A week and a half before the wedding, the table breaks completely, right in the middle of dinner. His bowl slides off the uneven surface and crashes to the floor.
“That’s it, I’ve had it,” Hanbin says, reaching for his phone. “We can’t live like this any longer.”
“No, dude. Listen,” Mattew tries. “It’s just a little wonky. Nothing a bit of glue and some intelligent Canadian engineering can’t fix.”
And Hanbin indulges him for ten entire minutes, gazing unenthusiastically from the couch as Matthew slides himself underneath the tabletop. His friend lets out small oofs in exertion as he tries to get one of the legs to stop jutting inwards at a forty-five-degree angle. Hanbin’s overturned bowl is still on the floor, grains of rice scattered on the hardwood like gambling pieces across a board or a crime scene.
A valiant, fallen tribute.
On the television, a film plays on low volume with the glare of the deep-orange sunset slicing through the characters’ faces. It’s their designated movie night—the ones that happen only when their classes and part-time jobs align, and neither of them are too tired. Tonight, it's Matthew's pick, some sort of romantic drama.
The thing is, he’s single, willingly so. And so is Matthew, all one hundred and seventy centimeters of him (he rounds up)—though slightly less willingly in his case. This makes movie nights extremely important, and Hanbin couldn’t believe this one is being ruined by their less than fortunate financial circ*mstances. Matthew, whom he’s known pre-drivers licence, pre-flattering haircut, pre-final growth spurt (they moved in together as soon as they got the chance to), looks up at him from his position on the ground with sad, pathetic eyes.
Their Seoul apartment is larger than most: two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a washing machine underneath the kitchen counter—which is nestled underneath paper-thin cabinetry and a stained laminate countertop. But it’s just a rental, somewhere he and Matthew can crash after class, sink their bodies into doughy couch cushions and kick their feet up.
Even rental units need furniture. Although perhaps some would disagree.
Hanbin's back on his phone soon enough, trying to find a replacement table expeditiously for a reasonable price. Naturally, that means the free market, the wild west of buying and selling—the hellish orange marketplace app. He settles in, prepared for scams and buffoonery, scrolls past the countless listings for CDs and children’s toys and baby clothes and whatever other junk people want to get rid of.
“I know we’re kind of broke, but I’m not going to live in squalor any longer.”
Matthew, who hasn’t washed the hoodie he’s wearing in over two weeks, protests. “Who says we’re living in squalor?”
“We’re not because I ensure we don’t,” Hanbin berates.
And that’s the mark of true friendship, isn’t it? Hanbin will tell Matthew if he has lettuce in his teeth, right in front of a server if he has to. He’ll squish Matthew’s round cheeks between his hands in overwhelming affection, will help him prepare for class presentations, and will always pick him up from god-knows-where when Matthew loses his keys. His heart swells with love for Matthew, so much it aches sometimes.
Yet he drives Hanbin utterly insane.
“Give me a chance,” Matthew mutters, still on his back on the floor. “I know I’m pre-med, but honestly, I think my true calling was engineering. It might not be too late to switch.”
Hanbin ignores him and flicks through alternative apps, then returns to the first one, setting his price range and distance as low and as close as possible. Matthew often complained that you couldn’t trust what was on there and the assholes who sell their junk on them, but he always leaned over to see listings whenever Hanbin scrolled idly through. The jerk.
“There’s a nice one on here for eighteen thousand won,” Hanbin announces proudly after a few minutes of silence. “Oh, never mind. Their dog has chewed up the entire left side.”
A triumphant noise. “See, there we go. Look. Hey. Hey, I said look. The thing just needed a bit of tender loving care, yeah?”
Matthew hammers at the table leg with a closed fist and it falls off entirely, the block of wood ricocheting across the tiny space they call their living room. Then the coffee table half-collapses on Matthew’s chest, who yelps in surprise, and Hanbin jumps up to help him get out from underneath it.
“Okay,” Matthew concedes when he’s free, scratching his head. “Maybe try searching for a single table leg. Then we can fix it easily. We’ll just need a bit of hot glue, and we’ll still have enough cash to get fried chicken later.”
“Sorry, your input is no longer being considered. Please try again another day,” Hanbin huffs disinterestedly.
While Matthew putters around, cleaning up the mess he made, Hanbin slouches further into their couch, no longer interested in the movie playing in the background.
Hanbin is easy enough to understand. He is, by nature, curious. He’s also up for anything, and combined, these two character traits have gotten him into countless absurd situations—the kind that people listen to with wide, impressed eyes. Just last week, he and Matthew had gone out dancing with far too many people, and at the end of the night Hanbin had rolled out of someone’s trunk, landing gracefully on the asphalt despite the three co*cktails making his brain fizz and pop. They even got that one on someone’s Instagram story. These are the things to keep living for.
In the future, Hanbin will laugh about how something so monumental all started with a table being broken.
He’s innocently swiping through listings when he sees something that makes him do a double take—a guy (porcelain doll handsome) wrapped in a big fur coat, in an empty funeral hall. He has refined features, intelligent eyes, a pouty mouth. Hanbin usually isn’t one to feel attraction instantly (much less towards a set of images), but there’s something there that makes him pause. He reads through the text provided twice, lets out a soft laugh, and then returns to the photos, trying to imagine the intonations and inflections the guy in the photos would use if he said these words out loud.
Hanbin looks through the three provided photos over and over before he sits up fully, drawing one of his legs underneath himself.
“Listen to this. ‘Your mysterious relative,’” Hanbin reads out loud. “’Funerals, weddings, et cetera.’”
Matthew turns his head from where he is in their cramped kitchen, a handful of steps away, filling new bowls for the two of them. “What?” he asks, utterly confused.
Hanbin keeps reading. “’Need someone intriguing to stand at the back? I will arrive, in one of the three outfit options above, carrying a black umbrella and a single rose. At the end of the service, I will place that rose (perfectly centered, mind you) in front of the photo of the deceased, then mysteriously depart.’”
With their cheap, ceramic bowls in his hands, Matthew asks, “Is this for real? What is that?”
“It’s a listing. You can hire someone on here to be a mysterious figure at your event. To build up your street cred, I suppose.”
“Wow,” Matthew whistles, clumsily searching around before balancing Hanbin’s bowl precariously on Hanbin’s lap. Hanbin yelps at the sudden heat. “And you can make money from this?”
Hanbin immediately resolves this potentially awful situation and balances the new bowl on the couch beside him. “You can make money with anything, Seokmae-ya. Hey, he’s charging a hundred thousand won flat rate per hour, with fifty percent paid upfront to reserve a time, and the other fifty percent paid on arrival on the day of.” Hanbin pauses. “Oh wow. Right now there’s a special of fifty thousand won per each additional hour. And he says he’ll speak Mandarin for another fifty thousand.”
Matthew squints at him, as though he can see the sparks flying as his brain connects the wires together. “You have that look in your eye, like you’re thinking about something. I don’t like it.”
Hanbin ignores him. “He’s provided three backstories. The first, a secret lover, devastated by the event, despairingly in love with the deceased but never able to truly convey the depth of his feelings.”
“My god.”
“The second,” Hanbin reads on, “is that he’ll roleplay as a triad member, with fond memories of smuggling a capybara through international security. The third is that he’s a secret child of the deceased, and had finally tracked them down, only to arrive too late to ever contact them. He specifies that these can be tailored to the particular event.”
“Do you want my honest opinion on this?” Matthew questions, through mouthfuls of rice and vegetables.
“He’s left a number.”
“What?” Matthew repeats, incredulously.
“At the end, he’s written, ‘They keep trying to take down my listing.’ Then he left a contact ID.”
“Hanbin hyung,” Matthew pronounces slowly. “Our table.”
He throws his hands up dramatically. “You weren’t exactly concerned about that five minutes ago.”
“I was different back then. I’ve changed. I’ve had furniture—sharp, heavy, hazardous to my health—fall on my bulging, rippling, muscular chest.” He rolls up one of his t-shirt sleeves and flexes for good measure.
Hanbin reaches out and pats him on the stomach, snorting as he feels Matthew tense his abs. “Start counting your coins.” He screenshots the listing for good measure and then adds the ID as a contact in his phone.
“You’re not seriously considering getting in touch with this guy,” Matthew begs. Like he’s suggesting Hanbin has ever led him astray. He hasn’t, by the way. That one time with the cops was extenuating circ*mstances and it all turned out alright in the end.
“I’m gonna call him,” Hanbin replies confidently.
“Not even a text? Do you know you’re decidedly evil for that?” Then Matthew stops, freezes, his eyes narrowing. “You think he’s good-looking. Holy sh*t, that’s it. I got it right.”
Hanbin blinks. “Now hold on—“
“I can’t believe this.” Matthew raises his hands. “I actually don’t know how to process this. It’s so unlike you to be this unabashedly horny. Usually you just stare at someone from fifteen meters away, build up your confidence slowly, and then send him running with how badly you flirt.”
Hanbin lashes out at Matthew with his foot, who laughs at this. Then he extends his arm away from his body to show Matthew his phone. “This is what he looks like.”
Matthew takes the phone from his hand and spends a good minute zooming in, frowning as he does this. “In my expert opinion,” he begins, “this is fake. You wouldn’t believe what apps can do these days. The guy in these pics should model. No way that’s him.”
“Well, we won’t know until we meet him.”
“Sorry, and under what circ*mstances—”
“The wedding, of course.”
His friend groans. “Hyung. You know I don’t know her that well. And it’s my aunt’s third wedding, so we’re all trying to be altruistic here.”
Hanbin presses the call button, turns on speakerphone, and hushes him. “All the more reason.”
They listen to the empty rings, and then the automated voice announcing that the person they are trying to reach is not available.
“Thank god. I guess we’ll never know,” Matthew happily sighs.
“Let hyung guide you through this,” Hanbin lectures, with his one entire year of additional—yet infinite—wisdom. “Spam callers only phone once. Real contacts and actual customers try again. He’ll pick up the second time.”
“If only your mother raised you with one less teaspoon of ambition. My life would’ve been so peaceful.”
The dial tone echoes in its tinny way through the speaker, filling their small apartment while they sit, silent. Then it cuts out.
“Hello?” comes a voice on the other end.
Matthew, who is standing directly in front of Hanbin, food momentarily forgotten, catches his gaze with panicked eyes.
“Hi, this is Sung Hanbin. I’m calling about your ad. I’d like to request your services,” Hanbin says smoothly into the phone.
There’s the sound of shuffling paper through the phone. “Which ones specifically?”
Matthew jerks back and mouths, What on Earth?
Hanbin takes it all in stride. “The one about events. ‘Funerals, weddings, et cetera,’” he recites from memory.
A long pause. “Right. Yes. Thanks for getting in touch. How can I help you?”
“I have a wedding coming up.”
“Lovely. Your own?”
“My best friend’s aunt,” Hanbin explains easily. “She was estranged from the family for a while but has now been welcomed back, and we’re all very eager to see her find eternal happiness with her third husband.” He then bullsh*ts, for fun. “She’s also quite notable in the art world.”
“Excellent,” comes the reply. “And this is for added intrigue to spice up the affair, I’d imagine?”
Matthew slowly sinks to the floor and buries his head in his hands.
“Precisely.”
Hanbin likes the voice of the stranger on the line. He tries putting the sound of it to the face in the photos, but somehow he still struggles to connect the two. The voice on the other end is soft with a warm tone to it, like the soothing effects of lemon ginger candies or the feeling of summer sun on your cheeks and nose. He’s easy to talk to, matching Hanbin word for word, blow for blow, and Hanbin immediately relaxes into it. If the phone had a cord, Hanbin would be winding it around his finger over and over again.
As it stands, he doesn’t realize he’s smiling, dimples reaching his eyes, until Matthew points it out afterwards.
“Which backstory would you like to purchase?” the stranger continues.
He adjusts himself so he’s reclining on their couch, head propped up by a decorative pillow they found in a lost-and-found, at ease even though his heart is beating loudly in his ears. “I feel like the secret lover one might go poorly.”
“Depends on how much you like the bride, I suppose.”
Hanbin laughs at this. “I don’t want to ruin anything. It might be difficult if you show up in tears.” He considers this. “Out of curiosity, though, are you a wailer?”
There’s a long pause. “I can be vocal in the right circ*mstances.”
He walked right into that one. Hanbin stutters, chokes out a single syllable in response to that before he regroups, clearing his throat. Matthew says nothing. He’s on the floor, aghast.
Collecting himself, Hanbin’s voice is steady when he responds, “I believe the mafia angle would be the most enthralling, personally. For this event, anyways.”
“You’re a man of excellent taste.” A clicking of a pen and the shuffling of paper indicates the stranger is writing all of this down for future reference. “I would offer additional muscle for realism, but you must know this comes at a price.”
“How much for the goons?” he asks simply.
“Same base price, per person.”
He sighs. “Unfortunately, my budget doesn’t stretch that far.”
“That’s perfectly fine, but you’ll have to do with a little less mystery.”
The way he says that makes Hanbin smile down into his chest. He has one of his legs bent up and plays with the elastic at the bottom of his sweats. “Are you trying to upcharge me?” he teases.
“No, never,” the voice replies, just a tiny bit sly. “You’re a respected customer.”
From below, Matthew smacks him on the leg. The sound of his palm meeting Hanbin’s thigh might just be loud enough to be picked up on the other end of the phone—but Hanbin hopes not. He sticks out his tongue at Matthew, like he would if he was twelve again. He gestures with his head that Matthew should leave and let him handle this. His best friend crosses his arms and stays put.
“We do have to discuss the outfit,” the voice says when Hanbin doesn’t reply. There’s a tinge of unease there, like he’s worried he’s lost Hanbin completely.
“Of course,” Hanbin says, breaking eye contact with Matthew. He had taken a good look at the three photos provided, traced the figure’s strong and sharp lines in the dark suit, studied the faux fur throw draped elegantly over one of his shoulders. He’s always appreciated good form.
“As this is a wedding, the suit is a popular option—”
“With the fur,” Hanbin blurts out. “And the sunglasses. If possible.”
On the other end, he and Matthew hear heavy breathing, as though he’s trying to hold back laughter. “Alright, that can be done,” he says finally.
“The Mandarin option, as well,” Hanbin finishes, his confidence fading away as he’s met with Matthew’s hard glances that reads, You should be utterly ashamed of yourself. Matthew knew too much about him from too many nights out and too many late-night confessions.
Well, none of that matters. After all, this is all for research. An innocuous hypothesis, an affair, even. It’s simply a fun experiment, wholly for scientific inquiry, to understand what exactly could be bought on online marketplace apps and if they ended up being worth the price in the end.
“Noted. I think that really adds something,” the stranger agrees. “And when is the event?”
Hanbin provides him with the date: the Saturday after the next. He’s given the clear, though he’s reminded that half the fee must be paid once Hanbin has provided the exact time and location.
Matthew, who had said nothing for a long time, mouths, “Think twice about this, hyung.”
He has a point.
“How do I know you’re not scamming me?” Hanbin asks. “All I have for you is a number and a few photographs online. I don’t even know the name of who I just hired.”
“I suppose you’ll have to trust me, a complete stranger you found on the internet,” answers the voice. “As for my name, it’s Zhang Hao. Now send me the specifics or this isn’t happening.”
The guy hangs up without a goodbye, leaving Hanbin with dead air, a brain doing its utmost to make sense of what just happened, and a half-hard dick—from just the conversation.
Hanbin looks down at Matthew. “I’m in love with him,” he announces.
“This is going to kill my aunt,” Matthew groans.
The fundamental difference between Hanbin and Matthew is that Hanbin chases. Matthew, on the other hand, flirts heavily, but sits back, reserved, when things get serious.
“I want everyone to know that I didn’t agree to this,” says Matthew. “I think this has the potential to be either incredibly hilarious or exceptionally disastrous and because of that, I’m super invested. But I want the records to show I didn’t support this initially if it ends up being the latter.”
“That won’t hold up in court,” Hanbin grouches. “And who are you trying to convince here, really?”
It’s three days to the wedding. Hanbin, Matthew, and Gyuvin have notes and textbooks and pens scattered across a round table with uneven legs. Hanbin has a presentation next week. Matthew has a sandwich in one hand and is typing slowly on a laptop with the other, one key at a time. Hanbin watches mayonnaise drip onto his hand in disgust.
They had found a quiet corner, in a building no one likes, on a floor that’s basically deserted. It took a long time to discover such a premier hangout spot. Maybe before they graduate, Hanbin will pass down this sacred knowledge to a well-deserving first-year. Maybe not.
Hanbin had scrounged up the hundred and fifty thousand won for Zhang Hao, their friendly internet scammer. He had texted him the time and location, as promised, then sent him over half of the money through Kakao Pay. Zhang Hao had responded with a thumbs up emoji and nothing else. Unsure of how to strike up a conversation, Hanbin had left things there with the twisting feeling in his gut that he had just been ripped off. He typed several messages but deleted all of them before he sent them.
Matthew found him swiping through Hao’s photos again and shouted that he’d never witnessed this sort of shamelessness and self-pity in his entire life. Then he told Hanbin to either find the love of his life in the real world or stop moping about it around the apartment.
“Did you guys end up getting that new coffee table, though?” Gyuvin asks, not looking up from his textbook. He’s highlighting every single line in a paragraph, which Hanbin finds endearing but completely redundant.
Gyuvin, all boyish charm and uncoordinated limbs topped off with a button nose, is a first-year student. He’d—quite literally—bumped into Hanbin on his first day and then Hanbin helped him find his way to the right class. Now he’s a semi-permanent fixture in his and Matthew’s lives, and whose boundless tendencies towards physical intimacy has him draped across one of them whenever possible.
Where Matthew and Hanbin carefully counted out coins for vending machines and turned socks the wrong way around so the holes faced up, Gyuvin slept in designer pajamas and selected “check out” on his online shopping cart without looking at the total. Somehow, by some miracle, Gyuvin had bypassed the disagreeable nature of those with immeasurable wealth and came to them with wide eyes and an honourable disposition.
“No,” Matthew sighs. “I even asked my mom if she knew anyone who might be giving away a table, and she said no. She offered us a rice cooker, though.”
Hanbin perks up. “Well did you take it?”
“Of course, man. I got you. Us.” He takes another bite of his sandwich and says, through chews, “No help from you, hyung. Spending frivolously again.”
“I maintain that the whole situation will add some much-needed excitement,” Hanbin defends. “You didn’t want to go to the wedding anyway.”
“What’s happening?” Gyuvin questions. He’s highlighted all the paragraphs on the two-page spread laid out in front of him, bright neon yellow almost glowing.
“Hanbin hyung hired a random guy to pretend to be a member of the mafia for added mystery. At my aunt’s wedding.”
“Like… a character actor? At theme parks?” Gyuvin asks.
“Essentially, yeah,” Hanbin shrugs. “See, you get it.”
Gyuvin scratches his nose. “So, out of curiosity, may I attend this wedding?”
Matthew shakes his head. “No can do.”
“Please,” Gyuvin tries. “I have to see how this turns out.”
“Hyung’s already my plus one,” Matthew says. “Look, I just don’t want this to be a disaster.”
“Again. It’s compelling,” Hanbin sniffs.
“Forgive me for having some reservations,” Matthew retorts. “Because when we called him, he asked which services specifically. He’s running a bunch of scams around town, I know it.”
“Hey,” Gyuvin assures, tone turning serious. “It’ll probably be fine. Maybe it’ll even be fun! I know a guy who knows a guy who does a ton of odd jobs ‘cause he’s tight on cash. Next time, text me first, and I can get you in touch with him. Actually, now that you mention it, he tutors R—”
“Not this again,” interrupts Matthew, leaning fully back in his chair and staring at the ceiling.
“You know you promised not to mention your strange obsession with your classmate for forty-eight hours,” says Hanbin gently, reaching out to squeeze Gyuvin’s hand. “It’s been five.”
Hanbin and Matthew have a running bet about it. Hanbin thinks Gyuvin will realize he has a gigantic crush by the end of the school year. Matthew thinks it won’t happen without heavy intervention. Both are waiting to see how this plays out. Hanbin’s time is running out, but he’s never been one to give up.
“You’re keeping count?” Gyuvin whines.
“I’m convinced you’ll drive me insane,” Matthew says, pointing his finger into his palm, “and Hanbin hyung will get us all killed.”
“What,” Gyuvin complains. At the same time, Hanbin says, “That’s dramatic.”
“So as I said,” Matthew finishes. “I was against this. But I can’t wait to see how this turns out.”
“You love chaos when you’re not directly affected,” Gyuvin says, laughing.
“Yes,” agrees Matthew. “Sue me.”
“He was nice on the phone,” says Hanbin. He turns to Gyuvin, sighing. “I talked to him for ten entire minutes. It was like talking to myself. He’s… He’s interesting. And funny. And charming.”
“Wow,” Gyuvin lets out. “Now I’m really upset that I’m missing this wedding.”
“If he keeps this up, he’s getting on the same ban you’re on,” Matthew grumbles. “Also, I hope he looks nothing like his photos online.”
“Maybe the guy you vaguely know can get us a new table,” Hanbin hums.
Gyuvin nods, thinking. “Yeah probably. Of course, that means I’ll have to talk to R—”
He gets a pen thrown at him.
“You look like sh*t in that suit,” Matthew smiles.
The fabric stretches at his shoulders, pulls too tight around his upper arms. “It’s a rental,” Hanbin hisses.
“If only you had a hundred and fifty thousand extra won. Maybe you could’ve gotten one made of wool or cotton instead of a plastic bag.”
“You think you’re so funny.”
“Hyung, what are best friends for?”
The wedding is, as he imagines, moderate in size—though truthfully, Hanbin hasn’t attended many weddings before. It’s classy, held in an airy hall in a hotel, with round tables and fairy lights. Flowers line the aisle the bride and groom will walk down and the raised stage in front, interspersed with candles in geometric accent pieces, is brushed with gold. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling and light bounces off the hanging crystals at certain angles.
It’s like something out of a storybook. Atmospheric. A hush befalls each of the guests when they enter.
Matthew and Hanbin greet the bride in a private room, who smiles kindly at them as they congratulate her. After they’re done, their money packet handed over, the guests lined up behind them do the same. Matthew’s mom embraces Hanbin fully in hello. Matthew’s sister has an expression on her face like she was thrown into this without warning. Hanbin meets her eyes from across the circle of people they’re talking to.
Considered unimportant in the grand scheme of things, Hanbin and Matthew are placed at a table far off to the side, near the back. They’re seated with an older man neither of them recognizes (and who doesn’t respond to any of their greetings), a young lady whose eyes are fixated on her phone, and two other empty chairs. Around them, the full room chatters quietly. Interestingly, the rest of Matthew’s family has prime seating up front. Hanbin theorizes that he was a last-minute addition, as is the rest of this table.
Hanbin leans over to Matthew. “You haven’t seen him, have you? It feels like he’s late.”
Matthew shakes his head. “Did he text you that he was here?”
“No.”
“Then don’t worry about it,” he replies. “If he doesn’t show, you’re only out seventy-five thousand won. That’s about the price of that suit.”
“You need to let the suit go,” Hanbin snaps. “Especially when you’ve spiked up your hair like that. It looks like an animal licked it.”
Matthew laughs, taking a sip from the ice water on the table. “Nothing you say matters. I’m so ready for this, and I’ve come up with sixteen different excuses to get out of it if you get caught. I want to see you lose money and embarrass yourself in the process. The fact that you’re doing it in public makes it even better.”
A body slides into the empty chair beside Hanbin, dressed in an expertly tailored three-piece suit, heavy cologne wafting around them. “Is he here yet?” Gyuvin greets.
Hanbin jolts in his seat in surprise, mouth dropping open. He looks Gyuvin up and down. “What’s this, are you going to the opera? Are you meeting the President?”
Matthew whips his head around rapidly, checking to see if anyone has noticed Gyuvin’s impromptu arrival. “How the hell did you get in?
“I said I was your cousin,” Gyuvin shrugs. “Also, I don’t believe in overdressing. You two should simply step up your game.” He gives Hanbin a (very welcomed) side-hug and Hanbin ruffles the hair at the back of his head affectionately.
“I missed you,” Hanbin says softly, uncaring of how Gyuvin got here.
“These are my relatives,” Matthew splutters. “How did that even work?”
“I have my ways,” Gyuvin replies. “You didn’t answer the question.”
One of Hanbin’s dress shoes is too small, pleather tight around his toes, and he knows he’ll have a blister tomorrow. The wedding guests have started to shift and check the time, the sounds of rustling and the creaking of chairs echoing throughout the hall. Hanbin’s phone vibrates in his pocket. The girl across the table picks up her own phone instinctively. He holds back a laugh at that and checks his messages.
“Oh sh*t,” Hanbin says, sitting up all the way. “He says he’s here.”
“Gyuvin, just so you know, I don’t think we look anything alike,” points out Matthew. “Wait what?”
“He also texted, ‘Pay up,’” Hanbin reads. His heart races from within his ribcage and his palms have become shamefully sweaty. He wipes them off on his polyester blend dress pants. “Do either of you see him?”
The lights dim and soft music begins to play. The guests turn in their seats to get a better view of the aisle.
“Oh my god, the timing,” Gyuvin laughs. “This keeps getting better.”
Matthew cranes his head as subtly as he can. “I don’t see anyone, man. You sure he’s at the right wedding?”
“Hey hyung, do they have an open bar?” asks Gyuvin.
Neither the older gentleman nor the younger lady at their table seem to care about their conversation. But Hanbin gestures for Gyuvin to keep it down, regardless. Gyuvin mouths an apology.
“That could be him back there,” Matthew says, voice hushed, ignoring the youngest.
Figures begin walking down the aisle. Really, they should be paying more attention—to the silk chiffon and sparkles, the delicate flower petals being strewn across the floor, the blush shades of fabric and flash of photographs being taken. Hanbin politely gazes forward, but he’s consumed with thoughts concerning the back of the room.
The girl at the table raises her phone to record the wedding procession. Gyuvin’s cufflinks clang noisily against his plate as he reaches for his glass. He almost drops his spoon.
Matthew leans towards Hanbin, so he can whisper into his ear. “I thought he said he wasn’t bringing muscle.”
Hanbin’s eyes flick around desperately, trying to find the stranger amongst the shadows. “I’m not paying extra for henchmen.”
Matthew points across to the other side of the venue. “Well, he has another guy with him.”
“A scam artist,” Hanbin gasps, affronted. He thinks about the text requesting the other half of the money and he’s glad he didn’t give in right away. He narrows in on the area where Matthew is motioning to, the far back of the room beside the exit doors and flowers in full bloom. He finally sees them—the two of them—standing under the warm lowlight of the opulent chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
His breath catches in his throat.
While he can’t discern the finer details of his face from this distance, it’s clear photos do not do him justice. Zhang Hao stands in a bespoke black suit, a pair of sunglasses in hand and a fur throw around his shoulders. The cut of the suit is faultless, the waist a little higher on purpose, perfectly fitted to his lean frame. He stands with his chin raised, a heart shaped face with dark hair. Behind him is a taller figure: a guy with angular, feline features and strong brows. He’s in a velvet suit, he thinks, but Hanbin can’t make out the colour.
The two of them certainly paint a picture—fine brush strokes of cold, intimidating beauty. They stand like models at a brand event, and eyes start to wander towards them.
Hanbin’s mind goes completely blank, fizzles out like a sparkler, goes flat like opened soda. He almost stands up right there automatically, in the middle of the ceremony, just as the last of the bridal party make their way down the aisle.
Gyuvin slurps from the wine glass provided. The round table makes it so he’s sitting at a sharper angle than Matthew and Hanbin, and as he shifts in his seat, it’s clear his view is blocked by a large floral display. “I don’t see what you’re seeing,” he complains. “You sure he’s there?”
“Yeah,” Hanbin breathes. He barely registers Gyuvin’s question.
“Well damn,” is all that Matthew gets out.
The whole room stands as the bride enters, music swelling. She’s wearing a modern, modest gown, finely made, with a tasteful sparkle that glints like sunlight reflecting off ocean waves when she moves. Matthew and Gyuvin concentrate easily on the ceremony happening before them, but Hanbin’s focus is shot entirely. He sneaks glances to the side at Zhang Hao, who has moved further into the hall and is now holding a champagne flute in his free hand.
Near the end of the vows and the bows and the final kiss of devotion, Hanbin receives another text:
If you don’t pay in twenty, I’m leaving.
“He’s antsy,” Hanbin whispers, close to Matthew’s ear.
“He’s better than me,” his friend responds. “I would’ve grabbed the warming tray with galbi-jjim and ran.”
“How can you say that at your own aunt’s wedding?”
Gyuvin leans his torso over towards them, eyes huge. “Anyone else starving?”
Hanbin stands when he’s told to and sits when everyone else does, all in a state of confusion and an emotion he cannot name. He wonders if Zhang Hao can see him—and what he thinks of Hanbin if he can. He brushes his hair down at the sides nervously, clenches and unclenches his palms and plays with his fingers. Gyuvin recognizes his bad habits and places a comforting hand on his own.
Then it’s over. A press of lips and the signing of names. Hanbin wipes at the corner of his eyes anyway, tears sneaking up on him.
He’s never been optimistic enough to dream of his own wedding, but for a split second, just now, he allows himself to imagine it.
The move to the reception—a generously-sized, open venue on the other end of the hotel—is less of a shuffle and more of a scurry as stomachs rumble loudly, Gyuvin’s included. This is made worse by the arrival of those who came after the ceremony, only interested in brief congratulations for the couple and the boundless food provided. It should be a quick move, but it’s not; there are guests who stand around in wide circles, which makes navigating out the door exceedingly more difficult.
“I’m gonna find him,” Hanbin mumbles, mostly to himself.
Matthew adjusts his tie and finishes off his drink. They weave around the people milling about, Gyuvin trailing behind as someone asks him something. Hanbin grips his phone tightly in his hand. He can almost hear the beats of his own heart.
Separated by a crowd of bodies, Hanbin gets close enough to see Zhang Hao from only a few meters away. He views him in flashes, between people passing by and the sharp glint of jewels reflecting light into his eyes.
A guy about their age, maybe younger, is inching his way closer. “And how do you know the bride or groom?”
“International relations,” Zhang Hao says, neutrally, in a deeper voice than Hanbin expected. Then he refuses to elaborate, causing the air to go dead. When the guy looks pointedly behind him at his friend, Zhang Hao explains, “Oh, no. My associate has been directed not to speak.”
“That’s… interesting,” the wedding guest says, analysing the two of them carefully. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Holy sh*t,” Matthew says, right next to Hanbin, in a low tone. “He’s an atrocious actor.”
And the truth of the matter is that he is. He absolutely is. He had delivered his cover story with the conviction of a guilty man on the stand, aware that the jury was seconds away sentencing him. Zhang Hao, whoever he is, is delightfully awkward despite his sophisticated exterior. Something about that makes Hanbin’s ears flush and his stomach twist, and he’s more eager to talk to him than ever before.
Hanbin opens his mouth to defend Zhang Hao when the crowds shift again, and they’re pushed further towards the door. As Gyuvin passes, lost, Hanbin grips tightly onto his arm to bring him back.
“Someone gave me their business card,” Gyuvin frowns.
“Throw that away,” Hanbin admonishes. “Who knows what kind of people are here.”
Matthew makes an indignant sound. Someone narrowly avoids spilling their drink on Hanbin’s suit jacket. The three of them make it out—alive but bruised—of the event space and into the larger hall outside. In his hand, Hanbin’s phone vibrates with a new message.
Find me in the reception hall. Your time is almost up, asshole.
He hears Yaebin’s heels on the floor before he sees her, even over the loud hum of conversation—hair in an elaborate bun and near-visible storm clouds on the horizon. She’s wearing a frown that should be considered a lethal weapon, possibly illegal in several countries. Matthew is unaware of her presence until she smacks her brother on the arm with the sturdy white paper of a wedding invitation.
“Ow,” Matthew gets out.
“I hope you congratulated our aunt,” Yaebin seethes. “I hope you told her that she looks gorgeous and that you wish for happiness in the future.”
“I did, I did,” grumbles Matthew. “We saw her when we arrived.”
“You almost arrived late. You’re absolutely useless as a brother.”
“We had an emergency situation that required our utmost attention,” Hanbin cuts in, trying to smooth things over. He thinks about Zhang Hao waiting in the reception hall, of men in garish suits asking for his name. His hands twitch at his sides.
She snorts, rolling her eyes. “Oh, I bet.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Gyuvin manages.
“By the way, why’d we get stuck in the back?” asks Matthew.
“You pulled the short straw when the seating arrangements were being made.”
“I didn’t pull a straw,” Matthew protests.
“I pulled one for you,” Yaebin shrugs.
“How is that fair?”
“Our aunt doesn’t even think you like her. Be glad you got seated with your friend.” She looks at Gyuvin as though noticing him for the first time. “Who is this and why is he here?”
“I’m a friend from university,” Gyuvin smiles. Hanbin pats him on the back because he looks like he’s seconds from breaking into tears.
“Why’d she get that impression?” Matthew sputters, fixated only on the part of the conversation that concerned him.
“How many friends did you invite?” Matthew’s sister demands, her arms crossed and eyes fiery. “You understand what a plus one is, right?”
Hanbin always thought it was funny how Matthew and his older sister fought identically. They shared the same pointed chin, the same mannerisms, the same ruthless determination. But if they ever found themselves in jail, Matthew would be preparing his defence, while Yaebin would have already gotten in contact with the best lawyer in the city. She was always that one step ahead.
“One,” Matthew says. He glances at Gyuvin. “Maybe two.”
She appears taken aback by this. “So who were the other two during the ceremony?"
Gyuvin decides, at this point, that his shoes have become incredibly interesting. The space they’re all in has become quieter as the majority of the guests have moved into the reception, though there’s still some stragglers sharing drinks over semi-inebriated discussion. Staff from the venue mill around, directing traffic to the next room.
“Well. He’s. They. Um,” Matthew and Hanbin stutter, alternating words between each other. Hanbin grips his phone in his hand.
“If you’re going to soft-launch something,” Matthew’s sister says slowly, each word carefully pronounced like a curse, “perhaps our aunt’s wedding is not the best place to do it. You’re going to give grandma a heart attack.”
And it clicks then that Yaebin thinks they both brought dates. He and Matthew share a look.
“Oh,” Matthew blinks. “Alright, so, no.”
“I came here alone,” Hanbin explains, hand on his chest, only speaking for himself in order to try and clear his name. “But I’m hoping seventy-five thousand won will change that.”
She stares him down like he’s just admitted to grand larceny. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I am painfully single,” Matthew grits out. “We can start there.”
“Alright. I’m choosing to leave this conversation for my own sanity,” Yaebin says. “But for the love of god, do not ruin the second half of this wedding.”
The three of them stand, uncomfortable, in suits of varying quality—Gyuvin with shoes too big, Hanbin with shoes too small, and Matthew with the towering weight of his family’s shame.
“This is worse than when she pushed me off my bike when I was ten,” Matthew sighs. “Her torment is eternal.”
“It’s not so bad,” Gyuvin says. “Her mind went to you having a date rather than you hiring out a guy for cash. So that’s a positive.”
“I feel like I keep losing,” Matthew continues, pressing on, content to have an entire conversation with himself if he has to. “No matter what, things just go poorly for me.”
Gyuvin rubs at his shoulders. “Cheer up. It could be worse. You could be Hanbin hyung.”
Hanbin locks his phone with an audible click, then gets up in Gyuvin’s face until the latter laughs. “I just texted him that I’m on my way.”
“See? Nothing but terrible things in his future. Outlook not good.”
They move into the reception, Matthew blathering about how during the last wedding he went to, they all had to haul ass to another location. Gyuvin chimes in, claiming that if he ever got married, he would utilize the cost-saving measures of a single venue, and that both of them could sit at a nice table at the front.
Hanbin thinks about the stranger he invited to this event, thoughts of his steady movements and the graceful incline of his head as he greets others. He tries, gallantly but unsuccessfully, to pull himself together.
Inside, the room is adorned with the same candles and flowers from the wedding hall, now with a shiny dance floor that reflects the tile ceiling. Strings of soft yellow lights swirl across round dinner tables, around wandering bodies, picking up the fine gold interspersed within the pattern of the wallpaper. On one side, there are rectangular stands with white table cloths and covered trays, and delicious smells break through the miasma of clashing perfumes. On the other side, large speakers that—thankfully—play some low beats but promise ungodly volumes if required.
There is one table placed directly by the speakers. Only a third of them have been reserved for friends and family, and Hanbin has a feeling he knows just where they’ve been seated.
As people shift and move around, Hanbin sees Zhang Hao and his companion, who are hovering around the catering. Hanbin catches the stranger’s side profile, the gentle slope of his nose, a split-second flash of a beauty mark and high and round cheeks. People around them are staring, some more obviously than others, though whether because they were unfamiliar or because they caught word of their cover story, he could only guess.
He moves without thinking, winding his way around unfamiliar guests (and some he’s met in passing), to get closer.
“Do you think we can swipe some of the buffet food and get it to the car without anyone noticing?” Zhang Hao asks, hushed.
“That kind of desperation is reserved for people other than me,” his tall henchman responds. His voice is soft and sort of smoky. Up close, the pair are so awkward together that Hanbin has to smile. It’s hopelessly endearing.
He pretends to just be passing by, to be focused on some task that requires him to be in this area, and says, “You should go for the janchi-guksu if you do.”
Zhang Hao’s eyes meet his, elegant and warm brown. It takes just that one look, and Hanbin thinks that his heart explodes out of his chest, multi-coloured confetti spraying onto the floor—apt for the occasion and utterly embarrassing in the way everyone bears witness to his desire. The tips of his ears turn hot and he focuses on steadying his trembling hands.
He raises an eyebrow at Hanbin. “Are you our inside guy? Are you here to help us smuggle out the goods?”
“You should’ve received the code phrase before the mission,” Hanbin answers, in a playful, pretend-serious tone. “Have you no regard for the rules? Of staying incognito?”
“My mistake. It’s my first day, you see.”
Hanbin huffs out a laugh. “You should remember that for the future. I hope you’ll keep my true identity a secret for now.”
“You should try a disguise next time.”
“How do you know I’m not already in disguise?”
Zhang Hao tilts his head. “You can do better. You’d look refined in facial hair.”
“I’ll wear a top hat, too. Just for you. That’ll help me fly under the radar.”
They’re standing close together now, a single meter of electrically charged air between them. Hanbin registers the slight difference in their heights, the way Zhang Hao’s mouth turns downward in a natural pout and the bright perception in his eyes. He’s almost light-headed, pulse quickening at the thrill of it.
A back-and-forth. That’s all it takes for Zhang Hao’s features to change from unattainable porcelain, a marble statue in a gallery, to sly, boyish charm. Hanbin wants to talk to him for hours. Hanbin wants to grasp his hand and take him home—pieces of his suit decorating the floor of Hanbin’s bedroom.
He’s unsure of what to say next, not wanting to f*ck this up. “Hi,” Hanbin manages to get out.
“Hi,” Hao answers, in soft syllables. Maybe Hanbin imagines that Zhang Hao studies him with interest, even subtly looking him up and down. Maybe it’s willful thinking. But if Hanbin is anything, he’s an opportunist.
“I think I owe you a drink,” he says, even though he has no idea what the drinks situation is like here. People shuffle past them getting food from the buffet, some sending pointed expressions their way for blocking the table.
“I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t…” Zhang Hao starts. “This is a work thing. Sort of.”
“Consider it a perk of the job. Happy hour, even.” When Zhang Hao’s frown deepens, Hanbin feels ashamed and scatters to correct himself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean… If you don’t want to…” he stumbles.
The henchman Hao has brought with him had turned to the side to let them speak semi-privately, but Hanbin notices he’s now watching them out of the corner of his eye with vested interest. Hao opens his mouth to say something.
A man with slicked-back hair, carrying a half-full plate, interrupts them. “Sorry, do I know you from somewhere?” he questions, directing his question at Hao.
Hao blinks at the stranger a few times. Then he answers in, what Hanbin can only assume is, fluent Mandarin. Just as Hanbin requested. Hanbin feels his cheeks heat up as the blood rushes there.
“Unfortunately, my employer is quite sure he’s never met you,” Hao’s henchman says with sharp eyes, “and asks that you refrain from any further contact.”
“Oh,” the man says, frowning and moving himself along. “My mistake.”
Hao watches him go for a few seconds before turning back to Hanbin. He takes in the curves of his face, the curly hair of Hao’s sideburns, and the beauty mark underneath his right eye, Hanbin’s mind replaying the unfamiliar tones of a language he doesn’t know. Hanbin thinks, right then and there, that it would be nice to understand, to see, all of him.
With trepidation, Hanbin ventures, “Can I ask what you said to that guy?”
“I said that I don’t fraternize with men with those haircuts,” he explains. Behind him, his friend snorts.
“I hope mine is suitable,” Hanbin says, reaching up to tuck rogue strands back. “It would crush me if it wasn’t. It fights me every day, you see.”
“We can work with it,” teases Hao. “There’s hope for you yet.”
“Oh,” Hanbin gasps, realizing something. He takes out his phone and, with a few taps, sends over the rest of the money owed. Alongside a short text message of thanks.
“Um. About that drink,” Hao starts, brushing his hair out of his eyes, which Hanbin has already begun to register as a nervous gesture.
There’s a quiet ping of a notification from the pocket of Hao’s trousers. He frowns, digs out his phone, and checks the new alert.
Hanbin thinks he can see exactly when Hao puts it together.
“Wait,” Hao begins, eyes round. “Who exactly are y—"
“Hanbin hyung, the bar is not open,” hisses Gyuvin, appearing beside Hanbin suddenly and speaking directly into his ear. “We gotta get out of here. This lemonade was twelve thousand won. This is daylight robbery, you don’t understand.”
Gyuvin looks past Hao, to the goon standing beside him, hovering with tongs in hand and filling up two carefully balanced plates with food. “What.”
The faux thug, in his designer accessories and a dangly earring that swings with his movements, stares right back at Gyuvin. “What? You?”
Matthew materializes on Hanbin’s other side. “Bad news, guys. I think Yaebin noona is onto us. Hanbin hyung, you’ve been seen standing with them for way too long, people are starting to say sh*t.”
At the entrance of the reception hall, the bride and groom make their appearance. The room itself is crowded, especially around the buffet tables, with those who have quickly stopped by to gift them with the new couple cash—and gorge themselves on moderately good catering—before rushing out again.
“Okay, we’re gonna move now. Let’s not draw any more attention to ourselves,” Matthew snaps, corralling Hanbin and Gyuvin towards their reserved table. In the process, they lose Hao and his henchman, whom Hanbin has pieced together to be Ricky, Gyuvin’s illustrious classmate and Kinsey Scale disruptor.
Hanbin catches snippets of a conversation as they move through the throng of unsteady people, gripping Gyuvin’s hand tightly with his own to keep track of him.
“They’re not coming to collect, are they? Should we be concerned?” someone questions.
“For what?” answers another. “I don’t care who’s at this damn wedding if the food is good.”
Gyuvin makes nervous, questioning sounds when Matthew makes the three of them sit down, the speaker behind them pounding bass right into Hanbin’s left ear. He grimaces.
“I think we should lay low for a while and regroup,” Matthew explains, drawing the two of them close. “Just on the off chance.”
Hanbin wants to throttle his friend. “Your plan was to bring us to this table and do nothing?” He hears a faint no from Matthew.
“Why didn’t you tell them that?” Gyuvin disparages. “And on the off chance of what?”
“Maybe I’m not thinking straight,” Matthew defends. “I’m nervous. And this would’ve been more fun if either of them could act.”
“I think it’s more fun this way, actually,” contests Gyuvin.
“I was in the middle of something, just for your information,” Hanbin continues, saying that last part in English. He searches for Hao’s figure amongst the wedding guests but finds someone else instead.
Yaebin, her dark hair now loose around her shoulders and heels kicked off, dangling from her finger by the ankle straps, cuts through the crowd and beelines for their table. To Hanbin, she moves in slow motion, eyes fixated on the three of them with unwavering focus.
“f*ck,” is all Matthew says.
She pulls up an empty chair beside them, speaking in a conspiratorial tone. “There’s something weird going on.”
Gyuvin looks at her with eyes round like CDs. They catch the light and glisten wetly, like a newborn deer, completely innocent.
“There’s a guy here who might actually—and I’m not joking—be a member of the mafia.”
“What?” Matthew says, too loudly. “That’s insane. What?”
“We have to make sure they don’t disrupt this wedding,” she continues, giving her brother a quick glance that says she just thinks he’s a goddamn weirdo. “Someone’s already calling security.”
“No,” Hanbin chokes out, coughing on the word. “No, you don’t need to do that.”
“That’s a bit much, isn’t it?” begs Matthew. “They’re probably just here for a good time.”
“Sons of gangsters, loan sharks, the tax guys, whoever they are,” she sneers. “Word is getting around.”
Hanbin tries a different angle. “You don’t think they’re adding a bit of… mystery? A little bit of a thrill?”
Yaebin’s eyes narrow. She leans in closer to him. “Can I ask you something real quick?”
“Auntie!” Matthew cries. “Congratulations!”
He shoves his chair back and stands so quickly that the water glasses almost spill over. Hanbin gasps and reaches out to steady the table as it rocks. The bride and groom, who look exhausted as they approach them, manage to smile at their group kindly. Hanbin and Gyuvin greet them far more politely, for the second time tonight.
When they’ve finished making small talk, which includes the insistence that their table should eat as much as they can, and after the bride and groom move on to the next guests, Hanbin says underneath his breath, “I’m going to go find him and warn him.”
“You’re so insane,” Gyuvin smiles, then gives him a little salute. “Good luck out there.”
Yaebin and Matthew are still engaged in a heated conversation. “Do you think someone here owes them money?” she asks.
Matthew glares angrily at Hanbin. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Not true, I already paid,” Hanbin laughs. Then he stands to excuse himself. Gyuvin pats him on the ass as he leaves, once again entering the crowd. Matthew shouts at him to bring him a plate.
Most of the wedding guests are older, and it's easy to separate who is a friend of the family and who isn’t. Hanbin’s suit is elegant in comparison to some of the outfits the middle-aged, male coworkers have shown up in. He swears he passes a man wearing Adidas slides.
Hao is easy to find, standing next to some sort of floral pillar, with a full drink in his hand. He’s alone this time and greeting the groom warmly. Hanbin notices that Hao’s pant legs are a little bit too long.
“Congratulations,” Hao says. “I heard your wife is quite the art collector. I love the Impressionists, personally.”
“Sorry, what?”
Hao blinks. “What?”
The groom, a slender man in his fifties, in excellent shape with a full head of hair, utters out an ah! sound. “Didn’t you play violin for my sister’s wedding last year?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Hao answers choppily. “That was probably not me.”
“Ah. I see… So, we didn’t hire you tonight for something?” the groom asks, appearing confused. In his defence, he looks absolutely out of it, almost dead on his feet from the stress of the evening. The back of his suit is wrinkled.
Hao shakes his head. “Um. Nope.”
The groom continues to gawp at him, perhaps wondering if the bride invited him (because he certainly didn’t), trying to figure out what Hao’s deal is.
Hao stands ramrod straight, face stiff, and he lets out, “This fur is getting hot.”
Hanbin bites his lip to stifle a laugh. It might be crazy for him to be so instantly captivated, so atrociously attracted, so irredeemably charmed, but he is. He looks at Hao and he feels a little bit lighter; can feel the stirrings of something unfamiliar, yet warm, in his stomach. Hao is saved when the groom excuses himself, showing a desperate guest where the toilet is. Seeing an opening, Hanbin straightens his jacket, fumbles with his tie, and crosses the threshold.
“Hey,” Hanbin whispers, right into Hao’s ear. Hao jumps in response, then turns his head to glare at him. “We gotta get you out of here.”
They meet eyes, and Hanbin’s heart takes off like a rocket. “If this wedding is technically a workplace,” Hao says, not making any effort to put space back between them, “then where does sneaking up on someone fall under employee standards policies?”
“I hereby relieve you of any and all duties,” Hanbin teases. “Now you’re just here as an independent party. And you got yourself a drink, too. I did offer.”
Hao looks down at it, some fizzy pink concoction. “I’m really only holding this,” he replies, self-consciously.
“That’s alright, I can take rejection,” Hanbin jokes. “Where’s your henchman?”
“Ricky?” Hao snorts. “He ran off a little while ago. Chased after some girl, I don’t know. She had no shoes on.” Hao rolls his eyes. “To make it all worse he’s my designated driver.”
Yaebin, her shoes haphazardly swinging from her grip, comes to Hanbin’s mind. “I hope you’re not paying him.”
“Well, if he was a real henchman, I’d have him offed and thrown into international waters.”
Hanbin smiles, upwards through his thick lashes, taking advantage of their height difference. “I suppose I wouldn’t want to mess with hyung, then.”
He sees more than hears Hao’s deep inhale. Hanbin wants to breach the last few centimeters between them, wants to brush a hand up Hao’s arm, wants to press his nose into the warm junction where Hao’s neck meets his shoulder and inhale, maybe even bite. He wants.
Hanbin’s not usually like this. It usually takes much longer, weeks upon months, for that fire to grow within him. With Hao it’s an instant, five-alarm blaze. All-consuming. He should be embarrassed, but he’s not. He’s feeling audacious, full-throttle, half out of his mind and utterly reckless.
“I’ve seen you around before, you know,” Hao says softly, barely audible over the music. “On campus.”
“Yeah? And what was your impression of me?” There’s a low roar in Hanbin’s ears, his heart threatening to break free of his ribs, and he wonders if Hao feels that charge of energy between them, too.
“Why should I tell you?” he answers, the corners of his lips twitching.
And his eyes dart down to Hao’s mouth, his brain short-circuiting. “Um.”
“Sung Hanbin,” Hao says, with the easy confidence of someone accustomed to getting what they want. “What ever possessed you to hire me?”
“I have no sense of self-preservation and I love to have fun,” Hanbin says, point-blank.
Hao laughs, full-belly and loud, breaking the tension and easing Hanbin’s shoulders. He reaches out to lay a hand on Hanbin’s arm and it’s all Hanbin can think about. His touch burns a hole through Hanbin’s suit. “That’ll do it.”
“And I’m broke now,” he winces. “I mean, I was broke before but now I’m really broke.”
“Me too. But it’s nice of you to offer to buy me a drink despite it.”
“Maybe you can intimidate the bartender to give me one for free.”
“I don’t know if I’m very good at this,” Hao admits. “The mafia stuff.”
“No, you’re wonderful,” Hanbin blurts out without thinking. Then from behind Hao, at the entrance of the venue, he spots them.
It’s easy, really. Corporate-approved slacks and shirt, speaking into a walkie-talkie. Security guards are never slick. These ones probably have never worked an actual threat, judging by the way the two of them stumble into the venue, gazes frantic. They’re just hotel staff, dressed up—yet they can easily ruin everyone’s night.
He swears softly. “That’s our cue to bounce,” Hanbin says. “Someone called security on you.”
“How exciting.” Hao takes a large sip of his drink, makes a face, and sets the mostly-full glass on a nearby table.
In a burst of confidence—or maybe it’s just lunacy, he’s been accused of that—Hanbin reaches for Hao’s hand and locks their fingers together. A thrill runs through him, not unlike when he aces a test he studied hard for, or when he’s in the audience of a concert and the light turns down low. It’s a content, anticipatory, and disbelieving thing.
Hao squeezes his hand in reply. Hanbin’s heart almost stops.
He leads Hao away from where they’re standing, keeping him close. Hao’s presence is a solid sensation at his back, and he wants to turn around, but he doesn’t. Hao’s hand, fingers soft yet calloused at the tips, is a heavy weight in his own.
They then, quite literally, crash into the others. Matthew’s tie is loose, on the precipice of coming undone, and his top three shirt buttons are open. Gyuvin’s hair is mussed up at the back and has a wild expression on his face, with sauce staining one corner of his mouth. Ricky, trailing behind them, looks exceptionally put together for the heist they’re pulling off.
“Ricky spilled soup on Yaebin-ssi’s dress,” Gyuvin says excitedly to Hanbin as a greeting.
“Awesome.” Hanbin claps his hands together in prayer. “We’re going to die.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Ricky tries. “Do you think she’ll kill me quickly or make me suffer?”
Hao, who is standing beside Hanbin, releases their hands and makes his way over to Ricky, probably to console him. It’s only a few steps, but the fur throw he’s wearing obscures the floor in front of him from view. Then someone dancing, inebriated by the looks of it, knocks into him, and Hao stumbles in slow motion—right into one of the decorative pillars.
The flowers, in some sort of centerpiece, a vase-like thing made of white ceramic, tumble onto the floor. The thing shatters like constellations in the sky, cracked shards like eggshells flying across the ground and water spraying. Someone nearby shouts. Hao does, too, and Hanbin automatically reaches out to steady him. Things pause for a second, everyone unsure of what to do. Across the venue, the security guards spot them, pointing.
“Go, go, go,” Matthew barks, clearly noticing them too.
“Don’t have to tell me twice!” Gyuvin yelps.
Hanbin leads the way, hurriedly guiding them through the crowds, all of them slightly hunched down to escape detection. The guards are amateurs. But even if they weren’t, the number of sloshed individuals throwing crazy shapes on the dance floor and laughing around dinner tables are ample cover.
He keeps Hao close, reaching out for him when the distance grows more than thirty centimeters. In a line following after them are Matthew, Gyuvin, and Ricky—in that order.
From the crowd, someone shouts, “What the f*ck are these kids doing?”
“How many times have you had to run from security at a wedding?” Hanbin asks, breathlessly.
“Well, never,” Hao pants, with a wide grin on his face. “I’ve literally never had a serious call for my ads before.”
“That explains the awkward acting,” Hanbin nods, trying for a reaction. He gets one.
“Excuse me?” Hao pouts. “That’s not what you said earlier.”
It’s not enough to escape the reception hall. Once free of the doors, they sprint for the exit, their dress shoes slipping on the shiny tile floors. Hanbin hears Matthew’s whoops of laughter and an impressive expletive from Ricky, who up until this point had been quite subdued.
They explode into the autumn night air—which is just on the side of brisk, their breath coming out in puffs of fog and cold air stinging the inside of his nose. Hanbin is sweating in his suit, so the chill of it is soothing on his heated skin. They slow to a stop in the parking lot, the two guards not wanting to pursue them further than the front entrance. Hao puts his hands on his knees and lets out a tired groan underneath the frigid glow of street lamps and neon signs.
Matthew whips out his phone, typing something furiously (probably trying to smooth things over with Yaebin), while Ricky and Gyuvin share a hushed conversation next to a blue Hyundai.
“Do you act a lot?” Hanbin asks Hao innocently.
Hao huffs. “Shut up.”
“I’m just trying to understand a few things about tonight. And your listing, I suppose.”
“I specialize in a wide range of fields, through which I am compensated for my expertise.”
Hanbin breathes air quickly out of his nose. “Side hustles. You have a lot of side hustles to pay the bills.”
“Exactly.”
Matthew takes a call, anI'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, that guy is super rich he'll pay for the dry cleaning, breaking through the night. Distantly, they hear the roar of car tires on the roads, the buzz of conversation as people distantly walk to their cars, and the rush of a light wind past their ears.
“Thank you, though,” Hanbin says.
“For what?” Hao laughs. “I knocked over a vase and I think people are going to start spreading rumours about your friend’s family.”
“Yeah,” Hanbin shrugs. “But I’ll remember it.”
Something in Hao’s face softens. He steps into Hanbin’s space and curls a hand around his arm. His entire world narrows to the point in which they touch. Something in Hanbin’s stomach drops like he’s on a rollercoaster, unadulterated (and utterly pathetic) exhilaration pounding drum beats inside him. “Hey. I don’t live too far from here.”
Hanbin’s breath hitches, searching for minute expressions on Hao’s face to confirm that he means what he’s saying. “Maybe we could finally have that drink.”
“I’d like that.”
Gyuvin coughs obnoxiously from where he’s leaning against a stranger’s car. “You two done?”
Matthew makes a face. “I don’t know if I like this.”
“Honestly, I think things are about to get worse for the two of us. The only net positive here is that I’ll probably be seeing Ricky more often.”
“No,” Ricky says, point blank. “Why would you think that?”
“What?” asks Gyuvin, crestfallen.
“I’ll drive you home,” Hanbin offers, directed at Hao, ignoring the complaints and gripes from the others about sorting out transportation. He grips his keys so tightly in his pocket that they make indents in his palms, the edges cutting deep to ground himself. His heart ricochets, two hundred beats per minute as he waits for his reply.
“Okay,” Hao agrees.
They share their first kiss in the elevator ride up, unable to make it all the way to Hao’s apartment, and uncaring of the camera light that blinks in the top corner. They stop and straighten their clothes just before an elderly lady gets in on one of the floors. She glares at them and the miniature poodle in her arms wears the same expression. When she exits after two floors, they laugh breathlessly.
Hanbin stands behind Hao and nips at his shoulder as the latter fumbles with the code to his front door. They rush in, Hao immediately throwing off the fur throw, uncaring that it lands in a pile of clothes in the living room.
It’s a Seoul apartment. Space is always limited. Hanbin backs Hao up against the door and kisses him, hot and desperate.
“You live like this?” Hanbin asks, trailing kisses down Hao’s neck. He smells faintly of some citrusy cologne, but mostly of warm skin. He’s not ashamed to say that he takes an inhale so deep that it leaves him light-headed—though maybe that’s just a side-effect of kissing Hao.
“It’s my roommate’s stuff, mostly,” Hao explains shakily. “He’s in a theatre group doing costuming.”
And it makes sense where Hao got his mafia getup. One of Hao’s hands comes up to grip the hair on the back of Hanbin’s head, which goes right to his dick. Hao draws Hanbin back to his mouth and Hanbin sucks on Hao’s lower lip to tease. It feels like the room is one thousand degrees, both of them overheating, driven by the same wild need to get their hands on each other.
Hao tastes mostly of the mint that he ate in the car ride over, with the aftertaste of the fruity drink he had at the reception. He’s holding Hao’s face as their mouths move together, the two of them breathing heavily. He slides one hand down and into Hao’s suit jacket, giving in to the persistent craving to hold him, the one that’s tormented half the night. Hao’s waist, small and tapered, curves perfectly in his hand. Hanbin, admittedly, has always been enthusiastic, able to go from neutral to sixth gear in about two seconds flat, ready for whatever. He's genuinely afraid, in this moment, that he might just come in his pants, up against a door, untouched.
Hanbin feels the lines of Hao’s abs tense up as Hanbin licks into his mouth. Hao’s jaw goes slack as he releases a soft noise, and he lets Hanbin do as he pleases for a moment before tilting his head and taking back control of the kiss. His brain shuts down, playing television static—just wants, wants, wants, a shamefully primal thing. Hanbin presses Hao harder against his front door, Hao’s hard co*ck against Hanbin’s hip. Hanbin releases an unsteady sound.
Hao grips Hanbin’s shoulders tight, then pushes him away. “Okay,” he pants. “Okay. Bedroom. Any more of this and I’ll suck your dick right here.”
“I’m okay with that,” Hanbin frowns, trying not to picture that.
Hao jabs him in his side in retaliation. “The hardwood’s really bad for my knees. Anyway, you should treat me kindly.”
“My mistake, hyung. In my defence, you’re very cute when you pout.”
“Unnecessary flattery.”
Hanbin kisses him again, catching Hao off-guard and his head almost smacks back against the metal of the door. “Completely necessary,” he says. “I’ll say it every single day if you let me.”
Hao looks at him with an unreadable expression. Then he seems to make up his mind, taking Hanbin’s hand and tugging him firmly through the apartment. Hanbin, unwilling to let him go just yet, pulls him close and walks them backwards, hands returning to Hao’s waist. They step over a feather boa lying on the floor, and the absurdity of the situation isn't lost on Hanbin. He almost bursts out laughing, still not quite believing this is real, as they navigate through Hao's living room area.
“God, I love your coffee table,” Hanbin says between kisses. “Where did you get it?”
“Got it vintage from a neighbour,” Hao laughs. “It’s a bit big for our place, though, so we’re trying to get rid of it.”
Hanbin pulls off Hao’s tie and allows it to drop to the floor like a fallen flag—like surrender. “Remind me to ask you about something later.”
Hao petulantly shakes his head, telling him no with a pout before biting at Hanbin’s lip. Then they're in Hao's room, Hanbin’s suit jacket is on the floor, and they’re falling together onto Hao’s bed.
He notices that space is much tidier and almost says something about it, but Hao’s underneath him and his deft fingers are undoing his belt and his hand is sliding in and cupping his half-hard co*ck through his underwear and he—
He groans right into Hao’s neck and Hao snorts out a laugh, asking Hanbin softly if it feels good. The confident touch on his dick has him fully hard in an instant, his mind wiped of all thoughts like a whiteboard at the end of a class. He’s so desperate that it’s almost shameful. Heat radiates, their legs tangled, breath hot and faces close. He’s almost certain his face is flushed. Surely that’s too much, right?
Embarrassed, some confidence lost, he draws back a little.
“I don’t usually do this,” Hanbin says, looking Hao right in the eyes as he does.
“What a line,” Hao replies sarcastically. “I know my hand is down your pants right now, but neither do I. Now kiss me or I’ll kick you out with the one shoe you’ve still got on.”
Blazing, last reservations evidently discarded like clothes littering a bedroom floor, Hanbin laughs and draws their bodies together. Hao’s hard co*ck finally gets some friction, and he gasps prettily into the quiet of his bedroom.
Achingly familiar, Hanbin kisses like he’s known Hao his entire life. It’s fumbling, it’s frenzied, it’s fiery. Hao’s cool skin is warming up underneath his hands as Hanbin helps pull off the rest of their clothes. Hao’s suit is a prop and Hanbin’s is a rental, so neither of them are too worried when they get strewn about. Though Hanbin is still vigilant enough that he won’t get into sh*t when he returns it. He put down a deposit and everything. Hao tells Hanbin he looks like a dork.
Hanbin unlaces Hao’s fake patent leather dress shoes and Hao watches him with half-lidded eyes, lying on his back and not lifting a finger to help. Hanbin thinks he’s gorgeous, all long legs and light muscle. He’s three seconds away from pinching himself, sure he'll wake up soon. Hanbin tugs Hao’s pants off his legs and his socks down his foot and bends down to place a kiss on his bare knee.
These are the simple, unsexy—but essential—tasks. Hanbin wants to have Hao in all the little ways that life allows.
Hao is warm and his hands wander when Hanbin leans back down for a kiss. They’re both in just their underwear, Hanbin co*ck even making a small wet spot which Hao notices and groans at. Hanbin kisses down Hao’s chest, takes a minute to bite right next to his nipple and then soothe the area with his tongue. Hao whimpers at that, a high-pitched, airy sound, then smacks him lightly on the arm as punishment for teasing him so. Hanbin wants him so badly he thinks he’s going to pass away—or just pass out.
Hao's chest heaves, and Hanbin follows the fine line of hair down to the thick waistband of Hao’s underwear. Looking up at him, Hanbin peels them down his legs and Hao automatically moves one of his thighs to make room. Hanbin settles in on his belly, co*ck trapped between his body and the sheets. It throbs but he ignores that.
“Can I…” Hanbin starts.
“I’m clean,” Hao blurts out. “I said I don’t do this often, and I wasn’t lying. You don’t have to, you don’t even have to trust me, that’s fine, I just wanted you to kn—”
Hao’s sentence ends in a shallow gasp as Hanbin licks up his co*ck from root to tip.
“Alright yeah,” Hao says, unable to articulate further.
Hanbin takes his time. He enjoys this, likes to watch his partner come apart, and he likes it even more when they’re demanding, like Hao is. Hanbin runs his hands up the junction of Hao’s thighs, where he’s already discovered Hao is sensitive, then strokes his co*ck lightly. The barest touch to rile him up. He's content to play, licking and sucking lightly. Hanbin pays careful attention to the head of Hao’s dick, drawing it out for as long as he can, before Hao (whose fingers are laced in his hair) tugs at him.
When he takes him into his mouth, Hao makes a soft, punched-out sound. Hanbin refuses to go faster, savouring it, though he’s sure for Hao it’s torturous. He makes it wet, eases him further into the back of his mouth incrementally, uses his tongue on the underside. He has to push down on Hao’s hips at one point to keep him from squirming and thrusting up. He studies what to do to make Hao pull at his hair and clench his fingers in the sheets and look down at him with large eyes, pupils large in the lowlight.
“Hanbin-ah,” he moans, eyebrows close together. It’s been long enough that Hao has stopped trying to stifle himself, and Hanbin loves the little sounds he releases when it starts to feel too good. “Come on come on come on…”
He’s obedient. He’s done a good job. Hanbin draws off Hao’s co*ck and rolls Hao over, bringing him up on his hands and knees. Hao is incredibly easy to maneuver, going wherever he’s placed, though he mutters swears at Hanbin for stopping.
Hanbin’s still in his underwear, co*ck tenting them, and his dick twitches at the sight Hao makes: pretty thighs and the sheer glisten of sweat; mussed up hair; and lips red where he’s bitten them. He drapes himself over Hao’s back, their warmth mixing, and Hao presses up into it with a low noise. This position puts Hanbin’s face right near Hao’s and his clothed co*ck right up against Hao’s ass. He inhales. He's going to come in three seconds at this rate.
“Did you have a plan here?” Hao teases. And Hanbin takes this as a challenge.
Hanbin rolls his hips gently and pecks Hao on the cheek. He begins a steady grind that has the two of them gasping. Hanbin presses his face against the expanse of Hao’s back—broader than he realized, but maybe that’s just an illusion from his tapered waist, with strong dips and curves of muscle. He smooths a hand down to grip at Hao’s hard co*ck, hanging underneath him, and he gives it a few pumps.
His underwear is probably transparent by now with the way he’s been leaking, pressed up against Hao. Somehow that arouses him more.
Hao asks for it faster and he delivers, moving from a steady grind to a quicker pace. Hanbin’s breath is humid against Hao’s back and neck. Hao is panting, too, a bead of sweat dripping down the curve of his cheek. Hanbin considers licking it up.
It’s good. It’s so f*cking good. It can be better.
With some prompting, Hao rolls on his back, co*ck hard and flushed dark against his belly. He reaches out a hand for Hanbin to twine their fingers together, and Hanbin's heart jumps, does figure eights in his chest, and he feels the telltale heat of tears threatening at the corner of his eyes. He holds Hao’s hand longer than he intends, lounges in the stirrings of something within him he hasn’t felt before. He wants to make this last. That probably won't happen. Hao reaches down and strokes himself, impatient and hungry for it.
He takes off his underwear. The fabric is damp, as he expected.
“Hanbin-ah,” Hao growls, his patience evidently running short.
“Do you want to?” he asks.
“Can’t,” Hao whines. “Not… It’s… Didn’t really anticipate this… Um.”
“Okay.” Hanbin rubs his thumb soothingly on Hao’s inner thing where he’s holding him. “We can do something else?”
Hao nods, and they go searching in the bedside drawer for the lube. Hanbin fumbles for it, and in the process drops Hao’s lip balm onto the floor. Hao makes a tsk sound and sighs deeply as they listen to it roll away on the hardwood. Hanbin apologizes bashfully and gives him a kiss for his infinite patience and tolerance.
The kiss gets deep again and Hanbin’s neglected co*ck leaks pitifully on the sheets. He groans into Hao’s mouth, and the Hao pushes him away to get going.
“Legs up,” Hanbin directs, and Hao throws them over Hanbin’s shoulders. Hanbin kneels by his raised thighs and warms up the lube on his fingers, then slicks up Hao’s inner thighs. Hao makes a frustrated noise at the feeling and Hanbin laughs.
Hao raises his head to watch Hanbin’s first thrust between his thighs, the head of his co*ck peeking through. He breathes out heavily and flops back against the bed.
“So good,” Hao says, as Hanbin starts up a steady rhythm that has his chest heaving. “You’re big.”
Hanbin tries not to let that go to his head. His hips stutter. So much for drawing this out.
Hao raises an eyebrow, somehow maintaining his composure when minutes ago he was moaning on all fours. “You like hearing that you’re good? That you’re doing well? That I wish your co*ck was really inside me?”
He’s not sure what to call the sound he makes. It comes from the back of his throat and gets caught there. Hao's praise echoes in his brain and his thighs are warm and tight around him, the glide easy from the excess lube he used. He imagines that he’s actually f*cking him and wonders if Hao would dig his nails into his shoulders, urging him to go faster, as he buries himself inside.
There’s a high moan as Hanbin thrusts harder and Hao moves up the bed. Hao evidently finds this as hot as he does. He's about to come, on the precipice of it anyway, and he tries his best to stave it off for as long as he can. It happens embarrassingly quickly, but he's been on the edge since he kissed Hap up against his door. He's sure he can go again, in five minutes, if desired.
“Could you f*ck me well?” Hao asks. “Could you make it good for me?”
Hanbin reaches down to stroke Hao’s dick. The rhythm isn’t the best, falling apart as he gets close, but it’ll do. There’s sweat building at his hairline and it’s starting to itch, a drop caught his eyebrow that threatens to fall onto skin or into his eye. He concentrates hard, determined not to come until Hao does. Common courtesy, perhaps, but to Hanbin that just feels right. Correct.
“Could you make me come untouched?”
Hanbin twists his hand, thumb brushing right up against one of Hao’s more sensitive spots, and that does it. Hao comes onto his belly with soft, shaky gasps that turn into a tiny moan. Hanbin, whose thrusts get hard and desperate, releases too, and he sighs as he does so. His come mixes with Hao’s own in thick strands. He probably shakes a bit, who knows.
As soon as his strength returns, he lies down beside Hao, reaching up to cup his face and draw him into a kiss. He doesn’t realize his hand is sort of wet when he does it.
“Not that hand,” Hao whines.
Hanbin snorts, apologizes, and kisses him again to make up for it. Hao is ruthlessly demanding, and requests several as penance.
Afterwards, when both of them are (marginally) cleaner and the sweat has dried down, Hao’s stomach growls so loud that it echoes in his bedroom.
“Sorry,” he laughs. “I just realized I didn’t actually eat at the wedding.”
Hanbin studies his features, mentally prepares for the sharpness of rejection and the open wound that follows, when he says, without restraint, “Then let’s eat something together now.”
Hao looks at him as though he’s written in a foreign script and Hao is translating what he means. Hao reaches out his pinky finger to lock it with Hanbin’s. “Stay?” he asks, unsteadily.
Hanbin does.
Four months into dating, Hanbin has memorized the patterns of Hao’s snores and categorized all of his sighs, sorting them into when he wants to be left alone and when he wants to be kissed. He can trace Hao’s beauty marks with his eyes closed and knows exactly what to say to rile him up.
He also knows exactly what to say to wind him down, in the comfort of their tiny apartments, underneath lamplight and the glow of the television, and under the warmth of heavy sheets.
They sit in Hanbin’s apartment, new-old coffee table in front of the television, curled up together because they’re physically incapable of separating. Hao sits half in Hanbin’s lap, much to the faux contention of all their friends.
“So how’d you two meet?” someone asks.
And they tell the whole story again.
