He tests the instrument out again, once more to check if it is perfectly tuned. It rings out prettily, as if begging to be played.

“Ah, just so you know, I haven’t really mastered this one yet,” he starts, but Hanbin only shakes his head, whisker dimples on display again as he smiles at Hao.

“You’ll do great, hyung. I believe in you,” he smiles, and Hao believes him. He thinks that even if all else fails, he’d always end up believing in Hanbin, as long as the younger boy smiles at him in that way, with love respect and adoration admiration clear in his eyes.

That lump is back again, only this time it’s bigger and more forceful. Hao knows that if he opens his mouth, it’ll all come out, a word vomit of Sung Hanbin’s name and that blasted word starting with the letter l. He knows that if he does, he can’t ever take it back, and everything he and Hanbin have ever worked for will slowly go down the drain. 

You are an idol, he repeats in his head as he readies to play, control yourself.

He looks back up again. Hanbin is smiling, leaning forward as if doing so can help him hear the music better.

Hao can’t help himself. He pokes Hanbin’s cheek dimple.

Then he starts to play.

—

The crowd that greets them at Incheon is far beyond Zhang Hao’s expectations. 

It’s a mess of microphones and cameras, reporters and fansite masters pushing and shoving as they try to get closer to him and Quanrui. Hao thinks he can see some of his old fans in the throng of people, their cameras still pointed only at him. For a minute he’s transported back in time and he’s ZEROBASEONE’s Zhang Hao again, center and main vocal, not the Zhang Hao who’s due to come back to China in two days to start filming for his next drama. The Zhang Hao who would memorize lyrics and stage expressions, not stacks upon stacks of cheesy romantic lines that he’s expected to deliver with a straight face.

“Haohao! Haohao! Jjangguri!” he hears a fansite screech, and he’s thankful that years upon years of media training prevent him from cringing, instead turning to the fan and giving them a simple peace sign. It had been years since he’d been called anything but Hao, the Jjangguri nickname throwing him so far off of left field that he’s almost overwhelmed by it.

So much has changed, but some things still remain the same, he thinks as he hears reporters still mispronounce his name even after all this time, their microphones shoved into his face as they ask questions upon questions about his return, why he only came back to Korea now, what keeps him so busy back in China. Again, Hao thanks the stars for his rigorous media training, as he waves them all off with a placid face, careful to not respond in a way that would incriminate him for the rest of his two-day stay. He’d only come back to attend the wedding, after all. Better to not do anything that would drastically affect his career while he’s at it.

Quanrui finds his hand in the commotion, and the younger man’s grip on it is tight as he guides both himself and his Hao-ge to the airport exit where the van is waiting, bodyguards on all their sides helping them push through the crowd. 

“Are you okay, ge?” because Quanrui knows that even until now, he’s still apprehensive when it comes to crowds, the feeling of everybody’s eyes and hands on you something that causes his stomach to churn uncontrollably. He’d never truly recovered from the scare of having a sasaeng break in and steal his violin back in his ZB1 days, and Quanrui knows that crowds like this only worsen the simmering anxiety that Hao feels on his schedules.

“Hmm,” he hums back, “Let’s just go.”

Hao knows that by tomorrow, these pictures of Quanrui holding his hand will go viral on the Internet, Twitter and Weibo exploding over another ‘Hariboz’ interaction, even if the only times they’ve really been separated over the past few years are when Quanrui has to go to Fashion Week as part of his YSL ambassadorship.

Well, any publicity is good publicity, he surmises even as he does put some distance between them, loosening Quanrui’s grip just the slightest bit. He thinks he hears Kuanjui’s voice in his ear as he does so, his best friend’s ‘ be careful’ playing in his mind as they reach the van that was to take them straight to the hotel where they would be staying.

“What do you think happens next?” Quanrui asks as the driver enters the freeway, carefully enunciating the Korean he hasn’t spoken in nearly five years, the syllables now made unfamiliar once again with the passage of time. Hao had asked him on the plane that they start speaking the language as soon as they landed, if only to practice their one rusty skills. 

I’d probably have to start referring to him as Ricky again, too, he thinks, since all of their friends here refer to him as such. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’ll probably sleep a little when we get to the hotel. Get dressed, make sure my violin is tuned and then it’s off to the rehearsal dinner,” he replies, emphasizing his points by listing them off of his hand. Quanrui ( Ricky, his inner voice says, you have to start calling him that) listens intently, because he always does.

“You say that as if Gyuvin and the others aren’t going to attack us once we step off this van,” Ricky chuckles as he turns on his phone, showing Hao the countless notifications from the Korean Yuehuaz flooding his phone. The top perpetrator is one named Kim Gyuvin, whose messages to Ricky had reached the low hundreds.

Kim Gyuvin: Ya, where are you both? 

Kim Gyuvin: Yujin’s acting like a kid again ㅋㅋㅋ

Kim Gyuvin: Help, Seungeon can only take so much whining before he snaps ㅎㅎ

Kim Gyuvin: I don’t know where Yunseo is

Kim Gyuvin: YA, SHIM RICKY.

Kim Gyuvin: SOS.

Zhang Hao simply sighs. Some things never change.

—

“Hyung, stick close to me,” Hanbin mutters as he grabs Hao's hand, the bodyguards on either side doing their best to ward off any wandering hands or stray cameras as they rush inside the airport. Times like these, Hao forgets that he’s a centimeter or two taller than Hanbin, the younger boy immediately using his body as a shield against the throngs of people crowding around them. He feels a lump grow in his throat, small enough that he can ignore it, as he’s jostled by a fansite before the bodyguard beside him throws them off.

Looking around, he sees Gyuvin do the same thing to Yujin, his eyes meeting the maknae’s as they pass by each other, the entire group and their accompanying staff zooming through the airport so they could catch their flight. He’s barely able to nod at him before Yujin is whisked away through the terminal gates, Gyuvin following closely behind. Fans follow them throughout, some attempting to cross the barrier only to have security haul them back, their heavy cameras hitting the floor as they are escorted out. Hao winces as the nth camera is confiscated, the fansite attempting to fight back as one of their managers takes the device away. He thinks he recognizes them as one of Gunwook’s, probably present in the crowd during their first ever fanmeeting. The fan bursts into tears as their camera is given back sans memory disk, the pictures they camped all night and mobbed people for all gone like bubbles in the wind.

Hao can’t find it in himself to feel bad for them, seeing Gunwook rub his side from beyond the border after being hit in the side by one of the cameras following them. Even if the fansite hadn’t been directly responsible for his dongsaeng’s pain, they had partaken in the mob, anyway. He squints from behind his glasses as he hears another person screech as they’re thrown back, the sound near enough to irritate his ears. God, he wishes he’d taken his headphones with him. 

“Don’t let go of my hand, hyung,” Hanbin mutters imperceptibly, as a throng of fans block them from the gates, the rest of the members all safely escorted. Hao sees Matthew and Jiwoong worriedly look at them from beyond the barrier, their manager approaching airport security for help. Reporters and fans jostle them from all sides, but through it all, Hanbin doesn’t let go of his hand. Impossibly, he feels as if Hanbin holds his hand even tighter, the distance between them almost nonexistent as they try to get through the crowd.

Hao feels the stares of everybody in the vicinity on him—on them—and his skin burns from where it touches Hanbin’s, the cameras pointed at their joined hands making him feel like he had committed some crime. He can feel the pressure on his shoulders feel heavier, and the lump in his throat grows impossibly as more cameras flash on the both of them, the voices drowning out all his thoughts until they’re all he can hear. His vision blurs for a second, and then he’s back, the camera flashes irritating his eyes. His hands are shaking. 

“Ah, they’re holding hands!”

“Centerz! Haobin! Haobin!”

“Oh my, they’re so close…”

“Bin-ah, Hao-ah, tietie please!”

Their entwined hands feel hotter than ever, and Hao is sure that if he looks, there’d be a burn mark there, incriminating him for holding someone’s—a boy’s—hand. He turns to let go, but Hanbin, impossibly, holds on tighter.

“We’re almost there, hyung,” he looks back, and from behind his mask, Hao can see his mouth form a slight smile, tired but still trying to be comforting, “don’t let go now.”

He thinks some fans hear it as their screams grow impossibly louder. Hao knows that this moment is already growing viral as they speak, trending on Twitter and Weibo and Tiktok and god knows where else, never mind the fact that it all happened because they were mobbed, never mind that people’s spaces were invaded. 

Hao suddenly feels so, so tired.

“Are you okay, hyung?” Hanbin asks him as they finally cross the barrier, the rest of the members approaching them. 

“I need a moment, but,” is what he responds, because even if he wants to, he could never really lie to Hanbin, not really, “thank you for being there, Bin-ah.”

Taerae hands both of them a water bottle. Zhang Hao drinks it all in one gulp, and crushes the bottle. His hands are still shaking. 

—

ZEROBASEONE’s long-awaited reunion happens in a hotel, the hall decorated to host the rehearsal dinner before the wedding the next day. Gyuvin is the first member that he sees, the idol-turned-actor waving his hands vigorously as he spots him and Ricky. He looks good, if not a little tired, the past few years obviously being kind to him. They haven’t spoken in a while, both busy with their personal schedules, but he’s watched the first episode of Gyuvin’s newest drama, a mystery thriller where he plays the protagonist and the antagonist, a challenging dual role that he bears wonderfully. Zhang Hao is happy for him.

“Ya, Shim Ricky!” Gyuvin shouts out, actor propriety all turned to dust as he stands before his age mate, smacking the top of Ricky’s perfectly mussed hair, “why didn’t you answer my messages?!”

Ricky simply shakes his head, and Gyuvin turns to Zhang Hao, who watches the whole thing from the side, content to wait for his turn, “And you! Hao hyung!”

“Gyuvin-ah!” he parrots back, tone and all, because there’s something about Gyuvin that makes him forget the years between them. Being here, teasing him and seeing him smack Ricky over the top of his head like the way he used to, it’s almost like they’re back at that dingy practice room in Yuehua, sweat dripping trickling on the floor as they finish another round of ‘Kick It.’

“It’s been such a long time, hyung! And you don’t even give me a hug,” Gyuvin pouts, and that’s all it takes for Hao to envelop him in a hug, needing to slightly stand on his tiptoes to nestle his head against Gyuvin’s neck. Gyuvin is taller than both of them now, hitting a late growth spurt a year after debuting in the Yuehua boy group, standing at a towering 190 centimeters. Hao can’t help but feel his heart ache at the obvious change in physicality, but it’s soothed by the fact that regardless, at his core, Gyuvin is still the same.

“I missed you, Hao-hyung,” he hears Gyuvin mutter into his ear, and Hao only hugs him tighter.

“Hyungs!” he hears a familiar voice call, and he turns from Gyuvin’s embrace to see Yujin running towards them, the big smile on his face contrasting with the stiff suit he wears. Impossibly, Hao’s heart aches even more, seeing his littlest maknae all grown up, towering over him and only being a few centimeters shorter than Gyuvin.

Yujin bypasses Ricky’s hug and runs straight to Hao, slightly lifting him off the ground as he exclaims another “Hao hyung!” loud enough to get the attention of the people nearby. For once in his life, Hao does not care about the attention, content to hug Yujin back for a few seconds more before the maknae sets him back down, a big smile on his face.

“Hyung, I really missed you,” Yujin smiles and Hao feels himself tear up, overwhelmed at seeing the kids he grew up with—practically raised— all grown up, standing together all before him. Gyuvin, Ricky, Yujin. His Yuehuaz. He swallows past the slowly forming lump in his throat. He loves them all so much.

“Ya, Han Yujin! You’ve grown taller,” is what he replies, and he finds that he again needs to stand on his tiptoes to try and ruffle Yujin’s hair. God, has it really been that long?

“I can’t stay the same height forever, hyung!” Yujin whines, and again, Hao is reminded that even if they’d grown taller and broader, they’re still the same kids he took care of years ago, the Gyuvin and Yujin that clung to him on their last day as ZB1, making him promise that he’d come back soon. They'll debut together after all, right, hyung?

Hao is sorry that he wasn’t able to fulfill his promise.

He’s about to tear up again, the lump in his throat about to give in, before he hears another voice call, “Ya! Why are you two hogging Hao-hyung?”

He looks to the side and sees Gunwook and Taerae together, the latter holding a glass of champagne close to his chest as they wait for him to notice them. Ricky is off to the side, conversing with Jiwoong and Matthew about who knows what.

“Hyung!” Gunwook exclaims, smile as bright as the day ZEROBASEONE had been formed, making the same grabby hands at him, “You’re back!”

“You’re acting like I died, Gunwookie,” he quips back, but is quick to hug the tall man to his chest, “We saw each other recently!”

“Yeah, if by recent you mean three years ago, hyung,” Gunwook rolls his eyes in jest, as he gestures for a passing by waiter to give them some drinks. Hao thinks that of all of them, Gunwook is the one that’s changed the least, muscles notwithstanding. Hao remembers listening to one of his compositions during a break in filming once, the single unexpectedly taking Billboard by storm. Seeing Gunwook all settled, finding success in the things he loves, wild energy not subdued but simply contained, Hao can’t help but feel his chest swell with pride. Another one of his kids, finding their place in life.

“Yeah, hyung. You’ve been MIA all this time, I’ve seen Ricky more times than you!” another joking voice calls out from beside him, and Hao turns to Taerae, the champagne glass he was holding replaced by a small girl in a pink princess dress, wide eyes looking at him.

“And who’s this?” he crouches down to be eye level with the girl, who stares at him for a moment before hiding behind Taerae’s legs, shyly peeking back every once in a while. She has Taerae’s eyes, he notes, but the nose is completely different. He smiles a little smile at her, waving a little, and though shy, the girl smiles and waves back.

Ah, she has his smile.

“This is Narae,” Taerae introduces the little girl, running a hand through her loose hair as he does so, “and Narae-ah, this is Hao-samchon. Remember the videos of papa that you like to watch? The ones mama shows you? Don’t you recognize him?”

The little girl gasps and points excitedly at Hao, the small smile making way for a bigger grin as she recognizes him from what he supposes is video recordings of their old performances. Hao gasps back, and the girl giggles, seemingly getting ready to bust out a tune.

“But I'm okay because you are here to hold me tight,” she starts to sing, body wiggling around in the approximation of Hao’s part in the Here I Am bridge. The pronunciation is a little off, her lack of front teeth making some of the words slurred, but her voice is loud, still, so much like her father who had taken every opportunity he could to sing his heart out. Hao’s heart squeezes for a little bit, and his smile widens, completely taken by Taerae’s charming little girl. 

“Thank you, I'll be here only for you, I'm here for you,” he sings along, and Narae claps, delighted to finish the part with her newly found Hao-samchon. 

“She’s delightful, Taerae-ah,” he says as Narae is escorted back to her mother by Gunwook, the tall man carrying the little girl in his arms. It’s almost comical, the way Narae looks even younger in Gunwook’s arms, the producer laughing along at Narae’s babblings. Hao thinks he can see Gunwook babble back, and the two talk as they approach Taerae’s wife, who waits at the table. She sees Hao looking and waves, a gentle smile on her face as her attention shifts to her little girl in her Gunwook-samchon’s arms.

“She’s something, that’s for sure,” Taerae smiles as he watches his daughter reunite with her mom, Narae still babbling away, seemingly about the new uncles she met while with her dad. Hao notes that out of all of them, Taerae is the one that’s changed the most, whatever edges he had softened by marriage, and subsequently, fatherhood. He remembers the Taerae from a few years ago, after news of his secret marriage had broken out, and how that man from before is completely different from the man he is today, more settled and looking less like he didn't want to be there in the room, if at all. Hao hadn’t physically been there for him, stuck filming a movie three time zones away, but he had comforted Taerae all the same, losing sleep just to listen to the younger man cry about his frustrations and the way the media had, at the time, ruined him for the sake of clicks and likes. 

Not for the first time, Hao can’t help but feel happy for him, and the way he found his place in the world.

“Are you talking about Narae-ah?” someone pipes up from beside him, and he turns to see Matthew right beside him, the shorter man flanked by Jiwoong on his other side. The older male gives him a little smile but continues to stay silent, sipping his drink and letting Matthew take the lead, “She’s cute, isn’t she?”

“Matthew-ya, I missed you,” Hao starts and envelops Matthew in a tight embrace, delighted to find that, at last, someone had remained the same height that they were all those years ago. The Canadian smiles brightly and hugs him back even tighter, his arm muscles squeezing Hao thoroughly.

“Hao-hyung, it’s been so long!” Matthew exclaims, Jiwoong nodding in assent beside him. Hao notices a glint on Matthew’s finger as his arms flail about, going on and on about the things he missed while he was away making a name for himself in China.

“Ah! Let me see the ring, quick, quick,” he interrupts but Matthew simply smiles and raises his left hand, the diamond encrusted silver band glinting beautifully as the light hits it. Beside him, Jiwoong remains silent but sports a quiet look of pride on his face, angling his body towards Matthew as the shorter boy shows off the band on his finger.

“Oh, it’s beautiful, Matthew-ya,” is all he can say, because it truly is, the band sporting a few hundred little diamonds that caught the light beautifully, “How long has it been? When’s the wedding?”

“It’s been three months,” Jiwoong replies, raising his hand onto Matthew’s shoulder to showcase a band on his ring finger, similar to the one on Matthew’s, “And the wedding’s next year. Didn’t really want to hold it this year, because you know ,” he motions to the festivities going on around them. 

“And we want to wait,” Matthew quips, the hand he was raising settling on the one Jiwoong has on his shoulder. Like this, Hao can see the way the both of them had settled, their love not the burning inferno it was during their ZEROBASEONE days, but a more subdued flame. He sees Matthew slightly relax into Jiwoong as the older man’s other hand settles on the Canadian’s waist, “we’re still waiting for Jiwoon-hyung’s permanent residency application to be approved.”

"But what about Amazing Saturday?" Hao had heard that Jiwoong had scored a permanent position on the show, something that they did not expect after the chaos that followed him as soon as he and Matthew had come out. 

"Ah, we're still staying here, hyung," Matthew smiles, "but we want the whole wedding shebang, you know? Legal binds and stuff. And we can't exactly get that here."

Matthew and Jiwoong share a look, and then they both laugh, almost as if they had a conversation based on shared looks alone.

As he looks at the two lovebirds, Hao can’t help but be reminded of how they started out, the shy glances and fanservice during Boys Planet giving way to a fiery romance that crashed and burned while they were in ZB1. He remembers consoling Matthew as the younger boy sobbed in his arms after he and Jiwoong had broken up again, the endless warnings from the company to keep whatever it was between them tight under wraps or else they’ll risk not only losing their careers, but the others’ careers, too. He remembers the scandal that broke out when the two had come out a few years ago, the mess that had followed. It had been a tough time.

(Seeing them now, happy and in love and about to get married, Hao can’t help but imagine another pair in their place. So similar, yet so different. A Korean and a foreigner. K-group and G-group. Hyung and dongsaeng. 

Oh, how things fall so differently for people so similar.)

“Don’t forget to invite me, okay?” he jokes, and he sees Matthew’s eyes soften as he lets go of Jiwoong’s hands to grasp Hao’s. Even after all this time, even after all the scandal and the fan outrage and the hate campaigns, Matthew is still so kind. Hao wants to protect him and Jiwoong from the world, from the industry, who made their life hell just because they loved.

“Of course, hyung,” Matthew says, almost comforting if not for the mischievous glint in his eye, “I’ll even let you bring a plus one. Say, how’s Rui-hyung been?”

This little shit. 

Before Hao can reply, though, he hears Ricky call out to him, the blond carrying the violin case on his shoulder. 

“Hao-hyung!” Ricky calls out, and Hao is struck by how wrong it sounds, too used to the taller man calling him “Hao-ge.” It’s then and there that he remembers that he’s not home, that he’s in a foreign country that only seemed like home all because he surrounded himself with people that felt like it. For a moment, as Jiwoong and Matthew talk among themselves and Hao is left standing by himself, he truly feels out of place.

“Hyung!” this time it is Gyuvin who calls out, seemingly materializing beside Ricky in the moment Hao had spaced out, “they’re asking you to play the violin, hurry up!”

And because at his core, Zhang Hao has always been a people pleaser, especially to those he loved and cared about, he agrees, easily taking the violin from Ricky and pausing for a bit to check if it’s in tune. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him as he does so, both unfamiliar and familiar gazes burning holes into his back as they wait for him to start. 

I can do this, he thinks to himself as he checks the violin for the last time, I’ve done this a hundred, a thousand times. 

Everyone in the hall cheers as Gyuvin pushes him onto the stage, the lights blinding him for a second. Like this, he almost feels naked, a hundred or so gazes trained upon him, all expectant. He thinks he can see Keita and Jeonghyeon among the crowd, part of the small group of ex-Boys Planet contestants that Hanbin had invited. He thinks he also sees Hanbin’s mom and sister too, their gazes heavier than most.

“Play the piece you did during the Star Level Test!” he hears a voice from the crowd call out, sounding a lot like Yujin. 

Beethoven’s Violin Sonata No. 5 comes as easy as breathing to him at this point, his fingers automatically finding the notes as he moves the bow across the strings. He’s been asked to perform this piece in almost every show he’s been on, the Star Level Test ultimately leaving its mark on show producers and never really leaving him alone. It’s almost muscle memory, rivaling even those of the old ZB1 dances he used to showcase, and before he knows it, the piece is finished, everybody clapping along. 

“Encore! Encore! Encore!” someone starts saying, and soon everybody is chanting along. Zhang Hao can’t find it in himself to refuse, the thrill of the stage calling to him after so long. It’d been a few months since he’d gotten to play in front of an audience, too busy filming dramas and commercials. Nobody can blame him for milking it. 

“Ah, this is actually a piece that I started learning in college, but I’ve only just mastered it now,” he says into the microphone, getting everybody’s attention. It’d be disconcerting, having everybody’s eyes on you, but being in the spotlight for almost a decade now has trained him to get used to the gazes when he’s onstage. Everybody is watching him, anyways, in one form or another. It’s better to have their attention while he’s onstage and actually wanting it, rather than them forcing it on him while he’s trying to live his life quietly. 

He steps away from the microphone to ask the pianist, who had settled in after the earlier song, if he was familiar with the piece. Thankfully, they were. 

“This is Salut D’Amour,” and the piano leads, Hao’s violin quickly following, his strokes less confident as he plays the slightly unfamiliar piece. Still, he pushes himself to continue, losing himself in the music as memories of hotel rooms and wedding talks threaten to consume him. He doesn’t notice that he’s closed his eyes until a few moments pass, too engrossed in playing to notice. He doesn’t open them in fear of losing concentration, instead choosing to focus on the piece and doing it justice. 

(He remembers playing this piece in front of Kuanjui once, the shorter man perched on the piano stool as he watched Hao practice, a strange look on his face. He had made many mistakes, then, the piece still unfamiliar and strange, his fingers not moving as fast over the fingerboard as he would like.

Didn’t you tell me you’d want this played at your wedding, once, Kuanjui had asked once he was done, fingers running through the knots in Zhang Hao’s hair as he re-tuned his violin. 

Yeah, but I don’t think I’m ever getting married, he remembers responding, letting his head fall back against his best friend’s thigh as Kuanjui continues his ministrations, I’m just not cut out for it.

In his memories, Jui hums. Then he asks: Well, why not?

I’m not exactly marriage material, you know? and Kuanjui simply hums, preferring to run his hands over Hao’s hair instead of replying. Hao leans back and meets his eyes. There’s an understanding in them that Hao knows is built on years upon years of friendship, still untainted even with all the nights between them, a constant that Hao knows will remain even as time passes and the industry exchanges him for someone younger, shinier, better.

Then that just means I’ll have to stick by you forever, then, the shorter man finally speaks, or else you’ll have to live off of takeout for the rest of your life, you ass. He continues running his hand through Hao’s hair. 

Hao remembers simply smiling back.)

The memory pushes him to play harder, fingers finding the proper positions as he lets the music and the piano guide him. It all goes well, until the hall doors open as the piece reaches its peak. Zhang Hao opens his eyes. As if by some twisted chance of fate, through the open doors comes Sung Hanbin, his bride on his arm as they enter the rehearsal dinner together.

There he is, Hao thinks, as he plays the last notes of the piece, and impossibly, his eyes meet with the wide ones of Hanbin’s, my boyhood and my love.

—

They spend their last night as ZB1 together in the dorms, bottles upon bottles of soju and beer littering the floor as they talk about anything and everything, the cake the staff ordered for them now demolished by the ravenous appetites of nine boys—now men.

It’s a happy yet somber affair, the celebrations dampened by the fact that after tonight, everything would be finally over. No more early morning breakfasts by Jiwoong, the rest of them racing to the kitchen to try and save some food for themselves. No more late night massages by Hanbin, who offered his services to anyone who’s back had started hurting after going through the same dance for the nth time. No more hearing Taerae randomly burst into song while he cleans the living room, whoever is nearby joining in until everybody in the dorm is singing along. 

It feels like the end of an era, Hao thinks, as he watches Hanbin and Matthew go head to head in finishing the shots before them, the older boy slowly turning redder and redder while the Canadian remains seemingly fine. Jiwoong is beside them, a pitcher of water on hand as shot glasses before them are emptied at a concerningly fast pace, Gyuvin and the rest of the maknaes loudly cheering on both of their hyungs. Taerae is beside him, strumming his guitar and humming quietly under his breath, having tapped out of the drinking an hour ago. 

“Go Hanbin-hyung, you can do it!” he hears Yujin cheer, the maknae nursing a glass of apple juice. 

“No, Matthew hyung, you need to catch up! I bet ten thousand won on you!” Gunwook calls out, the ‘05 liner louder with alcohol in his system. Hao sees Matthew hear this and proceed to down two shots at the same time, crying out an “I got you, Gunwookie!” at the top of his lungs right after.

Gyuvin and Ricky are off in their own world at the corner of the room, the former leaning his head on the latter’s shoulder as they converse. If Hao squints a bit, he thinks he can see their hands intertwined together, Ricky’s thumb massaging Gyuvin’s hand as he wildly gestures, arms flailing about. They’ve been weird for a few weeks now, disappearing randomly during their downtimes, only to come back a few minutes later, clothes and hair still pristine as always. Hao would think nothing of it, really, but as he sees the way Ricky looks at Gyuvin while he speaks, the way he lets Gyuvin rest his head on his shoulder even though Hao knows he gets tired easily, well. He understands. 

He decides to give them a little bit of privacy, knowing tonight would be one of the last times they’d have to converse before he and Ricky are shipped off to China for the next few weeks, the company finally giving them the chance to see their family after years of hard work. Hao knows that once they come back here, it’ll be schedule upon schedule, the company setting up the new boy group now that four of its members were free from the shackles Mnet had placed on them by being part of a project group. 

He is going to make the most out of this vacation. Then, he’ll come back, and debut with his Yuehuaz. All according to plan. 

The night progresses and soon, everybody is back in the living room, Hanbin and Matthew still out of it after drinking that many shots in succession. Jiwoong hovers around them, making them drink water every few minutes, and letting Matthew doze on his arm. Hanbin somehow finds his way next to Hao, the space next to him that was once vacated by Taerae now empty as the boy was off to terrorize Yujin.

The members make him break out the violin for the last time, and Hanbin beams as he sees the instrument he gifted perched on Hao’s shoulder. 

“Do the piece you did during the Level Test, hyung!” Yujin calls out, even as Taerae digs his fingers into his knee again and again, the maknae breaking out in little giggles as he’s tickled over and over. For someone who barely drank, Taerae acts like a menace, joining Gyuvin and Gunwook as they take turns trying to make Yujin spill his drink.

“I’d like to hear it again, Hao-ya,” Jiwoong pipes up from beside Matthew, who raises his hand in a thumbs up even as he burrows his head further into Jiwoong’s neck.

The others all exclaim their assent, Gyuvin and Gunwook the most enthusiastic as they share stories of seeing and hearing their Hao hyung play for the first time. Beside them, Ricky softly nods, this time having his head rested on Gyuvin’s shoulder instead of the other way around. Curiously, a new leather jacket is placed over his shoulders to shield him from the cold of the air conditioned dorm.

And because Hao cares for them, because he loves them, because they’re his little family that granted him warmth in the cold city of Seoul, South Korea, he plays. He plays and plays again, song after song, classical to K-pop, until he feels new calluses growing on his fingers.

He plays until slowly, everyone is fast asleep, piled on top of each other in a cuddle pile surrounded by takeout and bottles of soju. He thinks he can hear Yujin and Jiwoong start to snore, Matthew following soon after. 

It isn’t until he hears a slight noise from beside him that he realizes Hanbin is still awake, albeit still drunk after taking on Matthew’s bet that he could drink more shots than him in under a minute. Hanbin makes another noise again, and Hao rushes to get him a glass of water from the kitchen.

“Bin-ah, drink up,” he coaxes, gently tilting Hanbin’s head up to get him to drink. This close, he can see Hanbin’s slightly out of focus eyes, still pretty even under the influence of alcohol. Hao can see he’s red, naturally rosy cheeks now a fiery red matching those of his ears. 

If he’d allow himself, he might even think it’s cute. 

“Hyung,” Hanbin whines out, and Hao smiles. 

“Bin,” he whines back, same tone and all.

“Hyung.”

“Bin.”

They go at it for a while, an exchange of “Hyung” and “Bin” going on as Hao busies himself picking up the stray bottles in the living room, Hanbin’s occasional whines the only sound aside from Jiwoong, Yujin, and Matthew’s snores. It’s not until Hao has picked up the last bottle that Hanbin says something else, preceded by the now-familiar whine of “Hyung” that Zhang Hao has come to love enjoy. 

“Hyung,” Hanbin starts, and Hao is ready to answer back with a ready ‘Bin,’ already used to the exchange, but Hanbin beats him to it, “I love you so much.”

No. Please don’t let this be what I think it is.

He turns back and sees Hanbin staring at him, still with that unfocused look in his eye, but with a little more awareness, the younger boy staring at him through the dimly-lit room. He makes grabby hands at Zhang Hao, calling him to his side as he does. Hao, because he is ultimately weak for Hanbin his dongsaengs, follows.

“Hyung,” Hanbin whines again, reaching for Hao’s hands, “Hyung, I love you so much. Hyung, do you love me too?”

Hao simply stares at him. Hanbin repeats the phrases over and over, almost chant-like as he tugs at Hao’s hands, wanting to intertwine them in the way they used to always do during Boys Planet. 

And suddenly, Hao is blasted back into time on the day they first met, the “Hyung” on Hanbin’s tongue still unfamiliar and unsure, the distance between them as wide as it can be for strangers that had only met for the first time. Hanbin had approached him first then, too, with a slight smile and an emphasis on the ‘Bin’ in ‘Sung Hanbin.’

He thinks he can hear the Hanbin before him continue to whine his name, but he’s lost in his memories as he remembers them during Here I Am, during Tomboy, during Say My Name and Over Me, during the fucking finale, and then during debut, until all of his thoughts are nothing but HanbinHanbinHanbinHanbinHanbin.

God, just what did they do to each other?

“Hyung,” Hanbin tries to move closer as he whines, leaning forward into Hao’s personal space until he has his face buried in his neck, “Hyung, I love you so much. Do you love me too?”

Hao closes his eyes, and savors the moment.

For a moment, Hao imagines saying “Yes” and kissing Hanbin like he’s always wanted to, grabbing his neck and easing the tension that had always existed between them, from Boys Planet to debut to now, a journey completed with the other by their side. He imagines loving Hanbin the way Jiwoong loves Matthew, announcing to all their friends and family their love and watching everybody be happy for them. He thinks Hanbin’s parents and sister might approve, the family readily welcoming him for holidays over the past few years. He imagines performing with Hanbin and loving Hanbin and even fucking Hanbin, finally letting his lovelorn fantasies play out beneath his closed eyes after suppressing them for years. He imagines being selfish.

Then reality comes crashing down and he remembers the possible backlash, the hiding, the possible smear on both their reputations. He thinks of losing everything he and Hanbin had worked their entire lives for, the thrill of being onstage fading away as the crowd boos and shuns them away. He thinks of Hanbin’s light dulled, of his happiness being stolen away by a hyung that selfishly stole him from the world, instead of letting him shine the way he was meant to. He thinks of Hanbin’s resentment, after realizing just what they had done.

We can’t do this. I can’t do this. Not to him.

And so, instead of saying, yes, what Hao says is:

“Of course, Bin-ah. Don’t tell Yujinnie, but you’re my favorite dongsaeng who I love and cherish deeply.”

Hanbin falters and gives him a tiny smile. It’s a sad one, not quite wide enough to make his whisker dimples appear.

Hao can’t help himself. He pokes Hanbin’s cheek. Then, he walks away. 

(Ah, Zhang Hao, you’re an asshole, he remembers Kuanjui saying as he bounces on Hao’s cock, the bed creaking in time with his movements, your Hanbin just confessed to you and you’re fucking me instead of spending your last few days in Korea with him.

Shit, shut up, he quips back, hips bucking up to meet Kuanjui’s, the muscles in his thighs straining and straining to get that release. He’s getting close now, and he hates that Kuanjui thinks it’s funny to mention Hanbin now, of all times.

Does he even know you’re leaving soon? his best friend continues, both of them still chasing their release, their movements becoming more sloppy, or are you keeping this from him, the way you’ve kept your feelings hidden away this whole time?

He remembers keeping quiet, aside from the little grunts he makes as he nears his climax. Nothing Kuanjui is saying warrants a response after all, and he’d rather just fucking finish instead of talking about his dongsaeng who he hasn’t seen since that night in the dorms.

I’m serious, Hao-ah, he remembers Kuanjui saying, right after they’ve both finished and cleaned up. They’re laying together on Kuanjui’s bed, the soft pillows cushioning their sore muscles, Hanbinnie deserves to know. 

He doesn’t say anything for a long while, content to just sit there and ignore Kuanjui’s voice. 

Hanbinnie deserves to know that you’re leaving, and that you love him, too , the shorter man continues, tracing a finger across Hao’s chest as he does.

But I don’t deserve him, he finds himself saying, his best friend’s soft touch making him open up in ways only one other person can, he deserves the world and I can’t give him that. He was born to be on stage, Jui-ah. I can’t get in the way of that.

But what if he wants all of that, but with you, too?  Kuanjui asks.

He does not answer.)

As he looks back, he sees Hanbin staring back at him. He thinks he sees tears in his eyes. Hao gives him a little smile.

Through it all, the others sleep. 

—

Hanbin approaches him after his impromptu performance, as he’s nursing a glass of whiskey at the open bar. 

“Hi,” Hanbin says.

“Hello,” Hao replies.

It’s awkward, to say the least, greeting each other after several years of no contact, the distance between them wider than it was when they had first met for the recording of Here I Am. At least back then, there had been no history between them, as clean of a slate as it could be. Now, though, years after that last talk in the old dorms, the distance has turned rotten and stale, and Hao is uncomfortable just being near him, not knowing what to say or how to act around the one person he once felt like he could be anything with.

“I, uh, I didn’t think you’d come,” Hanbin stutters out, a sheepish smile forming on his face. Hao thinks he still looks handsome, grimace and all, as his perfectly styled hair now falls into his face after being messed up while dancing with his bride. He looks younger like this, eerily similar to Hao’s Hanbin and not the Golden Boy Korea had been graced with in the period after their disbandment. 

“And miss out on one of the most important days of your life? What do you take me for, Sung Hanbin!” he manages to joke, exaggerating his motions to the point that he almost tips his glass over, the whiskey inside being jostled.

“And besides,” he starts, pointing to the violin case still open on the counter, the instrument nestled inside, “I promised to play at your wedding didn’t I?”

The mention of the violin and the promise is enough to make the awkward situation even more awkward, its presence a reminder of the past they shared. For a moment, the both of them simply stare at each other and then the violin, seemingly unable to think of ways on how to continue the conversation. It’s so awkward that Hao wishes any of the other members would come and save them, but it seems as if everybody had gotten the memo and chose to stay away. 

He swirls his drink in his glass and moves to throw it back. Hanbin follows.

“You kept it,” Hanbin mutters after some time, staring at the instrument as if it held the answers to all the questions he possibly had in his pretty little head.

“Of course, I did, Hanbin-ah,” he replies, eyes still focused on the drink in his hand as he swirls it around, unwilling to meet the other’s eyes even as he feels them roaming his figure. Strangely, he feels naked as Hanbin continues to stare, as if the man beside him was slowly undressing him to uncover all the secrets he held close to his heart, secrets that he had kept for the past few years, only to be unveiled to one other person.

“...But why?” Hanbin asks after some time, as if Hao keeping the violin was against any of the beliefs he had held about him for the past few years. Hao feels his eyes roaming again, and suppresses a sigh.

“Because it’s special to me, Hanbin, the way you are, too,” he replies, and maybe that was too honest, too close to home, as he sees Hanbin’s eyes widen the slightest bit through his peripheral vision, the glass in his hands shaking as Hao’s response takes him by surprise. He opens his mouth to respond, but Hao beats him there, desperate to salvage the situation and not ruin it further.

“I mean, you know how special you and the members are to me, Hanbin. Why would I throw away one of your gifts?” 

“Ah, I guess so,” Hanbin mutters, still openly staring at him as he swirls his drink in his glass. If Hao looks again through his peripheral vision, he can see that just beyond Hanbin, in the background dancing with her friends, is Hanbin’s fiancée, a pretty little woman that Hao hasn’t had the pleasure of meeting yet. 

A moment passes, and impossibly, it feels like the moment becomes even more awkward, as the two of them just sit there and occasionally take sips from their glasses. Hao is itching to be anywhere but here. However, when he chances a look through his peripheral and sees Hanbin actively staring at him, a strange emotion erupts in his chest, pushing him to try again.

“But enough about me,” he swirls around and meets Hanbin’s eyes, taking the other by surprise, “tonight’s about you! Congrats Hanbin-ah, on your marriage,” and he gestures to where Hanbin’s bride is as he says it, but Hanbin doesn’t look back, instead choosing to meet his eyes. 

“Ah, thank you, hyung,” Hanbin smiles, a small thing that is immediately covered by the glass of whiskey he raises to his lips, “how about you, Hao-hyung? Do you have anyone?”

(Hao thinks of Kuanjui in his bed, lightly snoozing as Hao cleans him up of cum and sweat, the shorter man content to laze around after any of their sessions. Thinks of Kuanjui complaining about the cold water in Hao’s apartment, and his tendency to leave his clothes all around the penthouse, only to be picked up by Hao’s housekeeper once she arrives. Kuanjui slowly leaving things in the penthouse, starting with a sweater, and most lately, his yoga mat. 

They’d started this whole friends with benefits thing just a year after Hao had debuted into ZEROBASEONE, the then-brunette in desperate need of release after being pent-up for so long. 

Zhang Hao had needed it, Kuanjui had delivered. And well. It had spiraled from there.

He tries not to think of the way Kuanjui had been the first one he had given a key to his place, before even his own mother. The way Kuanjui holds him through the nights where he wishes he could just go back, sick of acting and dramas and brand deals of items that he doesn’t even use anyway.

Hao thinks it’s a blessing, that out of all the members, only one has ever found out about this little arrangement of theirs.)

“Hmm, been a bit too busy for that, you know?” 

It’s a not-answer, something that almost feels like a ‘Well, what do you care if I do?’ 

Hao thinks he can see Hanbin’s expression slightly drop at his answer, but then he blinks and it’s as if nothing had changed, the same genial expression present on Hanbin’s face as he nods in sympathy. From there, the conversation flows like water, ranging from upcoming projects and brand deals, to backstage drama.

Hao learns that Hanbin had postponed all of his projects for the year, even canceling some of them so he could get settled into married life. In turn, he tells Hanbin of his upcoming drama shoot, the way he hasn’t even memorized his lines because they’re all so cheesy that he can’t bear to say them. 

Hao can't help but think that for the first time ever, it seems like their life was finally going in different directions. Hanbin, finally settling down. Hao, busy chasing after new opportunities, new paths, never to truly settle in his life.

It was as if whatever mirror reflecting both of their souls had finally, after all this time, broken.

They both share a laugh, and for a moment, it seems as if no time has passed between them, as if they were both still the same trainees that holed up together in the laundry room and spent hours upon hours just talking about anything and everything.

It all flows well until they come to the topic of Matthew and Jiwoong’s wedding. 

“I’m so happy for them. They deserve it, you know,” Hao finds himself saying as he and Hanbin talk about the two lovebirds, “they’ve loved each other for so long.”

“Yeah, they have,” and Hao isn’t sure but he thinks he can see Hanbin get a far-away look in his eyes, reminiscent of the way he used to look when he was thinking about something deeply. Another blink, though, and again it’s gone, like it was just a trick of the light. 

“Hanbin? Everything okay?”

“Just a little tipsy, hyung.”

It’s as they’re slowly running out of topics, the guests clearing out for the night, that Hanbin asks something that throws Hao out of balance. 

“Ah, hyung. Before you leave, I’d just like to ask something.”

“Hm, Bin-ah? What is it?” The ‘Bin-ah’ leaves his mouth too easily, his walls softened by the hours of conversation he and Hanbin had shared. He’d been softened, that’s why he’s unprepared for the question that Hanbin throws at him, like a curveball that strikes you out of nowhere.

“Did you mean it, back then? What you said when I told you I loved you?”

And because Hao—even after all this time, even after all the changes and the dramas and the awards, even if he’s missed some of his newer cues—still knows Sung Hanbin’s core like the back of his hand, he gets the underlying message of Hanbin’s question immediately. 

Did you, at least, love me back, hyung?

Hanbin stares, waiting for a response. Hao knows that look in his eyes, because he’s been at the end of it time and time again. So this is what they have come to.

Because, Hao knows, by just looking at Hanbin’s eyes, that for all the love Hanbin has for his to-be wife in his body, he, too, still  loves Zhang Hao all the same. 

And Hao knows that if he says yes, that Hanbin will fold and they will run away from all of this together, hand-in-hand towards whatever tumultuous future they have, scandal and impropriety be damned. He knows that Hanbin will let the life he’s led with his bride go, to be with a hyung that he’s loved ever since and never quite managed to forget, even after all this time, even as he’s separated himself from ZEROBASEONE’s Hanbin and remade himself into the Golden Boy he is today.

Tell me no, his eyes seemed to say, and I’d drop all of this and leave with you, right here, right now.

(Zhang Hao lets himself imagine a life where he tells Hanbin everything that he wishes to say, all of the words and wishes flowing out like water, unimpeded by the dam he himself had built to protect himself, to protect them. He lets himself imagine telling Sung Hanbin “I love you,” the multiple ways he had imagined it as they went from Boys Planet, to debut, and now, this rehearsal dinner.

He lets himself imagine kissing Hanbin right there and then, with all of his family and friends watching, with his bride watching, the scandal of it all fading away as his lips finally find Hanbin’s after all this time, after all that they’ve been through. He lets himself imagine finally being selfish and taking Kuanjui’s advice from so long ago, and thinking only with his heart and not his head, repercussions be damned because he could finally tell the world how much he loves Sung Hanbin, how much he has loved him from the start as he had introduced himself with a smile and an emphasis on the ‘Bin’ in his name.

He lets himself imagine.)

And because Hao, at his core, has always been a realist, a worrier, a hyung even if he’d been raised an only child, he says:

“Yes, of course, Hanbin-ah. You are, and always will be, a precious dongsaeng that this hyung loves and cherishes.”

I’m sorry.

Hanbin chokes out a laugh. Zhang Hao laughs too. They share another drink. 

A few moments pass, before Hao excuses himself and walks away.

This time, he doesn’t look back.

(He thinks, as he looks back on the smile that Hanbin had given him when he said his goodbyes, that Hanbin probably already knew what he meant to say when he said yes to his question. 

Even after all this time, nobody knows him better, after all.) 

—

(He texts Kuanjui that night, never mind the fact that he’s slightly tipsy and the shorter man is probably busy for the night.

I’m doing it, he types, I’ll play for his wedding.

I’m proud of you, Kuanjui types back immediately.

For the first time since setting foot back into Korea, Hao’s heart feels light.)

—

“Hao-hyung,” Hanbin calls from the bed beside his, the two of them lounging around after the concert they had just finished, the adrenaline slowly but surely fading away and leaving their bodies tired and sluggish.

“Hm?” Hao hums back halfheartedly, tiredness seeping into his bones as he all but melts into the bed. The concert had been a success—no injuries whatsoever, and his voice didn’t crack at all—another stop completed in their Asia tour. Though tired, he still feels completely satisfied, thinking of the thrill he had gotten after hearing the fans scream his name during his solo. 

“Have you ever thought, what would happen after we’re done with all this?” 

Hao has thought of everything. He doesn’t say that, though, instead saying: “Hm, you know I prefer to live in the moment, Bin-ah. But maybe, learn how to cook? Jui has been bugging me about it, lately.”

And because he knows the silence that follows means that Hanbin wants to say something, but is just too shy to initiate, he asks: “What about you, Bin-ah?”

“Well, I think I’d like to get married,” Hanbin replies after some time, and he turns to Zhang Hao with a sheepish look on his face, twiddling his fingers in the specific way he does whenever he’s worried about something. Hao wants to take his hand and stop it. 

“Hm, then I better be number one on your guest list, Sung Hanbin!” he chuckles out, and there’s something in Hanbin’s eyes as he looks back at him, as if Hao has just said something right, a sparkle in his eyes that seemed to say: Ask and I’d tell you. 

Hao, notably, does not ask. 

“Hyung,” Hanbin calls out again after Hao had turned off the lights save for the lamp in between their beds, “when I get married, promise me that you’d play for me?”

The question is loaded, as if what Zhang Hao responds with will determine the outcome of their relationship, as if there was a sort of underlying message beneath Hanbin’s words. Hao can’t help but think of the light in Hanbin’s eyes earlier, as if begging him to ask what he meant by his words.

If I ask now, what he means, would I like the answer? Or would it ruin everything we’ve fought for?

“Ya, Sung Hanbin, you’re saying that as if it’s a guarantee that I’ll be at your wedding,” he jokes instead, and is surprised to see the tips of Hanbin’s ears turn red in the low light. 

“Well, hyung, we promised each other that we’d be together for a long time, after all,”

“Well, that we did,” he acquiesces, and changes the topic, “besides, what song would you want me to play, anyway?”

“I don’t know, hyung. If you’ll get married, what song would you want played?”

It’s so random that Hao almost wants to laugh. He’d never really thought of spending his life bound to one person in that way, content to let things like that happen naturally instead of spending his every hour romanticizing meeting his soulmate and having that it moment with them. He’d rather spend his time practicing and perfecting his craft, becoming the best version of himself to present to the world. 

He still has his dreams to fulfill, after all. Love, marriage, whatever. All of that can wait. 

He tells Hanbin as such.

“Ah, Salut D’Amour is quite lovely, though” he backtracks, when he sees Hanbin’s shoulders start to slump against the headboard, as if Hao had said the wrong thing, “it’s also known as Love’s Greeting, and it’d be nice, I think? To have a piece like that play when I marry the person I want to spend my life with. It’s like we’re greeting love, together.”

It’d been one of the first pieces he had heard in college, when he’d pester his seniors and colleagues to teach him the violin after being told by the head that he was no good at it. He remembers one of his seniors playing it in their recital and the way Hao had followed him around afterward, begging the senior to teach him the piece. It had sounded pretty, after all, but most importantly, it sounded impressive. Impressive enough to convince the head of the department that Hao belonged here, rather than at some geoscience school that would have him bashing his head against rocks if he spent more than thirty minutes there.

“Aiya, hyung, for someone who’s so scared of marriage, you sure have thought this through,” Hanbin laughs and then falls silent.

“But if hyung likes it so much, then maybe I’ll give it a listen, too. Then I’ll play it at my wedding, since hyung likes it so much,” he rambles on. His tone makes it sound like he is serious. What is this boy doing, Hao thinks, deciding his wedding song on something I rambled about? If he was closer, Hao would swat him.

“Ya! Sung Hanbin, are you really just stealing my idea right in front of my face?”

“But hyung likes it so much! And well, if we’re going to spend a long time together, I’d have to make sure to adjust to hyung’s likes, as well!”

—

Sung Hanbin’s wedding, for all that he is Korea’s Golden Boy, is a simple affair.

His bride walks to the tune of ‘Can’t Help Falling In Love,’ because, of course, she does. It had been her one request, he remembers Hanbin telling him the night before, when she learned that Hanbin had a hyung that played the violin. A childhood dream come true, he distinctly remembers Jiwoong’s answer when he asked about it afterward. Jiwoong had been closer to the couple than the rest of them, rekindling his bond with Hanbin after years of separation due to being on the same reality show as him.

Hao carefully takes a single glance towards the walkway, and he sees that she looks gorgeous in her white dress, the train dragging across the floor as she slowly walks to her beloved. Still, what makes her truly radiant is the bright smile on her face that still seems to shine through her sheer veil, the love in her heart causing her to tear up as her dad escorts her to the altar. He can hear a dozen cameras clicking in unison to immortalize this moment: a bride teary-eyed as she meets the love of her life on the altar they would promise their souls to each other, forever. 

He’s careful not to let his eyes stray too far, avoiding the altar where the man that holds the piece of his heart that remained in Korea stands, clad in what he knows is an all-white suit.

(Hao thinks he could hate her. But as he remembers Jiwoong’s words from last night, he can’t help but feel a fondness for her, still, this woman who he has never met, but is such an important part of Hao’s heart.

She’s the complete opposite of him, but she makes him happy, I think, he remembers Jiwoong saying, as the ice melted in the whiskey glasses between them. 

Hanbin always smiles when he’s with her. And that is enough. 

Because while Zhang Hao can be selfish, can want everything that he shouldn’t want, at his core, he is also still kind. And after all this time, all he wants is for Hanbin to be happy, his boyhood and his love, the one part of his youth untainted by the cruelty of the industry that he had willingly sold his soul to at the young age of 21.

I want you to be happy.)

As Zhang Hao hears the opening piano notes, he feels a slight pang in his chest, strong enough to make him miss his cue by a millisecond. As he plays, he keeps his eyes closed, afraid that he’d stop if he sees her in her gorgeous dress, meeting Hanbin at the altar to promise themselves to each other forever. He thinks he hears himself slightly go off tempo, but he’s quick to correct himself, losing himself in the music as he hears the audience rise.

“Speak now, or forever hold your peace,”  the pastor speaks, the hall silent except for Zhang Hao’s violin and the accompanying piano. 

He thinks he can feel Yujin’s eyes on him, the maknae—now a man grown five centimeters taller than him—preferring to watch him instead of the ceremony happening right before their eyes. He can feel Yujin urge him to speak, because he’d always been one of the people most privy to the story of Zhang Hao and Sung Hanbin, and how one day it had become Hao-and-Hanbin, a unit now when it used to be two separate people.

(Unlike the others, he’d been privy, too, to the aftermath, of how Hao-and-Hanbin had drifted until they were Zhang Hao and Sung Hanbin once again, albeit with scars that didn’t seem to heal even as the time passed and they both grew into artists of their own making.

What was once lost, could never be found again, after all.)

Zhang Hao knows that if he opens his eyes, he’d give in to Yujin’s urges. He knows that if he pays attention to anything but the music, he’d walk up to that pastor, and say the deepest wishes of his heart, free to finally flow out after years of being suppressed.

It’d be so easy, he thinks, to stand up, and say those words. To risk Hanbin’s happiness on something so tumultuous as this. To finally be selfish, for once.

But Zhang Hao is selfless, in his care, in his love, and so he continues to play.

At least I’ll have this, as the music crescendos and he can hear the couple start to say their vows, binding them as one for the rest of their lives.

At least through this, I’ll share his best memory with him.

Zhang Hao opens his eyes. Hanbin says I do.

The music fades away, taking the last of Hao’s boyhood dreams and love with it. 

He takes a deep breath. He picks up his violin, and plays again.