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minus eight
Hanbin learns that the world is going to end whilst he is browsing the ramyeon isle, trying to decide what the night’s dinner will be.
For all accounts, it’s a normal late May Wednesday afternoon. Seoul is already heavy with the promise of a hot summer, but the convenience store is a safe oasis of frigid air conditioned air. Hanbin had walked down to this convenience store on a whim. It’s not the one closest to his house, but the clerk manning the GS25 two minutes away from his apartment had started to look at Hanbin weirdly when he would come in to stare at the selection of noodles for five minutes, only to chose the same flavour over and over, and Hanbin has a healthy fear of being perceived. In the end, it just means that he’s on unfamiliar territory when the news hits that he will be dead in eight days, along with the rest of humanity.
The kid working the counter is playing the radio. It was only him and hanbin in the store, but Hanbin’s heard the chimes at the entrance ring once when he was in the middle of contemplating, so there should be at least one other person with them right now. That means that Hanbin is with two strangers when the song playing breaks off in the middle of a lyric and a female voice shakily reads off that there’s breaking news.
Still clutching the two packets of noodles to his chest, Hanbin finds himself wandering to the counter as if in a daze. The other patron is there as well, his head bent forward as he listens to the radio as well, a selection of snacks laid out across the counter in front of him.
“A solar flare,” the news reader says, and she sounds like she’s close to tears. “Normally, it wouldn’t have been a problem, because the flares aren’t typically big enough to have a lasting impact on earth, and the atmosphere would normally have shielded us. But advanced calculations and readings have shown that the protection of the atmosphere is at an all time low, and the solar flare is one point oh two million times higher than has ever been recorded. Projected possibility of survival is smaller than zero point one percent.”
There’s a brief pause. It sounds like the news reader is heaving for breath or perhaps crying. Hanbin tries to wrap his head around her words and finds that he is simply unable to.
Finally, the news reader manages to continue, though her voice comes in starts and stops. “This will be this news station’s final transmission. We recommend that you spend your last days with your loved ones and make peace with your time on earth. And may God be with us all. End of this news report.”
The radio fizzles into silence.
Hanbin clears his throat and holds up the packet of ramyeon. “Can I still buy this?” he asks, his voice startlingly loud in the now quiet store. When both the employee and the other guy turn to stare at Hanbin with accusing eyes, he shrinks back.
“Fuck your ramyeon,” the employee says, finally. “And fuck this entire store. I’m going to go home and kiss my girlfriend. Do whatever you want. I can’t believe I wasted my life working in a convenience store.”
The chimes above the door ring as he sprints out. It looks like he didn’t even take his bag.
Feeling awkward now, Hanbin lowers the packet of ramyeon again. From the corner of his eye, he dares to take a peek at the other boy. He’s . . . startlingly pretty, all boba eyes and pink lips and the softest roundness to his cheeks. And he’s also looking back at Hanbin, something warm in his gaze, and then walks over to him.
“That was something, huh?” he says. Then he’s chuckling a little bit, his eyes scrunching up into twin suns of joy. “Poor guy. Imagine thinking that you’ve wasted your life simply by living.”
Well, would you look at that? Hanbin knows a thing or two about such a feeling. He stays silent.
The pretty boy nudges him, a grin suddenly hiding in the corner of his eyes. “Hey. Do you have anyone to spend the end of the world with?”
Hanbin blinks at him, wide-eyed. “Excuse me?”
“Like, a loved one? Your parents? A best friend?” the boy clarifies. “C’mon, if there’s someone important like that, you should spend the rest of your life with them. No matter how short it may be.”
“Oh, um,” says Hanbin. He doesn’t have to think about it for too long. “No, I don't, really.”
“Me either,” the boy says. “Do you want to spend it together?”
Honestly, Hanbin doesn’t believe him, if only for a second. A boy as pretty as that, with a bright grin like that? It makes sense that Hanbin—boring, regular, average Hanbin—would have no one to spend such an important event as the end of the world with. But this guy? It feels like he should have at least a thousand suitors lining up to spend the next eight days with him.
“Are you sure?” Hanbin has to ask.
“I don’t say things I don’t really mean, typically,” the guy says, and he sounds sincere. “It makes sense right? It would be kind of sad to spend it alone.” He pauses. “What’s your name, by the way?”
“Sung Hanbin.”
The guy gives a little flourish, some kind of curtsy that looks ridiculous but adorable. Then he holds out his hand towards Hanbin. “Nice to meet you, Sung Hanbin. I’m Zhang Hao from China. Now, would you like to spend the next eight days with me or not?”
Still a bit hesitant, but emboldened by the guy’s—Zhang Hao’s—approach, Hanbin takes his hand. “I will.”
“Good.” An actual smile breaks across the guy’s face. His hand is colder than Hanbin expected, but that's fine, because Hanbin always runs pretty hot. “Now, we should probably grab as much food as we can carry from here to last us the next few days. Before this store gets run over by other people thinking the same thing.”
“That’s a smart idea.” They take entire packages of ramyeon, two cartons of twelve eggs, bags of cabbage and cucumber kimchi, microwave sausages on sticks, triangle kimbaps, and both sweet and savoury snacks. Who cares about a high sodium intake when you won’t be alive to experience the bad side effects? Hanbin watches, delightedly, as Zhang Hao pops open one of the bags of crisps right there in the aisle as he tries one a handful of the quirky colourful sunglasses that are on display near the register.
Before they leave, Hanbin grabs a handful of packages of pain medication and plasters, some rolls of tape and rope, and some facial masks. He doesn’t know why, but they might come in helpful. Hanbin has never been in a life-or-death situation before. All of his knowledge about the end of the world comes from the Walking Death, which was more of a slow and gradual decline, rather than the actual end of the world they’re facing right now.
“Are you ready, Hao-ssi?” Hanbin calls, as he’s bagged up everything and has curled the handles of the plastic bags around his wrists.
Zhang Hao’s head pops out of one of the aisles. He’s got a cloth tote bag hanging over his shoulder, and a hair clip shaped like a penguin is clipping back his fringe. His pink lips are wrapped around the stem of a lolly. “Yep, all done here.”
When they finally step out into the street again, leaving the little safe bubble of the convenience store, it’s eerily quiet. Not even an idling taxi passes them as they step onto the curb. Seoul, the city that has never slept before, seems to have been quieted by the news of their inherent doom, like someone covered all of the tall building with heavy drapes.
“So,” says Zhang Hao, putting his hands on his sides. “Where should we go?”
“Um, well,” Hanbin says. His hands clench into nervous fists. “My apartment is within walking distance from here. It’s pretty big and comfortable, I think, and I don’t have roommates. Unless you would rather go back to your place instead . . .?”
A laugh bursts from Zhang Hao lips, something in between pleased and incredulous. “No, I do have roommates, and they suck. I would rather die now than have to spend the next few days with them like this. If they haven’t fled back home or gone to their partners yet, anyways.”
They walk to Hanbin’s house. On the street, they pass a singular, hurried woman who keeps her head down and refuses to make eye contact, even when Zhang Hao calls out a cheerful greeting.
“You live here?” says Zhang Hao, a bit incredulously, looking up at the high tower, all marble and chrome and glass windows that Hanbin will call home , but only if he says it like he’s being sarcastic about it. Now, with Zhang Hao wide-eyed next to him, the tote bag still slung over his shoulder and his lips red from the cherry lolly he’s been sucking on, it feels less like a joke and more like a reality, like a truth.
“My parents pay for it,” Hanbin manages to force out. “Or well—paid for it? Pay for it? I don’t know.”
“Right.” Zhang Hao looks at him from the corner of his eye, like he knows what Hanbin is saying without him actually saying it. There’s a reason, after all, that Hanbin’s parents pay for his apartment but he doesn’t want to see them now that the end of the world has been announced.
Luckily for them, the elevator’s still working, so they take it to the floor that has Hanbin’s apartment. It’s not quite the top floor but close enough, so that you have quite an undisturbed view of the Seoul skyline from the large windows that make up one side of the living room wall. Hanbin doesn’t really own enough stuff for his apartment to get messy, but he still feels his cheek colour with shame as they step out of their shoes and push into the open plan living quarters. There’s a cup and a bowl in the sink that Hanbin left behind last time, and a stack of Business 101 and Advances Business Techniques books on the table in the living room, a black and white patterned zipper hoodie over the back of the couch.
“Um,” says Hanbin. He holds up his hand, awkwardly. “Welcome. Mi casa es su casa, and all of that . . .”
“Wow.” Zhang Hao steps forward, abandoning the tote bag on the floor next to the door. He seems to be entranced by the sight, moving into Hanbin’s space like they’re old friends and not new acquaintances. “How do you stop yourself from standing by the windows and just looking out for hours upon end?”
Smiling, Hanbin ducks his head. “It’s tough. You really need some self control.”
“Mm,” Zhang Hao says. He’s grinning at Hanbin, his head tilted. His dark brown eyes are lidded, and they look almost black, even in the late afternoon light. Hanbin has never quite seen a person as beautiful before. “I’d be quite bad at it, then.”
Hanbin’s throat is dry. “It just takes some practice,” he whispers, drawing closer to Zhang Hao like there’s an invisible string between them, or like they’re magnets of opposite poles.
“Can I kiss you?” asks Zhang Hao, quite suddenly, looking at Hanbin from the corner of his eye.
“Oh uhm, what?” Hanbin says, dumbly. He stops in his tracks.
“Well,” says Zhang Hao, stepping closer to Hanbin so that the space between them is negligible, his hands tightening around the bottom of Hanbin’s shirt. “I think you’re really pretty. And you haven’t stopped looking at my lips since we came in here. And the world is going to end, so everything is inconsequential anyway. So, can I kiss you?”
Hanbin opens his mouth to refuse, but can’t find a good reason to. He nods, just once, and Zhang Hao luckily takes that as the sign it is and leans forward to kiss him. It’s the first time Hanbin has been touched in this way, so reverently, so intimately, in so long that it makes his feet curl in his socks. And Zhang Hao tastes like the crisps he’s been snacking on all afternoon and his hands curl in the material of Hanbin’s shirt like he needs something to hold onto, like he’s less stable than he’s been letting on. Hanbin welcomes it.
Before he knows it, Zhang Hao is moving him back, back until his knees hit the couch, and he’s climbing in Hanbin’s lap, and his hands are absolutely everywhere, and his mouth tastes like desperation and his tears. Oh, thinks Hanbin, even as he dizzily kisses back and breathes in Zhang Hao’s despair like he can hold it like a secret in his chest. Oh, maybe he’s not as untouchable as he likes to pretend.
Somehow, in between the slick sounds of their mouths meeting and Zhang Hao pressing his cold fingers against the sensitive skin just above the waistband of Hanbin’s boxers, Zhang Hao manages to unzip Hanbin’s pants and free his cock. Hanbin hadn’t even noticed that he was hard, didn’t think it would be possible for him to feel aroused in this frankly hilariously hopeless situation, but here he is. Apparently, Zhang Hao is doing away with a lot of Hanbin’s preconceived notions all by himself.
“Can I touch you here?” Zhang Hao asks, but he’s already teasingly stroking across Hanbin’s boxers, where the head of his cock weeps a small patch of wetness.
“Don’t you dare stop,” Hanbin rasps, reaching up his hand and curling it around the back of Zhang Hao’s neck, so that the other is forced to keep his heavy eye contact with Hanbin. It’s hotter than it has any right to be.
They’re both still fully clothed, and Zhang Hao keeps pulling at the neckline of Hanbin’s shirt to leave love bites in the curve where his shoulder meets his neck. His teeth are sharp and his nails ever sharper where they rake across Hanbin’s back as Hanbin returns the favour by twisting his fingers around Zhang Hao’s dick until they both spill, one after the other, across Hanbin’s cupped hands and Zhang Hao’s shirt.
Afterwards, when they’ve both come down, they curl up on Hanbin’s wide couch, facing each other. “You have a tattoo here,” Hanbin whispers, tracing the script scrawled above Zhang Hao’s collarbone, bare after the other had pulled off his shirt with a jokingly disgusted grimace. “What does it say?”
“Fata viam invenient,” Zhang Hao recites. “It’s Latin. It means the fates will find a way. ”
“Do you believe in that?”
Zhang Hao looks him right into his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I? I think it was fate that led me straight to you. Don't you think so?”
minus seven
“Your tattoo,” says Hanbin, that following morning, when they both are finished with their breakfast. They’re sitting at the kitchen table, which is bare but for their bowls and chopsticks, and the morning sun spills in through the windows like it won’t mean the end of the world in a week’s time. “Did it hurt, when you got it?”
“A lot,” says Zhang Hao. He looks at Hanbin, eyes sincere. “Why do you want to know?”
He’s in one of Hanbin’s shirts, which is slightly too big on him as a result of Hanbin’s wider shoulders, and not much else, and his messy bed hair halos around his head like a crown. Last night, after a quick dinner, they’d fallen into Hanbin’s bed together. Hanbin had worried for a long time about what the etiquette would be, but Zhang Hao had just simply kissed him square on the lips and wished him sweet dreams. Afterwards, somehow, it had been so easy for Hanbin to fall asleep, even if he’s not used to sharing his bed with anyone else.
“I don’t know,” says Hanbin, biting his lip. “Well, I do know, but. Before . . . I always wanted to get a tattoo. But I never got around to it, because I was always too much of a coward. Or there were a million other reasons why I thought it wasn’t a good idea. So it never ended up happening.”
Zhang Hao is silent for a bit. “What did you want to get?”
“Here,” says Hanbin, pressing his hand against the space between his collarbones. He can feel his heart flutter like a hummingbird underneath the tips of his fingers. “A sun, a star, and a moon, like this. Something about the things that I can see from my apartment window. It made sense at the time, I guess.”
“It would look good on you,” says Zhang Hao.
Hanbin smiles, gratefully. “Thank you. But I guess it doesn’t matter now, anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I can’t really get a tattoo right now, can I?” Hanbin says, raising his eyebrows. “Unless you know of a tattoo shop that does end of the world deals . . .”
Again, there’s a small silence between the two of them, like there’s something Zhang Hao wants to say but doesn’t really know how to. In the end, he manages. “It’s not really a shop in the conventional type. But if I knew a person who could do a tattoo for you and do it well, would you do it?”
That’s how Hanbin meets Ricky and Gyuvin. Phone lines aren’t down yet, so Zhang Hao calls his friend, and they get an address to a building not that far away. The streets are full of people ignoring each other and looting stores, and Hanbin politely looks away as an older man throws a rock through the window of a pharmacy to get inside. What does crime even mean, in a situation like this?
A few hours later, Zhang Hao takes them to an apartment in a chrome tower that looks not completely dissimilar from where Hanbin lives. This is where his friend Ricky lives, with his boyfriend, Gyuvin. They do actually live on the top floor of their building, a private oasis of wealth that is more ostentatious than Hanbin’s apartment but still manages to look more lived in.
“Welcome, Hao-hyung,” says Ricky, briefly squeezing his friend’s shoulder, as if nothing is amiss. He steps to the side to wave them into the apartment, easy as that. “And this must be your friend? The one who wanted to get the tattoo?”
“Sung Hanbin,” says Hanbin, bowing at Ricky. “I am incredibly grateful that you were able to invite us so quickly and on such a ridiculous request.”
“The only thing about this situation that’s ridiculous is everything else,” Ricky says, deadpan. “I think that if there was ever a moment to get a tattoo, it would be this. Why don’t you have a seat first, and we’ll all have a drink, and we can discuss your options.”
The kitchen in this apartment has a breakfast bar with chairs on both sides, so that’s where they sit. Gyuvin joins them too, and he’s even taller than Ricky, all lanky limbs and easy smiles. He pours them fizzy drinks with weird flavours, something that looks like it’s imported from Japan, and there’s a tin of cookies set up in the middle. At the edge of the bar, two flavoured candles burn—vanilla and something else, something more woodsy. The atmosphere is surprisingly homely.
“So, Hanbin-ssi,” says Ricky. “Hao-hyung tells me you wanted to get a tattoo.”
“Ricky did mine, about a year ago,” Zhang Hao says, touching his collarbone. “I am still of the opinion it turned out great. Ricky is not quickly licensed, but it’s close enough. And I guess it won’t matter if there’s one wonky line.” He smirks, a bit cynically. “You only have to walk around it for the rest of your life.”
“Normally, I would’ve tried to talk you out of making rash decisions,” says Ricky. “But those are the only decisions we have left.”
Hanbin taps his fingers on the marble counter in front of him. “All of my life, I’ve been so careful to adhere to what’s normal. Now, nothing’s normal. I think I’ve never really lived before. I only ever went with the motions.”
“I like rash decisions,” Gyuvin says, almost conversationally. “Even before . . .” He gestures. “All of this.”
“Thank you, Gyuvin,” deadpans Zhang Hao.
Ricky smiles at Hanbin. “Did you have enough to eat and drink? It’s good to eat some sugar and be well hydrated before going into a tattooing session like this.”
“I’m ready,” says Hanbin and he means it.
The tattoo hurts way more than Hanbin expected, even with Zhang Hao’s warning. It’s right on the bone, so there’s no fat or tissue to cushion the needle, only angry whirring while Hanbin tries to keep his head on straight. Both Zhang Hao and Gyuvin try to distract Hanbin by telling funny stories from their youth, but Hanbin notices how most of Gyuvin’s stories involve Ricky, whilst Zhang Hao’s stories involve the three of them most of the time. It’s clear to Hanbin why Zhang Hao didn’t go here to spend their last few days. Being alone is preferable to being such a clear outsider, even if it’s not on purpose. You would never be able to get in between two people who are that in love.
When the tattoo is done, Ricky rubs healing cream into the skin, then covers up the site with a thin, see-through bandage. “Take this off in a few hours,” he says. “And don’t wash it with soap for a handful of days. And normally, I would’ve said no excruciating activities to avoid funny things like infections and stuff, but who cares about that.”
“Right.” Hanbin stands up from the thin couch Ricky had him lay on and looks at himself in the mirror. The skin around the tattoo is red and inflamed, but the black lines are crisp and thin. Sun, star, moon. Somehow, it’s exactly like how he’d envisioned it, and his heart skips a beat from happiness.
He turns back to Ricky. “This is really incredible work,” he says. “I’m sorry for invading your day like this, and taking up your precious time. But you don’t know how much this means to me . . .”
“Silly man,” Gyuvin pipes up from behind them, snorting. “You didn’t waste our time, dummy. We love making new friends, even in times like these. You’ve enriched our life, not taken away from it in any way.”
Hanbin looks away from the younger to avoid showing him how much his eyes are tearing up, and looks right at where Ricky and Zhang Hao are saying goodbye to each other for the last time ever, probably.
“Take care,” Ricky says, drawing Zhang Hao into the circle of his arms and hugging him tightly. “Wherever you are and wherever you’re going, I’m thinking of you. And let it be known that I was grateful to have been your friend.”
“You too,” says Zhang Hao, and they all politely pretend that they can’t hear how much the oldest has choked up. “I’m grateful for all the years we got to spend together.”
Gyuvin is next to hug Zhang Hao, and he’s all limbs and absolutely everywhere. It’s kind of how Hanbin imagined an octopus to hug, if he’d ever thought before about such a thing. “I’m sorry this is the end, Hao-hyung,” he whispers, putting his forehead against Zhang Hao’s, his big brown eyes glimmering with stars. “But I’m not sorry about any of the other things.”
“I love you.” Zhang Hao is crying now, his voice shaky. “Please take care. Please be happy for as long as that’s possible. Please don’t think of hyung too much—just be careful.”
Ricky joins Hanbin at his elbow, knocking their shoulders together in a friendly move. “Thank you for taking care of our Hao-hyung,” he says, and his eyes are full of warmth and happiness.
“It’s all my pleasure,” says Hanbin, and somehow it doesn’t scare him how much he means that.
minus six
“Are you scared of dying?” Hanbin asks, but he doesn’t look at Zhang Hao when he says the words.
They’re in bed, both sweaty and flushed. Hanbin has just made Zhang Hao come with his fingers and mouth, eating him out until the other was crying from the stimulation and only then teasing one finger inside as well. Zhang Hao had been a warm weight around him, thin thighs around Hanbin’s shoulders, and hands in Hanbin’s hair. Afterwards, he’d switched their positions so that he could take Hanbin’s dick into his mouth, making him come with skillful movements of his tongue and hands. It has been the most regular sex Hanbin’s had in his life, and instead of satiating something inside of him, it just makes him more hungry.
“I’m not,” says Zhang Hao. He hums. “Death is just part of living. Life is only beautiful because it ends at some point, just like how flowers are beautiful because they aren’t forever. And I always thought I would die young, I guess.”
“Yeah?” says Hanbin. “You don’t seem like the type. You seem like the type that would live forever, even if it’s only in the perception of others.”
Zhang Hao laughs, a pleased sound. The tips of his fingers touch the inside of Hanbin’s wrist, a soft touch of reassurance. “That would be flattering, if it were true. But I’m not scared of dying. I’m just annoyed, I guess. There was so much I still wanted to experience.”
Hanbin’s mind spins, thoughts whirling past, of an impossible future where he would have met Zhang Hao in a different time and space, where they wouldn’t have been so constrained by their dying world. Where they would’ve been free to explore all of those things that they both craved to do. “Why didn’t you try and do those things?”
“Mm, I’m ticking one of them off right now,” says Zhang Hao, and he turns his head so that he can press his lips against Hanbin’s. “Actually, all I need is right here.”
It’s enough.
minus five
Five days before the world ends is when the power in Seoul finally cuts. Hanbin only figures it out because he puts the pot of water for the ramyeon on the induction plate, but the touchpad to the machine refuses to respond. When he tries to turn on the lamp above the stove to figure out what has happened, the light doesn’t respond either.
For the first time since all of this started, the reality of what is about to happen truly sinks in on Hanbin. He stands at the counter, hands splayed in front of him, and head tilted down. That’s how Zhang Hao finds him.
Zhang Hao announces himself by walking right up to Hanbin and folding himself around Hanbin’s back. Before all of this, Hanbin shied away from all physical touch, awkward like a newborn deer, unsure how to move around in the space he was afforded. Now, his body welcomes the feel of Zhang Hao pressed up against him, his neck relaxed and his shoulders broadening.
“What’s going on, Hanbin-ah?” says Zhang Hao, voice slow.
“We don’t have power anymore,” Hanbin says, helplessly pointing at the induction plate. “I don’t know how to cook, now. There’s no gas burner in the apartment here.”
Behind him, Zhang Hao hums and burrows closer to Hanbin’s back. “Let’s have some snacks for breakfast for now,” he says. “And then we’ll figure out where to go from there. Can’t make important decisions on empty stomachs.”
They have sweet snacks for breakfast, chocolate turtle chips and cinnamon cookies, and Hanbin hunts around for bottled water and fizzy drinks. Zhang Hao dramatically complains that they don’t have coffee, but it’s mostly for show, and it does bring a smile to Hanbin’s face, so he can’t bring himself to be annoyed about it.
“So,” says Zhang Hao afterwards, layering his hands, one over the other, in front of him on the table. “It seems as if the apartment is no longer our best bet for spending the next . . . four days? Five? Should we go somewhere else? Or ration our snacks?”
Hanbin has thought about it, while they were having breakfast. “There’s a cabin I used to go to, with my parents,” he says. “On a beach down south. It’s pretty far away from everything, but they have gas there to cook and a fire pit outside. And you can see straight down to the ocean from the living room window. We can drive there in my car.” He pauses, bites his lip. “I think, if I had to spend my final few days anywhere, that would be a nice place. Quiet, tranquil.”
“You like it when it’s quiet,” Zhang Hao comments, smiling.
“Well, um.” Hanbin blushes. “I tend not to really know what to do in groups of people. I’ve always enjoyed being alone.”
Zhang Hao tilts his head. “It never felt like that to me.”
“You make it easy,” whispers Hanbin. “I don’t have to think so hard around you.”
After breakfast concludes, Zhang Hao takes Hanbin’s hand and takes him to bed. One more time, he says, pressing the words into Hanbin’s skin. We should leave one last sign of our presence. And then he opens Hanbin up on his fingers, mouthing against Hanbin’s collarbones like he can leave a mark of devotion like that. And Hanbin tries not to shake apart, biting at the inside of his bicep as if he can ground himself like that.
When Zhang Hao finally lines himself up, Hanbin grabs at Zhang Hao’s hands, tangling their fingers together. Missionary is perhaps a little boring, a bit typical, but it means that they can look each other in the eyes when Zhang Hao starts fucking himself inside with small movements of his hips. This is how Hanbin gets fucked for the first time, underneath the hands of the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen, the slow death of the world in the background.
“Are you going to come?” Zhang Hao asks, hands curling around Hanbin’s dick and pressing a flutter of kisses against Hanbin’s lips, which Hanbin chases, whining. “Come for me, Hanbin-ah.”
Hanbin does, and Zhang Hao follows not soon after. They clean up in Hanbin’s fancy shower, a quick rinse since the water doesn't heat up anymore, and afterwards they pack their bags. It feels like a weekend trip, three days and two nights, except that it is exactly nothing like that. Hanbin also grabs all of the food he can find, packages of ramyeon and cans of spam and bottles of water, two glass bottles of soju, and like that, they go down to the parking deck, where Hanbin’s car is parked. The elevators are, of course, not running, so they have to walk there. At least it’s down the stairs.
As they are walking through the stairwell into the parking garage, Zhang Hao suddenly grabs Hanbin’s hand, his eyes shuttered. “Don’t look,” he says, urgently, and pulls Hanbin along.
It’s too late. Hanbin has already seen it—the body of an old man, probably somewhere around eighty or above, lying lifelessly on the asphalt floor right there in the garage. His eyes are still open, looking sightlessly up at the ceiling and a grotesque pool of blood surrounds his head like the most fucked-up halo ever. Hanbin wonders who killed him and left him behind, and if there’s someone out there still waiting for him to come home. Does it matter, in the end? They’re all going to die anyway.
How cynical.
The gate at the exit of the parking garage doesn’t work anymore, but someone already before them had decided that was no problem for them. They’d clearly driven straight through the barrier and had come out on the other side victoriously. Hanbin makes grateful use of it.
Today, on minus five, they don’t make it to the house yet. Hanbin had remembered the vague location on the map that the town was they needed to go to, and a name, but GPS services are also none existent, so they have to rely on an old, paper map Zhang Hao manages to scrounge up at one of the rest areas they stop at, just on the outside of Seoul. In the end, as night falls and the roads become dark and desolate, they put down the seats in the back to create a bed. They probably won’t have the best night’s rest ever, but Hanbin can’t continue driving like this.
“What were you doing, before all of this?” Zhang Hao asks, once they’ve devoured some of the snacks and have curled up in the backseat. He’s in between Hanbin’s legs, leaning against his chest, and they can see the stars above their head through the panoramic roof on Hanbin’s fancy car.
“Studying Business,” says Hanbin. “At Yonsei. I was in my second to last year. And you?”
Zhang Hao stills inside the circle of his arms, sitting up so that he can look at Hanbin over his shoulder. “I was studying Fine Arts,” he says. “I am, well, I was in my final year. Also at Yonsei.”
Hanbin’s brain whirs. Yonsei’s campus is large, but it wouldn’t have been completely out of the question that they could’ve bumped into each other on the quad. Or maybe they would’ve been reaching for the same history book in the library. Or perhaps they would’ve gotten caught in the same foot traffic that tended to be generated due to the protests of one of the student branches of the green party near the main administration block. In short, there could’ve been a million and one ways that Hanbin could’ve met Zhang Hao already years ago. And yet, here they are, and only now.
“Business, huh?” says Zhang Hao. “You must’ve been very smart.”
“Mostly boring,” Hanbin admits, and shrugs. “And aimless. My parents were paying my tuition, so they decided that they were also in charge of choosing my major. They wanted something reliable. Something that would generate a lot of income. Then, once I could take care of myself, they could drop me, I guess. Wash their hands off me.”
Zhang Hao’s eyes are searching as he grabs Hanbin’s hand and brings it up to cup his own cheek. “You are anything but boring to me,” he says, sincerely. “I think you’re the coolest person I’ve ever met.”
“An art student?” Hanbin snorts. “You must have been surrounded by cool people. I promise you, compared to them, I’m not much.”
“They’re pretentious,” Zhang Hao says, immediately. “Shallow. And yes, boring. They think they’re all that, just because they’re an artsy type and they’re studying art at university. In the end, all they did was hate each other and smoke their fancy cigarettes. And they’d get super offended if you’d tell them they stink.”
“Well,” says Hanbin. “I’ve only met one Yonsei Fire Arts student so far. And I’d say he’s plenty cool.”
Zhang Hao hides his grin into the palm of his hand, his eyes squinting closed like how cats do when they’re comfortable. “Flatterer,” he says, and he presses his lips to Hanbin. This kiss is gentle, unhurried, and without expectations of going anywhere else.
Hanbin likes every part of Zhang Hao, and every side of him, but this is one of his favourite ones. He moves slowly, like they have all the time in the world, and his lips fit exactly against Hanbin’s.
They fall asleep just like that, curled together so tightly that it is impossible to tell where one begins and the other ends. Hanbin hopes that the end of the world is like this—that it feels safe and comfortable, and that any onlookers might think they are just one person. It is a comforting thought to have.
minus four
They make it to the house. Hanbin ignores all standard traffic rules and drives right up to the beach, parking on the sand next to the front door. They take one lap around the house, and decide to break in through a window in the mudroom. Zhang Hao finds a rock on the patio that he can lift, and they break the glass like that. Hanbin covers his hands with one of the hoodies he brought from home, and uses that to punch out the last shards of glass, so that their way in and out is safe.
Somehow, the cabin is both bigger and smaller than Hanbin remembers. The master bedroom, where his parents used to sleep, used to feel like an entire kingdom, but it’s smaller than the bedroom back in Hanbin’s Seoul apartment. The living room, though, is massive, with huge floor to ceiling windows that look right across the sand, down to the ocean. Above the sea, the sky is blue, slightly tinged with yellow.
“It’s pretty here,” says Zhang Hao, looking around with wide eyes. “I think it would be an honour to die here.”
“Do you think so?” says Hanbin, but he’s somehow satisfied that Zhang Hao seems so enamoured by the beach house. “You haven’t even seen the best of it yet. Come, shall we take a walk out to the shore?”
They leave their shoes at the edge of the patio and walk down to the ocean barefeet. It’s hot outside, so Zhang Hao is only in a tee and Hanbin is in a wide-necked sleeveless shirt. The entire time they walk there, their hands don’t separate, swinging in between their bodies like they’re just two lovers on a romantic trip. Sometimes, when Hanbin looks at Zhang Hao from the corner of his eyes, and sees the bridge of his nose and the feather of his eyelashes, he is stunned by the other’s beauty again for a brief moment. When that happens, everything else fades away. Nothing else matters than Zhang Hao’s gentle smile.
“Look!” says Zhang Hao, and he makes a pleased noise. The link of their hands breaks as he rushes forward to grab a floating piece of driftwood, something that looks like a piece of a tree. The sea has smoothed away the bark, so that only a smooth branch is left. He holds it up to Hanbin proudly, as if it is a trophy, his gaze almost childish. It’s incredibly endearing. Hanbin’s heart threatens to jump out of his mouth.
Hanbin dips his toes into the water, which is still shockingly cold, but doesn’t flinch away from it. When he looks back up at Zhang Hao, the other is busy with writing something in the sand, where it is wet and dark because of the ocean water.
“You know the water is just going to erase that message again, right?” Hanbin says, tilting his head.
“I know,” says Zhang Hao, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Underneath the stick, the words slowly take shape. Zhang Hao and Hanbin lived here, he writes in huge letters. “Actually, I hope the ocean takes the message. Then it can spread it to every corner of the world, so that everyone will know that Hanbin and Zhang Hao lived here. And that they were happy.”
They fuck, right there on the beach. Except that it isn’t fucking, but love making. Everything about it is inconvenient, down to the way the slide is slightly dry, because no amount of spit will ever replace lube, and definitely taking into account that the sand goes everywhere it’s not supposed to go. But it’s the most in love Hanbin has ever felt, and when he looks Zhang Hao in the eyes to see his own emotions reflected back at him, he thinks the other might feel the same.
minus three
“You know,” says Hanbin, stirring his ramyeon with a pair of chopsticks they found in one of the kitchen draws. “You know, that wasn’t even the convenience I normally go to.”
Zhang Hao looks up from where he’s lying on the couch, upside-down. “The one where we met each other, you mean?”
Hanbin hums. “There’s actually one closer to my house. But I got embarrassed, since I always go there to buy the same ramyeon, and I know all of the clerks working there have started to recognise me. So, I went to another place.”
“Actually, it was my first time at that convenience store too,” says Zhang Hao. “I was on my way home from Ricky’s apartment, but there was a protest at the subway stop closest to his house. I stopped at that convenience store to buy some snacks to have later, and to have something to munch on on the train.”
“Huh,” Hanbin says. Somehow, he’s quietly pleased.
Smiling, Zhang Hao pulls up the neckline of his shirt. Fata viam invenient. “Didn’t I say it, Hanbin-ah?” he asks. He’s super pleased with himself, kicking his legs where he’s folded them over the back of the couch. “The fates will find a way. They knew you needed someone—that I needed someone. Sometimes, you just have to believe. We were meant to be.”
There is only one thing Hanbin believes in, and that’s Zhang Hao. But he doesn’t say that, and he just smiles at the other. “Come,” he says. “Shall we refresh the writing on the beach? Send another message to all of the people across the entire world?”
“Yeah,” says Zhang Hao, rolling over so that he is right-side-up again, his grin so blinding it might as well rival the sun, and takes Hanbin’s hand. “Let’s do it.”
minus two
Hanbin wakes up because Zhang Hao is crying. It’s still mostly dark, the watery light of dawn only appearing at the edge of the windows looking out to the beach, but Zhang Hao’s sobs are loud and unmissable. With a wriggle, Hanbin manages to rid his body of the last dregs of his tiredness, and then rolls over so that he can safely enclose Zhang Hao into the circle of his arms, like the world doesn’t extend past where Hanbin’s body ends.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” says Zhang Hao, in between his sobs, and it’s the most broken Hanbin has ever seen him. “I don’t miss my parents, but I dreamed that I saw them. And I hate them and I miss them in my heart in equal measures. I wish I wasn’t such a coward. I wish I could tell my mum that I love her one last time, even if she definitely doesn’t feel the same.”
“She loves you,” Hanbin promises him. “She knows that you love her, even if everything’s fucked up. But you’re part of her, dummy. You are literally made up out of parts of her. Wherever she is, right now, her soul knows what your soul feels.”
It’s silent for a long few minutes. “You think so?” Zhang Hao whispers, finally.
“I know so,” Hanbin says, with a finality that he feels for at least eighty percent. “Come, the sun will be nearly up. We can write a message for her in the sand, near the ocean. Just like we’ve been doing so far.”
“Alright,” says Zhang Hao. “I’d like that.”
“Come on,” Hanbin says, pressing a kiss to the back of Zhang Hao’s head, and the kiss means I love you. “Come on, I’ve got you.”
Zhang Hao reaches out and tangles their fingers together, squeezing his hand once, and Hanbin thinks he hears the words the other isn’t saying. His soul knows . “I know you do,” he says, his voice still fragile but his gaze stronger than it was before. “I know you do.”
minus one
“Tomorrow we’re going to die,” is the first thing Zhang Hao says, the day before they’re going to die. They’re still in bed, shoulder to shoulder, looking up at the ceiling. “I think I heard before that a death like this is supposed to be really quick. Painless, in fact.”
“I guess that it’s true after all,” Hanbin says, curling into himself tightly, his voice small. “Life ends with a whimper, and not with a bang.”
Zhang Hao looks at him over his shoulder where he is sitting at the window, and then walks over to Hanbin so he can join him at the breakfast bar. “Is that what you’re scared of?” he asks. “I realised that you asked me before, but I never really asked you . Are you scared of dying?”
“Not really,” says Hanbin, biting his lip in consideration. “More of . . . what comes after, I guess.”
“What do you mean?”
“I always feared that life would be meaningless,” Hanbin manages to whisper, unable to meet Zhang Hao’s eyes. “That I die and that I leave nothing behind, because I didn’t know where I was going during my life. I guess that’s true, after all.”
“No, you silly,” says Zhang Hao, grasping at Hanbin’s face so that he can force him to meet his gaze. “The meaning of life is not to leave something behind. It’s not even to be successful, or to earn a billion won or to win a Nobel prize. The meaning of life is to live . Everything else is just . . . it clogs up our understanding of what it means to be alive. And part of living is to die. A natural cycle of rinse and repeat.”
Hanbin searches Zhang Hao’s eyes and finds nothing but sincerity. “You really believe that,” he says.
“You do too,” Zhang Hao says, stubbornly. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here with me, a stranger, in a house that holds so many memories for you. Life is just . . . you fuck up and then you fuck up and then you figure out something about yourself and then you die. And it’s being in love and finding love and losing love and losing yourself and then you die again. Life is living, and that includes all of the parts that make it suck and all of the parts that make it suck less.”
“And then you die?” Hanbin guesses, raising his eyebrows.
Zhang Hao nods. “And then you die.”
“Alright,” says Hanbin, slowly. “Then what makes life worth living?”
“Who said that life needed to be worth living?” Zhang Hao scoffs. “That’s just a myth we tell ourselves. It’s worth it because you’re you. And I’m me. That’s all that we need. All I need is you , Hanbin-ah.”
Slowly, Hanbin slips his fingers in the spaces between Zhang Hao’s and then overlaps them. “Will you remember me?” he whispers, wondering if the other can hear how loudly his heart pounds when he opens his mouth, like his mouth is an echo chamber for his thoughts. “When I die and you die?”
“Silly, silly,” says Zhang Hao, almost like he’s singing the words instead of saying them. He’s smiling, and he looks so, so fond. “Even when we die and after that, we will be together. We are made of stars, and we will become stars again, and when we open our eyes again, the first thing we will see is each other.”
They fall together like that. Hanbin kisses Zhang Hao, and he swears he tastes stardust on the other’s tongue. And when he slips his fingers inside the other, slippery with lube, the heat he feels is just the universe. Too soon, Zhang Hao starts begging Hanbin to fuck him properly. When Hanbin protests, Zhang Hao curls his legs around Hanbin’s hips to tug him closer. “I wanna feel you,” he says, seriously, pressing the palm of his hand across the centre of Hanbin’s chest, right across the tattoo there. “I wanna feel you even when I don’t feel anything else.”
Hanbin presses kisses against every part of Zhang Hao’s skin that he can reach to distract the other from the sting when he does fuck his cock inside. Zhang Hao keeps whining, these tortured, pleasured sounds, throwing back his head to show off the long, distracting line of his neck. What else can Hanbin do but fit his teeth there?
Love is devotion, and Hanbin worships Zhang Hao. Once Zhang Hao has fully adjusted, he sets a punishing pace, their hips slapping together with obscene sounds, their moans and whimpers a symphony, and their hearts beating in time.
When Hanbin comes, seconds after Zhang Hao does, who squeezes around Hanbin punishingly tight, the flashes behind his eyelids aren’t dying stars. They’re stars being born. Hanbin sees it happen, and he smiles.
zero
The news report eight days ago—which isn’t that long in reality but feels like lifetimes ago—hadn’t specified when exactly the solar flare would take place, so all they can do is wait for the moment to arrive. Hanbin wakes up in the morning in the bed next to Zhang Hao, curled towards each other like commas in the sheets. It will be the last day he wakes up forever.
After Zhang Hao also wakes up, they get out of bed and make breakfast. They’ve rationed well, and today’s breakfast is made up out of the last two packages of ramyeon and three eggs. Still naked, they sit down at the breakfast bar and watch the sea hit the shore through the large window in the living room. Hanbin tries to feed Zhang Hao the third egg, and they bicker about it. Finally, they split it exactly in half. Zhang Hao looks mighty pleased with himself, like a cat who got the cream.
No words are exchanged. It’s unnecessary. Their arms keep brushing when Zhang Hao uses his chopsticks because they can’t bear to sit further apart from each other. Every touch could be the last, and that’s just the truth.
They finish breakfast and leave the dirty dishes in the sink. No use in cleaning up after themselves now. Then Zhang Hao takes Hanbin’s hand and they walk down to the waterline again. Above their head, the sky has turned more yellow than blue. Hanbin grabs the stick they stuck in the sand last time and refreshes the writing. Zhang Hao and Hanbin lived here.
“Can I?” asks Zhang Hao, his voice raspy from disuse, and he takes the stick from Hanbin. He writes: And they will be happy forever!!!
For the last time, they make love right there and then on the beach, right next to their names. Sand gets absolutely everywhere, and spit isn’t enough to make the slide of it completely pleasurable for Zhang Hao, but the older urges Hanbin on with a desperation that’s almost maniacal, and their bodies still fit together so well that they might as well have been made for each other. When Hanbin spills across Zhang Hao’s tummy, the other’s name leaves his lips like how a believer would say a prayer. And Zhang Hao’s eyes are full of the universe when he looks at Hanbin, leaving no doubt at what he’s seeing.
Then they walk back to the house and share the shower to wash off the sand and grime from their bodies. The water of the shower is cold and smells vaguely stale, but neither of them can be bothered to care about that. “I love you,” says Hanbin, when he washes Zhang Hao’s shoulders and “I love you,” says Hanbin, when he drags his hands across Zhang Hao’s wide back.
In turn, Zhang Hao wraps one of the huge beach towels they found in one of the closets of the cabin around the two of them, naked body pressed to naked body, and whispers, “I love you. I love you. ”
When everything is through, they curl up on the bed again, facing each other. It’s warmer than Hanbin has ever been before, but he’ll gladly suffer through the heat if he can be this close to Zhang Hao forever. It can’t be that long now.
“I’m sorry I didn’t find you before,” Hanbin says, touching the side of Zhang Hao’s face, the curve of his jaw, desperately trying to imprint the feeling of it on his memory. The words spill out of his mouth like how a river crashes through a dam or like how flames catch on to dry kindle—destructive in their path. “I’m sorry I was a coward and I missed out on so much.”
“Silly,” says Zhang Hao, his eyes scrunching up into fond half-moons. Droplets pool at the nape of his neck and the line of his hair. “Silly Hanbin-ah. We met each other at exactly the right time.”
Did they? Does it even matter? Hanbin presses on, now using both his hands to frame Zhang Hao’s face. “Thank you for teaching me how to live.”
There’s wetness at the corner of Zhang Hao’s eyes. “I think you have known how to do that all along.”
For a while, they’re both silent, just breathing each other in. Zhang Hao smells like sweat and happiness, and heat radiates off his skin. He’s so gorgeous that Hanbin thinks everything so far might have been a dream or an illusion. “Do you think,” he whispers. “Do you think that, when all of this is over, our souls will be able to find each other again?”
“Hanbin-ah,” says Zhang Hao, and the way he says Hanbin’s name sounds like I love you. “Our souls were already the same from the beginning.”
The heat is growing unbearable, so Hanbin presses his lips against Zhang Hao’s, trying to press the shape of himself into Zhang Hao’s mouth so that no higher power could ever deny that they were made up out of the same atoms. And Zhang Hao kisses back with the same determination, their fingers tangling in between their bodies so tightly that nothing would ever be able to tear them apart, not even fate. The light gets so bright that Hanbin has to close his eyes, and still a yellow imprint is left onto the back of his eyelids. And then it’s everywhere, shattering him apart into a million fireworks, intertwining every part of him with every part of Zhang Hao.
In the end, it didn’t matter where Hanbin was or where he was going. He was made up out of stars after all.