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The first time Hanbin sees the fox is the night he moves into his ancestral home, the home his grandparents left for him once they passed.
The fox sat at the edge of the thick tree line. The snow white of its fur dazzling even in the pitch black of the night, its tawny eyes full of light even without anything to reflect in them. Its presence is unnerving, and without the visible ruffle of the fox’s fur in the wind, Hanbin may have believed he had seen a ghost.
His first night alone in the house, echoes of his grandparents and their parents and even their parents bounce around the wooden beams and off the heated floor to keep him awake. The walls hold lifetimes of memories that force his eyes open into the dead of night. Built before modern bathrooms, Hanbin was forced to venture outside to a separate annex of the home once he could no longer lie in bed awake. The cold autumn night bites at Hanbin’s bare toes and runs a chill down his back as he has to step outside to use it.
Stepping out into the cold air, Hanbin wills his eyes away from the tree line blanketing the edge of the mountain that the home sits under. Tigers have been long eradicated from the South Korean forests, almost as long as the house itself has stood, but Hanbin is isolated far enough north that the irrational side of his brain worries that there must be just one left hiding in the woods, waiting for him to step out on his own in the dark of the night.
Preferring to ignore anything that might be stalking him while he creeps along the extended ledge around the home, Hanbin keeps his eyes steady on the path he has to take to the other end of the house, forcing his eyes away from whatever might be lurking at the foot of the mountain. If he was to be mauled by a tiger, he would rather not have any warning beforehand.
However, the stark white catches his eye anyways, turning his head before he can even stop himself.
The fox sits still and beautiful, watching Hanbin without blinking. Hanbin knew inevitably that he would see wildlife while living right against their habitats, so far from any cities, but the sight shocks him anyways.
The fox watches him, and so Hanbin watches back. Staring back at each other from a distance, Hanbin is even able to make out small details about the fox. It isn’t completely white, but patches of black cover each of its four legs and the tip of the tail that is hooked around its feet like a cat.
A particularly strong gust of wind rattles the trees, startling Hanbin and knocking him back against the siding of the house harshly. When Hanbin regains his balance, the fox is gone from his sight.
𓆱𓃥 ⭒ 𓃦 𓆱
Six months after the house was legally his own, Hanbin packed up everything to his name into his small car and drove as far away from civilization as he possibly could to return to the place he spent his early childhood. The home where his family lived for generations, tucked away underneath a towering landscape of the benevolent mountain range his grandparents called home.
Three hours away from Seoul, and three hours away from his friends and the life he built in his adulthood, as well as his publisher who barely gives him room to breathe with the frequent home visits and constantly emails “checking in” on his progress on his next novel.
The house was put in Hanbin’s name four days after his grandfather passed away. At 26, Hanbin had no intentions of owning a hundred year old home on his own, especially one that sat underneath an ancient mountain hours from modern society.
With a guilty conscience and heavy heart, Hanbin listed it for sale soon after the funeral, searching for someone to take the burden of the hanok off his hands. However, not a single interested buyer contacted his realtor. After months of lowering the price to shameful amounts that Hanbin prays his grandfather never learns of in the afterlife, eventually he gives up.
Hanbin considers endless other options; he attempts to turn it into a rental home or into a vacation getaway or even a hiking lodge. Just as the eerie mountain looms over his grandparents’ house, a curse tying the home to him rests on Hanbin’s shoulders.
Despite two best selling young adult novels under his belt and lining his bank account comfortably, Hanbin cannot afford two homes. Life in Seoul already weighs heavily on his finances, and a second home rotting from emptiness was starting to crush him. His impending third novel could pay for the downpayment on a house, certainly, but that would also require the haze clouding Hanbin’s head and the mental block preventing him from writing to clear to actually write the novel.
His final straw is being woken up to the harsh banging of his publisher’s fist on his door early in the morning, begging for an update on the novel he hadn’t started. Hanbin calls his landlord to break the lease that afternoon, and he is packed before anyone can even notice.
The hanok is beautiful, and many of Hanbin’s childhood memories are filled with the home and his grandparents there. Though he hardly remembers, the earliest years of his life were lived within the aging wooden walls.
Returning does not feel like home, not without his grandfather’s loud voice or the scent of his grandmother cooking all of his favorite meals in the kitchen. The only memory of them left is the walls and the old windchime swaying in the cool autumn breeze.
In preparation to sell the house, it was already wiped clean of any trace of life. Hanbin had already spent days sorting through every single material possession of his grandparents, keeping only a small number of personal belongings for himself and donating the rest. The house was empty, but Hanbin was ready to come home to fill it.
Hanbin unloads his small car and the few belongings he actually cared to keep to furnish his house, everything else left in a storage locker back in Seoul - his life waiting for him to return to it eventually. It does not feel quite right moving in and spreading all of his belongings over the traces his grandparents left, but he has no choice.
It takes little time for Hanbin to unpack whatever is left of his life. Really, all he needs is his laptop and clothes, but he brought most of his things anyway. The smiling picture frames, the fluffy pillows and plush dolls that occupied more space on his bed than he did, even in adulthood, and his meager bookshelves.
Hanbin is left with the silence of the house, the wind rattling the old windows and whistling through the slats of wood in the ceiling. An unsettled feeling sinks deep in his stomach, both at the knowledge that he truly is alone, maybe for the first time in his life, and with the unfamiliar, yet very familiar environment.
Hanbin has lived alone since he was sixteen years old, when his parents finally found a reason to send him away. He lived in a lonely dorm room in high school and then again during his time in university and then in a lonely apartment until this very moment. However, even in the midst of his loneliness, there was still always the sounds of teenage boys, pressed right up against the small box of his dorm room while he studied, or the whispers of family arguments that when Hanbin closed his eyes in the bedroom of his apartment, he could picture he was part of.
There was always someone, no matter where Hanbin lived, but now, there is no one else and he is truly alone. His new home, or rather, the old home placed in his hands, was far from any signs of life. With the spotty cell service, Hanbin mapped the closest grocery store at twenty minutes away, and the closest neighbor he remembers seeing was around the bend of the mountain. Even in his loneliness, Hanbin has never been left on his own quite like this.
The same emptiness plagued Hanbin from the moment his grandfather passed away. When he received the phone call, the feeling of being alone in the world settled on his shoulders almost immediately. He has a mother and a father somewhere, probably still in the home he spent part of his adolescence until he didn't, but truly, he was by himself.
_____
The first night, Hanbin lies restlessly in bed. Occupying the smaller room he always stayed in when he visited his grandparents, it is familiar, but the wind swirls around the house hauntingly, whistling through the rafters and banging against the siding. Even these sounds are familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. However, unlike when he was a child, Hanbin is unable to crawl into his grandparents' bed, snuggling between the two of them when he is scared.
Hanbin tosses and turns for hours until he can no longer stand the sound of his own breathing. As much as he hated to step out into the dark night as a child, he is an adult now, and he has no option when the bathroom is in an isolated part of the home, too old to be connected through the house.
With bleary eyes and slippered feet, Hanbin steps out into the cold, attempting to ignore whatever eyes might be watching him in the night. His endeavors are unsuccessful, however, because out of the corner of his eye is a stark white figure that startles him.
The fox stares at him, and Hanbin stares back, neither blinking. Small in stature, but with an aura of danger surrounding the animal, Hanbin watches it carefully, waiting for it to make the first move. However, the fox does the same and sits patiently. Like a pair of mirrors, they watch each other.
The strength of the wind and his focus fully engrossed in the small creature at the edge of the forest causes Hanbin to lose his balance, falling back against the house. Once he looks back, the white fox is gone, leaving a dark space where it stood moments ago. A cold chill runs down Hanbin's back, and he forces his eyes away from the empty tree front.
_____
Hanbin promised his publisher that he would write as soon as he moved into his grandparents' home. That he would finally stop putting off his deadlines and start the third novel he had been contracted to write. Instead, the first thing Hanbin does is find the nearest store. While the closest grocery store is a twenty minute drive, the nearest restaurant is even further. Accustomed to takeout or convenience store meals, Hanbin has to even readjust his diet.
The store is not much of a grocery store, more a tiny hardware combined with a convenience store, minus the convenience. Hanbin is able to buy a meager supply of food to feed him until the weekend when he can make a longer trip to the nearest city, an hour away. He picks up a new toothbrush and lightbulbs for the porch light outdoors, so the trip isn't completely a waste.
"You're new here," the rugged elderly man says as a greeting once Hanbin places his few items on the makeshift counter, an old wooden desk. Startled by the gruff tone and the lilt of the man's satoori, it takes Hanbin aback. He was in Seoul just a day ago, but being recognized as an outsider so soon shocks him.
"Ah, yes. I recently moved into my grandparents' home," Hanbin politely agrees with the man. He takes the card from Hanbin's hand to scan, but an eyebrow is quirked in thought.
"Han-ssi's grandson?" The man asks, sharing his grandfather’s surname. Hanbin has no recollection of meeting the man, but maybe the little house under the mountain attracted more attention than he anticipated.
"Yes, sir, that's correct," Hanbin politely takes the card back with two hands. "I just moved from Seoul yesterday." Despite the musty and dark store, Hanbin beams politely like the sun, forever the filial grandson.
The old man grunts, but Hanbin isn't quite sure at what. In the terse silence, the old man noisily bags the few items Hanbin purchased. The old man holds the bag out for Hanbin to take, but he holds onto it, demanding Hanbin's attention.
"How is it, over there," the old man questions, voice hesitant for some reason, his eyebrows furrowing.
Hanbin is confused, but he answers honestly. "It is fine," he trails off. "The house is empty, and being so close to the woods is new to me, but the first night went well," Hanbin answers politely, unsure of the man’s interest, masquerading the confusion in his voice with a polite demeanor.
Still gripping the bag tightly, the old man stares into Hanbin's eyes uncomfortably, his eyes boring into his with an unsettling look.
"Be careful of the foxes," is what he finally says before releasing the bag.
Hanbin's mind wanders back to the image of the brilliant white fox he saw the night before, staring back at him like a ghost.
For some reason, Hanbin does not want to share his experience from last night, something stopping him from telling the old man that he has already encountered a fox. Instead, he nods his head with a smile.
_____
Hanbin ignores the incessant phone calls and emails from his publisher, sending a brief text message to claim the service is so poor at the moment that the calls keep dropping. The service is spotty at best, but he is manually hanging up each phone call, and eventually he simply turns his phone off.
No one else contacts him; no family waits to hear the details of his move and his friends have all moved on without him, forgetting him the moment he left after their brief goodbye party they held for him the night before he trekked to the end of civilization.
Instead of writing, Hanbin spends his first few days on his hands and knees cleaning and propped on short ladders fixing light bulbs. The house has been well-maintained, and there truly is not much that needs to be done before he can live comfortably, but his grandparents' ability to maintain the house declined the older they got.
After watching countless videos, Hanbin takes it upon himself to spend the late afternoon until the evening with a drill he acquired to fix the wooden shutters that bang in the wind and keep him up all night long. He was never very handy before, always calling his landlord the moment something went wrong in his apartment, but now, he is on his own. The drill startles him at first, but Hanbin finds it easy work, reseating screws and adding new ones that have disappeared with age.
The sun sets, but Hanbin barely notices, too consumed by the satisfaction of securing each wooden slat to the house. Once everything is fit to his liking, Hanbin takes a step back, jumping off the short platform surrounding the edges of the hanok to take a look at his finished work. There actually isn't much to look at, but he is happy anyways. The wind still blows heavily against the house, but it's no longer quite as harrowing.
The autumn sky goes dark quickly, and Hanbin crunches across the gravel to return the old drill to the small tool shed at the edge of his property. Typically Hanbin would avoid the woods after dark, but he ignores the anxious tug at his chest and returns all of the aging tools to where they belong.
Even with the new light bulb he installed the day previous, the light only travels so far in the rich darkness of the night, barely reaching the toolshed, and certainly not illuminating the edge of the tree line. Still not accustomed to wildlife and darkness, Hanbin's heart races and his limbs slow as he tries to hurry back inside. He trips on the door jam, and his right shoulder painfully slams into the doorway. With a yelp, Hanbin loses his focus, and his eyes align with the dense forest, just a few steps away from where he stands.
A repeat of his first night, a stark white figure catches his eye. The snowy fox sits gazing, seemingly uninterested, as Hanbin uses his left hand to rub the sore part of his shoulder. The fox sits blinking slowly, its fluffy tail wrapped around its feet this time.
The warning from the store owner the other day runs through Hanbin's mind as he stares back at the fox, closer now than it was the other night, so he can see all the details of its face. Its light eyes are even more striking this close, and it is unnerving just how alive the fox looks from this distance. Hanbin had thought he had seen a ghost the other night, but the texture of the fox's fur and the small dot of black fur right under its eye proves to Hanbin that it is real.
"You're quite cute, actually," Hanbin admits incredulously, speaking to the open air. Maybe at the sound, the fox finally shows interest in him, quirking its head slightly, its ears twitching with his voice.
"I don't know why that old man told me to be careful around you," Hanbin muses out loud. "You look harmless." The fox's tail flicks, and it blinks slowly. It feels like gratitude, even if Hanbin knows the fox cannot understand him.
"It's cold out," Hanbin notes on the chilly autumn evening. The fox wraps its tail around it more firmly, as if understanding his words. "You should go home before it gets too windy, little fox." There is no possible way the animal recognizes what he is saying, but it chuffs, as if in agreement.
Hanbin watches closely for a few more seconds, praying the fox wasn't simply waiting for Hanbin to turn his back to lunge at him, but he is also not quite sure how dangerous something so pretty could be. The fox makes no motion to move from its place, and if Hanbin didn’t know better, he may have assumed it looked bored, even.
"I'll go first," Hanbin calls to the fox. "Have a good night," he wishes, and he trudges back across the compound to the sliding door at the entrance of his home. When Hanbin turns around, he catches a glimpse of the fox running deeper into the forest alone.
Hanbin hums and returns the warm recesses of his own home by himself.
_____
Every night, Hanbin catches a glimpse of the fox. It sits and watches him as he fixes the gate and pulls out endless overgrown weeds into the late evening. Even when Hanbin isn't outside, he notices the fox watching the house as he cooks from the kitchen window. With each passing day, the fox inches closer and closer out of the woods and nearer to the property the house sits on.
The animal's behavior seems odd, and Hanbin has no idea if it is normal for a fox to watch a person so closely and return to the same place so often. Hanbin spends a bit of time scouring websites trying to come up with an explanation, but the only two real answers he gets is that it could either be rabies, or that the animal is hungry. Hanbin isn't very familiar with animals, but he is certain that the fox does not have rabies; it sits so calmly and keeps a distance from the man, and it looks too aware for it to be rabies.
The fox must be hungry, he concludes, and he spends extra time researching what on earth he could feed the animal safely. Out of his meager supplies and what the internet claims foxes can eat, Hanbin lands on preparing some chicken breast for the animal, hoping it will be safe for it to have as a meal.
Before the sun began to set and when the fox would usually make itself known, Hanbin sits a little dish right where the fox always sat watching him.
Wishing not to scare the animal off, Hanbin waits anxiously, busying himself with things in his kitching to watch for the fox. Like clockwork, as the sun dips under the horizon, the animal emerges from the depths of the woods, walking boldly to its usual spot under the tree line. It notices the little bowl of food right away.
Like a puppy, the fox's ears fold back and its head tilts in confusion at the food left for it outside. Instead of diving in like Hanbin had expected, the fox inspects its surroundings instead, scanning the layout of the house with its sharp eyes. As if it knew, the fox's eyes land on the window in the kitchen, just above the sink where Hanbin had spotted the animal several times before. It pauses, and even from a distance, Hanbin can see the bright tawny eyes squint, as if in consideration, towards him.
A cold chill runs down Hanbin's back. Maybe the fox truly does have rabies and he has been at risk of being bitten every time he has spotted the animal outside. The interaction stirs an uncomfortable feeling in Hanbin's chest - there is simply something not quite normal about the fox, but he cannot quite put his finger on what that is.
Staring at Hanbin and Hanbin staring back, the fox warily relents and bends at its neck to sniff the food placed out in front of it. Apparently finding the food suitable for itself, the fox takes a hesitant bite, straightening its back to watch Hanbin as it chews. After its first tentative bite, the fox digs in fully, its lip drawing as it gnaws on the meat. Hanbin watches from his place in front of the window, a smile touching his face watching the animal indulge in the little meal Hanbin made for it.
Once the fox finishes, it sits back, licking its lips and flicking its tail happily. The animal blinks slowly, watching Hanbin again. He swears it nods its head before running off to the woods again.
This becomes part of their routine. Every night after a full day of ignoring his phone and procrastinating his writing, Hanbin cooks his own dinner and a second, smaller meal for the little fox that has made its presence known almost every single day since Hanbin has moved in.
The weather grows colder and the leaves begin to fall from the trees, coating the gravel paths in the courtyard of Hanbin's home, but the little fox still visits Hanbin each night. Some nights, Hanbin even sits on the stout wooden table, which was primarily used by his grandmother to peel garlic and gossip when her friends visited, and he enjoys his own dinner with the fox.
Weeks pass by like this, the early autumn deepening each day, turning the dark green mountain into a beautiful kaleidoscope of colors. The loneliness didn't stick quite so firmly to Hanbin's bones in the array of reds and yellows and oranges, and of course, with the company of his little fox friend.
Hanbin never had a pet before; his parents hardly paid any attention to him, let alone a small animal that required love and care that they could not afford their own son, and his grandmother thought having a pet in the home was dirty and inauspicious. The fox was a wild animal, but Hanbin fed it like a pet. Even when they kept their distance from each other, he felt the companionship of a pet. Their evening ritual was something Hanbin looked forward to every day; the little fox with the too-aware eyes occupying his thoughts throughout his mornings and afternoons.
𓆱𓃥 ⭒ 𓃦 𓆱
It is two weeks, almost to the day, after Hanbin begins sharing his dinner with the fox that the animal disappears.
For several days, it had almost been at the same time on the dot when the fox would worry its way to the edge of the tree line to make its presence known to Hanbin and to enjoy whatever meal he had cooked for it before slipping back into the recesses of the mountain.
Like every night, Hanbin sets aside a small piece of the protein he was enjoying with his dinner as he cooks, and brings the little dish outside, alongside his own meal. The sun was out and the air uncharacteristically warm for an autumn evening, and Hanbin felt like his chest was full of dust after spending the afternoon on a ladder cleaning the wooden rafters. The fresh autumn air cleared his lungs and there would be less and less time in the near future he could spend enjoying the outdoors like this, so Hanbin had planned to enjoy his own dinner with the little fox together.
The snowy white of the fox’s fluffy fur usually catches his eye right as the sun starts setting. The deeper into October the earlier the sun disappears behind the horizon, and Hanbin assumes maybe the little animal simply has its own internal clock that it follows. Despite the sunshine warming the grass all day long, the cold air of the evening bites Hanbin's fingers as he waits.
The steam of Hanbin's own dinner swirls in front of his eyes in the cold air, fogging his vision and creating a temporary haze obscuring the tree line where the fox should be appearing any minute. He sets his bowl down next to him on the cold wooden platform and he watches the woods as the sun sets.
It is silly, Hanbin thinks to himself, rubbing his hands together and shivering in his jacket. Waiting for a wild animal to enjoy his dinner is quite ridiculous, and the longer the evening draws out while Hanbin waits in the cold for it to arrive, the more he realizes just how silly he has been since moving into his grandparents' home. Hanbin was so lonely that he sought out companionship in a wild animal that always had the potential to maim him or give him a disease.
The little fox could have hurt him, or it could have brought more hungry wild animals along with it some evening. It was just a fox, and their evening meetings didn't mean anything to it other than a guaranteed source of food.
The sun fully behind the horizon, darkness descends upon Hanbin's shoulders, and he finally gives up waiting. Unfolding his sore knees and taking the chilled bowl of his dinner, Hanbin spares one last glance at the tree line before slipping back into the warmth and light of his home, attempting to ignore the anxious feeling tugging at his chest.
_____
Hanbin does not sleep well that night. Behind his eyes are visions of blood and small animals torn apart by something much larger, and his ears are attuned to the sound of every little creak and groan of the old house around him, just like his first night sleeping alone. He tosses and turns, unable to even get comfortable in his bed.
Begrudgingly, just like his very first night, Hanbin swings his legs over the edge of his mattress and winds his way through his corridors in the dark, but this time a bit more expertly after navigating the same space for three weeks. He slips on a pair of outdoor slippers, electing to take a stroll to the bathroom, hoping that stretching his legs and the shock of the cold might just ease the rumblings of anxiety in his chest and clear his thoughts.
The cold of the night hits Hanbin like a wall, punching the air from his lungs. When he can breathe again, his breath swirls like a fog in front of his face. His eyes still blurry from his attempts to sleep, Hanbin clumsily takes the short walk on the raised pathway around the home to the lesser part of the complex where the bathroom waits for him.
With his cloudy vision and tired mind, Hanbin barely registers the image of the man at first. Simply an array of unfamiliar colors outside of his line of vision, a large object Hanbin does not remember occupying the wooden platform he earlier sat and waited for the fox. Once Hanbin's sluggish thoughts are able to catch up with what he is seeing, his heart races.
It's a tiger, Hanbin’s mind jumps to the first conclusion
Quietly, as to not disturb the object, Hanbin rubs his eyes, trying to clear them out so that he can watch as he meets his untimely death.
With clear vision, Hanbin is able to make out the true nature of the figure in front of him. It's not a tiger, and it's not a different wild animal waiting to attack him, but a young man lying on the platform. The man is bundled in a fluffy white coat, only his ruddy cheeks and spill of black hair visible from his clothing. Hanbin's heart stops at the image, while not quite as scary as a tiger or a bear, he has never seen this man before, and the thought that he might have a dead body on his property runs a chill down his back.
Slowly, Hanbin steps from the walkway onto the gravel, carefully crunching around the wooden platform to take a better look at the man. His face is tucked into the coat, and his skin is a porcelain white, outside of his red cheeks and nose. Hanbin holds his own breath and prays, watching the man for any sign of life. It comes in the form of a soft hum and white fog from breathing out of his exposed nose.
He's not dead, just asleep, Hanbin surmises. From his new angle, Hanbin is able to make out more of the man's face. Long eyelashes flutter against his high cheekbones. Underneath the neck of his coat, Hanbin can see plush lips, split and cracked almost painfully, and there are a pair of moles dotting his cheeks. The man is quite pretty, and Hanbin's heart races again.
The man stumps him. Hanbin would certainly remember a face like this man's if he had seen it around town, and it surely is not one of his elderly neighbors who had gotten confused and wound up outside his house. It was a completely strange young man, sleeping deeply, a light snore even rattling in the quiet night.
Hanbin hesitates before placing a hand on the man's bicep, shaking slightly.
"Excuse me," he calls out, trying to wake the man gently. He does not respond, and Hanbin jostles him again to no avail.
"Sir," Hanbin calls out again, politely. "Please wake up," he pleads. The man does not wake up, but he hums and buries his nose further into his jacket in response instead.
Hanbin starts running through all the possible scenarios and constructs multiple stories on why this man was sleeping on his property. Maybe the man drank too much and gave someone the wrong address and fell asleep outside when his key didn't work, or maybe there was something wrong with him that left him on Hanbin's property.
Watching the man's frosty breath in the air and the shallow rise and fall of his chest, Hanbin considers all of his options. He could call the police, but it's not like the man was disturbing anything, he was just sleeping. He could continue trying to shake the man awake, but he was already feeling too shy to continue. There was also an urgent care doctor Hanbin found the number of the last time he stopped into the tiny convenience store he could call, but the man slept so peacefully, Hanbin was certain there was nothing wrong with him.
The last option, and maybe the least satisfactory and most unsafe, is Hanbin could let the man continue to sleep on the platform. The options roll over in Hanbin's head, and he makes a decision before he can truly consider the implications.
Quietly, Hanbin slips past the man and inside the sliding doors of his entryway. He finds the spare winter comforter he bought for the upcoming season in a storage closet, and pulls it free from the new packaging. With a satisfied look, Hanbin all but skips back to the door, sliding it open quietly again.
The man has not moved an inch, huddled into himself on the hard wooden platform. Arms full, Hanbin carefully places the blanket over the man's shoulders, pulling the plush material over his nose. The man stirs, but still does not wake, simply pulling the comforter closer around his shoulders while making a pleased noise.
Hanbin stands back to look at the ridiculous sight, but for some reason, he feels pleased to see the man cozy underneath his comforter. With a light smile, he watches the man long enough that his toes ache from the cold. Shaking out of a stupor, Hanbin pads back to his door, taking a final glance at the unexpected situation that landed practically in his lap. In a moment of clarity, Hanbin takes extra time locking all of his doors, as if it was an extra barrier of protection against the unknown stranger outside.
Uneasily, Hanbin settles back into his bed. the warmth of his own body heat enveloping him as he snuggles into the sheets. The paper windows and sliding wooden doors would not be a deterrent for an intruder, but the strange man was sleeping so peacefully that Hanbin worries more about his body temperature throughout the night, rather than if he would break in.
_____
Waking up in the morning, Hanbin rises to the sunshine pouring through the windows and the memory of a strange dream, one where a man he has never seen before slept just outside his house. The dream felt too real for it to be fake, to be simply just a figment of his imagination. Hanbin jumps out of bed, sliding on the hardwood floor to swing the door open with a loud bang.
The wooden platform is empty; the stranger is gone, but Hanbin's comforter is folded neatly on the corner, proving that Hanbin's memories weren't just a dream.
Dumbfounded that there truly was a mysterious man sleeping outside his home the night before, Hanbin retrieves the comforter to return it to the storage closet inside, being careful not to undo the stranger's hard work and neat folds.
Hanbin thinks of nothing else the entire day, just his encounter with the handsome sleeping stranger. He mulls over every moment in his head, running through them again and again, trying to parse out new details that might give him a better idea of what actually happened and why the man was there the night before.
In the middle of his thoughts, Hanbin realizes he has all but run out of things to do. He spent three weeks working nonstop on the house, cleaning and fixing everything he could, avoiding the incessant calls of his publisher, and finally, all he has is to work on his manuscript. His mind is preoccupied with a red tipped nose and a pair of moles, but the work is over, and all Hanbin has left is his novel.
With a heavy sigh, Hanbin pulls out his long forgotten laptop, recharging the weeks-dead battery and waiting excessively long for it to turn on and load his word processor from weeks without use. After several minutes of anxious waiting, Hanbin finally is able to pull up the file he simply titled 'Outline.' Besides a handful of half-finished sentences, the page is completely empty, despite the neverending promises Hanbin gave to his publisher and the guarantees that he had started months ago.
The blinking line of his cursor stares back at him, flashing over and over, matching the hammering in Hanbin's chest. The afternoon passes just like that, as Hanbin stares at the blank white of his page.
His mind races with everything and nothing, full of thoughts about the strange guest he had the night before swirling around with every date and clause he agreed to when he signed the contract for his third novel, but his head is wiped clean of ideas, the page remaining blank as the shadows in the dining room creep over him, blanketing the room in darkness as the sun falls behind the house.
Hanbin is eventually pulled from his daze by the sound of terse rapping on the door. The dining room where he sat at the short wooden table is dark and Hanbin stumbles to race to the door.
Only a few visitors in the weeks since Hanbin has moved in, each time it startles him. Nosy neighbors or old friends of his grandparents or service men are the only people Hanbin has interacted with in the past few weeks, and he expects the same when he slides in his socks to swing open the door. Rather than an elderly man on the other side, it is the pretty stranger who slept outside his home the night before.
"Oh," Hanbin gasps, breathless at the sight. Even with the folded comforter from the night before, Hanbin thought he might never see the man again - assuming that the stranger was simply a ghost who stopped for a quick rest.
The stranger wears the same thick coat, his chin tucked into the collar. A pair of bright, wide hazel eyes stare back in similar shock before ducking them down towards his feet. Over the top of his coat, the man's ears burn a bright red - from the cold or from feeling shy, Hanbin isn't sure.
Hanbin is dumbstruck, and he finds himself gaping at the image, unable to come up with something, anything to say to the man. Instead, the stranger takes a deep breath, filling his chest, and raises his eyes to look at Hanbin again.
"Hello," the man's voice chimes, soft and windswept, just like the array of black hair blowing in the wind.
"Hi," Hanbin says, too loudly. He swears he sees the man flinch, and Hanbin internally curls into himself, embarrassed and cheeks burning.
"I just wanted to apologize for last night," the stranger says timidly. Hanbin furrows his eyebrows, confused why he would feel sorry when Hanbin would have hardly even noticed his presence if not for waking up in the middle of the night. "It was impolite of me, and I did not wish to be a burden for you."
"You weren't a burden," Hanbin replies without even a second to think. Truly, Hanbin would have never even noticed he was there the night before if he wasn't so restless thinking about the fox. The memory of the disappearing fox flashes back in his mind, Hanbin too preoccupied with thinking about his strange guest the night before to even wonder about the missing animal.
"Was everything okay? I was worried you were hurt or maybe that you were sick. I've never seen you before," Hanbin trails off, his worry thick in the air. The man's shoulders raise to his ears out of embarrassment.
"Yes, I'm sorry," he apologizes again, sheepish. "I have a bad habit of sleepwalking, and I ended up here."
"You sleep walked here," Hanbin deadpans, perplexed. Hanbin thought his closest neighbor was over a five minute drive away.
"Somehow," the man muses, voice sounding far away and vague.
Hanbin smiles, even in the oddity of the situation. "I'm glad I wasn't able to wake you then," he laughs, easily. The stranger eases at the sound, his shoulders loosening. "I'm Sung Hanbin, by the way," he introduces himself easily.
"Oh," the man exclaims softly, his eyes brightening, as if the words were a gift. "My name is Zhang Hao," he responds with his own small smile.
"Do you live around here, then?" Hanbin chats idly. Zhang Hao startles at the question - his eyebrows furrow, as if considering it.
"Ah," he sighs. "Yes, I live up the mountain a little ways," Zhang Hao gestures with a hand covered in the long sleeves of his coat.
"We must be neighbors, then," Hanbin smiles. Zhang Hao smiles back, but his entire body shakes all of a sudden as if a shiver ran down his back.
"Zhang Hao-ssi, would you like to come in? It's quite cold outside today," Hanbin offers, stepping out of the way so that the man can peek inside. Unlike his usual wary self, something inside Hanbin does not want him to let this mysterious stranger leave. They have already met on odd terms, but Hanbin’s chest tugs at the thought of watching his back as he returns to where he came from.
Zhang Hao's eyes slip from Hanbin's face to behind him first and then beyond the house, towards the road in the corner of his eye.
"It's okay! I moved recently and don’t really know anyone around here yet. I just thought it would be nice to have coffee together." Zhang Hao's eyebrows draw together again, the displeasure showing on his face. The sun has all but set, and Hanbin has offered someone coffee. "Or we could have dinner," he offers instead, feeling foolish and overbearing all at once, waiting for the man’s rejection.
"Dinner would be nice," Zhang Hao chirps excitedly instead, finally responding to Hanbin's enthusiastic energy.
"Perfect," Hanbin exclaims, nervous and a little too loud again. "Please come in!"
Hanbin steps out of the way to allow Zhang Hao to slip inside the warm embrace of the dark entryway. Remembering all of a sudden as he stares back at his guest's shadowed face, Hanbin flips on the light switch, mumbling an apology for the darkness in his house.
"It's okay," Zhang Hao hums. "I like when it is dark." He quirks a smile, and Hanbin feels like he has been left out of some sort of inside joke the way he says it.
Feeling out of his mind, Hanbin places the flat of his palm against the shoulder of Zhang Hao's fluffy coat, gently guiding him inside towards the dining room table Hanbin was previously sitting at. Zhang Hao does not react to his touch, simply following Hanbin as he takes him. Hanbin slams his laptop shut, and gestures towards the opposite seat.
"You can sit here, Zhang Hao-ssi," Hanbin gestures broadly to the chair, but the man looks confused. His hands raise to grip the collar of his coat, and Hanbin jumps to help him. "Oh," he exclaims. "Let me take your coat."
Underneath the large coat, Zhang Hao is pretty angles and soft skin with a lithe figure, even under the black t-shirt covering his chest. Hanbin ignores the way the man's fingers dance over the dark wood of the table and glide along the round backing of the chair. He also ignores the hammering in his chest at the sight of the man's collar bones on display. Clumsily, Hanbin slides in his socks, knocking his ankles into the couch and his toes into the door jam outside his living room to hang up the heavy coat.
When he returns, Zhang Hao is scanning the room with his wide eyes, his hands folded on top of each other on the table. In the warm light of the dining room, Hanbin feels like he can finally get a good look at the man's face, and it takes his breath away. Uncannily beautiful, like he was made out of Hanbin's dreams and fitted perfectly for him. Long eyelashes and pouty, full lips and rounded cheekbones frame his face, his eyes sharp and wide and blanketed in long eyelashes and dotted with a single mole. He's so beautiful, Hanbin feels dumb with it.
Too busy staring, Hanbin only registers his awkwardly long pause when Zhang Hao's cold eyes bore holes into his own. His gaze is heavy, and immediately Hanbin finds himself dropping eye contact.
Hanbin rubs his neck and shies under the man's gaze, intensely embarrassed now with his full attention. "I invited you in for dinner, but I don't have much to cook. I wasn't planning on having any guests for awhile," or ever, Hanbin thinks to himself. "Would leftover stew be okay?"
Hanbin is nervous, waiting for an answer from Zhang Hao, but the cold beauty of the man's face breaks out in an instant smile.
"I would love that, Hanbin-ssi," Zhang Hao says warmly, his voice syrupy thick and enough to kick Hanbin's heart into overdrive in his chest.
"Alright," he squeaks, running off to the kitchen alone. Leaving Zhang Hao at his dining table by himself feels not-quite-right, but inviting the man to watch him microwave his leftovers feels just as wrong. Hanbin taps his toes on the floor anxiously, waiting for the ding to signal it was ready, ignoring the weight of Zhang Hao's eyes on his back.
Filling the table with steaming tupperware and two bowls of pre-cooked rice Hanbin made in the microwave as well, their meager dinner is served. However, Zhang Hao's face turns up in the brightest smile Hanbin thinks he has ever seen as he dishes the stew into a bowl for him. The man does not wait for Hanbin to dish out his own bowl dive into his meal, little satisfied noises falling from his lips while Hanbin's cheeks flush a bright red at the noise.
"You cook just like your grandmother," Zhang Hao claims in between mouthfuls.
Hanbin pauses. "My grandmother," he repeats in confusion. "Did you know my grandparents?"
Zhang Hao's spoon stops midway to his mouth, and his tongue darts to pull a single rice grain stuck to his lip into his mouth. Chewing slowly, he contemplates while staring at the steam rising from the tupperware. Raising his eyes, finally, Zhang Hao responds with a small smile quirked on his lips.
"I joined them for dinner quite often," he answers vaguely. His grandparents never mentioned the handsome young man who apparently frequented their dining table; Hanbin having only met or heard of the elderly friends who joined them in their weekly phone calls.
"Huh," Hanbin responds, dumbly. "They never mentioned you," Hanbin says, regretting it the instant the words come out of his mouth.
Zhang Hao pauses again. "I only ate with them a few times. I think they felt bad for me because I was alone," he answers nonchalantly.
"You're alone?" It is inappropriate to ask on a first meeting with someone, but Hanbin can't help when the question falls from his lips, laced with worry and maybe even a bit of excitement to learn more about the mysterious figure in front of him.
"I left home when I was very young. I don't have any family," he replies, the words heavy, but his tone light. Hanbin's heart aches. He has spent almost his entire life faking his own feelings when he was asked the same question.
“You don’t have parents?” Zhang Hao shakes his head with a smile. “Or any siblings?” Again, the man shakes his head. “No cousins or grandparents?” Again, the answer from Zhang Hao is a resounding ‘No.’ Hanbin can’t help the rattling in his chest, feeling seen maybe for the first time. He’s met many people, especially when he lived in Seoul, who didn’t have parents anymore. Those who lost them willingly or through horrible circumstances, but he’s never met anyone as truly alone as himself.
"I don't have any family either. I'm alone too," Hanbin smiles, sad, but feeling a sense of reprieve that maybe someone understands the loneliness that sticks to his bones and covers him like a blanket as he sleeps.
Zhang Hao settles his spoon in his almost empty bowl and props his elbows on the table, resting his head on his hands and staring right into Hanbin's eyes, as if looking right through him. Hanbin feels read through under his gaze, and he wills himself from flinching. After what feels like hours under the man's scrutiny, Zhang Hao finally smiles, wide and toothy, the grin hitting his eyes. The sight feels unnatural, but it also tugs at Hanbin's chest. He wants to smile too.
"We have a lot in common, don't we, Hanbin-ssi," he laughs, and Hanbin finds himself nodding along. Zhang Hao's smile eventually softens, but there is something hidden behind his eyes, like there is a joke Hanbin wasn’t let in on. "I think we should be friends."
"I think that would be nice," Hanbin answers honestly but feeling exposed somehow. "Should we address each other informally? Should I call you Hyung, then?"
Zhang Hao's smile deepens, creasing his cheeks. "How do you know I'm older than you," he questions.
"I'm not sure. I can just tell." Hanbin really isn't sure why he knows that Zhang Hao is older - the idea of this man addressing him as older just feels wrong.
"You're right; I think I am older," he agrees, but it feels like he is only telling a half-truth when he says it.
"Alright, Hyung," Hanbin smiles. "I'm 26, by the way," he throws out, wanting to learn even a small detail about the other man.
"I should be about 27. We really are similar, aren't we," Zhang Hao responds, his tone odd, but Hanbin blushes at the thought of having more in common with the lovely man in front of him.
"I guess so," Hanbin agrees, confused, but eager to please. Zhang Hao smiles, and Hanbin feels the loneliness that attached itself like a shadow to his body all but disappear in his wake.
Zhang Hao brushes imaginary dust and rice grains off of his pants and stands, all while watching Hanbin from above.
"It was lovely meeting you, Hanbin. I hope we can meet more often in the future." Zhang Hao smiles.
"Yes," Hanbin exclaims, over enthusiastic and loud yet again. "You can join me for dinner whenever you want! Please stop by at any time!" Hanbin feels foolish again, but all of his inhibitions and rational thinking go out the window in the presence of Zhang Hao. However, the man does not say anything, simply smiles and stuns Hanbin with the way his eyes crescent like moons in front of him.
"Don't take that back," Zhang Hao points at Hanbin in warning. "I never turn down an invitation. I might just move in if you let me."
Hanbin laughs, but Zhang Hao does not. "Hyung is welcome whenever you want to come. I promise."
At this Zhang Hao smiles and turns on his heals, exiting without a goodbye. Hanbin watches Zhang Hao leave in a daze. He hardly registers that the man has slid out the door until it is slamming closed behind him. The noise startles him out of the trance, and he is sliding in his socks on the slick wooden floor yet again to catch a glimpse of the man as he leaves. Hanbin slides the door open, breathless, but Zhang Hao has disappeared without a trace.
Even with the remnants of rice grains littering the other half of the table and the empty soup bowl, Hanbin can't be quite sure that Zhang Hao isn't just a ghost or a figment of his lonely imagination.
Hanbin is in a daze from the moment Zhang Hao leaves, feeling sluggish and like he is wading through molasses. When he closes his eyes to fall asleep, all he sees is the dark gaze of the mysterious man staring back at him. Right before he slips into his dreams about the other man, he realizes that for the first time in the past few weeks since moving in, Hanbin didn't think about the fox at all and did not remember to save part of his dinner for it.
_____
The house feels a little emptier the next day, as if it is waiting for someone to return. The air is a little colder and the wind outside a little quieter. Hanbin feels an ache in his chest and a pull in his stomach, the loneliness sinking deep under his skin again. Rather than the shadow of a friend constantly hanging off of his shoulder, it is painful and turns his stomach.
However, for the first time in months, Hanbin feels an itch in his fingers and his mind races with ideas. The file titled 'Outline' on his laptop fills with page after page of notes; the story he wants to tell finally manifests itself in front of him, forming a shape and taking a real direction. He even answers a phone call from his publisher, claiming the wind finally died down enough for him to have service. He tells the truth, that he is making progress on his novel - that the ideas are flowing better and more quickly than before.
The ache in his chest does not subside all day long, not until soft rapping is at his door in the evening yet again. Like the day previous, Hanbin slams the laptop shut and runs to greet whoever is waiting for him. His heart hammers in his chest at the thought of a certain lovely visitor returning again, and he breathes in deeply, feeling his ribs expand with his lungs before welcoming the person outside. Opening the door, Zhang Hao is standing there, almost exactly the same as Hanbin saw him the day before. Just as lovely and wrapped in his coat, protecting himself from the chill of the Autumn air.
Breathless, "You came back," Hanbin exclaims. All of the discomfort and itchiness under his skin seems to disappear in the wake of Zhang Hao's return. Even the house around him feels like it eases around Zhang Hao.
"Of course I did," Zhang Hao smiles easily, tipping his head to the side and closing his eyes briefly, soaking in the sun or Hanbin's presence, he isn't sure. "You invited me."
"You're right, I did," Hanbin agrees, dumbly, in awe that the man really came back. "You didn't have to," he continues, feeling even more foolish than before.
"No, I didn't," Zhang Hao confirms serenely. "But I wanted to. I wanted to see you again."
Hanbin's heart rams out of his chest and he feels the wind knock out of him from the man's admonition. Their interactions have been nothing but strange, and Hanbin's memories are all tinged with a layer of awkwardness and uncertainty. He knew he wanted to see the man again, was desperate to, but he thought his brain had twisted their meeting in his head. That he was not eager to see him and they would never see each other again and Hanbin would be left with his empty chest forever.
"I'm glad you did," Hanbin answers, only partly honest; he does not let on to just how elated he is to see Zhang Hao again. "Come in, come in," Hanbin urges, shuffling out of the way so that Zhang Hao can slip past him into the entryway. He ducks his head, dark eyes meeting Hanbin's briefly before stepping past him. Hanbin holds his breath, but a shiver runs down his back at the close proximity.
"Let me hang up your coat," Hanbin manages to squeak out. Zhang Hao stays quiet, but he hands it over easily, his fingers brushing Hanbin's in the process. Hanbin jolts at the touch, almost dropping the coat in the process. His heart stops in its chest and he holds his breath while turning to hang the coat on the coat rack. Turning around, Zhang Hao's eyes are indiscernible, but they look right through Hanbin, as if the man can see right through to his bones.
Another chill runs down Hanbin's back. Standing in the entry like this, an uncanny feeling settles over him, something not quite right as he looks back at Zhang Hao, but all Hanbin wants to do is touch him anyways. The man's arms are exposed in the same way they were the day before, his forearms lined with thick veins. The thought crosses Hanbin’s mind that he wants to sink his teeth into them.
Shaking each of his wayward thoughts off, Hanbin smiles, his mouth turning up without his eyes. "Were you planning on joining me for dinner," Hanbin asks sweetly, trying to mask the edge settling under his skin in the man’s presence.
"If you let me, Hanbin-ssi," Zhang Hao similarly smiles, mimicking the scrutiny in Hanbin's eyes.
"I thought we were friends," Hanbin finally eases into the conversation. "I wanted to call you Hyung," he pouts, but with an air of caution in his voice. He turns to enter the house, stepping towards the living room, mainly to avoid the man's eyes.
"Please," Zhang Hao calls behind him, causing Hanbin to stop in his tracks. "Please call me Hyung. I would like that." Zhang Hao pauses. "Hanbin-ah," he calls informally.
"Of course, Hyung," Hanbin looks over his shoulder to smile, and Zhang Hao beams right back at him.
The tension persists, but Hanbin ignores it, letting it buzz in the air and beat in his chest.
"Hyung," Hanbin calls out, tasting the word on his tongue, relishing in it when Zhang Hao's eyes brighten at being acknowledged. "I didn't have time to prepare anything, but would you like to cook with me?"
"I don't know how, but I would like to spend time with you," Zhang Hao tells him simply, and Hanbin believes him. In the moment, he realizes it might be the first time he's been honest. Or at least telling the full truth, giving Hanbin a real insight to what he means. In the brief encounters he has had with the man, Zhang Hao's answers feel like half sentences or half truths, like there is more than he wants to say or more than he is hiding. It is unsettling, but Hanbin wants to reach out and pull him closer even more.
"I can teach you." An easy smile plants its way onto Hanbin's face, raising his lips and dimpling his cheeks.
"Oh," Zhang Hao gasps at the sight, hand covering the circle of his mouth in surprise. "You have whiskers," he exclaims gently, and Hanbin melts instantly into a full bodied blush.
"My grandmother used to say that," Hanbin says in lieu of a response, heart ramming against his chest almost painfully.
"They're pretty," Zhang Hao tilts his head, smiling as he scans Hanbin's face. "Just like a cat," he hums. "Or maybe even like a fox." Hanbin's mouth falls into a silent 'O,' but Zhang Hao laughs boisterously, at a joke Hanbin feels like he missed.
Hanbin stands confused, but Zhang Hao simply takes his bicep through his sweater into his hand, guiding him towards the kitchen. Hanbin's heart stops at the feeling, but he shuffles alongside the man, as if it isn't his own home.
"Let's cook, Hanbin-ah," he orders gently, and all Hanbin can do is nod his head and follow his directions, as if it wasn’t his kitchen or his idea to cook together.
Hanbin loses all of his coherent thoughts in the wake of being touched by Zhang Hao, and he circles around the kitchen, lost. He opens cabinets and the refrigerator without taking anything out, flustered and unsure of what he is doing. A light snicker from behind him snaps him back into reality and Hanbin turns around to meet Zhang Hao's eyes again.
"Hyung, what kind of food do you like? I don't have much, but I'll do what I can."
Zhang Hao barely ponders it before his lips are pulling up into what looks like a snarl at first, but ends in a smile. "I like meat," he beams.
"Perfect. So do I," Hanbin smiles, and that gives him direction.
Hanbin gets to work, passing off the easy tasks to a clumsy Zhang Hao as he grills meat on the stove. It has been a long time since Hanbin has both cooked with someone together, as well as been able to grill meat together in this way. In the kitchen, Hanbin bumps hips and shoulders with Zhang Hao, who is meticulously washing lettuce at the sink. The meal comes together quickly, and the table is once again spread with steaming dishes, but this time Zhang Hao has a pleased look, happy that he contributed to their meal.
Again, Zhang Hao digs in unceremoniously, with barely even enough time for Hanbin to sit across from him for his chopsticks to start shoveling pieces of meat and grains of rice and the thick pieces of lettuce he washed himself into his mouth messily.
“This is really nice, Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao says with his mouth full. Hanbin has barely had time to swallow more than a few mouthfuls, and he flushes deep red at the acknowledgement.
“Thanks, Hyung. I couldn’t have made it without your help,” Hanbin passes the compliment back to the man.
“No,” Zhang Hao furrows his eyebrows. “I mean,” he pauses, chewing and swallowing the mouthful before responding. “The food is good, and you could have done it on your own, but eating with you is nice.”
That is not what Hanbin had expected to hear from the man, and his own chopsticks clatter to the table clumsily as Hanbin watches Zhang Hao nonchalantly pick up another piece of meat and continue to eat, even though he just shifted Hanbin’s world a few degrees.
Hanbin shakes his head, snapping himself physically out of his thoughts. “It is nice,” Hanbin confirms, his voice thick.
“I don’t eat a lot of home cooked meals, and I like being here with you,” Zhang Hao continues, as if it is an easy thing to say. As if he isn’t wrapped in mysteries that Hanbin hasn’t been able to unfurl. As if Hanbin isn’t desperate for his attention.
”I usually eat alone, so I like having someone to cook for,” he responds, embarrassed, rubbing his neck.
“We really do have a lot in common, Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao mumbles, mouth full of food, and Hanbin takes those words to heart.
𓆱𓃥 ⭒ 𓃦 𓆱
Zhang Hao becomes a permanent fixture in Hanbin’s everyday life. His fist raps on the wood of Hanbin’s door at about the same time every night, right as the sun is setting and toeing the line in the horizon, splitting the sky into night and day.
Even when Zhang Hao isn’t sitting across from the man and enjoying dinner with him, all of Hanbin’s thoughts are consumed by Zhang Hao. He writes more and more each day, the words flowing easily out of him, almost like never before, but Zhang Hao is always at the back of his thoughts, an ever-present being haunting him even when he is not around.
The eternal flame of Hanbin’s loneliness finally glows dim, but now like coals of an extinguished fire. His heart aches fiercely when Zhang Hao leaves for the night with the same smile on his face every time, as if he knows that Hanbin will count down the seconds until he returns, but the ache is a welcome one. It is an ache that Hanbin is confident will be soothed by the time his stomach starts to rumble in the evening, the sun dipping down low in the late afternoons forcing a pavlovian response in his stomach and in his chest.
Hanbin greets his visitor cheerfully everyday, his entire world coming more into focus and warming with the presence of Zhang Hao. Hanbin isn't sure when or how it happened, but he spends his entire day consumed with the thought of Zhang Hao and inching forward through the minutes until they can meet again.
His desire to meet Zhang Hao is paired with the desire to know him. They spend each evening together, laughing and enjoying meals together, but Zhang Hao creeps under Hanbin's skin at the same time. Hanbin grasps the pieces of information the man does not give easily like precious jewels, and he wears them close to his chest.
"Hyung, what kind of work do you do," Hanbin mustered up the courage one evening to ask, the question of what Zhang Hao does in the hours he is not right next to Hanbin weighing heavily on his chest.
"Oh, just a bit of this and that," he answers, slurping a mouthful of noodles noisily as part of his response.
"You freelance, then," Hanbin assumes, not sure if Zhang Hao is evading his question or if he simply does not have a real answer to give him.
"Sure, that must be what it is called," Zhang Hao smiles at him, dark sauce coating his lips, and Hanbin forgets he was even curious about anything.
A different night, but much the same, Zhang Hao stumbles over his words more than normal; the drag of his accent finally enough for Hanbin to ask the question.
"You're not from here, are you, Hyung?"
"No, I grew up in China, but it has been a long time since I came here." At this, for once, Zhang Hao becomes solemn, and Hanbin's head tells him not to pry, but he continues.
"Isn't it hard? You didn't want to live somewhere like Seoul instead, where there are other people you can relate to?"
Zhang Hao's nose turns up in distaste. "I moved for a reason. This is my home now, and I do not like cities. Too noisy." The conversation is over after that.
Every time Hanbin pulls away a layer of Zhang Hao's mysterious exterior, he is simply left with one that is even more strange below it. Hanbin rots from the inside with the desire to know more, and the mystery simply only makes him more curious. The oddity that is Zhang Hao expands to every crevice of his mind and fills the open spaces in his chest and flows alongside the blood in his veins. Zhang Hao is everywhere, no matter how little Hanbin seems to know about him as time passes.
On the flip side, Zhang Hao does the same, prying apart Hanbin's life by the middle, exposing everything inside him almost completely. Their evenings are spent cooking together and Zhang Hao asking about every little detail of Hanbin's life; his past, his parents, his career, his relationships. Hanbin feels like his affection for Zhang Hao is eating him alive - the desire to know him more swallowing him whole, but Zhang Hao seems to bask in the information Hanbin shares with him so easily. Sometimes, Hanbin thinks he feeds on his secrets instead of the meals they cook together.
_____
"Hyung, how does Chinese food sound?" Hunched over his laptop for hours, Hanbin's back ached and his wrists hurt from typing from the time he woke up until the moment Zhang Hao knocked on his door as usual.
Zhang Hao raises one single eyebrow in question. "You know how to make Chinese food," he asks incredulously.
"Not really, but I don't feel like cooking today and there's only one restaurant in a thirty minute radius of us. I also haven't taken you out yet, either," Hanbin finishes off, embarrassed, cheeks flushing.
"Ah, so you just wanted an excuse to take me on a date," Zhang Hao teases, but he wraps himself around Hanbin's arm anyways, melding himself to Hanbin's body.
The flirting and sly touches are a new development in their relationship, but a welcome one. Hanbin still feels his heart ram against his chest every time Zhang Hao even stands in his vicinity, but having the man's hand on his shoulder and his leg over his own on the couch or his palm pressed to the top of his hand just feels right. Like it settles something in himself he didn't realize was raging until it's calm.
"I don't need an excuse to do that," Hanbin goads back, pushing against Zhang Hao's weight gently.
"I like Korean-Chinese food," Zhang Hao hums, the smile clear in his voice at the minor correction. "It would be nice to get a change of scenery. I only ever see you in the kitchen or the living room." Hanbin flushes again, feeling exposed by Zhang Hao's blunt words.
"I get outside all the time, but you only see me when I am home for the evening," he points.
"That's not true, I see you working on the house all the time," Zhang Hao huffs from beside him, peering up at Hanbin through his eyelashes with his lips pouted.
Again, Zhang Hao speaks in mysteries, and Hanbin is confused at this statement. To his memory, he has never seen Zhang Hao while he was working outside, and he has mainly focused on his writing ever since Zhang Hao stayed the night outside his house.
"When did you see me? You only ever come at night?" Hanbin becomes wary and starts to pull back slightly.
“It was just in passing," Zhang Hao quickly rushes to explain, his words running together to ease Hanbin’s confusion. "I just saw you working outside a few times when I went by."
This assuages his doubt, but Hanbin still feels unsettled; the fact that Zhang Hao had seen him, but he had not seen Zhang Hao rests heavily over him, but he accepts it, eager to jump back into the playful banter that they had begun.
"Say hi next time if you see me outside. Or stop by if you have time." His voice is light, but there is something heavier under Hanbin’s words. He knows it might be too much, asking for the man's time outside of what he gives him already, but Zhang Hao smiles from ear to ear.
"You don't get enough of me at night?" Zhang Hao's tone is playful, but there is something layered underneath that raises goosebumps on his arms and the hair on his neck.
"Never," Hanbin answers breathlessly. There is a more rational voice in the back of his head that begs Hanbin to be a bit more coy, to not open himself up so fully to the other man, but his heart speaks for him first, and it is too honest and enamored by Zhang Hao.
"I sleep quite late into the day, but I will visit sometime if you really wouldn't get bored of me." Zhang Hao's smile is sickeningly sweet but Hanbin melts like he's sugar in water.
"I wouldn't dream of it," Hanbin's own smile mimicks Zhang Hao’s uncanny expression, almost too elated, unnaturally. It is overwhelming. But Zhang Hao does not think anything of it, laughing gently in response, his eyes closing and his incisors making an appearance.
"Alright, Hanbinnie. Let's go eat." Zhang Hao finally retreats, withdrawing his touch and taking his coat back from its place on its designated hook.
With a pair of shaky hands, Hanbin makes his rounds throughout the house, flipping light switches off and slipping his arms through his own coat and locking the door clumsily all the while. He grips the steering wheel of the aging car until his knuckles turn white, but Zhang Hao hums happily next to him as he clicks the seatbelt into place.
When suggesting that they dine out for the night, Hanbin hadn't considered the car ride there. Or that Zhang Hao would spend the entire ride singing along while not knowing the words to the idol group songs playing softly in the background. It also hadn't crossed his mind that Zhang Hao would prop his elbow on the center console and watch Hanbin with his wide, hazel eyes the entire ride.
In his mind, Hanbin prays that the man would look away, or become preoccupied with something else, but from the corner of his eye, Zhang Hao does not relent, staring blatantly with a soft smile on his lips and his pretty singing voice ringing throughout the car.
Hanbin stays as focused as he possibly can on the road, ignoring the pretty face serenading him as he winds through the narrow roads to the closest town. His eyes wanting to wander, he forces them back onto the pavement in front of him.
In the distance, an old beat-up truck that Hanbin actually recognizes comes into his line of sight, and the grumpy elderly man who begrudgingly sells him batteries and lightbulbs and pre-cooked rice when he is in a hurry passes by him on the left. Hanbin motions to wave with his hands still on the wheel, and he nods towards the man. The man scowls in response, but his eyes drift to Hanbin's right. Hanbin watches, as if in slow motion, as the man's face sours and his eyes glare at the space next to him.
"That was weird," Hanbin doesn't mean to say aloud. Zhang Hao just hums and straightens his back to finally sit properly in his seat. Hanbin takes the chance to glance at Zhang Hao through his mirror, and there is a smug look painting his face.
_____
Zhang Hao saunters into the restaurant much like he sauntered into Hanbin's life, filling the space and demanding all attention. He falls into a seat in the very middle of the restaurant, quite the opposite of where Hanbin would have chosen for them, but the easy smile on Zhang Hao's face makes him so agreeable and who is Hanbin to deny him. The man scans the menu briefly and is already prepared to rattle off the names of different dishes in his native tongue as soon as the waitress makes her way to the table.
The woman nods and 'Okay's with each new addition, pulling out her notepad to write each dish down as Zhang Hao rattles them off. While Hanbin listens and pretends like his heart isn't racing at hearing the deep lilt of Zhang Hao's Mandarin Chinese, he fiddles with the dishes lining the table and searches for the silverware.
Noticing Hanbin's struggle, the woman leans down between the two men to slide open the drawer of utensils inside the table. For the first time, not overwhelmed by the series of dishes thrown at her, the woman glances between the two of them. The smile framing her face instantly drops, and the woman gasps, cursing in a language Hanbin doesn't understand - the dual sets of metal chopsticks dropping from her hand and clattering to the floor.
Automatically, Hanbin scoots out of his chair and helps the woman pick up the utensils, but they are already snatched from his hand and she is gone by the time Hanbin can straighten his waist. When his chair is returned to its place, Zhang Hao has a smug smile lining his lips, as if he wasn't on the other end of the waitress's sudden reaction. Goosebumps rise over Hanbin's skin, this time not from Zhang Hao's proximity, but from the eerie smile lining his lips.
"I ordered too much," Zhang Hao speaks first, a mocking pout on his face, the tinge of a smile still there, silent laughter just under the surface.
"If it's a date, you can order whatever you want," Hanbin tries to respond lightheartedly, but his tone does not quite match his words, unsettled by the recent turn of events.
"Then it's a date," the sly smile fades into a genuine one, and Hanbin feels his body ease. The edge completely gone in the wake of Zhang Hao's gentle smile.
Not long after, the table is filled with countless dishes by shaky hands. The waitress hurriedly covers the table as they are finished in the kitchen, but she refuses to glance in Zhang Hao's direction, ignoring his polite yet insincere sounding thank yous.
"I think you're a better cook," Zhang Hao whispers after shoveling mouthfuls of each of the countless dishes into his mouth. The restaurant is actually surprisingly good for the location and the number of current customers but Hanbin hardly believes that to be true - his cooking skills learned through Youtube videos and searching recipes online and the few things he remembers his grandmother cooking when he was a child.
"Stop trying to humor me, Hyung," Hanbin sternly denies.
"I'm not humoring you," Zhang Hao says, slurping noodles. "This is good, but I prefer eating what you cooked."
Hanbin's insides warm and his cheeks flush at the man's easy confession. Despite the multiple strange interactions with the staff, Hanbin has quite enjoyed his "date" with Zhang Hao. However, he does long to bump knees under his own dining table and to brush their fingers together as Hanbin teaches the man how to properly use a knife.
"I think I do too," Hanbin whispers back, agreeing with him with a cheeky smile.
"This is nice though. I like seeing you out of the house, but in the house is even better," Zhang Hao's smile turns wicked and Hanbin's cheeks burn and the tips of his fingers tingle with an underlying excitement.
"Let's go home soon, then," Hanbin blooms under Zhang Hao’s words, flushing at his compliments.
His belly was full a long time ago, but Hanbin continues to eat alongside Zhang Hao as he clears each of the dishes practically on his own. He finishes the last few spoonfuls and shoots to his feet, reaching across the table to grab Hanbin's wrist to drag him out of the restaurant. With a pounding heart, Hanbin pays for the both of them, and he hardly notices the woman staring at their intertwined hands as she gives him back his card with her own trembling fingers.
The night is dark by the time Hanbin winds back through the narrow roads to his home. Zhang Hao does not sing along to the music as lively as before, and he stares straight ahead, rather than leaning over the console to watch Hanbin as he drives. However, his hand remains in Hanbin's, intertwined in his lap.
Hanbin's heart races in his chest and his ears ring, not from the contact with Zhang Hao, but from unknown fear that hammers beneath his skin. Everything was okay until the doors were locked and the light above the center console turned off with the start of the car. In the darkness, a deep sense of anxiety slowly inches its way over his skin, raising the hairs on his arms and quickening his heart in his chest. Even his hand in Zhang Hao's feels like it is edging on danger. For some reason, the brief moment of Hanbin's first night in his new home runs through his mind. The fear that a tiger was watching, stalking him from the woods returning now in the dark with his hand in Zhang Hao’s.
Maybe Hanbin drives a little quicker than what is normal or legally safe, but the anxiety pushes him faster down each of the winding roads, propelling him closer and closer home. Hanbin prays that Zhang Hao can't feel his heartbeat through his pulse, but the few glances in the mirror that he has allowed himself have made him believe otherwise, the smug smile Hanbin has started to recognize framing the man’s cheeks.
Hanbin pulls into his driveway and he sighs in relief, as if he was being chased and finally made it home safely. However, the eerie feeling creeping over him does not dissipate. It sticks with him, looming over his head as he unbuckles his seat and opens his door with a tight grip. It is too silent outside, the wind settling for the first time, but for once, Hanbin longs for the noise, for something to blanket the sneaking terror surging under his skin.
"Are you coming in," Hanbin asks, willing his voice not to shake as both he and Zhang Hao walk up the small incline to Hanbin's front door.
"No, I'm just walking you to the door. Like a proper date," Zhang Hao's voice is easy, light and carefree, not full of the same anxieties that are overtaking Hanbin at the moment. Hanbin smiles, warming at the words, but they do not slow his racing heart.
Just like a "real date," Zhang Hao walks Hanbin to his door, their fingers brushing together the entire way. Hanbin unlocks the door, but turns around to face the man where he stands. In the dark, illuminated only by the porch light, Zhang Hao's hazel eyes glow, even more striking than when the golden sun rays of evening hit them. There's an easy smile on his face, and Hanbin can't help but mirror him, his own lips turning up in a smile.
Zhang Hao leans in first, his arms falling first around Hanbin's waist before wrapping around him completely in a hug. Hanbin holds his breath, but his arms wind around the man's shoulders. The bite of the evening chills right through Hanbin's bones, but Zhang Hao is unbelievably warm, even over his coat. They stand like that, in a warm embrace that finally does ease some of the tension in Hanbin's shoulders, their closeness making him forget all about the inherent fear he felt just moments ago.
Zhang Hao pulls away first, and there is a light blush coating his cheeks. Hanbin spends every moment, both awake and unconscious, dreaming of the man's lovely face, but the pink flush, even in the dark, is so beautiful that he has to repress a gasp.
"Have a good night, Hanbin-ah," Zhang Hao whispers, hands reaching down to squeeze both of Hanbin's in his own.
"Come see me tomorrow," Hanbin practically begs, in a daze, his desires overtaking his usually rational mind.
"I wouldn't dream of missing it," Zhang Hao's eyes turn up into two crescent moons, joy washing over his face at the request.
"No, I mean come see me during the day. Please, Hyung," Hanbin does beg. He doesn't feel like he can let the man go, an ache already squeezing his chest simply at the thought of missing Zhang Hao until the next evening.
"I will come see you tomorrow," Zhang Hao reassures. He releases one of Hanbin's hands to brush away a few strands of hair shielding his eyes. "Now get inside. It's cold out."
Hanbin giggles, elated and jittery from Zhang Hao's touch, his anxiety buzzing under his skin and transforming into nervous excitement instead.
"Goodnight, Hao-Hyung," Hanbin finally relents, not wishing to say goodbye just yet, but also not wanting Zhang Hao to have to suffer in the cold any longer as well. His heart tells him to stall longer, to keep the man there, but the reasonable assurance that he would in fact see Zhang Hao tomorrow is satisfaction enough for Hanbin.
Zhang Hao slides the door shut in front of Hanbin's face slowly, goofy smiles framing both of their cheeks until they can no longer see each other. Hanbin's fingers twitch to reopen the door - to beg Zhang Hao to stay, but he doesn't do that. Instead, he bolts the door shut, the sweet fog that swirls around Hanbin's head whenever he is in Zhang Hao's presence dissipating the instant he can no longer see him. The anxiety he felt before tugs at his chest once again.
Hanbin checks each of the locks in his house almost obsessively, ensuring all of the windows and doors are bolted shut. There is no concrete reason why he needs to lock himself in his home, but his heart settles in his chest and he no longer feels like someone is watching him behind his back or that there is a wild animal waiting to pounce on him.
The night has taken a toll on him, the rollercoaster of emotions of being in Zhang Hao's presence exhausting him. Earlier than usual, Hanbin tucks himself into bed, but when he closes his eyes, all he sees are a pair of shining hazel eyes staring back at him.
_____
The bathroom light goes out the next morning, and Hanbin makes a trip to the hardware-convenience store for a replacement. He is a little on edge, both at the prospect of seeing Zhang Hao before their usual scheduled dinners and because of the pair of eyes trailing him as he navigates the three small aisles in silence. The owner's gaze unnerves him, the man’s wrinkled eyes following each of his movements as he trails throughout the store.
Hanbin has to work himself up to approach the counter, meandering until he could no longer stall. With a handful of extras that he had no reason to buy but to give him an extra excuse to avoid the front of the store, Hanbin gives up his lightbulb to the scowling owner.
The droning beep of the scanner rings through the quiet store with each item, and Hanbin prays that the store owner would move faster so he can just leave. He hands over his card in silence and lets out a quiet sigh of relief when it is passed back to him just as quickly.
However, man holds onto it, not letting the card go until Hanbin looks him in the eyes in confusion. The old man has a serious look on his face, and it startles him.
"I thought I told you to stay away from the foxes," the man gruffs, and Hanbin is taken aback, having no clue what that is even supposed to mean. Maybe he saw him feeding the little fox all those weeks ago, but it had been a long time since he last saw the little fox. In the back of his mind, Hanbin knows that is not what the man means - a secret other reason manifesting in his head that he refuses to let fully form, but Hanbin bows shallowly without responding and leaves with his card before anything else can be said.
Zhang Hao arrives soon after the light is replaced in the mid afternoon, his hair ruffled and lines still marking his face where he slept. Hanbin's heart aches at the sight, at the knowledge that the man came to visit just as soon as he had woken up.
"I came," he smiles, dazed. He is so lovely and warm that Hanbin can't remember any of the anxiety or the consistent strange experiences he continued to have the past day, too engrossed in smoothing the tangle hair at Zhang Hao's nape.
The words form in his head as he watches Zhang Hao doze on his couch in the warm sunlight of the afternoon as he writes. Hanbin loves Zhang Hao. Loves him. The realization feels both big and small, his feelings large and unmanageable, but the confession to himself is as easy as breathing. He loves Zhang Hao.
_____
The snow falls before Zhang Hao can arrive in the afternoon, his arrival time getting earlier and earlier with each passing day. Hanbin's chest aches a little less with each minute, knowing the time between their meetings came sooner each day. A freak early November snow starts first thing in the morning, the flakes wet and heavy, coating the ground quickly.
Hanbin notices it as soon as he awakes, and Zhang Hao is always on his mind, but especially at the sight of the snow blanketing the ground. He wishes he could be next to him to witness the first snowflakes as they fall, but he also curses the man for being so illusive that he does not even have a phone number Hanbin can use to tell him to stay home for the day instead.
A shivering and wet Zhang Hao finds himself in Hanbin's entryway not long after, the thick snowflakes clinging to his hair and eyelashes, paired with a red flush ruddying his cheeks. It takes all the strength Hanbin has to simply wipe his cheeks free of the water dripping over his face, rather than pull him in and connect their mouths to warm his purple lips.
“Hyung,” Hanbin whines at the man’s pitiful demeanor. “You should have stayed home today,” he pouts.
”It’s warmer here,” Zhang Hao shrugs, leaning into Hanbin’s palm with wide, innocent eyes. “And I would miss you too much.”
Hanbin flushes, his ears and cheeks burning a deep red, and he helps Zhang Hao shrug off his almost sopping wet coat in lieu of a reply. Underneath the plush fabric, Zhang Hao is wearing his typically modest clothing, but the wetness soaked through to his skin, leaving him shivering in the entryway.
“Let’s get you inside and warm then, huh?” Hanbin asks and tugs Zhang Hao back towards his bedroom by his wrist. It’s not the first time the man has been in Hanbin’s room, the first being one of the past afternoons he stopped by early and demanded Hanbin’s attention and a tour, but it is the first time he has done more than scan the room from the outside.
Hanbin’s heart hammers in his chest as he drops his wrist and turns towards his wardrobe. With trembling hands and the feeling of two eyes burning holes through the back of his head, Hanbin sorts through his clothing to find something dry and warm to give Zhang Hao. Behind him, Hanbin hears the shuffle of fabric, and warning sirens blare in his head at the thought that Zhang Hao must be sitting on his bed and he needs to prepare his heart.
Scouring the sparse wardrobe, Hanbin pulls out a black hoodie and a pink crewneck sweater he hasn’t worn since he was in university. Zhang Hao frequents neutral colors, but something about the color draws him in. The rosy pink would look lovely paired with the man’s current frostbitten nose.
“Which one?” Hanbin turns to find and sight even worse for his heart, and Zhang Hao lays with his back against the mattress and his slippered feet on the floor, his arms above his head and his wet hair splayed out around him. At the question, Zhang Hao props himself up on his elbows, looking at Hanbin from half-lidded eyes.
Hanbin exerts an unusual amount of self restraint, the desire to simply ignore their clothes at all almost taking over him. Hanbin has the dominant position in this scenario, but he still feels like he is the prey in the trap - Zhang Hao the predator waiting to pounce on him.
“Pink is my favorite color,” he inadvertently chooses, his hand reaching out for the sweater. “Just like your cheeks,” he smiles, and Hanbin’s world crashes around him just a little bit.
Zhang Hao sits up and starts to pull his own shirt over his waist, but Hanbin panics at his indecency and turns back towards his wardrobe to find a pair of sweatpants to share with him as an excuse to avoid the sight of the man’s bare skin. Behind him Zhang Hao chuckles, and it spreads the blush down Hanbin’s neck.
By the time Hanbin turns around, Zhang Hao has changed and the fuzz of the pink sweater clings around his neck and fits him nicely. Hanbin has noticed their almost exact height and similar builds, but seeing Zhang Hao in his clothes makes the fact even more evident.
“That looks nice on you,” Hanbin coughs, barely scratching the surface of what he feels as he sees Zhang Hao in his clothing. “Change into these, too,” Hanbin hands him the sweatpants and slides out of the bedroom and shuts the door behind him as quickly as he can to avoid even the image of Zhang Hao undoing the buttons to his pants from haunting his thoughts.
Even with the abnormality of the snowy autumnal day, Hanbin writes his best when Zhang Hao is with him; his presence somehow making him more productive despite Hanbin glancing over at his figure as he naps or watches television or even sits in the hard wooden chair next to Hanbin on the table and watches with his head in him palm as Hanbin writes.
Even outside of the underlying desire to have Zhang Hao in any way that he can, Hanbin has learned that he needs Zhang Hao. His thoughts fog and his fingers ache when the man is not around.
_____
The snow does not stop even through the evening, piling up heavily over Hanbin’s driveway and alongside his windows. He received a phone call as part of the archaic phone tree from one of his neighbors stating that it was too early in the season and there would be no snow plow to free them from their homes until the early hours of the morning.
It takes almost no pleading with Zhang Hao to stay. Already cozy and enjoying the warm citrus tea steaming from a mug that Hanbin made him after dinner, he gives in easily. The way that Zhang Hao snuggles into the crook of his couch, Hanbin begins to wonder if Zhang Hao was only leaving each night as a courtesy to him - that he would have moved in if Hanbin let him. He is reminded of their first meeting when Zhang Hao had told him just that - that he would move in if invited.
On a normal evening, Hanbin would flip the lights off and read or watch a movie in the dark, but as the night deepens, something unsettling hovers over him as the night deepens and he feels the need to turn more lights on, leaving the house glowing with warm light as he occupies each room.
A fear he is well acquainted with him now, this nervous anxiety is just something that Hanbin associates with his love for Zhang Hao. The quickness of his heartbeat and the buzz under his skin are simply a side effect of the man’s presence; his feelings creeping towards the edge of his consciousness and the forefront of his tongue the closer it gets to the deep of the night. The only times Hanbin is truly able to relish in his desire for the man, late in the evenings after he has left and Hanbin is truly alone with his thoughts.
The days when Zhang Hao is extra reluctant to leave, they will sit opposite of each other at the table and chat until Hanbin can’t stand the thought of him leaving any more than he can the thought of him walking in the darkness. Sometimes in the late afternoons when Hanbin’s neck is tired from hunching over his laptop for hours, he will sit on the opposite end of the couch from Zhang Hao and they will watch the sun dip under the horizon before they scurry off to the kitchen to cook something new for the evening.
This night, the warm atmosphere combined with the snow and the proposed first sleepover, has Zhang Hao’s head resting in Hanbin’s lap as they chat together, his fingers running through Zhang Hao’s thick hair.
Normally Zhang Hao does not ask much about his work, leaving Hanbin to share on his own. This evening he encourages Hanbin to spill his guts and narrate every novel he has hidden in a special compartment in his head - one he has never allowed anyone else to see. His words are close to his heart, and his ideas even closer. But even closer yet is the man perched in his lap fluttering his long eyelashes, hanging onto each and every one of Hanbin’s words.
“And don’t you dare steal that one.” Hanbin points directly into Zhang Hao’s eyes to get across the message. He had just shared the story he kept constant in his thoughts for a long time, the semi-autobiographical novel of his adolescence he had already written in his heart. He had never proposed it to his publisher, it being a divergence from his usual young adult fantasy novels.
“I wouldn’t dare,” Zhang Hao swears, so serious that Hanbin feels bad that he even made a joke about it. “I would never steal from you.”
Hanbin pats his hair, scratching gently and pulling a contented hum from the man. “I know you wouldn’t,” he reassures.
“Don’t ever think like that again,” Zhang Hao is still stern, and there’s a tiny thought he had never put into words in the back of Hanbin’s mind that tugs at his chest, but he ignores it.
“It’s okay, I believe you,” Hanbin agrees quietly, feeling he is the one being untruthful now.
“My Korean skills aren’t that great, but can I read your novels sometime? They might be just my level if they are for students.”
Fireworks burst in his chest and his eyes water at the innocent suggestion. Even his grandfather, the person he loved the most in the world, hadn’t shown any interest in his work. He praised him for his hard work and he congratulated Hanbin when the checks started rolling in, but the man never quite understood why his grandson never used his words or his intelligence to become a civil servant or something with a more guaranteed salary.
”Of course you can read them, Hyung. I would even let you read the one I am writing right now, but it is a sequel to my second novel. Too many spoilers,” Hanbin gives a watery smile and he feels Zhang Hao’s cheeks rising from the place he is snuggled into Hanbin’s thigh.
With an exerted effort, he rolls over to look Hanbin in the eyes, his hair fanning out over Hanbin’s lap. Zhang Hao is the prettiest he has ever seen him like this, and Hanbin’s chest aches like it never has before. However, this time no longer from loneliness or from missing him. This time, the ache is from loving Zhang Hao so desperately it feels like his heart is being held between the palm of the man’s lovely fingers.
Hanbin wants to say it - wants to tell Zhang Hao just how much he loves him, but something prevents him from saying it. There is something else that Hanbin will eventually have to know first that he does not want to consider just yet.
“Then I’ll read all of them,” Zhang Hao’s smile raises the apple of his cheeks and closes his eyes with the warm aura between them.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Hanbin’s voice shakes with all that he feels at the moment, the mixture of love and sadness and feeling seen for the first time overwhelming him.
“Can we go to bed first, though? I think the snow has made me sleepy,” the man snuggles further into Hanbin’s lap in spite of his question, and who is Hanbin to deny him anything.
“You have to let me up first, though,” Hanbin chuckles, placing a hand on his shoulder in an indication to sit up, but he uses the soft pad of his thumb to rub the exposed skin over Zhang Hao’s collarbone. He shakes his head and worries his way deeper into the couch.
“Nope, too cozy. I think we can just sleep here.” Hanbin laughs to mask the way his heart races at the sound of ‘we.’
”There are two perfectly fine beds to use in this house. We’re not sleeping on the couch,” Hanbin chuckles, running his hand through the downy softness of the hair framing Zhang Hao’s temples. In his lap, Zhang Hao frowns, a line worrying itself between his eyebrows that Hanbin can’t help but outline with his thumb.
”What do you mean two beds? I’m sleeping with you,” Zhang Hao argues, picking apart Hanbin’s last statement.
“No, you can’t. You’re a guest - I’m not making you share a bed with me” Hanbin stays firm, mainly for his own sake, and his already rapidly beating heart.
“Nope,” he pops the ‘P’ and struggles to sit himself up. Hanbin gives him a firm hand on his back to push him all the way up so that they are sitting next to each other. Hanbin uses the couch for leverage to push himself closer to face Zhang Hao, and the man’s expression is serious. “Why would I stay if I wasn’t going to share a bed with you? I’ll just go home then,” he answers firmly.
“Uh, maybe because it is snowing outside,” Hanbin replies, incredulous. The situation seems ridiculous. He cannot believe that he lives in a world where he is fighting off the most beautiful man he has ever seen in his life, the man that he loves, from his bed. He isn’t quite sure where his reservations lie, but they are possibly from the butterflies pooling at the bottom of his stomach.
“The snow doesn’t bother me,” Zhang Hao huffs, his entire face turning to an upset pout. “We will share a bed or I will walk home, Sung Hanbin.” The man pulls out his surname, clearly sticking with his convictions. Hanbin’s heartbeat quickens impossibly and his ears rush at the thought of sharing a bed, but he is too easy when it comes to Zhang Hao. He knows that he won’t be able to sleep a single second of the night, but he has already been convinced.
Hanbin sighs. “You can share my bed just this once,” he points, and Zhang Hao breaks into the most earth-shattering lovely smile Hanbin has ever seen. He is not sure how he ever had the will to even consider telling him no when he shines brighter than the sun, even in the deep of night.
“You’re going to regret giving in so easily to me,” Zhang Hao bares his teeth at Hanbin and a cold chill runs down his back. He’s met with boisterous laughter that bounces off the wooden beams of the ceiling.
Despite meeting everyday for several weeks now, and despite baring his own soul to the man, there are very few times where Hanbin believes that he truly sees Zhang Hao for who he is. That the man is completely honest with him, and this is one of them.
_____
Hanbin takes his time washing up before bed. He pressed a pair of silky pajamas he thought would suit Zhang Hao into his hands and ran off to ready himself for bed. There is only so long that he can let the water in the faucet run until it becomes clear that he is avoiding returning to his room and Hanbin passes that point by an extra thirty seconds before twisting the knob to turn the water off.
Cracking the door open slowly, Hanbin takes a chance to peek at the room before he steps into it. The room is dim, only lit up by the small lamp on his nightstand. Zhang Hao is already tucked into his bed, the comforter pulled all the way to his chin as his feet playfully tap out a rhythm only he can hear underneath the comforter. Noticeably, he is resting on Hanbin’s side of the bed. The half of the bed he frequents was unmade from the morning before, apparently inviting Zhang Hao into it.
The sight is too endearing for Hanbin, his heart clenching at the sight of the man waiting for him so patiently. He decides to stop stalling and enter back into the room, finally gaining the courage to face Zhang Hao in the precarious position he has been placed in.
”That’s my side of the bed, if you didn’t already know,” Hanbin points, chuckling as he slips into the foreign side of the mattress.
Zhang Hao worms his way even deeper into the pillows as if to make a point. “I know. It smells like you, so I wanted to sleep here.”
Hanbin burns crimson and in that moment, he swears that he will not be able to make it through the night unscathed. His heart is already beating so rapidly in his chest that he worries about his health. For his own safety, Hanbin scoots to the very edge of the bed, avoiding giving away how affected he is, praying that his own blazing skin does not make contact with Zhang Hao’s
Zhang Hao has other plans, however, and with a frustrated huff, he shuffles under the covers to wrap himself around Hanbin’s arm, burying his nose into the shoulder of Hanbin’s t-shirt.
“You forgot to turn the light off,” Hanbin manages to choke out, the warmth of Zhang Hao pressed against him quickly becoming too much.
”You’re not scared of the dark?” Zhang Hao lifts his head to look Hanbin in the eyes from where he stares into the ceiling. Hanbin turns his head, not expecting that response.
“Not particularly. Why?” The question is odd and unnerving for some reason.
“You left all the lights on all night. And you ran through the hallway to your room when you did turn them off.”
”Oh,” Hanbin mouths. “I’m not sure why I did that.” He’s telling the truth - he truly does not know why the dark made him so anxious this particular night.
Zhang Hao chuckles from beside him and rolls over to turn the lamp off. The room isn’t pitch black, the moonlight bouncing off the bright white snow outside the window illuminating the space enough that Hanbin can see the man’s face clearly, but it casts shadows under his eyes and sharpens his teeth. Zhang Hao assumes the same position as earlier, wrapped around Hanbin’s arm, but this time looking directly into Hanbin’s eyes with his own tawny gaze that practically glows in the dark.
“I’m scarier in the dark, huh?” Zhang Hao’s eyes darken and his teeth gleam in the dark and a wave of fear washes over Hanbin. The cozy atmosphere is completely gone and now Hanbin understands why he was so adamant about having the lights on throughout the house.
“Goodnight, Hyung,” Hanbin manages, exerting himself to not give away the waves of anxiety currently coursing through his veins and numbing the tips of his fingers. He steadies his breathing and closes his eyes until the fear strikes him again, images of a pair of wild, glowing eyes looking back at him behind his eyelids.
Zhang Hao noses even further into Hanbin’s shoulder, possibly sensing his distress next to him, but his touch hardly eases the fear rumbling around in his chest like it typically does. It actually makes it worse, his nails pressed against the pressure point in his wrist transform to claws and his shallow breathing turns to snarls.
Hanbin’s head swirls with his anxiety, unanswered questions and his own complicated feelings echoing in his thoughts like an empty chamber, chanting in his ears, begging to be spoken aloud. Hanbin loves Zhang Hao. But at this moment he is afraid of him. As much as Hanbin wishes it was the darkness or the sound of trees scraping against his roof or even the tiger he once believed was outside, it’s Zhang Hao who he is afraid of.
The feeling began the first time they met, the fear sinking deep into his bones, hidden behind the curiosity and interest, and later his adoration. The way that the man bared his teeth and could rarely answer his questions truthfully. The countless times he evaded Hanbin’s interest, never giving him a straight explanation for something simple. The dark stares that haunted Hanbin in his dreams. Others had seen it too, and they were afraid of him. The waitress at the restaurant who avoided his gaze and Zhang Hao’s mocking laughter plays in his head on a continuous loop.
There was something not right with Zhang Hao, something so deeply wrong that Hanbin chose to ignore it the whole time, too occupied with being swept up in the man’s charms. Their meals together were always light and he laughed so joyfully and looked at Hanbin with as much care as Hanbin looked at him, but there has always been something deeper, something darker under the surface that Hanbin has chosen to ignore.
As his heart pounds out of his chest and echoes in his ears, Hanbin cannot ignore it anymore. The questions he has are too large and his suspicions too menacing that he is unable to pretend that they no longer exist. In the dark, Hanbin cannot see the pink of Zhang Hao cheeks or the mole under his eye or the plush lips that pout back at him. He cannot see his crimson ears that stick out from his head or the shock of thick black hair. He cannot hear his laughter or the soft hums as he sings along to a song without knowing the words and he cannot hear his clever quips. Hanbin cannot explain away his questions with his love.
In the dark, all Hanbin is left with are his thoughts and the fear coursing through his veins. All he knows in the dark are the thoughts he refused to allow fully form, but he cannot deny them any longer. He’s not sure he would ever get the courage to ask again, but as the night deepens, lying with his eyes boring into the ceiling no longer satisfies his worries and he has to voice them.
“Hyung,” Hanbin calls, barely louder than a whisper. He was listening to the man’s breathing next to him, waiting for him to fall asleep, to avoid asking the question that he is not sure he wants to hear the answer to.
“What is it, Bin-ah,” Zhang Hao mumbles into his sweater, clearly not having slept yet, maybe even waiting for Hanbin’s question.
Hanbin turns on his side, gently untucking Zhang Hao from his arm to look him in the eye. This close, Hanbin can see every little detail of the man’s face, even in the dark. Zhang Hao’s breath fans across his lips, sending goosebumps down his arms. His eyes are wide in curiosity and their lips are so close that Hanbin could just lean in and take from him, take as much as he wants to soothe the fearful ache in his bones.
There are two things that Hanbin knows, looking at his face so closely. The first is that he loves Zhang Hao. That he wants every part of him, wholly and desperately. The second is that there is something wrong with him.
“You’re not who I think you are, are you,” Hanbin states, his lips brushing against Zhang Hao’s as he speaks.
Zhang Hao’s lip quirks up. “Speak clearly, Hanbin,” he chides, neither denying the accusation or questioning him. Hanbin’s entire body crushes under the weight of the question he knows he must ask, and he has to take a gasping breath to continue.
“You’re not human, are you,” Hanbin finally speaks the words, the ones that have been nothing but a whisper in the back of his mind for weeks. The words that have haunted Hanbin every second he had separate from the spell of Zhang Hao’s presence.
The other side of Zhang Hao’s lips raise and he smiles, brushing his lips against Hanbin’s again. “Not quite,” He answers. “Almost.”
The silence is heavy in the room, Hanbin’s heart pounding in his chest and ringing in his ears. Again, Zhang Hao answered his question in a half-truth, but this time, it might be all the truth he really needs. Hanbin’s head spins and his breath quickens, filling the silence between them.
Zhang Hao moves first, placing his hand on Hanbin’s elbow and dragging it up his arm to rest in the crook between his shoulder and his neck, fingers resting where his pulse beats rapidly. Eyes full of a silent question, waiting for Hanbin to deny him but never receiving a refusal, the hand wraps firmly around his neck, pulling him in.
Their lips touch gently. Zhang Hao’s plush lips cross the distance to press against Hanbin’s. The anxiety and fear pulsing throughout Hanbin’s body shifts into something new, the terror molding into an excited buzzing under his skin instead.
Hanbin never dreamed he would be given the chance to kiss Zhang Hao, let alone in the moments after exposing his secret. Just moments ago, Hanbin pictured his throat being ripped out after he finally voiced his question.
The need to consume Zhang Hao takes over Hanbin anyways, and he opens his lips to move against the man with a purpose. His hand finds Zhang Hao’s waist, pulling him in closer and connecting their bodies in every way that he can. Zhang Hao lets out a shocked noise, but his soft lips move against Hanbin’s deeply, breathing him in.
They stay connected for a long time, never deepening the kiss past their lips, but moving against each other with the passion and need of a couple stranded in a desert looking for water. The night grows darker and the fear in Hanbin’s chest all but disappears, his questions both answered in a sense. He confirmed that Zhang Hao was not human, something else almost entirely, and that he wanted Hanbin. Maybe just as much as Hanbin wanted him.
When they separate, it’s with swollen lips and drooping eyes. In the moonlight, with a flush coating cheeks and his lips cracked and swollen, Zhang Hao is truly more beautiful than anything he has ever seen. Whatever Zhang Hao is, he is all mine, Hanbin thinks, and he believes it is true.
Sleep falls over Hanbin unexpectedly and against his better judgment. As much as Hanbin adores Zhang Hao, the aura of danger does not dissipate, even with his lips pressed to Hanbin’s.
As Hanbin sleeps, he dreams of blood and organs spilling out of a small animal’s body, a larger predator tearing into its prey.
_____
A pair of light hazel eyes are the first things Hanbin sees when he wakes up, the morning sun shining through the windows. Hanbin smiles, but Zhang Hao’s gaze is intense and unwavering, sending a chill down his spine.
“Hyung,” Hanbin calls with his hoarse morning voice. Zhang Hao simply hums, his eyes watching Hanbin carefully. “What are you?” His vague answer was enough the night before, but now in the light, Hanbin’s need to know Zhang Hao overpowers any fear he had before.
Zhang Hao’s eyes soften and he runs his fingers through Hanbin’s hair, pausing before replying. “What do you think I am,” his tone is quiet and playful and Hanbin feels his heart race all over again. He hadn’t thought that far yet, too consumed by the idea that Zhang Hao simply Wasn’t.
“A ghost,” Hanbin answers mainly in jest, but the idea had crossed his mind a few times.
“You’re silly,” he continues to brush through Hanbin’s hair. “Other people can see me,” he finally smiles, one corner of his lips pushing up the apple of his cheek.
Hanbin hums, pretending to ponder. “A goblin?”
Zhang Hao finally chuckles at this. “Ew, no,” he gives in lieu of an answer.
Hanbin hums and taps his chin as he continues to think. “What about a grim reaper?” This seems like a more likely answer to him; everything since moving into his grandfather’s house not feeling real at all.
“Hanbin, other people can see you. You’re not dead. Think about it a little more,” Zhang Hao urges. “I think you know.”
Hanbin considers it longer this time, the game dying between the pair. He runs his mind through every possibility he can conjure with his foggy morning brain, and he comes up empty. Without reason, his thoughts cross back to the little white fox that appeared just beyond the tree line all those weeks ago that he fed every night until he stopped showing himself the Hanbin, the night before Zhang Hao for the very first time.
He doesn’t consider it that seriously, but the fox was quite like Zhang Hao. It showed up right on time every night and expected to be fed, eating whatever Hanbin made it for dinner and it was excellent company.
With a laugh, Hanbin chooses the first mythical creature he can think of related to foxes. “A gumiho?”
Zhang Hao’s hand stills in his hair and his whole body becomes rigid. Hanbin dares not to move, but his eyes stay trained on Zhang Hao’s face, watching his light expression twist into something different. It has hardened, a look of hurt and anger crossing his face. Hanbin knows he must have said something wrong immediately.
“Don’t ever compare me to evil spirits like them,” Zhang Hao warns, or rather, pleads. His voice is layered with hurt and Hanbin’s stomach turns with guilt.
“I didn’t mean,” he cuts himself off, not really sure what exactly he meant. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes sincerely. Zhang Hao hums to accept the apology, but from the lack of a real answer and the way his eyebrows are still drawn together, Hanbin knows that he is upset.
“Hyung, if you’re not that, are you different?”
“Of course I’m different,” Zhang Hao spits, not at Hanbin, but possibly at a past of explaining himself and not being trusted.
Hanbin wants to believe him, but he’s left only with more questions that are not answered. Zhang Hao swears he isn’t a gumiho, but he must be a spirit like it, Hanbin concludes. All Hanbin knows about gumihos is that they are fox spirits who steal human’s souls.
“What do you want from me,” Hanbin asks, the words falling from his lips before he can stop them. He doesn’t know if he’s asking because he believes Zhang Hao might steal his soul, or because he wants to know where they stand - if Zhang Hao shares the same feelings. If he is even able to have those feelings - of love and adoration.
Zhang Hao sighs, exasperated, as if the conversation had worn him down. “I don’t want anything from you, Hanbin-ah. Just your company. Just you.” His voice is just barely above a whisper, and Hanbin wants so desperately to believe him. He wants to trust that Zhang Hao truly wants nothing more than to be with him.
The feeling of being wanted soars in Hanbin’s chest, but the fear that it is all a lie sinks deep within him simultaneously. He doesn’t know exactly what Zhang Hao is, and he doesn’t know if the man, the creature, is stealing his soul, but Hanbin thinks he may just give it to him freely if he asks.
𓆱𓃥 ⭒ 𓃦 𓆱
When Zhang Hao said that he might just move in if he was invited, he was serious. After the first night they stayed together, the night that Hanbin discovered his secret, he essentially moves in. Or, rather, he never leaves.
Like a stray cat, Zhang Hao makes Hanbin’s home his own and he carves out a space for himself so easily that Hanbin hardly remembers what it was like living without him. Zhang Hao is there in the mornings, snoring loudly in Hanbin’s ear and drooling on his pillows, he is there in the afternoon watching Hanbin with a pair of sharp eyes as he moves around his home, and he is still there in the evenings, pressing his side against Hanbin’s or crooks his head over Hanbin’s shoulder to watch him cook.
Zhang Hao is always there, except when he suspiciously is not.
Hanbin wakes to the empty bed only two days after he discovered Zhang Hao isn’t quite human, whatever that means for him. Normally a heavy sleeper, Hanbin woke with an uncomfortable feeling weighing on his chest, but it wasn’t the usual weight of Zhang Hao perched over his body. Next to him, the divot where Zhang Hao slept was exposed and the comforter was pulled back like the space was waiting for him to return. However, when Hanbin ran his hands over it, the sheets were cold, as if they had not been occupied for a long time.
Hanbin’s heart stutters in his chest, worry overtaking him at the thought of Zhang Hao leaving. Or, rather, escaping. Zhang Hao accepted every single invitation that Hanbin extended towards him, but in their own little world, sometimes it felt like Hanbin was holding the not-quite-a-man hostage in his home.
In the midst of his worrying, Hanbin fell back into a fitful sleep. When he woke to the autumn sunshine, Zhang Hao was tucked right under his arm, nosing at the curve of his chest, sleeping soundly.
Every night thereafter, Zhang Hao leaves, but Hanbin does not worry that he will not return. Some nights Hanbin catches a glimpse of the man’s pajamas slipping out of his bedroom doorway, but usually he wakes to the missing presence next to him. Once, Hanbin even felt the light press of lips to his temple before his door creaked open and then closed again.
Hanbin never mentions his absence, and Zhang Hao never acknowledges that he knows Hanbin knows that he left. Rather, with a pair of smiles they greet each other in the late mornings or early afternoons when Zhang Hao finally rises from his heavy sleep, wishing each other a good morning and asking how the other slept.
An early riser with a clear direction for his novel, Hanbin often starts his day hours before Zhang Hao, typing away on his laptop vigorously. When Zhang Hao finally does shuffle into the dining room where Hanbin sits at the table, the man pushes his way onto Hanbin’s lap after a mug of coffee is secured and settles right next to Hanbin’s.
After that night, the night Hanbin learned about Zhang Hao, and the night that they kissed for the first time, there was nary a moment where they were not connected in some way. Much like a house cat, Zhang Hao prefers to perch himself on Hanbin’s lap, nosing into the collar of his sweaters and running his hands through his hair. Other times, he sits in the seat next to Hanbin as he writes, flipping through Hanbin’s first novel with wholehearted interest as his feet rest on Hanbin’s lap. When he feels especially needy, Zhang Hao even drapes himself over Hanbin’s back, pressing firm kisses to the back of his neck, silently begging for attention.
Hanbin grants it to him easily. Sometimes it is a hand kneading Zhang Hao’s calf as he scribbles onto his notebook, and other times it is slowly and silently kissing each of Zhang Hao’s knuckles over and over as he listens to his publisher ramble over the phone.
At night, there is still the inherent terror that rips its way through Hanbin’s chest, eating away at home when he closes his eyes with the presence of something inhuman and uncanny lying next to him in the dark, but it is replaced quickly by hungry yet gentle lips pressing against his own and a tongue swiping against his teeth. Even with the anxiety wrapping itself around his frame, Zhang Hao’s arms around his waist overlay all of his fears.
Hanbin gets no closer to discovering what Zhang Hao truly is, but he’s not sure he even cares. Sometimes he still conjures images of bloody messes of rodents, torn apart by a larger predator in his dreams, and once he even stared back at Zhang Hao, his entire face covered in an awful crimson as blood spurted from his own neck, but Hanbin has a hard time caring.
He once thought Zhang Hao was stealing his soul, and there are times he wishes he could know so that he could give it willingly instead if the man needed it, but the thought rarely crosses his mind anymore.
The love Hanbin has for Zhang Hao carves itself over every inch of his skin and buries itself deep inside of his chest. He loves him more than he’s felt anything else in his life, and if that means the man, the creature, is taking away minutes of his life and pieces of his own being, Hanbin would give it away wholeheartedly.
It isn’t stealing if it is given away, but Hanbin feels their relationship is in fact transactional in a way, Zhang Hao giving just as much as he is receiving.
It is late one evening, and Zhang Hao’s bare feet lay in Hanbin’s lap, using his warmth to heat them up as they watch a movie together. It feels more like family and like love than Hanbin has ever felt, and the whispers of loneliness have not rang in his ears since Zhang Hao moved in. And he tells him as such.
“Hyung,” Hanbin calls, and Zhang Hao lazily lifts his head from the ledge of the couch where it was resting in his palm with a questioning hum. He waits for Hanbin to speak, and it makes Hanbin’s chest ache.
“I’ve never felt less lonely than when I’m with you.”
Hanbin has expressed little of his family life with Zhang Hao, forgoing all of the details of his parents abandoning him with his grandparents until they physically could no longer take care of him, then the few short years he lived with them until they found the journal entry with a boy’s name written over and over again with hearts that finally had him sent to live in a dormitory, never seeing them more than in passing again. His grandmother died the year after he started university and his grandfather passed several months ago now. He truly was left all alone in the world.
Loneliness was a part of him the same way that the heart that beat in his chest and the bones that held his frame together were part of him. It was him. But now, with Zhang Hao in his lap, Hanbin cannot even remember what the word loneliness felt like on the tip of his tongue. It was all but a distant memory, faded by the love he had for Zhang Hao.
Hanbin knows Zhang Hao wouldn’t quite understand the depth of what he says, but Zhang Hao still warms at the confession. He still smiles, lighting up the room. He still slips his feet from the warmth of Hanbin’s grip and crawls his way to straddle his lap, wrapping his arms around him so fully and with so much feeling that Hanbin finds himself tearing up.
“I’ve lived by myself for a long time, but I’ve never felt less lonely with you too, Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao whispers from Hanbin’s neck, the brush of his lips against the thick artery there, resting right against his heartbeat. Hanbin allows just a few tears to fall.
Hanbin knows he loves Zhang Hao, but he does not know how the man feels in return. He has no idea if he is even capable of loving him back. But all of this feels an awful lot like love, and if it is all Hanbin can get, he will take it.
Everything feels right. For the first time in Hanbin's life, it feels easy. He feels happy. He feels loved. His loneliness is long forgotten with the wind. All that he feels is Zhang Hao, Zhang Hao, Zhang Hao. In his lungs, in his head, in his chest - the man is absolutely everywhere.
Hanbin writes him into his new novel. His own love is woven between each of the words and the man's mystery and vastness is captured among each of the lines as Hanbin types. Zhang Hao is in the food that he cooks, each new recipe he makes for the man filled with the food that suits his taste, as well as sloppily cut vegetables that he made himself. There is not one single place in Hanbin's life that has not been touched and changed completely by Zhang Hao, and Hanbin hardly remembers what it was even like before he arrived outside his door.
______
In the weeks since Hanbin met Zhang Hao for the first time, the man never gave away anything freely besides his interest. He held his past and his secrets close to his chest, giving out half truths whenever Hanbin asked.
Now, he shares himself more generously. He whispers as Hanbin falls asleep the ache in his chest to return home someday, to his real home, the one where the mountains look differently and the history is more ancient. He recounts stories of harsh winters when snowflakes fall in the morning before the sun rises past the hazy clouds. He comments on family members that are either long gone or were left behind.
Even more freely than Zhang Hao gives up his past, he speaks more often than ever, sharing his thoughts and his feelings willingly and honestly. When they first met, Hanbin felt like he had to read his mind to understand what he truly meant, parsing out information from vague, limited answers. Now, he shares what is on his mind more freely.
"Please hold my hand, Hanbin-ah" he asks while Hanbin taps at his temple with a pen as he works, the words not flowing quite as easily for one specific passage of his writing. Zhang Hao rarely interrupts Hanbin as he writes, but either feeling ignored or maybe sensing the frustration rising to the surface of Hanbin’s mind, he asks for something.
Easily, Hanbin complies and slips his hand into Zhang Hao’s, resting their palms in the man’s lap. He continues to break apart combinations of phrases in his head, but the soft pad of Zhang Hao’s thumb sweeps across the expanse of his hand, gently straightening out all of the tangled sentences in his head.
”I want you. I always want you,” Zhang Hao whispers against his lips in the deep of the night, after he slips back into Hanbin’s bed. Hanbin awakes to his warmth being wrapped around his body, and he tucks his head into Zhang Hao’s collarbone at the sensation, snuggling further into him.
Acknowledging Hanbin’s consciousness, Zhang Hao tips Hanbin’s head up with the crook of his index finger. Groggily, Hanbin’s blinks open his eyes to meet Zhang Hao’s piercing gaze in the dark, his tawny eyes shining with the reflection of the moon. There is something unreadable there, hidden deep in the recesses of his thoughts, but for the first time, Hanbin feels there may be some day that Zhang Hao spreads his thoughts open like a book, allowing Hanbin to read each of them.
In the dark of the night, Zhang Hao leans in first, unblinking, but Hanbin’s lips catch his eyes. Hanbin stays still, like prey caught in a trap, his fight or flight response malfunctioning and he freezes instead.
Zhang Hao pauses just before their lips can touch, but his breath tickles Hanbin’s nose and all it would take is barely extending his neck to lean in and swallow the man whole - to consume every last inch of him, reciprocating the way Zhang Hao seems to be eating him alive.
Staring each other down, Zhang Hao whispers his words of desire, expressing his want for Hanbin. Hanbin is not sure in what ways he is wanted, if it is a reciprocation of the ever consuming love that Hanbin has for the man, or if it is simply words of need. Or if they are words of a painfully kind monster, warning its prey before it swallows him whole.
Hanbin connects their lips, uncaring of Zhang Hao’s intentions when it feels this close to affection, to love. The sensation runs like a shock down Hanbin’s spine. Zhang Hao’s lips are ice cold, and Hanbin gasps into his mouth. If Hanbin was ever doubtful that the man truly was leaving in the middle of the night, escaping while he was sleeping, this reassures him that he was not just dreaming. Rather than question him, Hanbin presses his lips even more forcefully against Zhang Hao’s, working against them languidly, in an attempt to warm them up quickly.
“Do you ever think of our future,” Zhang Hao asks over dinner one night. His feet bracket Hanbin’s under the table as they face each other.
Hanbin places his chopsticks down on the table to fold his hands under his chin. When he looks Zhang Hao in the eye, there is a glint of nervous uncertainty that Hanbin isn’t sure he has ever seen from the normally confident man, and the fact itself tells Hanbin more about his feelings than if he spoke them aloud.
”Of course I have,” Hanbin answers easily. He thinks of their future all the time, if he even has one. In the mornings when Zhang Hao snores noisily and Hanbin counts the moles lining his face and brushes his fingers across his long eyelashes, Hanbin conjures images of them in the future.
Sometimes it is three little girls squealing as Zhang Hao chases them and sweeps each one from their feet as he watches, an impossible future, but the one Hanbin longs for the most. Other times, he imagines a wrinkled hand placed in his own hand and a smile creasing his face in their old age. Other times, the after effects of Hanbin’s gory dreams stick with him and he imagines his body torn apart and bloody as Zhang Hao stands over him.
Zhang Hao’s face eases at his word, and he leans forward excitedly. “What do you think about?”
Hanbin hums, eyes turning towards the ceiling as a finger taps against his chin. “A lot of things. Sometimes I think about visiting your hometown or I imagine having a family with you,” If Hanbin was smart, he might not share his deepest desires with Zhang Hao so easily, but the smile that raises his cheekbones and the giggle that escapes his lips makes it difficult to care if there is a creature stealing parts of himself.
“I’ve even thought about you standing over my grave. I’ve thought of everything,” Hanbin laughs, but the joke does not seem to land. Zhang Hao’s face instantly sours, turning into a frown and his eyebrows draw together as the conversation is dropped completely. Hanbin never hears why Zhang Hao asked about their futures, but the elation in Zhang Hao’s original expression makes him believe they have one together.
𓆱𓃥 ⭒ 𓃦 𓆱
Two different things progress as autumn deepens into winter. As the leaves fall completely from the trees, the physical aspect of Hanbin’s relationship with Zhang Hao barrels forward at a speed Hanbin feels he can never catch his breath and with the frost coating the grass every morning, Hanbin finishes his novel.
“It’s finished,” Hanbin declares out loud, speaking the words to himself, or Zhang Hao, he’s not sure. After staring at the last words he wrote, Hanbin watched the blinking cursor for what felt like half and afternoon, unable to process that the story he had been working on so ardently had been finished. Everything he had to say had been written. His outline was brought completely to fruition.
Never in Hanbin’s career as an author had he finished a novel so quickly, his writing process typically so painstaking that he truly did need the pressure from his publisher to finish within a deadline, despite his aversion to the constant phone calls.
Currently, he was contracted to finish the novel in several months. He was still scheduled to be working on the first half of the novel, not finishing it to completion.
At this moment, Hanbin finally realizes there is something not right.
Hanbin’s novel is finished, and this scares him. As the words fall from his mouth, he takes a look around the room. As if in slow motion, Hanbin’s eyes scan the layout of the house, and he can hardly recognize the place anymore. The childhood home he grew up in doesn’t look the way it did before, something dark hidden in the corners and something watching him from the wooden beams crossing the ceiling.
From the corner of his eye, Zhang Hao unfolds himself from where he was curled up on the couch, but even his movements look cartoonishly slow, as if he was pulling his limbs through molasses. Hanbin realizes as Zhang Hao bounds towards him in long and slow movements that it isn’t just his home he doesn’t recognize, but his entire life. Nothing is the same anymore as it was three months previous, which was different even from six months before that.
Hanbin’s life has been upended completely, and now he can hardly even recognize himself, his life simply a frame of what he knew before. And the harbinger of this chaos and his world turning on its head is the man he shares a bed with every night. Hanbin’s world is but a whisper of what it used to be, and Zhang Hao is the cause of all of that.
The chair is pulled out forcefully behind Hanbin without him even realizing, and Zhang Hao stands in front of him, excitement and anticipation lighting up his face and warming his eyes. Staring back at him, an image of snow-white fur covered in syrupy blood flashes before Hanbin’s eyes, and his chest rises with quick, shallow breaths.
Behind a pair of sweater paws, Zhang Hao takes Hanbin’s face in his hands, gripping either side of his jaw with his icy fingers. From where he stands, Zhang Hao leans in, ignoring the scared look in Hanbin’s eyes, or not noticing it, and presses their lips together with his back bent at his waist.
In congratulations, the kiss is full, yet gentle, but Hanbin hardly finds it in himself to follow the movements of Zhang Hao’s lips in his panic. Behind his closed eyelids, all he sees is blood and exposed insides of rabbits and mice and Hanbin forces his eyes open to erase the red and snow white from his vision.
With a sweet smile, Zhang Hao pulls back, and he trails one of his hands down Hanbin's neck over his shoulder and to his hand to pull him from the chair. Despite his fear, Hanbin stands with ease, rising to his feet and follows Zhang Hao willingly, like a lamb to slaughter.
Hanbin is scared of Zhang Hao, but he loves him. His panic twists his stomach, but Zhang Hao’s cold fingers soothes the feeling anyway, the rational part of his brain and his heart creating a juxtaposition of feelings he cannot begin to parse through in Zhang Hao’s overwhelming presence.
Hanbin wades through sticky molasses shuffling behind Zhang Hao, who pulls him through the living area to Hanbin’s bedroom. Like a moth to a flame, Hanbin follows the danger willingly. Voices in his head tell him to let go, to push Zhang Hao away, but his feet move forward anyways, following Zhang Hao towards what feels like his death.
A pair of gentle hands on Hanbin’s shoulders guide him to sit on the edge of the bed. With his neck turned upwards, Hanbin watches like a deer in a pair of headlights, eyes wide and afraid.
Zhang Hao’s smile is always so warm, but now all Hanbin can see is a pair of sharp incisors gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. His eyes are always so deep and thoughtful, but now they feel like two daggers piercing right through him. The fingers Zhang Hao taps a silent rhythm against his shoulders, right next to the pulse point in his neck, are sharp claws scratching against his skin.
In a slow and swift movement, Zhang Hao places either knee on the bed, bracing Hanbin’s waist. Placing all of his weight on Hanbin’s thighs, he sits back comfortably. Despite his better judgment and his brain telling him to run, Hanbin’s hands wrap firmly around the man’s hips, pulling him in even closer and grounding him in place.
With a light giggle, one Hanbin would not have even heard if he was any further away, Zhang Hao brings his own hands to Hanbin’s face. One splays the side of his face, gripping his jaw and ghosting over his ear, and the other brushes his hair out of his eyes and away from his forehead, just a whisper of a touch.
Zhang Hao breaks their eye contact to watch his fingers trail along Hanbin’s hairline, and the panic yet again rises in Hanbin’s chest. As long as their eyes meet, Hanbin can surmise the man’s next actions.
As if sensing Hanbin’s discomfort, Zhang Hao’s gaze flickers back towards Hanbin’s with a sweet smile, his blinking slowing and his cheeks raising with joy.
“Congratulations, Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao whispers in the dead silence, brushing the strands of Hanbin’s black hair behind his ear. “I am so proud of you.”
If Zhang Hao is a monster, he truly must be one of the most cruel kinds.
Never in his life has Hanbin heard those words given so freely and generously as they fall from Zhang Hao’s lips. He sat through conferences with his homeroom teacher throughout middle and high school alone, his grandparents were too old to attend his graduations, and the only well wishes he received for publishing his novels were that his grandfather was happy he finally made money from his hobby.
“I am proud of you,” Zhang Hao repeats again, as if he knows the weight of the words he just uttered, the way they shift Hanbin’s world on its axis. This time, his hands wrap around Hanbin’s neck and he pulls their faces so close that Hanbin can feel the heat of the man on his own face. After what feels like a lifetime breathing in each other’s air, Zhang Hao tips his head the remaining centimeter closer to brush his nose against Hanbin. Softly, Zhang Hao nuzzles his nose into Hanbin’s. It is hardly the most intimate thing they have done, but it makes Hanbin’s heart flutter uncontrollably in his chest.
Unable to hold back any longer, Hanbin caves, ignoring the way his head spins with fear, and he pulls one hand away from Zhang Hao’s hip to grasp behind his neck, connecting their lips finally, in full.
If there was any moment between Hanbin and Zhang Hao where he felt like his soul was being sucked directly from his person, transferred from Hanbin to Zhang Hao, it would be this. The kiss is deep and full of all of Hanbin’s hopes and desires and passions. It is full of his reverence of Zhang Hao and all of the feelings he carries for the man, the love and the anxiety and the fear. The sweet brush of their lips against each other carries all of Hanbin.
Love is a terrifying concept to Hanbin. It has never meant so much to him before, and now it feels like it is eating him alive. From all of the former partners and people he has had in his life, he has never felt something so strongly. Nothing has possessed him so wholly as his love for Zhang Hao.
Hanbin’s chest is heavy as his lips work against Zhang Hao’s, who kisses and touches him so gently that Hanbin hardly believes he deserves it. He kisses him like Hanbin is someone to be cherished, like he truly is someone to be proud of.
An overwhelming mix of emotions and thoughts swirl in Hanbin’s head, pulling him deeper into Zhang Hao while also pushing his mind far away from him. Hanbin clings to the man in his lap, but his thoughts wander away from him. They meander out of the bedroom and through the living room and out the front door. Hanbin is outside, standing in the dark, the strong wind knocking the shutters against the house.
The hair on Hanbin’s neck stands straight up and goosebumps cover his upper arms where Zhang Hao now rests his hands, kissing him more fiercely, the gentle kiss turning to something more possessive.
Behind his eyelids, the image of the tree line outside of Hanbin’s home comes into focus. Just behind the first few rows of trees, a pair of tawny yellow eyes stare back at him.
The image of the fox Hanbin befriended all those weeks ago, starting from the very first night he moved in, burns itself behind his eyes. Rather than the gentle and sweet animal Hanbin grew to know all that time ago, the animal that would watch Hanbin as he worked and waited on him to share meals together, the snow white fox is now the wild animal that Hanbin feared. Its eyes stare directly at Hanbin and the animal is lowered on its haunches, like it is ready to bound towards Hanbin and attack. In the vision, Hanbin is pinned to the siding, his legs shaking from fear.
Sensing his distraction, Zhang Hao presses closed-mouth kisses against Hanbin’s lips repeatedly, demanding his attention back, but Hanbin is so consumed by the image in his head that he hardly feels the lips moving from his own to his cheek and his jawline and his neck.
Hanbin’s breath quickens, gasping at Zhang Hao’s touch, and the wild animal staring back at him. The fox in his head takes advantage of his vulnerability to lunge forward, bounding towards where Hanbin is pinned in his vision, frozen like a statue, only able to watch as the animal attacks him where he stands.
Gasping for air, Hanbin’s eyes blink open and he pushes away Zhang Hao’s hands from where they are gripping his hips and one is inching towards the front of his waistband. Hanbin’s wide and fearful eyes meet Zhang Hao’s own confused gaze, and there is a gleam of hurt there that Hanbin can see even in his panic. The start of a question forms on his lips, but Hanbin interrupts him before he can even formulate the sentence.
“Hyung, please, I have to know,” Hanbin’s voice cracks, and his lips are swollen even from the slow kisses Zhang Hao pressed against him. Zhang Hao tilts his head in confusion, Hanbin’s desperation clearly unexpected.
”What do you mean, Hanbinnie?” Zhang Hao’s tone is careful, unsure what Hanbin is asking, but it is still so gentle and considerate that Hanbin aches with it.
He hates that he feels like this. He hates that his human nature senses the man’s uncanniness and deep down he knows that there is something not right between them. Hanbin’s innate humanity recognizes the fact that Zhang Hao is wrong, and his natural reaction is to push Zhang Hao away and to run, as if he is a monster.
”Zhang Hao,” Hanbin whispers. The name echoes in the room, bouncing between their bodies and off the wooden ceiling. “What are you?”
Zhang Hao’s eyes are wide and the silence settles between them. Instead of answering, he leans in again to press his lips against Hanbin, a poor attempt at distracting the man. Hanbin turns his head in time, and Zhang Hao’s lips graze the corner of Hanbin’s, brushing against his cheek.
Hanbin keeps his head turned away from Zhang Hao until the man sits back with a sigh. “A fox spirit,” Zhang Hao says, quiet, but resolute, finally laying out all of his cards in the space between them. Hanbin turns his head harshly at the words, to search Zhang Hao’s face for the truth, but his own gaze is on his hands in their laps. Even as images of a snowy white fox lunging for his neck loops in his mind, this fox being Zhang Hao, they still sit so intimately together.
He’s not sure what he anticipated, maybe Zhang Hao making a mess out of his insides and bloodying his sheets, just like the many gory dreams he had of small prey torn apart by a larger animal. Just like the way that Zhang Hao turned his entire life inside out, Hanbin thought maybe he could tear him apart just like those rabbits and mice.
He did not, however, anticipate the aura of shame that would waft from Zhang Hao’s body in his lap. A fox spirit. The words run over themselves over and over in Hanbin’s head, echoing between his ears.
He was almost correct, his fixation on the fox he befriended finally merging with the man in front of him, as well as the memory of the first time he asked what Zhang Hao was. His reaction to being called a gumiho was strong, taking clear offense to the title. Hearing that the man in front of him, the not-quite-a-man, was actually a fox spirit, Hanbin understands more clearly the hurt in his voice then.
However, Hanbin does not know what that means, what Zhang Hao truly is. What separates the fox spirit in his lap, the man that he loves so dearly, and the evil being that preys on the souls of human beings, taking their energy.
The thought had crossed Hanbin’s mind many times that Zhang Hao may be stealing from him, taking his soul right from underneath him. In the past when he pondered this, Hanbin believed he may have stolen from him, but he did not care. He would give away his soul freely if Zhang Hao needed it. Now, as the realization of all of his lost time and how quickly Hanbin finished his novel sinks in, it just might be the truth that Zhang Hao stole parts of his soul, regardless of if Hanbin gave it freely or if they belonged to him with Hanbin’s love already.
”Wha-“ Hanbin starts and clears his throat to gather his resolve. At the sound, Zhang Hao lifts his head with wide, glassy eyes, waiting on him to speak. “What do you want from me,” Hanbin asks, not for the first time.
Again, Hanbin is more curious about the state of their relationship. However, now, having a name for what Zhang Hao is, Hanbin has to know if his own feelings were real, and not just a human reaction to a manipulative being. He needs to know if he was simply a vessel for a meal to Zhang Hao or if he shared even a fraction of what Hanbin feels for him.
Staring back at him, a look of hurt crosses Zhang Hao’s face, and Hanbin is immediately apologetic for asking him that, even if he truly did need to know the answer. If it upset him, Hanbin would almost rather not know.
His eyes full of unshed tears, Zhang Hao responds after a prolonged silence. “Didn’t I tell you before?” His voice is hurt, and Hanbin wants to nuzzle into his neck and whisper apologies before he can even finish. But he listens and waits instead. “I don’t want anything from you Hanbin. I just want your company. I want you.”
Hanbin feels all of the air knocked out from his lungs with the quiet acknowledgement of his feelings. Zhang Hao wants him. He wants him.
Elated at even a semblance of his same feelings being returned, Hanbin wants to kiss him. He wants to feel all of Zhang Hao, everywhere. But, he needs to finish this conversation. He has to quell the fears and the images that arise when he closes his eyes for good so that he can finally move on, even if the answer isn’t one he is comfortable with. He needs to know
“Hyung,” Hanbin tries to steady his voice, framing the question as gently as possible. “Are you stealing my soul?”
Zhang Hao’s eyebrows furrow together, anger twisting the features on his face. “Why would I ever steal your soul? How could I when I care for you this much?”
From the white-knuckled grip Zhang Hao has on his own thighs, he reaches up and lays his palm flat on Hanbin’s chest, right where his heart hammers against his fingertips. The weight of the conversation already quickened his heartbeat, but now, under Zhang Hao’s touch and his confession, it beats rapidly in his chest.
”Could you though? Do you need it?” With the knowledge that Zhang Hao wants him in some way, Hanbin could give him anything. Zhang Hao wants him. Cares for him - enough that his soul has stayed completely intact. How could he not want to give whatever he needs to the man he loves?
”I don’t need it,” Zhang Hao sighs, his thumb brushing along the curve of Hanbin’s chest. “I get all I need from the mountain. From the trees. I don’t need your soul, Hanbin-ah.”
All the nights when Hanbin would wake up with an empty bed and Zhang Hao returned with chilled lips run through his mind. He wasn’t getting his energy by drawing it from Hanbin’s lips or Hanbin’s desire for him, but from the ancient power of the mountain just outside of his home.
Hanbin’s house sits at the foot of the mountain, a stone’s throw away from the dense tree line that gives Zhang Hao life, and it all starts to make sense. Their first meeting, both as a fox and as a human.
“What does that mean for us,” Hanbin can’t help but ask, their future suddenly feeling uncertain, and he wants to grab hold of him before he loses it. “What does that mean for me?”
If his soul is not being stolen, if he is not being manipulated or used, why would Zhang Hao move in with him and share all of their waking minutes together? He isn’t just a simple human, he does not need Hanbin for a soul, and he does not need Hanbin’s love, as trivial as it might be for a being like Zhang Hao. In this moment, Hanbin has never felt quite so small as being in his presence.
“Whatever you want it to mean for us. I am actually quite auspicious, you know,” Zhang Hao finally cracks a smile, and it is now Hanbin’s turn to quirk his head in question. Folk tales are not something Hanbin knows well, but from his memories, foxes were always the opposite, always harbingers of chaos.
“For a long time, in my home, people used to worship me. They erected shrines and would burn incense for me, praying for good luck.”
Hanbin can picture it, shrines with bronze foxes circling an altar and the scent of incense wafting through the air as people whisper praises and requests. He would do the same thing. Even if Zhang Hao wasn’t a spiritual being, someone who might be able to meet those needs, he was worth worshiping. Hanbin could erect countless shrines and temples in his name, burning incense and leaving offerings at each of them diligently. Instead, he wraps his arms around Zhang Hao’s waist, pulling their chest together impossibly close, their noses brushing lightly.
”And what does that mean for me,” Hanbin asks again, this time enticingly, his lips brushing against Zhang Hao’s as he speaks. Zhang Hao’s secrets out in the open, the fear pulsing under his veins is gone. His soul is not being taken, and he has no reason not to trust Zhang Hao’s words, all of them. Including the want and care he has for him.
“I can give you anything,” Zhang Hao’s cheeks raise and his voice lowers. “If you want success, eternal life, anything. It’s yours, Hanbin-ah.”
Hanbin pulls away enough to look into Zhang Hao’s eyes. There is no sign of jest or dishonesty. He promises he would grant Hanbin anything, and Hanbin believes him.
However, Hanbin doesn’t want those things. Success doesn’t mean anything to him and eternal life is futile if he does not have Zhang Hao’s heart. If that is even something he can give away - if he can even love the same way that a human can. Hanbin almost wants to voice these thoughts, but he keeps them to himself instead.
”And what do you get in return, if not my soul,” Hanbin asks, unsure why Zhang Hao would offer up so much to him, with seemingly nothing but Hanbin’s affection in return.
“I get you, of course,” Zhang Hao laughs, a lovely pearl of a thing, as if it was the easiest thing he has ever said. Hanbin’s heart shatters into a million pieces, and he surges forward to capture Zhang Hao’s lips so as to not burst into tears. That wasn’t a confession of love, but it is enough for Hanbin.
As he kisses Zhang Hao, he no longer has the rush of anxiety buzzing under his skin and the terror he felt is gone. All he feels is Zhang Hao against him completely, each and every one of his nerves and senses awakening to his touch. Rather than the haunting tawny eyes staring back at him behind his eyelids, all Hanbin sees is the gentle flutter of Zhang Hao’s lashes against his cheeks, the faint blush rosying his nose.
Hanbin’s fear was rooted in the unknown, but now, with his full trust in Zhang Hao’s words, he releases all of his worries. All he holds onto are his words.
Hanbin’s hands splay across Zhang Hao’s back, feeling as much of him as possible as their lips work together languidly. Zhang Hao wants him, and Hanbin wants to have all of him, in any way that he can. If Zhang Hao was the predator lunging from his haunches to attack, Hanbin is the deceptive prey, manipulating the larger animal into his trap. Zhang Hao is ancient, he is revered, he is a god. He is Hanbin’s.
Zhang Hao sighs in his arms, pulling his lips away from Hanbin’s to press firm kisses at the corner of his mouth, against his chin, on his cheek, on his fluttering eyelid, so slowly that shivers of desire run down the length of his spine. Naturally, Hanbin’s hands grip against the bottom of Zhang Hao’s sweater, or, rather, the sweater that Hanbin lent to him.
Hanbin wants to move; he wants to run his hands underneath Zhang Hao’s shirt across his waist and he wants to leave bruises on his hips and bite marks on his flushed red earlobes. Hanbin wants too much, yet he waits for Zhang Hao as he kisses the entire expanse of his face.
Hanbin wants too much, and each kiss feels like love. It feels like one of reverence and worship. In this moment, Hanbin truly understands the weight of Zhang Hao’s presence in front of him, on his lap, sharing their lives so intimately together.
Maybe Zhang Hao will never feel true love, maybe foxes are unable to, but he cares enough for Hanbin to slowly praise him with his lips. ‘I am proud of you,’ he admitted earlier, and this is the way that Zhang Hao expresses it, through each and every kiss. ‘I will give you anything,’ and he writes it permanently on Hanbin’s face and in his heart, and Hanbin believes him.
Eventually, Zhang Hao’s swollen lips find their way to Hanbin’s again, and they both hum in content at the feeling. There is no rush, a lifetime or maybe more left between them if Zhang Hao kept his promise of eternal life, but there is want and desire and care.
With their lips connected, Zhang Hao shifts in Hanbin’s lap to lay them both down on Hanbin’s bed. Hanbin makes a noise of surprise as his back hits the comforter, and Zhang Hao takes advantage of his open lips to deepen the kiss, their tongues meeting hesitantly for the first time.
Both of Zhang Hao’s hands wrap around Hanbin’s neck, cradling him so gently as they explore each other’s mouths. Pretty sighs begin to fall from his lips and Hanbin itches to quicken their pace, to flip them over and consume Zhang Hao whole, but he refrains. He matches Zhang Hao in every way, following his lead.
“I’ve never done this before,” Zhang Hao admits, pulling away just enough that Hanbin can crack open his eyes and see the man’s swollen lips and ruddied cheeks. He’s beautiful, and Hanbin can hardly believe that is the truth. Hanbin wants to express his doubt, but he bites his tongue. Instead, he leans up to press a quick, yet firm kiss to his lips. When Hanbin lies back down and stares back up at him with a smile, Zhang Hao worries his bottom lip in concern, waiting for what Hanbin has to say.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, pressing another kiss to his lips. “I’ll show you.” Zhang Hao nods shyly, somehow.
Hanbin glides his hands from Zhang Hao’s biceps to his shoulders slowly. Softly, he guides Zhang Hao off of his lap and onto the bed himself, a halo of his soft hair splaying out around his head. He truly is the loveliest sight Hanbin has ever seen, and if he had to stay trapped in this room for the rest of his existence, as long as Zhang Hao was present, he would never need anything else.
Always so confident and sure of himself, Hanbin considers they may have traded positions in this moment, shifting dynamics and roles as Zhang Hao is inexperienced in intimacy. Excitement runs goosebumps down his back and arms, and after feeling so afraid of the ruin Zhang Hao could bring to him just moments previous, flipping their positions physically as well as emotionally has shifted something within Hanbin.
With a fervor that was not present in their earlier kisses, Hanbin is connecting their lips and his hands are everywhere. With a surprised squeak, Zhang Hao follows Hanbin this time with ease, matching his pace and opening his legs to frame his knees around Hanbin’s hips.
Zhang Hao grips the back of Hanbin’s neck with one hand, pulling lightly on the hair at his nape to pull him even closer, and Hanbin feels like he is swallowing him whole, but he continues to take as much as he can, rucking Zhang Hao’s shirt above his waist, exposing the soft skin of his stomach. Zhang Hao gasps, and pulls the hair between his fingers even tighter, accidentally extending Hanbin’s neck backwards and breaking the kiss.
”I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Zhang Hao rushes to apologize, releasing Hanbin from his grip. He falls forward with a laugh, and Hanbin finds himself in the crook of his neck. At Zhang Hao’s exposed clavicle above the neckline of his own oversized sweater, he sinks his teeth in, biting gently to hear Zhang Hao gasp again.
Hanbin kisses the faint teeth mark there, mumbling against his skin. “Don’t apologize. Use me however you like.” From his neck, Hanbin feels Zhang Hao nod, and he smiles before pressing another kiss there, taking a deep breath in through his nose, relishing in the man’s scent.
With a smile, Hanbin pushes himself up on his forearms and pecks Zhang Hao’s pout. ”I should be more scared of you, yeah?” He asks, breathless, and the man underneath him breaks out into his own smile, the nervous air around him dissolving in an instant.
”Am I the big bad wolf,” Zhang Hao jokes, his hands settling at Hanbin’s waist, pushing the hem of his sweater up to expose the soft skin at his stomach. “Are you worried I will swallow you whole?”
”More like a fox,” Hanbin laughs, the mood completely shifting from earlier. Zhang Hao rolls his eyes, but his tense shoulders ease and Hanbin can all but feel him melt into the bed as he grows more comfortable. He takes advantage of the lighthearted mood to push Zhang Hao’s sweater over his stomach and towards his chest, exposing his middle completely, his fingers lightly trailing up his torso. Unused to the touch, his stomach caves at the ticklish feeling and a gasp is followed by giggles.
The sweater bunches at Zhang Hao’s armpits, and with a quirked eyebrow, Hanbin asks a silent question, which is met with a singular nod and Zhang Hao pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. Holding his breath, Hanbin sits the both of them up, raising Zhang Hao’s arms above his head. Seeing the man so obedient and pliant in his hands, Hanbin's heart warms, and he presses another open-mouthed kiss to his lips. In one swift motion, Hanbin pulls the sweater from the man’s shoulders and tosses it on the ground behind them haphazardly.
Torso exposed, Zhang Hao’s inexperience and shy attitude makes another appearance and he folds in on himself. A pang resonates in Hanbin’s chest, and he mirrors the man and slips his own top off before he can worry any further. Two hands on bare shoulders, Hanbin steadily pushes him down again onto the bed, this time slipping a pillow behind his head.
“You’re so pretty like this, Hyung,” Hanbin whispers, even though it is just the pair of them in the room, in the home. The image of Zhang Hao’s bare torso and his hair splayed out around his head, paired with the ruddy blush coating his cheeks and chest, it’s the most beautiful sight Hanbin has ever seen.
“Don’t just say things like that,” Zhang Hao responds, too shy to accept the compliment in the moment, despite usually being a glutton for praise. His hands reach to cover his face, but Hanbin takes one in his own grip, pulling his knuckles to his lips and painstakingly taking the time to press gentle kisses to each and every one. Hanbin may not have a shrine to worship this spirit, this god, in front of him, but he prays that his lips are a worthy enough offering.
“What would you rather I say,” Hanbin finds his confidence again, settling into their flipped roles. Hanbin is certain this power dynamic will only last so long as Zhang Hao remains inexperienced, and the adrenaline from his earlier stress pushes him to enjoy the mood in full.
Zhang Hao doesn’t respond, but his pouty bottom lip is pulled behind his teeth again, eyes evading Hanbin’s as his head turns to the side, shielding himself from Hanbin’s gaze.
Unspoken words hang in the air, and Hanbin wishes more than anything to say them; he wishes to make a declaration, a confession, but even with Zhang Hao’s secret laid out in front of him, he’s not sure he’s willing to share his own secret with the man just yet.
Instead, Hanbin settles between Zhang Hao’s legs and kisses the exposed expanse of his neck first, drawing out a gasp. He follows it by pressing his lips against the sharp jut of his collarbone. Hanbin continues trailing his lips slowly and carefully down Zhang Hao’s chest and towards his torso, sending shivers down his spine and covering every inch of Zhang Hao’s skin.
Hanbin has no idea the extent of Zhang Hao’s capabilities or his strength, but he treats him so gently that it feels like he is doing too much, if it wasn’t for Zhang Hao’s hums and light moans of pleasure with each press of his lips.
“I won’t break,” Zhang Hao says above him, propping himself on his elbows, and Hanbin would hardly agree. His voice is shaky and he already looks deeply affected, his chest raising with full, haggard breaths.
“I know,” Hanbin says with a smile, pressing a new kiss to the man’s abdomen, further south than he had before. “I want it to be good for you,” he admits.
Zhang Hao slowly blinks and falls back down on his pillow, hiding a smile. “It’s always good with you, Hanbin-ah.”
Giddy, Hanbin hides his face in Zhang Hao’s hip bone to obscure his own toothy smile. “Hyung, you can’t just say things like that,” he repeats Zhang Hao’s words from early, his lips brushing against his hip bone.
Zhang Hao gasps at the feeling. “What would you rather I say instead,” he quips, throwing the same question back at Hanbin that he had asked. Hanbin pulls back to take a look at Zhang Hao’s face, flushed with want and something else that Hanbin dares not to consider. He knows exactly what he wants to hear from Zhang Hao, but he bites his tongue and hooks his fingers in the waistband of Zhang Hao’s pants instead.
The playful mood is cut off immediately as Hanbin drags Zhang Hao’s waistband over his middle, painfully slow as he takes his time and silently asks with his eyes if he can continue. The nerves seem to return as Hanbin exposes more of the man, and even he begins to feel more unsure.
Zhang Hao’s arousal is obvious, but Hanbin ignores it, swallowing loudly. He begins pressing firm kisses on Zhang Hao’s thighs, watching them shake with anticipation. Breathy moans fall from his lips with each touch now, and Hanbin feels more urgent than he did before. Instead, he continues his slow path all the way down to Zhang Hao’s ankles, throwing the pants behind them yet again.
Rife with excitement and anticipation, as well as a bit of anxiety that comes with a first, their matched heavy breaths echo in the room. As careful as he wants to be with Zhang Hao, Hanbin hardly has that same care or time for himself, so he kicks his own pants off as quickly as he can before crawling his way back up the bed to latch his lips to Zhang Hao’s again.
Completely exposed to each other now, outside of the thin pairs of underwear that hardly mask anything from each other, the kiss becomes heated and passionate, full of desire. Hanbin has kissed Zhang Hao countless times, but he has never kissed him so deeply or wanted so much from him. At this moment, Hanbin wants to take advantage of his offer of anything, but he doesn’t want eternal life or a best selling novel. He simply wants all of Zhang Hao.
Hands spanning waists and shoulder blades and chests, paired with long drawls of thighs working against each other, both men become a mess in no time at all, arousal wafting in the air and heightening with each movement and touch.
“Please Hanbin,” Zhang Hao cries, pulling away to gaze at him with teary eyes. He can feel it himself, his own arousal starting to ache inside of him. “I want you,” Zhang Hao whispers, and Hanbin has never been one to say no to him.
With one last kiss to his lips, Hanbin begrudgingly parts to completely free the both of them from their last remaining items of clothing. Out in the open, Zhang Hao is a sight to behold, and Hanbin has to sit back on his heels to take all of him in, even as the man begins to squirm under his gaze.
“Is this even real,” Hanbin whispers, suddenly unsure if what he is seeing makes any sense, if Zhang Hao truly is in front of him and not just a figment of his lonely imagination.
As if demonstrating just how real he is, Zhang Hao’s cheeks heat up impossibly red. He covers his face with his hands again, and mumbles behind his palms. “Don’t make me say it again, Hanbin,” he whines in lieu of pleading with him again, and Hanbin gives in, even if it is just a dream.
Hanbin is on top of him again, this time pressing their fronts together wholly from their lips to their toes, diving in deep and feeling every last inch of him. Like this, Hanbin could have all of him; he could take every bit of Zhang Hao, but he kisses him deep and tender and moves against him with such a purpose that has the man underneath him trembling and moaning softly and crying his name.
Their hands wander, taking space all over each other’s bodies as they kiss and Hanbin takes both of their hardening lengths in his hand at the same time, finally giving some relief to either of them. Worked up for so long with Hanbin’s lips everywhere on his body, Zhang Hao curls in on himself, his forehead finding purchase on Hanbin’s shoulders, his wet lips gasping into Hanbin’s clavicle.
Drawn so tight, just a few more flicks of his wrist would have both of them spilling over, but Hanbin wants more. He wants all of Zhang Hao, and with a pair of frustrated groans, he releases both of them before trailing a hand towards Zhang Hao’s backside, brushing his fingernails over the small of the man’s back and over the roundness of his bottom. With a heavy gasp, Zhang Hao pulls away, a look of concern set in his eyes.
“Wait, Hanbin,” he starts, and Hanbin is immediately pulling away, guilt consuming him with the assumption he had made.
“I’m sorry,” he gasps, separating them completely as Zhang Hao’s hands push against his chest. “I’m sorry. I just assumed,” he rushes. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again.
For all the care Hanbin put into making the man feel comfortable for his first time, he failed during the most important step. Hanbin has no preference in that regard, and he should have known better. “Of course you don’t want to try that for your first time. It’s my fault.”
“No, Hanbin,” Zhang Hao trails off, pulling Hanbin forward by his shoulder to connect their bodies again. He brings his hand to brush through his soft hair, and Hanbin still feels guilty, but it does ease some of the tension.
“I don’t want to take anything from you,” he says as he runs his fingers through his hair.
“That’s okay, really, I understand,” Hanbin relays sadly.
“No, I don’t think you do,” the man reprimands and takes his free hand to tip Hanbin’s head upwards to look him in the eye. He no longer looks afraid, but his eyebrows are pulled together. “People like me,” he pauses, “foxes,” he clarifies, “use people like you for their own gain. They leave them with promises of love and success and then leave in the middle of the night to never be seen again. All for their energy. It gets passed like that, and I promised I would never steal from you.”
As he speaks, folk tales and dramas of gumihos run through his mind. The image of a seductress fox stealing the soul and energy of her lover by sleeping with him runs through his mind, and suddenly Hanbin understands.
“We can still do that though, Hyung. If you want. I’ll give you anything,” Hanbin promises with an echo of Zhang Hao’s own words. As long as Zhang Hao stays, he will do anything for him. He would give him anything.
“No, not this time,” Zhang Hao is stern, firm in his resolve. “In the future, maybe. But I won’t hurt you.”
“Does it hurt,” Hanbin questions. He would still give the man what he needed even if it hurt.
“No, you wouldn’t feel anything after one time. But what if you woke up when I stepped outside to use the bathroom?”
Hanbin ponders over it. He certainly would panic and search the house if Zhang Hao wasn’t by his side when he woke, and he understands his concern.
“Next time,” Hanbin concedes, and he presses his lips against Zhang Hao’s again quickly.
“Maybe,” Zhang Hao smiles.
With a change of plans, Hanbin becomes more methodical to make it easier for both of them. He prepares himself quickly and efficiently, all while Zhang Hao gapes at him with his lovely wide eyes and presses open mouth kisses to his face and shoulders and whispers praises to him over and over.
They trade positions, Hanbin on his back with Zhang Hao hovering over him between his legs. Despite relishing in the earlier shift in their dynamics, one more experienced than the other, being underneath Zhang Hao makes sense.
Uncertain, Zhang Hao’s hands shake as he runs them along Hanbin’s bare thighs. His eyes glance between Hanbin’s middle and his eyes, asking permission and also how to move forward.
Unlike his own debauched upbringing, with easy access to the internet and lewd webtoons that kept him awake until the early hours of the morning, Hanbin isn’t sure what Zhang Hao’s education looked like.
Calmly, he instructs him each step of the way, gently reminding him where his hands should go and how to move forward.
“You won’t hurt me,” Hanbin reassures as Zhang Hao’s breathing starts to grow quick and shallow. “We’re learning together. We can always try again,” he smiles, and the man nods with an anxious smile. “I hope we try again. Regardless “ he rushes to add, to reassure him again that he truly wants everything with him.
A choked out, unconvinced laugh falls from Zhang Hao’s lips, but he lines himself up with Hanbin, following his earlier guidance and presses in horribly slow. Both men gasp at the feeling in unison. It is painful, but Hanbin feels closer to Zhang Hao than he ever has as the man slowly sinks inside him, fitting them together completely.
Zhang Hao trembles like a leaf while Hanbin readjusts to the feeling as Zhang Hao seats himself in him fully. Holding his breath, Hanbin pats his elbow to ease his nerves. Comfort does not come until Hanbin is letting go of the breath he was holding and asks Zhang Hao to finally move. Out of relief, his whole body falls forward with a sob. Hanbin’s arms wrap around Zhang Hao’s shoulders, the man rutting into him shallowly as he buries his face into Hanbin’s neck.
Neither of them last very long, both too overwhelmed from the intimacy and closeness. Hanbin gently guides Zhang Hao with his voice, and gradually he grows more confidence as he moves inside of him. Inexperience makes it difficult to find a steady rhythm, and once Zhang Hao stops worrying so much, the entire time is full of laughter and awkward sloppy kisses.
Pretty moans fall from Zhang Hao over and over with each thrust inside of Hanbin, and his eyes remain glassy with unshed tears the entire time. His inexperience makes it difficult to focus on Hanbin and it will take time to learn each other’s bodies, but the sight alone and Zhang Hao’s hesitant touches to his erection is enough to have Hanbin spilling between their stomachs first, Zhang Hao quick to follow after.
After their chests stop heaving and their lips begin to sting from the sloppy kisses they share afterwards, Zhang Hao pulls out with a pair of heavy gasps falling from both of their lips. Ever the gentleman, despite having no idea of post-intimacy etiquette, Zhang Hao scurries off to find a warm towel to clean the both of them up.
Despite the sun still in the sky, Zhang Hao pulls out a pair of pajamas to cover themselves with before they tuck under the thick comforter, snuggling into each other’s arms.
“Was it good,” Zhang Hao eventually asks from Hanbin’s embrace. Looking up at him with his wide, hazel eyes and his swollen bottom lip pulled between his teeth yet again in worry, Zhang Hao’s earlier anxiety radiates from him. Hanbin smiles before pressing a kiss to his hair.
“Of course it was good. I can’t wait until we try again,” he answers honestly, and Zhang Hao huffs from between his arms.
Silence settles between them, and Hanbin watches the sway of the bare trees in the wind outside his window. Not that long ago, he had packed up his echo of a life in Seoul to move into this old home where his grandparents no longer filled the spaces in. It was supposed to be a hermitage of sorts, a place where he could wallow in his loneliness.
However, it became the opposite of that the moment he met Zhang Hao.
“Hyung?” Hanbin breaks the silence after a long time. He had thought Zhang Hao was sleeping from the way his breathing had slowed, but an inquisitive hum resonates between their touching chests and he is looking up at Hanbin with bleary eyes.
“You were that fox outside weren’t you,” he asks. “The one I used to have dinner with?”
Zhang Hao sighs in his arms and pulls back to look directly into his eyes. “Why? Do you miss your friend?”
Hanbin laughs. “Not quite. I just wanted to know why you were watching me that first day.”
He pauses to think about it, recalling the first time he saw Hanbin.
“Your grandparents were very kind,” he finally answers with a warm smile.
“They were,” Hanbin agrees. His grandparents truly were the only kindness he experienced in his lifetime, that is, until he met Zhang Hao.
“Just like you would feed me, your grandmother would always share whatever they were eating together. She left it right on that platform outside and I joined them for meals quite often,” he remembers with a sad smile. “I visited a lot after she died as well. Your grandfather couldn’t share much afterwards, but I wanted to check in on him when I could.”
Hanbin’s eyes fill with tears. All the time he was gone, the years he returned so infrequently to his grandparents’ home after beginning high school and entering university and beginning his career, Zhang Hao was here, keeping an eye on his family.
“I remember one day, when you were planning to come home, your grandmother left out a plate of jeon. She said it was her grandson’s favorite. I always kept my distance. The people around here are a bit particular about foxes, but she told me from across the woods because she was excited to see you. It was late when you finally came, but I watched them run to hug you. You were in a university jacket that day, and they looked so proud.” His smile is laced with melancholy, recounting the memory.
Hanbin can remember the day exactly because it was not long after that his grandmother passed away. It was his first free weekend after he began university and his classwork and club activities could be done from a seat on the bus or in his small bedroom from their home. His grandmother spent all day making all of his favorite foods, and he was greeted by their warm hugs and his grandmother’s cooking.
“You watched over them for that long,” Hanbin cries out with the realization, unable to believe it had been years since that day and Zhang Hao was around for that long, taking care of the only people in the world he loved when he couldn’t be around.
“Of course,” Zhang Hao smiles, and he reaches up to brush away the tears forming in Hanbin’s eyes. “They took care of me. Of course I would take care of them too,” he answers, as if it was so simple.
“So then why did you come back once they were gone,” Hanbin asks in the middle of his tears.
“I overheard some whispers in town that Han-Ahjussi’s grandson would be moving into their home. I remembered how happy you made them and wanted to see you again.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Hanbin chokes out, and he can’t help but pull Zhang Hao in for a wet, tear-filled kiss.
“I didn’t plan for you to ever see me like this, though,” he smiles and gestures towards his body. “There was a big cat that was wandering around here, stalking around where I usually stayed, and I was worried about you going out at night by yourself, so I stayed the night. It was bigger than my fox, so I planned to protect your house in this body, but it’s not nocturnal and I fell asleep. Sorry about that,” Zhang Hao laughs, but Hanbin’s tears don’t stop.
“You were protecting me too? Why,” Hanbin asks, his voice thick with his tears.
“Because we were friends, of course,” Zhang Hao says as if it was the easiest explanation in the world. As if it didn’t shatter Hanbin’s heart and his perception of him into a million pieces.
Hanbin has a million things to say, to ask Zhang Hao. He wants to press him into the bed and whisper ‘I love you’s over and over. Zhang Hao is larger than life, his spirit worthy of reverence and his teeth sharp enough to take Hanbin’s soul right from the tender part of his neck. However, he protected and watched over him instead.
Hanbin wants to ask why he stayed, why he cared so much for someone so insignificant as himself. Why an eternal being would spend his days curled on his couch reading the novels he wrote and in his arms.
Instead, Hanbin whispers a careful ‘Thank you,’
𓆱𓃥 ⭒ 𓃦 𓆱
"Binnie," Zhang Hao calls from the other side of the house. "I found them!"
A sigh of relief falls from Hanbin's lips. He had misplaced his keys the night before, but of course, Zhang Hao found them magically as soon as he had started searching alongside Hanbin. He had forgotten about it, too engrossed in Zhang Hao's lips after he returned from running an errand.
"Thank you," he breathes out, clutching the missing keys to his chest gratefully. "Hyung, you don't have to come with me, it's alright," Hanbin returns to their previous conversation before the panic set in that he could not find his keys, reassuring the man, despite Zhang Hao's insistent protesting.
"Do you not want me to come," the man pouts, and Hanbin knows instantly he has already lost the war.
Hanbin's novel was completely finished two weeks previous. With his schedule extending for another handful of months, he took several days off before calling his publisher with the news. Instead, he spent the week wrapped up in Zhang Hao, all of his time devoted to the man, learning more about him, learning him, and spending their days together doing whatever activity he felt called to that day, which involved a lot of hiking in the woods. And kissing against many trees, but the idea makes him blush whenever he remembers it and the fallen leaves he had to pull from his hair.
His ‘I love you’s stayed firmly locked behind his lips, even as he pressed them every inch of Zhang Hao body and held his hand as they wound through overgrown trails and spent an afternoon rolling out poor excuses for handmade dumplings. Hanbin’s love for Zhang Hao is everywhere, in everything he does, but the words never come out. Love hardly even touches on what Hanbin feels for Zhang Hao, but it is the most fitting words for his longing and his desire and his adoration for the man.
When Hanbin finally made the call, he thinks he overheard cheers all throughout the office building. It is easy enough to pass his novel onto his editors and to the company to decide their own publishing and promotion schedules. but it required more arduous tasks that were not as enjoyable as actually writing the novel itself, which is why he kept the news to himself until he was ready.
"Of course I would like you to come," Hanbin argues. "You never like being in the car much, and I will be in meetings all day long. Are you sure you want to join me?" The idea of leaving Zhang Hao alone in his home after their weeks on end of only surrounding themselves with each other makes his heart ache, but the idea of his lovely little fox uncomfortable in the three hour car ride and bored out of his mind while Hanbin moves from meeting after meeting makes his chest hurt a little more.
"It's better than missing you for the day," Zhang Hao's bottom lip juts out and sympathetically. Hanbin pulls the man into his arms and presses his lips to his temple.
"Only if you're sure," Hanbin hesitates, but Zhang Hao is already skipping off to pull on a pair of Hanbin's jeans and socks on before running out the door with his plush white fur coat.
Ever since Hanbin had a name for Zhang Hao, what he is, not much has changed but yet everything has changed. They still spend each of their afternoons together and they cook each evening, but now, Zhang Hao is different. He is less intense, his eyes less unnerving and his actions more playful. The air of mystery isn't quite lost, but he is more eager for Hanbin to uncover his secrets. Every question Hanbin has, he answers as honestly as he can, and it settles each of the worries in his chest.
After very little prying, Hanbin learns more than he could have ever dreamed. Zhang Hao is more ancient than he had imagined, centuries and dynasties and empires having passed in front of his eyes. It took him just shy of one hundred years of cultivation to ascend into his human form, this beautiful human man that Hanbin loves so dearly formed over many years. Eternity did not come to all foxes, but it came to Zhang Hao because he refused to steal, to use dirty tricks and seduction for energy.
A very long time ago he had a family, a pack he called them, but he left on his own shortly after transforming into his human body, always more fixated on humans. All throughout his life, he followed the scent of the incense burned for him and he hovered around different human families, sharing his auspiciousness with them and answering their wishes as they brought him in, until inevitably they would become selfish with it and he would hide in the mountains again, recovering from his own broken and manipulated heart.
The car ride is long, but Zhang Hao taps his fingers against his knee and sings along to the songs Hanbin plays despite not knowing the words.
“You like music, don’t you, Hyung?” Hanbin muses, his fingers interlaced between Zhang Hao’s as he speeds down the endless highways.
“Yeah, I do,” he smiles warmly, and Hanbin catches his gaze in the mirror. He taps the fingers of his free hand and hums a few more lines before continuing. “Did I ever tell you about the last time I stayed in this body this long?”
Hanbin remembers every detail and anecdote Zhang Hao shares with him these days, holding onto his stories like precious jewels that might one day be taken away from him. “No, I don’t believe you did,” Hanbin smiles back at him through the mirror.
“There was so much happening at the time,” he recounts, beginning his tale. “I was already a long way from my home, and it had been years since I found a family.” Zhang Hao always puts it like that. That he ‘found a family,’ when he either lived with them or stuck around as an auspicious figure outside of their home like a totem.
“I wanted to try living as a human. In the city.” He pauses and taps the rhythm against his thigh again. “It was overwhelming. Too many people and lights, but just before I turned around for the trees, I found this old man playing an erhu for change on the street. I didn’t have anything to give him but my luck, but I think he knew what I was right away. He even offered me a handful of his coins,” Zhang Hao smiles, lost in his memories. The man had not experienced much kindness in his endless lifetimes, but he sounds so fond of this memory.
“He sounds kind,” Hanbin responds, squeezing the hand in his own.
“He was,” Zhang Hao smiles wistfully. “The music he played was so sorrowful and there was so much longing in it and I had never heard anything like it. I followed him all the way home when he packed up to leave for the night. He taught me everything he knew about music, and I sat next to him while he played and maybe his audience grew because people were more interested in music, or maybe it was my luck, but we had a good partnership.”
“Sounds like us,” Hanbin laughs and Zhang Hao’s own cheeks raise slightly.
“Not quite like us. He earned so much money and liked my company so much that he decided to take an afternoon to show me the most magnificent thing I have ever seen,” his smile grows impossibly wide and Hanbin’s affection for him grows tenfold. “We couldn’t afford a ticket, but you could hear their performance outside. The first orchestra in China, and it was beautiful, Hanbin. I came back in the evening and snuck right in to watch them play on my own. It was nothing like I had ever seen or heard.”
In his mind, Hanbin envisions Zhang Hao’s eyes, shiny and wide under the spotlights of the orchestra.
“I did the worst thing I have ever done, that night.” The story takes an unexpected turn. Out of the corner of his eye, Hanbin sees Zhang Hao’s head drop. He pulls the man’s hand up to his mouth to briefly press his lips to his knuckles reassuringly.
“There was this girl, I don’t even remember her name now, but she was so young and played the violin so beautifully. I just knew I had to hold it up close, to play it for myself.” Hanbin simply hums, encouraging him to continue.
“I told you I would never steal, but I did that night. I had never taken anything from humans before, but I had to have her violin. I have never wanted anything more, and I managed to talk my way backstage and I took the violin when she wasn’t looking. I even took the music right off of her stand.”
In the mirror, Hanbin can see Zhang Hao’s eyes are growing glassy as he tells the story. He continues to speed down the endless highway and waits for the man to continue, running his thumb over Zhang Hao’s knuckles reassuringly the entire way.
“The old man never said anything when I carried it home, but he never treated me the same. My luck brought him money for his family so he never pushed me away, but he knew what I had done. I didn’t care at the time, though. I was frantically trying to teach myself to play. I spent an entire year doing nothing else but learning to play by ear. I was so happy every single moment I played that I hardly even remembered that it wasn’t my violin in the first place.”
“I bet you played beautifully,” Hanbin adds in the silence as the man beside him pauses.
“I did,” he confirms with a squeeze of Hanbin’s hand in gratitude. “I played with the old man every day and we made so much money that my case was so heavy with change I could barely lift it and he could finally send all of his daughters to school. One day someone handed me a flier instead of change for an audition at the orchestra.” Again, he pauses and watches as Hanbin speeds past cars on the right.
“I forgot all about the girl, but she was there. She didn’t remember me, but I remembered her as soon as I saw her and I realized that the entire year of my life had been stolen. I left the violin and ran away. I never even said goodbye to the old man. I never felt it before, but being in Shanghai, I could tell something was coming anyways, and I used it as an excuse to run as far away as I could. It took a long time, but I have been in the mountains around your house ever since,” Zhang Hao finishes, and Hanbin finally feels like he understands the man so much more clearly now. Each new piece of information was a small quip, just a fun fact about his life or abilities, but this is Zhang Hao.
Hanbin brings Zhang Hao’s knuckles to his lips again, but this time lingers there for longer. “Thank you for sharing with me, Hyung.” Hanbin stops to let the man next to him take a deep breath, to settle into his words. “You have given so much throughout your long life, and it is okay to take things sometimes, but you gave the violin back. I hope you don’t still feel guilty about it,” Hanbin composes his thoughts succinctly, and Zhang Hao hums in acknowledgement. From his tone, Hanbin can tell he clearly still holds that guilt close to his chest, but he nods anyway.
“Have you played since then?” From the mirror, Hanbin watches him shake his head. “When I get my first big check from this novel, I’m buying you a phone, and then we’ll go instrument shopping. I want to hear you play.”
"No, I haven't played since then." His voice is sad, and Hanbin's heart breaks at the sound. The memory of leaving his family was so distant that he hardly even blinked as he told Hanbin the story before, and the collective memory of being taken advantage of by human families for his luck seemed to pang at his chest, but this memory seems so fresh in Zhang Hao's mind that the heartache lingers so distinctly.
"Well, I would like to hear you sometime," Hanbin hums, rubbing his thumb over the top of Zhang Hao's hand comfortingly. "Only if you're comfortable."
"I might like that. In the future." The prospect of a future, one where Zhang Hao finally shows something he cares about, something outside of Hanbin and their little home together, fills his chest with so much elation and adoration that he is certainly glad that he is driving in the moment because he might just kiss every single square inch of Zhang Hao's face.
"In the future," Hanbin muses to himself, a smile lingering on his lips. If he was more brave, he might whisper his ‘I love you,’ now as he feels more affection for Zhang Hao than he ever has. A future together is more than anything he could have asked for, and a bubble of hope rises in his chest that maybe Zhang Hao feels the same. That he can feel the same.
_____
After weeks in their own little bubble, Seoul is overwhelming for the both of them. The deeper into the city Hanbin drives, Zhang Hao inches further into the leather of his seat and he flinches every time a car horn sounds around them. Hanbin was hesitant to bring the man with him, but after hearing his earlier story, Hanbin realizes this might just be the first time Zhang Hao has been in a city since he lived in Shanghai over a century previous.
Hanbin also forgot how unsettling Zhang Hao was for outside observers. Sharing the crosswalk with strangers, Hanbin is reminded of the man’s uncanny aura as strangers glance at the pair of them and speed past as fast as they can, a few almost tripping over their feet to avoid brushing shoulders with either of them.
With Zhang Hao’s tense arm linked in his own, Hanbin guides them through the streets as a unit, and he adopts the same smug smile Zhang Hao wore at the Chinese restaurant the first time they went out. It’s not just Zhang Hao who people side eye nervously now, but the pair of them, and he likes being looked at like that. Like he’s part of Zhang Hao, an extension of his sovereignty.
Crossing the street just outside the towering skyscraper that holds his publishing company, an especially large crowd gathers, the workday starting for many. They just miss the last crossing, and instead wait at the front of the crosswalk. With a pair of wide, nervous eyes, Zhang Hao takes the chance to look around, marveling at the height of the buildings and the sloping mess of electric and telephone wires and the array of signs advertising different cuisines. Hanbin watches as his chest rises and falls heavily and his eyes blink rapidly, taking the sights in.
“There’s so much,” Zhang Hao whispers, giving no context, but Hanbin doesn’t need any because he understands. There are so many people, so many buildings, so much he has never seen before as he has lived lifetime after lifetime hidden away in the mountains as the world around him changed. Not much was different in the rural village Hanbin now called home from the villages Zhang Hao used to make his home in the past, but the modern city was unlike anything he had ever seen.
Hanbin reaches around his body with his free hand to grasp Zhang Hao’s, holding onto him comfortingly as they wait for the light to change. The longer they stand there, the more people line up all around them and do the same across the street. With each new person, Zhang Hao’s breathing quickens.
Eventually, the light does change, and the crowd moves together en masse. Hanbin takes the lead and guides Zhang Hao onto the street, but the man trips over his shoes at first, stumbling slightly. However, Hanbin’s grip tightens and pulls them both upright.
Hanbin guides the man through the incoming crowd, weaving through all the strangers crossing from the other direction, all while he can feel Zhang Hao nervously trembling in his arms. Hanbin pushes them both forward anyways, keeping a quick pace to get to their destination. Out of his urgency, Hanbin pays less attention to the people walking towards them, and a man the same height as the pair of them checks Zhang Hao’s shoulder, almost completely knocking him out of Hanbin’s grip without an apology.
Placing an arm around his shoulder and keeping his hand in Zhang Hao’s at the same time, Hanbin leads them the last several paces across the crosswalk with a guilty heart. His publishing company is the first building on the corner, but Hanbin gingerly leads Zhang Hao to the side, out of the way of the incoming foot traffic. Gently, Hanbin turns him around and presses the man’s shoulders against the building to ground him.
Taking a look at him now, Hanbin feels even guiltier that he didn’t insist even more that Zhang Hao stayed home. His chest is heaving and his cheeks are flushed and his eyes watery, tears threatening to spill over.
With an aching heart, Hanbin brushes his fingers through the locks of hair that cover his forehead, waiting for his breathing to slow.
“Are you okay,” Hanbin asks, voice quiet and concerned.
Zhang Hao’s chest rises and falls heavily, but he nods after thinking about it for a second. “I didn’t know it would be like this.”
“I’m sorry, Hyung. I should have told you to stay home for the day,” Hanbin apologizes, feeling impossibly more guilty.
Zhang Hao chuckles and pats Hanbin’s arm slightly, pushing him away so their chests are no longer centimeters away from touching, the position more precarious for the public than the safety of Hanbin’s home.
“You didn’t know. And I asked you to come,” he points out, his tone finally sounding like usual.
Hanbin chuckles and brushes the hair curling around his ears behind them. “You’re right, and who am I to tell you no?”
“Exactly,” Zhang Hao agrees, his mood lightening. He tips his head forward to brush the tip of his nose against Hanbin’s before pulling back to take his hand. “Now let’s get you to your meeting, Mister Author.”
With a squeeze to his hand, Hanbin leads the both of them forward.
______
If Zhang Hao was overwhelmed by the cityscape, the environment of an office building was even more of a culture shock for the reclusive fox. His eyes wide as they follow the outline of the cubicles and interns speeding around the office. He hardly even notices the secretary greeting the pair with a jump that she promptly disguises with a professional welcoming, despite her own eyes refusing to meet Zhang Hao’s.
Once a phone call is made, the office erupts in cheers from Hanbin’s overenthusiastic publisher, followed by multiple department heads that Hanbin vaguely remembers from the last meeting he had with them to sign the contract for his current novel.
Unknown at the time of signing with the publishing company outside of a short story he published in a literary magazine that was going viral in author circles, the independent company took a chance on Hanbin, and he took a chance on them as well. After two wildly successful novels, he transformed the company into the current most anticipated publishing institute in the nation and each time he stepped foot into the office, which he tried to keep to a minimum, he was paraded around like a celebrity.
Hands are on his shoulders and an array of voices in his ears all at once, pushing him towards the largest conference room. In the flurry of activity, Hanbin lost his grip on Zhang Hao, and he has to crane his neck backwards to see the man left in place where he himself stood previously, his head bowed and one hand tugging at his hair.
Without a second thought, Hanbin is brushing off the small crowd surrounding him to stride back towards Zhang Hao where he stands. Reaching to his free hand, Hanbin takes it into his own, and Zhang Hao is lifting his gaze in slow motion.
With a smile, Hanbin mouths ‘let’s go,’ and he pulls the both of them forward towards the group awaiting him.
Having at least a bit of professional decorum, Hanbin finds a chair for Zhang Hao to sit outside the meeting room, leaving him with his phone and a promise that he would be as quick as he could. Brushing past the men in suits, Hanbin finds the best angle in the room to keep an eye on Zhang Hao throughout the meeting and takes a seat there, bypassing the suggestion of sitting at the head of the table.
As expected, and just like every other initial publishing meeting Hanbin has sat through, the talking is endless and he doesn’t quite care what dates he has a book tour or how involved he is in the cover artwork selection. The novel is finished and out of his hands now, and it belongs to whoever reads it. Outside of simple nods and ‘sure’s every time a question arises that actually involves him, Hanbin instead watches Zhang Hao through the glass door as his knees bounce and his fingers tap on his thighs.
‘Are you okay,’ Hanbin mouths as the meeting begins to wrap up when they make eye contact, but Zhang Hao just nods. With each passing second Hanbin feels worse seeing the man fidget for hours in the seat by himself. In the future, Hanbin will request a virtual meeting to avoid his heart breaking at the sight of Zhang Hao so uncomfortable.
The meeting ends, and Hanbin gathers his papers and brief notes and bolts unceremoniously, bypassing any attempt at small talk with a brief thank you before pushing out of the door. Standing in front of Zhang Hao, Hanbin taps the toes of his shoes against the man’s.
“Ready to go home,” Hanbin asks, extending his hand towards Zhang Hao with a smile. He nods slightly, hesitantly lifting the corners of his mouth as well before reaching out to take Hanbin’s hand.
“Are you sure you don’t want to enjoy the city while we’re here,” Zhang Hao asks once they’re out in the fresh, heavily polluted city air.
Hanbin considered it. He thought about taking Zhang Hao to a nice restaurant with food he had never tried before and spending the evening walking along the Han River with his hand in his, and then taking him to a nice hotel for the night, but even in Zhang Hao’s voice Hanbin can hear the clear discomfort and his own skin is itching for the quiet oasis of their hermitage - their home.
“Nope, I would really just like to go home and spend the night in our pajamas,” Hanbin smiles and leads the way back to the parking garage his old car sits in, waiting for the pair to return.
Zhang Hao simply hums in response, and a daunting feeling settles deep in Hanbin’s chest, something clearly wrong but he isn’t sure what it is at the moment.
______
The sinking feeling remains as Hanbin once again winds his way through Seoul. His usual playlist that Zhang Hao loves to sing to plays, but he does not hum along like he did earlier in the day, and his fingers stay tucked underneath his thighs instead of drumming along to the music.
Something heavy settles between the two of them, and it stays silent, void of the girl group songs playing and the occasional horn honking in the distance, all the way until they are outside the city and nothing but highway stretches out in front of them.
“Do you ever miss it,” Zhang Hao eventually breaks the silence, his tone soft and inquisitive, but with an unknown edge underneath. “Being there?”
Hanbin hums and thinks about it, tipping his head to the side and furrowing his eyebrows. He actually hadn’t thought about Seoul at all since leaving, too occupied with the house first and then Zhang Hao. Even today, he longed to be home where the only noise outside was the trees knocking against each other in the wind.
“I can’t say I do,” Hanbin answers honestly. “Sometimes I miss being able to order delivery food, but I like cooking with you,” he answers with a chuckle, but glancing in the mirror, Zhang Hao doesn’t share the same lighthearted response.
“It never felt like home. Nowhere ever really felt like home, actually. But I have one now,” Hanbin continues, more honest than he usually is. Even though it is gone with his old life, the memory of his innate loneliness still lives in his chest, a ghost of an ache there where it used to rest.
Zhang Hao hums in acknowledgment, unconvincingly, and Hanbin is unable to surmise why he asked that or what is bothering him. Even at this moment, all Hanbin wants to do is whisper the words he has been holding in his heart, those that he has carried since he first met Zhang Hao, just so that he knows he would never regret their time together. Instead, to his own fault, he stays silent.
The hours pass by in a timid silence, aside from Hanbin’s staticy speakers playing his usual kpop playlist and his random occasional comments about the drive or the landscape in an attempt to warm Zhang Hao up again, to hear his laugh and the low timbre of his voice as he sings along. The difference between the ride to Seoul and now the commute back home is stark, and Hanbin’s thoughts twist and curl into themselves with concern.
The city was too much for Zhang Hao, clearly, but Hanbin worries that the story about his past he told has reopened a sore wound that he never anticipated sharing again. Zhang Hao spent his long life chasing kindness, always giving to each family he spent his time with, and always getting taken advantage of for his luck. The worst thing he has ever done, in his own words, was the greatest offense to his character. That year of his life was almost nothing in the grand scheme of his life, but the memories were still painful for him.
If things were different - if Hanbin was certain Zhang Hao wouldn’t leave or that his feelings wouldn’t overwhelm him, if he knew that he shared the same thoughts, Hanbin would blanket him in words of his love. He would tell him everything about his lonely childhood and the ache in his chest that Zhang Hao soothed so easily with the soft palms of his hands.
He would whisper his love and his adoration and his appreciation into his skin. Over and over until Zhang Hao knew that one mistake in the past did not cancel the care he showed people and families over his long lifetime. As a creature that naturally takes, Zhang Hao wondrously has been one that gives.
Bellies full with snacks from a rest stop halfway through the journey home, sore waists from the long drive, and drooping eyelids, all paired with two heavy hearts, both men sidestep the living room where they would normally spend the early evening together after a meal and head straight to bed after an arduous and long day.
Wordlessly they fall into their normal nighttime routine, Zhang Hao picking out two sets of pajamas while Hanbin washes the day off of his body, and Hanbin blow dries Zhang Hao’s hair after his own shower, scratching behind his ears as the man hums contentedly. Tucked under the covers, Hanbin scoots over to Zhang Hao’s half of the bed, the space that used to be his own, and pulls the man in close, wrapping him into his arms and nuzzling their noses together as they whisper a pair of ‘Goodnight’s.
It still doesn’t feel quite right to sleep with an unresolved tension lingering between the two of them, but Hanbin knows whatever it is, he should give the man space. However, that does not mean his heart stops pounding in his chest as he rubs slow circles into Zhang Hao’s back as they huddle closer together in the warmth underneath the comforter.
Hanbin isn’t sure how long they lie like that, wrapped in each other’s arms and letting their minds work themselves up on their own without saying anything, simply listening to the other’s chest rise and fall as they share their space.
Zhang Hao is the first to break the silence. Hanbin would have assumed he was asleep if not for being keenly aware of the way his breathing evens out every night.
”Sometimes I feel like you are my violin,” Zhang Hao says, finally, his voice somber and quiet.
Hanbin pulls his face away from Zhang Hao’s, creating space between them so he can see the man’s expression, but his head is tipped forward and his eyes are trained on Hanbin’s chest.
“Huh,” Hanbin asks incredulously, not following the man’s train of thoughts or understanding where this confession came from.
“Sometimes I think I am stealing you away from a life you could have. I stole that violin when it belonged somewhere else and I was so happy the entire time I had it that I didn’t even think about that lovely, naive girl missing it. I did it once, and I could do it again,” he spills out, rambling, and Hanbin feels the wind being knocked out from his lungs as he listens. “I feel like I am stealing the life you should have had away, but I am too happy and too selfish to give you back.”
Even in the dark, Hanbin can see the tears well in Zhang Hao’s eyes and he rushes to brush them away with his thumbs and steadies his own breathing before responding.
”Why do you say that?” Hanbin’s voice is gentle, like it would be while talking to a crying child.
Zhang Hao takes a deep breath, and the tone of his voice begins to rise again. “You looked like you belonged there,” he starts, and Hanbin already wants to disagree with him, but instead, he listens to him. “You should live in Seoul and be a successful author and people all over the world should love you. You should be meeting your friends and living in a fancy apartment. Not here, stuck in this old house with me. You’re not meant to be here.”
Hanbin’s chest aches, and he understands now the reason Zhang Hao was so quiet after meeting with his publishing company. He can picture it now, Zhang Hao getting pushed back by the hoard of businessmen to get their hands on Hanbin, and how overwhelming it must have been to step into a modern world he has never seen - one that until just a few short months ago, Hanbin was part of. There was a whole life Hanbin had before he met Zhang Hao, but it was nothing to him but distant memories now.
With the crook of his finger, Hanbin tips Zhang Hao’s head up so that they can look each other in the eyes. The sight breaks his heart, and tears threaten to spill in his own eyes, but he holds back for the moment, trying to prove his own resolve.
“Do you know what my life was like before I met you?” Again, Hanbin keeps his voice steady, but gentle, willing away the tears in his own eyes. Zhang Hao shakes his head in response. “I was miserable. I had a nice apartment in the city and friends there, but I was so lonely it was unbearable,” he starts, and Zhang Hao’s entire body stiffens in his arms, and a look of horror washes over his face, clearly having no idea what Hanbin’s life was like before they met.
“I-I’m sorry, Bin-ah, I didn’t know,” he stumbles over his words.
“No, it’s okay, Hyung,” he brushes the hair covering his forehead out of his eyes, the tips wet with his tears. “You didn’t know. I hid it really well, didn’t I,” Hanbin smiles sadly, and Zhang Hao tips his head once, nodding. “I’ve lived on my own since I was very young. Not because I didn’t have family, but because my parents didn’t like me. I lived my first several years here, in this room, with my grandparents, until they were too old to take care of me. I lived with my parents in their big empty apartment until they didn’t want me anymore. I loved my grandparents very much, but they passed away and I don’t have any family anymore.”
Zhang Hao listens quietly, nodding his head and the tears continue to pool in the corner of his wide, doe eyes.
“I actually tried selling this house when my grandfather died. I did everything for months, but it was either pay for this house and an apartment at the same time, or move here. Even without you, I would be living in this big, old house on my own.”
“You would,” he finally asks, his voice timid. Hanbin nods with a smile.
“I would,” he reiterates. “So it’s fate that we met, isn’t it,” Hanbin questions lightly, but Zhang Hao simply stares at him instead. “You don’t even know what you’ve given me,” Hanbin begins again, his throat constricting, and he has to pause again to hold back his own tears.
“Outside of my grandparents, I have never cooked for someone else before or shared a meal together at the dining table the way that we do. I have been so alone my entire life, but somehow, all I have to do is look around, and you’re there.”
Endless memories of Zhang Hao invading every single aspect of his life flood Hanbin’s thoughts. “Everyday, I wake up to you snoring, and I have coffee with you in the afternoon and we go to bed together every single night. Do you know what that means to me? Someone whose parents didn’t even want him? You just being here is everything to me, Zhang Hao. I want you, and I think you want me too. Isn’t that enough, Hyung,” Hanbin finally allows a tear to fall as he pleads with the man. He isn’t enough for Zhang Hao, who deserves more than Hanbin could ever dream of offering, but he loves him enough to not care.
“I could go back to Seoul. I could do book tours all over the world and sell millions of copies and meet the friends I left there, the ones I haven’t spoken to since I moved, and I could even find a lover maybe. But none of it would even pale in comparison to what I feel being here with you, Hyung. My chest feels lighter here, like I can breathe easier. I look forward to waking up everyday, and I am happy. Hyung, I am happy. I have never thought that even once throughout my entire life before I met you, but I think that everyday now. Don’t you get it?”
Hanbin is breathless by the time he finishes, his chest heaving, and Zhang Hao watches in silence with his tear-filled eyes and heavy breathing. His eyebrows furrow together as he searches Hanbin’s eyes for something, a silent question that Hanbin does not know how to answer in his gaze.
“Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao calls eventually, after the silence felt too full, his tone firm now unlike moments before. Hanbin hums, searching his eyes instead for his thoughts. “Do you love me?”
He barely even thinks before he answers, “Yes,” he cries out with a trembling voice. “I love you,” he confirms again, whispering out those secret words he held so closely to his chest. The words he felt every time he woke in the morning and every night he fell asleep. Every breath he took was filled with his love for Zhang Hao, and finally he can say it.
The question is asked before Hanbin can even stop himself. “Do you love me?” Even though he thought he never wanted to hear the answer, he didn’t want to hear the apologies or to know that everything he wished and thought Zhang Hao could feel was not possible, but he asked anyway, and he prepares himself to be disappointed.
”I never thought I could,” Zhang Hao answers, and Hanbin feels his chest sink. That is all the answer that he needs to hear. Whatever Zhang Hao can give him is enough; he has given so much of himself generously, and Hanbin isn’t exactly sure what love truly is if it isn’t the care Zhang Hao has given to him so lavishly since the day they met.
“It’s okay, Hyung,” Hanbin rushes, trying to brush off his own foolish question. It is enough for him to have the man in his arms, and he has no right to ask so much from him.
“No, Hanbin,” Zhang Hao is rubbing his thumbs over his cheeks. Hanbin didn’t notice at first, but his eyes are spilling their own tears now, embarrassingly. He brushes Zhang Hao’s fingers from his face to use the sleeves of his sweatshirt to wipe the wetness from his cheeks, but his hand is batted away and replaced by the pads of Zhang Hao’s fingertips.
“I never thought I could. I didn’t think it was possible for beings like me,” he explains and he brushes his fingertips under Hanbin’s eyes. “I heard of other foxes living with humans,” he pauses, both in the middle of his sentence and the movement of his fingers. “As lovers,” he continues. “But I thought it was just selfish foxes manipulating humans to have a constant source of energy, to live off their life source forever. Even my own kindness to humans was conditional. Once a family got too used to my luck, they stopped giving, and I would move on.”
”I never even thought love was in my vocabulary, but then I met you,” he smiles, and more tears spill from Hanbin’s eyes and are brushed away instantaneously. “Even when you sat outside to share your dinner with me when you hadn’t even met me like this yet, when all you knew was a wild animal, I think the word came to my mind for the very first time. Then, even when I was a stranger, you covered me in your own blanket and cooked dinner for me every night.”
Zhang Hao takes a deep breath before continuing, “I could tell you loved me, so soon after we met, but I think I loved you more. I didn’t want to tell you what I was in fear that you would think that I forced you to have feelings for me, and I couldn’t bear not being around you anymore.” A wave of guilt washes over Hanbin because that was the first thing he thought of when he learned Zhang Hao wasn’t quite human. He didn’t care at the time, but in his insecurity, he believed maybe his love wasn’t real.
“Selfishly, I stayed here with you, because you were so kind and you smiled at me when everyone else was so afraid, and I cared so much for you that what else could it be but love?”
“You love me,” Hanbin states, his voice full of wonder. He never even imagined this moment for fear he would never hear those words, that receiving Zhang Hao’s love was simply just a pipe dream.
”I do, Hanbin, I love you. I love you”
Two sets of eyes streaming tears stare back at each other, and Hanbin is the first to lean in, pressing his lips to Zhang Hao’s, hard.
“Can you say it again,” Hanbin begs, breathless from their kiss and the weight of Zhang Hao’s love.
“I love you,” Zhang Hao whispers against his lips..
”And I love you,” Hanbin repeats again, heavy in the deep of the night.
_____
That night, Hanbin dreams of the fox again.
After weeks filled simply with nothing, just blackness behind his eyes as he slept, weeks without his dreams being filled with blood and dismembered prey animals, Hanbin finally dreams again.
In this dream, Hanbin’s own winter boots crunch through the fresh snow as he winds through the woods. He cannot feel the cold or hear the sound in the dream, but he knows they are there. Craning his neck, to his right, the little snow white fox he is so familiar with now trails beside him, happily trotting next to Hanbin as they walk.
The fox is hardly visible in the bright white of the snow, but Hanbin smiles at it in his dream. Twisting his neck all the way around, for as far as he can see, there are his boot marks in the snow, right next to the small paw marks indenting a trail in the snow through the woods behind him. He turns around, and continues walking together alongside the fox.
Hanbin awakes to the feeling of a pair of lips on his collarbone. Groggy as his mind slowly returns to consciousness, after his body finally took advantage of the inner peace of knowing his love is returned, Hanbin slept deeply. Unlike usual, the sun is already high in the sky and just like his dream, there is a fresh coating of snow blanketing the ground. Also unusual, Zhang Hao has woken up before him. Gently, his lips press against the exposed skin above his pajamas over and over. Hanbin’s chest stirs, tears pricking at his eyes yet again.
”Good morning, Hyung,” Hanbin whispers into his hair, and Zhang Hao stills with his lips pressed against Hanbin’s chest before pulling back to look him in the eye with a soft smile.
“Morning, Baby,” Zhang Hao coos, and leans forward to press his lips to Hanbin’s sleepily.
“I love you,” Hanbin repeats for the first time that morning, risking the words even in the case that everything that they spoke of the night before was simply just a dream.
”I love you just as much,” Zhang Hao replies against his lips, snuggling further into his chest, confirming everything that was said the night before was not a dream and he lives in a reality where he is loved by Zhang Hao.
As Hanbin wraps his arms around the man, he can tell from the soreness in his bicep that Zhang Hao did not go out the night before, and he slept in Hanbin’s embrace all night long.
The thought that the man forewent storing up his energy, from taking the life force of the trees and the mountain as he always seems to need, just to stay wrapped around Hanbin as they sleep, makes Hanbin giddy, affection for the man swelling in his chest. Wordlessly, he pulls their mouths together again, this time kissing slowly and deep, tasting every inch of him, even in the morning.
Hanbin was insatiable before, the need to expose every inch of Zhang Hao and consume him lived with him from the moment he could first have the man. Now, with the undeniable knowledge Zhang Hao shares the same feelings as he does, Hanbin wants to eat him whole.
Even in their sleepiness, the kiss turns heated quickly, pulling sweet moans and whimpers from both of their mouths. The night before ended too quickly, the exhaustion hitting them after they bore their souls to each other, so now, without the hindrance of their tired bodies, they work themselves up easily in each other’s arms.
Both hands gripping Zhang Hao’s face tightly, pulling his mouth impossibly close, Hanbin licks into him messily as Zhang Hao’s arm around his waist pulls their middles in closer for leverage as they move against each other, their arousals quickly evident.
Gasping for breath, Hanbin pulls away from Zhang Hao, the man flushed and dazed as he blinks open his eyes. “Let me take care of you, Hyung,” Hanbin voices, his tone hoarse and breathy from the kiss. Zhang Hao’s eyes widen and he stills for a moment, searching Hanbin’s glassy eyes of his own.
“Hanbin-ah,” his voice is equally as breathy as Hanbin’s, just as worked up. “I promised I wouldn’t take anything from you,” he concedes with sadness and caution in his words.
Hanbin presses another dizzying kiss to Zhang Hao’s mouth that has the man chasing his lips as he pulls back. “Lovers share things with each other. They make sacrifices. If you have to take something from me, that’s just what lovers do,” he smiles, and Zhang Hao’s eyes fill with tears and spill over as if on cue. With a sniffle, he nods, and Hanbin is pressing Zhang Hao’s shoulders into the bed and connecting their lips together again.
They truly have all the time in the world now, but Hanbin works their lips together with a newfound urgency as he uses one hand to unbutton the pajama top from the man’s chest. Clumsy, still half asleep fingers slip on the buttons, but soon enough his entire waist and chest are exposed, and Hanbin is pulling the top from his shoulders. In the times they have slept together, Zhang Hao hates being the only one exposed, and Hanbin is quick to pull his own shirt off while admiring the lovely blush coating Zhang Hao’s cheeks all the way to the pretty pink buds on his chest.
“You’re always so pretty like this,” Hanbin smiles after tossing his shirt somewhere in the room. “I love you,” he says again, truly never getting sick of those words.
Zhang Hao melts into the bed, blooming under the praise. “Says you,” he scoffs playfully. “You always blush so pink like spring flowers. I can’t wait to see the cherry blossoms with you in a few months,” his voice is still thick with sleep, but his tone is light as he sing-songs wishes for the future, and Hanbin feels another wave of affection crash over him.
He isn’t sure just how much more love he has to give, but with Zhang Hao, he reaches new heights of emotion every single moment he spends with him.
”Hyung is even prettier in pink though,” Hanbin points, arguing unnecessarily, mimicking Zhang Hao’s playful words, and he folds at his waist to begin pressing light kisses to his neck.
”I love you, by the way,” Zhang Hao simply laughs in response. Hanbin hums from his neck in question, too busy covering every inch of his skin with his lips as he kisses everywhere they touch. ”I didn’t say it back. It’s new for me, so I might not say it as often, but I feel it.” He scratches at the base of Hanbin’s nape with his fingernails affectionately, and a shudder runs down Hanbin’s body.
“You don’t have to say it,” Hanbin urges. “I know it now. I feel it,” he answers honestly. Even though he can hardly understand it, even though he doesn’t believe he deserves it, he knows Zhang Hao loves him.
In the past, he used to doubt all of Zhang Hao’s actions, out of insecurity and fear, but now all of his memories are more clear. Everything Zhang Hao did was first out of curiosity and then out of admiration and finally, out of love.
Hanbin continues pressing his affection all over Zhang Hao’s neck, now leaving pretty red marks lining his neck and chest like the cherry blossoms he promised to see together in the spring. Hanbin takes his time until Zhang Hao whining and gasping underneath him with his chest heaving at the overwhelming feeling of being taken care of by someone he loves and who loves him back.
Hanbin’s lips trail down the man’s chest, sucking gently on the pink buds there waiting for his touch until Zhang Hao is crying out and his hips pull off the bed at the overwhelming feeling. Always so gentle with him in everything they do together, this time with the knowledge that Zhang Hao is taking something from him as well, Hanbin’s hands and his lips are a little heavier on his skin than normal. Sinking his teeth into his chest, Hanbin bites down, leaving a nasty mark that would certainly be sore the next day.
“Hanbin, please,” Zhang Hao calls out, pleading with the man, and Hanbin is in no condition to deny him. He makes even quicker work as his lips drag down Zhang Hao’s body, pressing kisses and sucking marks into the trembling skin of his stomach.
Normally more timid, the desire to have Zhang Hao has Hanbin pulling both the man’s pajama pants and his underwear down in one swift motion, exposing his already painfully hard erection to the chill of the old home in late-autumn, just as the season turns to winter.
Hanbin just as quickly removes his own pants and underwear to match the writhing man underneath him, and he covers Zhang Hao’s body with his own from head to toe to warm him from the chill, connecting their lips again, but this time with their bodies bare and hardened arousals pressing together.
Hanbin kisses Zhang Hao until their bodies are blazing against each other with the shared body heat and the man underneath him is whining again, asking for more. He obliges easily, pulling away for the usual accompaniments for this kind of activity that resides in his bedside table.
When Hanbin returns, Zhang Hao’s lips are drawn between his teeth, and his eyebrows are furrowed together. They have done this part together in the past, Hanbin teaching him how to work him open on his fingers, but Zhang Hao has never been on the receiving end before and the nerves of their first few times together return.
”I promise I will make you feel good, yeah?” Hanbin reassures, and Zhang Hao nods, but he continues to chew on his bottom lip. “If you get uncomfortable, we’ll stop and try something else, okay?” Again he nods, but the assurance that they will simply move on seems to calm something inside of him and his shoulders ease where they were tensed on the bed.
Manually, Hanbin pulls Zhang Hao’s legs up and spreads them apart. Shy, Zhang Hao turns his face into the plush pillow, and his hands cross over his chest. He is so lovely that Hanbin truly wants to ravish him, but that might be in their future. For now, instead, he calmly explains every step of the way as he presses one finger inside of Zhang Hao.
”You have to relax, Hyung-ah,” Hanbin coaxes softly, and it takes several heaves of the man’s chest before Hanbin is finally able to push his finger fully inside of him. Hanbin moves slowly, even though the part of his brain that tells him to eat Zhang Hao whole say that if he pressed in roughly, the room would be filled with his pretty cries.
Painstakingly, Hanbin works him open on one finger, soothing him with his free hand on him and leaning forward to cup his cheek until the glide is easy and the man isn’t as tense. After asking permission, Hanbin tries a second finger, and the process begins again, but this time with tears welling up in the man’s eyes. Finally, to distract him, Hanbin wraps his free hand around Zhang Hao’s hardened erection and presses his two fingers inside of him at the same time as he chokes out a gasp at the feeling.
Working Zhang Hao both from his arousal and with his fingers, eventually the man loosens up, and Hanbin is able to open him up more effectively and explore the space until he finds the rigid spot that has Zhang Hao gasping harshly and arching his back off the bed, mumbling ‘I’ve never felt that before,’ and calling out ‘Hanbin,’ over and over.
Hanbin smiles, almost cruelly, and adds a third finger, stretching him open and pressing that spot that has him gasping and crying out relentlessly. Feeling a bit mean, Hanbin ducks his head down and suckles on the head of Zhang Hao’s erection, and the moan it knocks from the man’s chest is heavy as Hanbin swipes his tongue, tasting the salty liquid leaking from the head. His hands always so soft, they are now pushing and smacking at Hanbin’s shoulders in an attempt to pull him off completely.
“I’m ready. I’m ready, please,” Zhang Hao begs, and Hanbin pulls his mouth away first and then his fingers, a low moan falling from Zhang Hao’s lips at the loss of feeling.
Hanbin needs very little help to be ready himself for Zhang Hao, already painfully hard after working Zhang Hao up so steadily. In the past, Hanbin was an advocate for equality in the bedroom, no matter their preferred position. He expected to receive as much as he gave. However, with Zhang Hao, giving is as much of a reward as receiving is. He cannot erect a temple in his name and he would never be allowed to burn incense to him, so the care he presses into his body is the only worship he is allowed.
”Say something if you are uncomfortable or it hurts. The only way for it to be good is if you tell me, okay, Hyung?” Zhang Hao nods, and Hanbin presses in painfully slowly, choking down his own heavy moan at the feeling, too concerned with watching the micro-expressions on Zhang Hao’s face.
He follows his lead completely, waiting for him to nod or for his chest to settle before he presses in even further. Once completely seated, Hanbin waits for what feels like a full lifetime for Zhang Hao to feel comfortable enough to ask him to finally move.
When he gives permission, Hanbin moves tentatively at first, simply rocking into him as little ‘Ah’s are punched out with each movement.
“It’s okay, you can move more,’ Zhang Hao gasps once he adjusts to the new experience. Hanbin nods, and uses his hands to lift Zhang Hao’s knees over his hips before dipping down to press their lips together as he picks up his pace, not enough to overwhelm him, but enough to gain some friction.
Each thrust has Zhang Hao whimpering, and it spurns Hanbin on, pressing deeper into him as their lips work together sloppily through their shared moans and heavy breaths. Again, Hanbin finds Zhang Hao’s prostate and it has him gasping and twisting his hips at the feeling, and Hanbin angles his hips directly to target that spot to hear the pretty noises Zhang Hao makes.
Zhang Hao falls apart underneath Hanbin, and Hanbin feels himself come apart in the same way as he works him open over and over again. With each thrust, Hanbin presses an ‘I love you,’ into Zhang Hao’s skin, whether that be verbally as his lips run from his cheeks to his neck, capturing every single inch of him, or the quiet explosions in his chest with his adoration for the man. Even though Zhang Hao warned him he would not be able to repeat the words as easily, he parrots Hanbin’s admission every single time he says it, a chorus of love echoing in the room as they fall apart together.
They come apart together at the same time, a pair of painful whimpers and teary eyes and trembling lips as they write their love inside of each other and on the skin of their stomachs. They stay like that until it is uncomfortable, fully seated among each other, and breathing each other’s air.
On trembling legs, Hanbin leaves to find a warm rag to clean the both of them up, returning to a warm and pliant Zhang Hao waiting for him quietly, basking in the sun of the late morning. The ruddy blush purples his cheeks and his entire body, and an expanse of cherry blossom bruises cover his neck and chest. The sight takes Hanbin’s breath away, and he cannot believe none of this is a dream.
Once their pajamas are pulled back over their legs and chests, they return to their earlier positions, wrapped up in each other’s arms and their noses bumping against each other’s.
“Did you take anything from me,” Hanbin asks, curious. He didn’t feel any different, but he’s not sure what it would feel like having a fox spirit steal his life source. All he feels now is content, the pleasure still echoing throughout his entire body.
Zhang Hao shakes his head, bumping their noses together. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Next time you can,” Hanbin encourages. He would give anything to Zhang Hao, including part of his soul if he wanted it.
“I’d like to keep you whole,” he smiles, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to Hanbin’s lips. They lay there in silence, enjoying being in each other’s space for a long time before Hanbin speaks again.
“There is so much out there, but if this is all I have, just you and me, I think I would be happy forever,” Hanbin whispers carefully into Zhang Hao’s lips, echoing his concerns from the night before.
“I’ve lived a long time, Hanbin, but here with you, just as winter turns, I’ve never felt so alive.”
𓆱𓃥 ⭒ 𓃦 𓆱
Eternity does not come to all foxes. Forever was an even more rare concept for human beings. But eternity does come to Zhang Hao, and by extension, it comes to Hanbin as well.
All Hanbin ever wished for was Zhang Hao, yet he was gifted with forever with him as well.
Over time, the odd couple that lived at the foot of the mountain became a legend or a spooky story for children. In some stories, it was a cautionary tale of a man who was taken hostage by a fox to utilize his energy forever. To others, it was a beautiful story of a pair of extraordinary lovers, one an ancient fox and the other a simple human man. It all depended on who was telling the story.
Without aging a single day from the moment they met, Hanbin was given enough lifetimes on his own to catch up to Zhang Hao’s antiquity, following him into eternity.
Hanbin continued to write, publishing under new names every so often, his words becoming more and more prolific under the power of the auspicious fox. Zhang Hao continued to read his novels and make his home with Hanbin. He learned to play the violin again, and the sound of music echoed all throughout the mountain that they both called home.
The future Hanbin dreamed of together extended into forever, and they checked off each accomplishment like a list, taking their time together. Hanbin never was granted his wish of three daughters or saw his future of Zhang Hao standing over his grave come to fruition, but he did see lifetime after lifetime of love spread out between the two of them. Hanbin saw the ancient mountains that held all of Zhang Hao’s early memories and the little theater that Zhang Hao stole from the first time. He lived in Zhang Hao’s kindness, his life extending each day under his wondrous fox’s love.
Fox spirits like Zhang Hao toe the line between light and dark, night and day, good or evil. Hanbin pulled this fox that always appeared at dusk, who would always vacate their bed at dawn, into the light. Hanbin’s own kindness brought him endless blessings and prosperity for the rest of his endless life.
A pair of lonely souls, brought together by their need for the other and the kindness they extended to each other, giving everything for the other.
A quiet, endless existence spent together, and it is all either the fox or the human could have ever asked for.