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He wanders, dazed, from aisle to aisle. The pounding in his head worsens with each halting, off-kilter step he takes. He feels as if his skull might split open right then and there, in the middle of the confectionery aisle.
Hao must look like shit because a young woman, dressed in slacks and a cardigan, frowns when she looks up at him. She's currently deciding between the marshmallows and the jelly beans.
“I—I,” Hao stammers as the world spins around him. The woman is already edging away from him, her mouth pinched at the corners. She wants no part of this. “I don't know who I am.”
The world spins once too many. He collapses to the floor in a heap, the fluorescent lights of the store swimming overhead. An involuntary gasp jumps out of him at the cold shock of the tiles, seeping through his clothes.
“Hey!” the woman half-shouts, alarmed. She hurries to crouch down in front of him, her hands hovering over him like she's unsure if it's a good idea to touch him. “Hey, are you okay?”
He vaguely registers a click of shoes at his side, a shadow hanging over the woman.
“Oh, honey…” A sympathetic voice, a warm hand on his forehead. “Did it happen again?”
The woman relaxes, glad to cross paths with someone who appears to be familiar with Hao. “Um, he just fell now. He looks pretty out of it.” After another glance, she adds, “He said he didn't know who he was…” She trails off, polite but clearly hoping this stranger is better equipped to deal with this than she is.
“Yes, he has these fits sometimes. I'm his husband. Thank you for your concern.” A quick bow, before he crouches down next to Hao.
She nods back and, after hesitating for a moment, leaves with a certain air of relief.
Hao must have misheard him. He squints at him, at the pretty slope of his nose, the curve of his mouth, the fall of dark hair over his forehead. Handsome, in a way that makes his heart jump. “Who are you?”
The man smiles softly. “I'm Hanbin. Your husband.”
Hao shakes his head in confusion, pulling away from him. “I don't…”
“Remember?” Hanbin fills in. His expression is placid, like he'd been expecting this. “Dr. Park said you might have more fits.”
Hao stares at him. He feels like he's underwater right now; Hanbin's lips are moving, but he can't grasp the words leaving them. “I don't believe you.”
Hurt flashes over Hanbin's face, before his tepid smile re-emerges. “You didn't believe me the last time, either. Or the time before that.” He pauses. “Please let me take you home. You're safe with me, I promise.”
Hao stares at him some more, then looks down at his own hand. He's wearing rings on his thumb and pointer finger, but his ring finger is bare. That seems very unlike him. If he were married, he would want everyone to know it. “I don't have a ring?”
“You lost yours recently,” Hanbin says easily, thumb sweeping the back of his hand. “I'm picking your new one up tomorrow. It was a custom order, when we first got them. So we could match, see?” He holds his hand out, drawing Hao's eye to the silver band on his own ring finger. It has an engraving too small for him to read from this position.
“We had a beautiful wedding,” Hanbin continues, still in that soft voice. “In Jeju, out by the sea. I couldn't take my eyes off you. We both cried. You don't remember?” When Hao shakes his head, Hanbin only smiles. “Well, that's okay. I remember enough for the both of us.”
Hanbin helps him stand up, then leads him out to a white car in the parking lot. Neither of them are carrying shopping bags. Was Hao shopping? He doesn't remember. They must have been shopping together, if they're married. But Hanbin had had no carts or baskets around him. Or maybe he's wrong. He feels like he's seeing everything through a hazy layer of film.
Subtly, he tries to locate a phone on his person and comes up short. He's not even carrying ID.
My name is Zhang Hao, he thinks. I'm twenty-seven years old. And… And what? That's all he knows.
“Can you call my mom?” he blurts out. He feels like he must have a mom. There's a warmth in the back of his mind when he considers that abstract concept of family; she must exist. And Hanbin, as his supposed husband, would know that.
Hanbin glances at him, a worried line forming between his brows. “Your mom has been dead for three years, baby. We went to her funeral together.”
Hao falls silent.
Home is an apartment building on the fifth floor. Hanbin holds his hand as they enter the living room and catches Hao's frown at how devoid of life it is.
“It must look strange, right? Because of how empty it is. But we only moved in about a week ago. We didn't take much stuff from our old place.”
“Why not?”
“We wanted to turn over a new leaf,” Hanbin says lightly. “We only brought a few things with us. Makes it easier, doesn't it?”
Hao nods, slowly. Half of him expects a camera crew to jump out of the shadows and yell surprise! The other half just wants to sleep.
At his side, Hanbin projects total serenity. “Do you wanna take a shower? Or do you just want to wash up and go to bed?”
“Wash up,” he mumbles. He sways on his feet. “But painkillers first. I don't feel too good…”
Hanbin watches as he downs two Ibuprofen tablets, then leads him to the bathroom to brush his teeth. When Hao's hand shakes, Hanbin takes over for him. His touch is gentle but Hao remains tense, scared that if he allows himself to relax he may immediately pass out in Hanbin's arms.
He still hasn't made his mind up.
“I want proof we're married,” he says once they're in the bedroom, also devoid of life.
Hanbin smiles a little. “Good thing you asked for this last time, too. I already have it out.” He digs around for a moment in one of the boxes at the foot of the bed and pulls out a piece of paper which he immediately hands to Hao.
Their marriage certificate. Hao's signature, a swirling ZH, is written without flare. Hanbin's initials are alongside his.
The hesitation doesn't abate, but even he's aware he has no basis for it. He places the certificate back in the box. “Thanks. Sorry to…”
Hanbin shrugs. “It's okay, baby. You just want to be sure, I understand that.”
When Hao glances around for his sleepwear, Hanbin gestures to the huge closet at the other end of the room. Hao trots over and examines its innards; a lot of the clothes have a shiny, new look to them, without even one wrinkle.
Hanbin is watching him, waiting for him to pick something out, so Hao decides to test him. “Choose for me.”
Hanbin doesn't hesitate. He reaches for a grey pair of shorts which have an almost fluffy feel in Hao's hands. Then he pulls his shirt off, handing that over too. Hao tries not to stare.
In the ensuing silence, Hanbin appears faintly embarrassed. “Sorry. You don't have to wear it if you don't want to, obviously. But you usually like wearing my shirts to sleep.”
Hao does end up wearing the shirt. He's hoping to provide himself with some sense of normality, to send out a plaintive signal to his past self that some version of them still exists.
It's no hardship. Hanbin has a nice scent.
“Here, baby,” Hanbin murmurs, sitting on the edge of the bed. Steam rises from the cup of tea in his hands. “I know how stressed you get when it happens again, I can't imagine. This will help.”
Hao accepts, savouring the taste on his tongue with each sip. Hanbin waits for him to finish, his hand rubbing Hao's leg over the covers, and takes the mug back to the kitchen as soon as he's done.
It only strikes him right before he's about to fall asleep that the apartment has no pictures.
He's thankful for the approximation of a tour Hanbin gave him last night — Hao practically flies into the bathroom as soon as he wakes up, kneeling over the toilet. His stomach feels like it's shredding.
His throat, too, at that.
He shouldn't be this sick.
He must have woken up Hanbin with the dramatics. Hao registers his footsteps behind him, then soft hands brushing his longer strands of hair out of his face.
“It's okay, it's okay,” he says to Hao, almost cooing. “Just get it all out, honey.”
“Hurts,” he chokes out in response, the ache in his knees welcome. On the pain scale, it's a dull two compared to the roaring eight in his throat.
Kneeling behind him now, Hanbin rubs his back. “I know, baby, I know. But it's almost over, okay? You're almost there.”
After a few more minutes he wipes his mouth and shuffles on the tiles, so he can at least get a partial glimpse of Hanbin's worried face. “I want to speak to my doctor.”
Hanbin doesn't even blink. “Dr. Park? Well, sure, honey. But we spoke to him yesterday, at the clinic. He said that another lapse would be expected.”
Hao doesn't remember any of this, but Hanbin well knows that. “I want to speak to him,” he repeats, attempting to inject force into his voice.
“Of course. But he's a busy man, baby. He might not pick up.”
Hanbin's prediction is accurate. Hao sits back on his haunches and listens to Hanbin leave a voicemail, his free hand cupping the nape of Hao's neck.
“I picked up your ring,” Hanbin announces. Hao blinks at him. He'd almost forgotten.
With a soft smile, Hanbin slides his new ring onto his finger. It's a perfect fit. And it's a pretty ring.
“There we go,” Hanbin says, relief intermingling with something unnameable. He brushes his thumb over the band. “Now we're back to matching.”
He's twisted the band so that the engraving is visible. Yours, forever, it reads.
Hao looks up at him. “Do you know where my phone is?”
“Your phone?” Hanbin crosses the room to open a drawer of Hao's nightstand, fishes around for a second, then presents Hao with a brick phone. “It's right here, jagi. You don't tend to take your phone with you when we're out together. You must have left it here before we went to the store.”
“I…” Hao takes the phone, a little numbly. “I don't have a smartphone?”
Hanbin tilts his head slightly. “You don't like smartphones, honey. You got rid of yours last year, said you were getting addicted.” He pauses. “But if you want, I can buy you one…?”
“No, no, that's okay.” He turns the phone over in his hand. “Thank you, Hanbin.”
Hanbin's face pinches, like he's just taken a bite from a particularly sour lemon.
“What?”
“Sorry. It's just…” He chews on his lip. “I'm not used to you calling me by my name. It's always either husband or hyung.”
Hao blinks, processing this newfound knowledge. It's a little cheesy, a little juvenile, but he's never pretended to dislike cheesiness in his relationships. He chooses to instead focus on the fact Hanbin's just provided. “You're older?”
Hanbin's expression flickers for a mere moment. “Yep. By a year.”
Hao nods. For some reason, calling Hanbin hyung seems much more flirty than calling him husband.
“Husband,” he tests, and Hanbin's entire being brightens. He has a contagious smile. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you,” Hanbin says with an odd touch of reverence. He finds Hao's hand and lifts it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, head bowed in devotion.
When Hanbin goes to wash up, Hao checks; Hanbin's is the only number programmed into his contacts. Under husband ♡.
He sleeps. A lot. For most of the day, actually.
Hanbin doesn't seem to mind. Whenever he comes home to find Hao passed out on bed or in the couch, he only presses a light kiss to his forehead and cuddles with him or starts on dinner. If Hao brings up this state of constant fatigue to him in conversation later, Hanbin shrugs and says that it's his brain telling him it wants a rest.
In his rare lucid moments, when Hanbin is at work and Hao is left alone in the apartment, he doesn't have the energy to do what he should be doing. What he thinks he should be doing. There must be something. But he's so sapped of life that he often elects to crumple into a pile in the entryway instead, waiting for Hanbin to coo over him when he arrives home, as one might do with a loyal puppy.
Once, he acquires enough awareness that he remembers he's not a prisoner here. He can leave if he wants to, wander around the neighborhood for some fresh air.
But the keys bowl next to the door is empty. And the door is locked when he tries it. Which makes sense, obviously. Hanbin wouldn't want to leave an invalid in an unlocked apartment. An invalid who is also his husband, he should say.
But the keys. Surely he should have his own set of keys. Maybe they're somewhere else in the apartment.
He searches it. Hao hasn't had the opportunity to do that until now. He has to move slowly, take frequent breaks. At least he’s moving. At least he’s conscious. He must be getting better.
The kitchen is stocked with food. Some of their veg is getting moldy so Hao throws it out. There's no fridge magnets, no photos stuck to the door.
The living room is much of the same, as he already knows. It's clean of everything except furniture and a take-out pamphlet that Hanbin must have discarded on the table. He rests on the couch for a moment, breathing shallowly with his head in his hands.
Only the bedroom and bathroom left. The apartment is compact but not cramped. Probably because they seem to own nothing.
He rifles through the stacks of clothes in their closet, which turns up nothing except the vague inkling that his past self was some sort of fashion guru. That would explain the expensive, branded clothing he seems to buy, in comparison to Hanbin's casualwear.
His nightstand is home to nothing other than dust. In Hanbin's nightstand he finds only a full bottle of lube, which embarrasses him for reasons he can't identify. He snaps the drawer shut.
It's obvious his keys won't be in the bathroom, but he checks anyway.
They own a small assortment of skincare — moisturisers, sunscreens, toners. The bottles are grouped together on the shelf above the sink. Most of them are full.
He ends up sitting on the edge of the bathtub, white-knuckled around the porcelain. He doesn't move, not even when Hanbin comes home and he hears his steps throughout the apartment, gradually increasing in urgency. Hao's heartbeat quickens in response, like he's really being chased.
“Baby?” Hanbin calls out, an edge to his voice. Inexplicably, the urge to hide sweeps over him.
The bathroom door swings open. “There you are,” he says with palpable relief. He kneels before him without a second thought, eyes searching him. “Is everything okay, honey?”
Hao focuses on him with a degree of effort. “Where are my keys?”
Hanbin frowns, taken aback. “Your house keys? Are they not in your jeans pocket? You took them with you when we went to the store.”
They track down his jeans together, unworn since the store. The pockets are empty.
Hanbin looks apologetic. “They must have fallen out when you fainted in the store, baby. I'll get some new ones cut soon.” He reaches out to rub Hao's hip, face a mask of curiosity. “Did you try to leave today?”
“I wanted to go for a walk,” he whispers. Shame, inexplicably, heats his neck. “Get some fresh air.”
“Oh! Of course, how silly of me.” Hanbin's smile is warm. “Why don't we try tomorrow?”
Next come the fevers.
They're so bad that Hanbin takes time off work to look after him, something that Hao feebly protests and Hanbin subsequently ignores.
“My poor baby,” he keeps on murmuring, over and over, as he presses another damp cloth to Hao's forehead or fusses with the pillows again.
He drifts in and out of consciousness. Hanbin plies him with soup whenever he's awake enough to eat, propped up against the pillows. It's often too salty but he can't muster up the energy to provide feedback.
“Husband,” he whimpers from his mound of blankets, some time after the onset of his illness. He doesn't know what day it is, how long he's been sick for, but he does know that Hanbin's been at his side the entire time. Surely that must count for something. “Dr. Park.”
“Okay, honey,” he soothes. “We'll call him.”
He watches blearily as Hanbin reaches for his phone, scrolling for a few seconds before tapping the screen. His lockscreen is a picture of Hao he doesn't remember taking. A dial tone sounds out, then cuts off as the line picks up. Hao breathes a silent sigh of relief.
Dr. Park sounds calm, trustworthy. He asks how Hao is doing. Still very much disoriented, he looks to Hanbin to answer for him, which he does.
When Hao sags against him, eyes closing, Hanbin takes Dr. Park off speaker and talks to him in low tones. Their voices fade in and out. Hao doesn't catch much of what they say, but Hanbin's hand is steady in his hair so he must not be in great danger.
When Hanbin hangs up, the silence feels strange in his ears.
Hao moves to curl around him in a half-hug. “Thank you,” he croaks, “for taking care of me.” Underneath his palm, Hanbin's heart hammers.
Hanbin swallows. “Of course, baby,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to his sweat-damp hair. “But don't thank me for that. Taking care of you is what I'm here for.”
Hanbin goes to pick up his prescription for him while Hao wallows in bed, staring through half-lidded eyes at the window. He feels all wrong, like his insides are jumbled up. It has nothing to do with the fever. He strains, trying to cast his mind back to before his fit, as Hanbin calls them, in the hopes of dredging up a memory. Just one memory, something that will tell him who he is.
He soon gives up, frustrated. It's like trying to fit a thread through a comically small eye of a needle, a chain that refuses to connect.
Hanbin comes home and kisses his cheek before disappearing into the bathroom. He leaves the medication on the bed, next to Hao's prone body. It looks legitimate. His name is printed in bold on the label.
“How are you feeling, baby?” Hanbin asks when he reappears, his thumb stroking underneath Hao's eye. “Your skin is a little cooler.”
“Don't know,” he mutters, eyes closing. “The same.” His nose twitches. “I like your perfume.”
Hanbin's smile is audible. “It's your favorite scent on me. You told me that a month after we started dating. I've never worn another perfume since.”
Hao exhales, a small oh. He's so tired.
Hanbin brings him more soup. He tells Hao he crushed the medication and stirred it into the liquid. Hao believes him, because with each small mouthful he feels reinvigorated.
He finishes the soup without Hanbin having to coax him once. Bowl emptied, he smacks his lips. “I feel better.”
Hanbin watches him with a proud smile and the brightness of love in his eyes. It's practically overflowing from him. How silly of him to ever question if Hanbin was his husband.
“That's great, honey, I'm glad to hear that. But let's take it one day at a time, hm? We'll see how you feel tomorrow.”
When tomorrow rolls around, Hao sticks to his expert opinion.
Hanbin showers him with kisses before he leaves for work, drawing a promise out of Hao that he'll call as soon as he feels amiss. Hao only realises he's smiling when the door closes behind him.
He expects the illness to return. It doesn't. His mind feels clearer than it ever has.
Whenever he thinks of Hanbin, a small seed of doubt shows its face. But that's ridiculous. Who else would take care of him like this, if not his husband?
“Hyung,” he starts, and Hanbin hums inquisitively. “Why is yours the only number I have on my phone?”
Hanbin's hand doesn't pause in its absent caressing. Hao's come to learn for himself how tactile Hanbin is, how much he likes always having a hand curved around Hao's waist or his thigh. Hao likes it too; he can admit at least that much.
Hanbin stretches his legs out. “Well, it is a new phone, honey. By the time your fits started happening, I was the only person you really spoke to. You would go to see Dr. Park in person, or ask me to call him. Your mom passed away some time ago. You're an only child.”
Hao shifts in his seat at this onslaught of information, aligning it with his self-image. “But…didn't I have friends?”
“Of course you did. You were very popular, everyone loved you.” A sudden tightness laces his voice, though it soon recedes. “But when your fits started happening, it was obvious that none of those people were really your friends. They thought you were a problem, a burden. They never reached out to you or me to check how you were doing.”
His vision blurs; he blinks the tears away frantically. Hanbin sees this and makes a noise of sympathy, pulling him into a hug.
“I know, baby. It's terrible, right?” A kiss to Hao's hair. “Truth be told, I was angry. Very angry. You gave your friends so much of you and they never even cared. Despicable people.” Hanbin nudges his chin with a knuckle so they can make eye contact, so Hao can see Hanbin's sincerity for himself. “That's why it's good we have each other. I'm gonna take care of you just like I always have, okay?”
He nods, caught in Hanbin's eyes. So much love there.
A thought pops into his head. “What about work? My job?”
“You don't work,” Hanbin says patiently. “You used to be a music teacher. But they let you go when the fits started happening. Said that you were a great teacher but you were too much of a liability to have around the kids.”
“Oh.” That sounds, unfortunately, reasonable. He can't imagine teaching music to anyone in his current state. He leans into Hanbin, seeking comfort. “Do we…do we manage?”
Hanbin kisses his temple. “Of course, honey. You never have to worry about that. I've worked hard to get to where I am today.”
“Well,” he starts bravely, “maybe I should start looking for something, anyway. So I can get out of the house and contribute a bit. Even something part-time?”
“No.” The response is swift. Hanbin's voice is cold in a way he hasn't heard before. Sensing Hao's shock, he quickly adjusts, sweetening his tone and stroking Hao's back. “It's just risky, baby, with your fits and all. I'd be worrying about you the whole time. What if you pass out and hurt yourself?”
Hao deflates. “But…”
Hanbin lets out a small sigh. “I'm sorry,” he offers, intertwining their fingers. His thumb grazes the silver of Hao's wedding ring. “What about if we re-evaluate in a few months? See if your symptoms have improved any. Then we can try it out, how does that sound?”
He nods. “Okay. I'd like that.”
Once he finishes the medication Dr. Park prescribed for him, Hanbin agrees that he can leave the apartment for the first time. They're running low on food, anyway, so Hao proposes a little shopping trip. Something for him to fill the time with when Hanbin is at work.
Hanbin's smile remains at the suggestion but the skin around his eyes tightens minutely, tiny wrinkles forming. They disappear when Hao leans into him and kisses his cheek.
The store is only around the corner from their apartment. A five-minute walk, maximum, but Hanbin had still tested the route with him beforehand. He takes Hao's recovery seriously; he insists, no less than three times, that Hao remember to wear his mask as soon as he's out of their front door.
He makes it there without incident, a little jumpy but otherwise enjoying himself. He wishes he could say the same of his time in the store itself.
He's about three-quarters of the way into their list before a sharp pain stabs in his left temple, strong enough that he sways on the spot. Instantly, he can't help but be gripped with the fear that it's happening again, that he'll be left a mere shell of himself and Hanbin will be forced to pick up the pieces.
He clutches his head, praying for the pain to subside. And it does. Yet he's still left with an odd, apprehensive feeling, like his mind is alert for danger that he can't see. But Hao wants to see. He wants to scratch at that nub in the back of the brain which must hold his memories, like varnish with his nail, like all he needs is one tiny chip to fall loose for the rest of it to be brought into the light.
He's shaking, he realises. His breaths are coming thin and quick, his lungs struggling for air.
When he fumbles for his phone, he drops it and watches as it skids across the tiles. A child, a toddler of maybe three, hands it to him with wide eyes.
Hanbin picks up after two rings.
“Husband?” His voice breaks. “I feel really…wrong. Can you come and get me?”
He's crying, tears rolling down his cheeks. He doesn't even know why. He's just tired of feeling so off, of having such a tenuous grasp on reality and his sense of self.
This is where Hanbin finds him, in the lone bathroom the store has. Mentally, he drafts a note of apology to anyone else in need of it. Hao folds himself into a ball underneath the sink, forehead on his knees, for once uncaring of how dirty the floor probably is.
Hanbin takes this scene in stride; Hao hadn't realised that, in the state he is, he'd forgotten to lock the door.
Hanbin drops to his knees next to him, his arms winding around his body. That action brings Hao such a strong sense of relief he almost starts crying again.
Wiping away his tear tracks for him, fingertips soft against his skin, Hanbin looks him over carefully. “What's wrong, honey? Did something happen?”
“Just feel all weird. I want to go home,” he mumbles, pausing midway to sniffle. Hanbin's arms tighten around him in response, drawing Hao against his chest. Then he remembers his abandoned cart full of their food for the next week, likely still in the aisle. “But the shopping…”
“Don't worry about that,” Hanbin dismisses immediately. “The shopping can wait. You're much more important.”
Another prickle of tears. His husband. How did Hao find this kind of love?
He tries to stand but his legs are shaking too much, knees knocking together. So Hanbin stands for him, lifting him up in a bridal carry with ease.
He doesn't forget to pull up Hao's mask for him but Hao hides his face in Hanbin's neck anyway, trying to listen for his pulse.
He wakes up feeling much better. Dawn of a new day and all that.
He decides to return to the store, shopping list clutched so tightly in his hand some of the writing smears. A young staff member shoots him a tentative smile when she sees him walk in. She was probably there when Hanbin carried him out yesterday, which is incredibly embarrassing but nothing to resent her for, so he smiles back.
Fortunately, he makes it through without incident. Even holding Hanbin's credit card is enough to bring him comfort.
When Hanbin gets home and sees that the fridge is back to its usual state of bursting, he smiles and praises Hao, pulling him in for a kiss. Hao feels indescribably elated, like he's been pumped full of air and will start bouncing off the walls if he's not careful.
He thinks he's in love. He thinks this must be love.
“Husband,” he whispers one day, a second before Hanbin is about to switch off the lamp, “do you…I want to feel you inside me.”
Hanbin goes comically still, his hand paused in mid-air. Hao watches it lower slowly. “Of course, baby.” His hand skims over the covers. “I'm sorry for neglecting you.”
He draws Hao into an unrelenting kiss, tongue warm and searching.
Even at the start, when Hao couldn't be sure regarding the true status of their relationship, he was undeniably attracted to him. Of course he would end up marrying him, the epitome of his type. But even without the physical chemistry, it should've been obvious. Hanbin is sweet and doting but with an air of security and protectiveness that Hao has always secretly coveted. Yes, of course he would marry him.
“I'm sorry if I'm too excited, honey,” Hanbin breathes, kneading the soft fat of his thighs, “but it's been a while since we've done this.”
He enters him slowly. Hao catches a faint tremor to his hands as he lines up. He hears a sound that's half-grunt, half-moan leave his own mouth. It takes him aback for a moment.
When Hanbin is sheathed to the hilt, Hao grasps his shoulder. “Kiss me,” he demands. Hanbin does, naturally; Hao likes having this power over him.
Hao tips his head back when Hanbin starts to thrust. This feels good, familiar, like his body knows the patterns of movement, a well-worn rhythm.
“Hyung,” he moans.
“I have you,” Hanbin whispers. “I have you, baby, I have you.” In his mouth, it sounds like a prayer.
Hanbin comes quickly, shaking through it endearingly. He carries on fucking Hao, at first sloppily then single-mindedly once he's recovered.
“I love you.” That omnipresent soft undertone to his voice has been replaced with a rawness, like the words have been summoned from somewhere deep inside. “I love you so much. Never forget that.”
“I won't,” Hao says, and means it.
It must be Saturday today, because he wakes up with Hanbin still sleeping behind him. His arm is draped over Hao's waist, his breath tickling the back of his neck. Hao mellows in that feeling: protection, safety, love.
Saturdays are his favourite. For breakfast, Hanbin grabs pastries from the nearby bakery and watches fondly as Hao gorges himself. They do chores together, the time-intensive ones which Hao neglects during the week because he prefers having Hanbin's company. Even with a late start, that leaves a lot of time left in the day. He'd once asked Hanbin what they usually did on weekends, how he and Hao's old self spent time together, and Hanbin had replied with a vague oh, this and that.
At sunset they go for short walks around the neighborhood, Hao's hand tucked into the crook of Hanbin's elbow. Hanbin says sunset is his favorite time of day because that's when he first saw Hao, walking home from work with his headphones on. Hanbin says it was love at first sight for both of them, that they got married quickly. Hanbin says he falls in love with Hao more and more every day.
Hao wishes he could remember. He truly does.
Hanbin shifts behind him, waking up with a small stutter to his breathing. His arm flexes, dragging Hao closer so they're pressed up against each other. A gentle kiss is dropped on his shoulder.
Hanbin must think he's still asleep; he stays quiet, electing to simply trail his fingertips up and down the thin skin of the inside of Hao's forearm.
Hao stretches exaggeratedly, their legs knocking against each other underneath the covers. Hanbin's hand slides down to his hip, fingers curling into the dip. Coyly, he shifts against him. “Morning, husband.”
“Good morning, baby.” Hanbin's voice is deliciously rough from sleep. He arches over Hao so they can kiss in greeting. They nudge their noses together, Hanbin's smile bumping against his cheek. “You're in a sweet mood today.”
“It's Saturday,” he whispers, like that explains everything. Hanbin turns him onto his back and kisses him again, slow and deep.
Hao's toes curl, a ghost of want warming his chest. Hanbin kisses him like he's trying to imprint the shape of his mouth on Hao's, like there's nothing else in the world he'd rather be doing. It's electrifying.
In the living room, a freshly-showered Hanbin squeezes his waist before patting him on his rear. “Why don't you watch some TV? I'll be back before you know it.”
“Okay.” He plops onto the couch obediently. “Can you put the news on for me, hyung? I don't know how to get to it.”
“The news?” Hanbin echoes. He wears a strange expression, almost amused. “I'm sorry, honey, we only have streaming. Why don't you find something on Netflix instead and I can buy you a newspaper tomorrow? Then we can try the Sunday crossword together.”
Hao shrugs. “Sounds good,” he says, and accepts Hanbin's goodbye kiss.
Hanbin is late back from work today. Not enough to cause concern but enough for Hao to keep flicking his eyes towards the clock. Thirty minutes now. Maybe traffic was especially bad today.
An hour later, he curls up on the couch with a small bowl of ice cream, giving into his hunger pangs. He could heat up their dinner instead but that feels like a betrayal.
Bored, Hao already cooked their dinner in the early afternoon. Last week Hanbin gave him a recipe book and Hao has been working his way through the pages, slowly but surely.
He perks up when the door opens, automatically puckering his lips as Hanbin approaches. Their lips meet softly, Hanbin leaning over the back of the couch. His hair is a mess, like he's been running his hands through it.
“Sorry I'm late, honey,” Hanbin says, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Had to work overtime to fix some numbers. Just wanted to get back home to you, it was all I could think about.”
Hao smiles, pleased. “Really?”
“Of course. I'm surprised you still have to ask.” Hanbin fans a hand through his hair, fingers stretching across the roots. “Ah, you're too cute like this.”
Wordlessly, Hao offers him a spoon of his ice cream.
Hanbin chuckles and shakes his head, shooting a glance at the TV. “That's all for you, don't worry. But can I sit with you?”
Sitting with Hao seemingly involves pulling him into his lap. Hao allows himself to be pulled, limbs loose and relaxed. He thinks there would have been a time where his spine would have grown rigid at the action, but not anymore.
Hanbin rearranges them so they're both more comfortable, then turns his face into Hao's neck with a small sigh. His mouth presses there, a simple touch rather than a kiss, as he breathes him in.
After a few minutes of this, his head pops back up. “Has anything caught your eye recently, honey?”
Hao slips the spoon out of his mouth. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I'm in the mood to buy my baby something,” he murmurs into his neck, squeezing his waist. “Something sweet and pretty, just like him. Have you seen anything you want? A necklace, maybe?”
Hao thinks. During his walk to the grocery store a few days ago, he'd passed a jewellery store with a necklace in the window that had caught his eye. A silver chain, with small sapphire droplets interspersed throughout.
He tells Hanbin this, who only nods and says seriously, “Good. I'll buy it tomorrow.”
He takes it upon himself to deep-clean the apartment. Hanbin hasn't asked him to, but Hanbin doesn't really ask him to do anything. Hao suspects that he could simply lie around in bed all day and Hanbin would be happy, but that's not the type of person he is. He misses teaching — it‘s not like he can summon any memories, but he knows it must have kept him busy.
When the vacuum hits something underneath the bed, against the wall, he crouches down to look.
He pulls out the shoebox with trepidation but also, a little shamefully, eagerness. What does Hanbin hide from him? What is there to hide, clearly significant enough that he's shoved it in a place he hoped Hao would never have reason to look?
Prying open the dusty lid, he pauses.
He goes through it methodically because he has to, mind a jumble of half-formed thoughts. He feels his heart in his throat as he sorts through what Hanbin has curated: pictures of him taken from afar, standing at a bus stop or alone in a cafe or in an apartment different from the one he's currently stationed in, also alone; notes of his daily goings and favorite spots to eat and even a list of people he assumes to be his friends with their own notes; and, most telling of all, is a stack of weatherbeaten missing posters for him, torn at the corners like they've been ripped off whatever they were stuck to. His own smiling face stares back at him. There's a contact number at the bottom of each page, printed in red ink, asking for information.
Hao releases a breath he feels like he's been holding for the past five minutes. Carefully, he neatly arranges everything back into the order he found it. The box is relinquished to its home.
Then, without really thinking about it, he flings his phone out of the window, into the tangled mess of shrubs next to the parking lot. The shrubs likely cushioned its fall but he doesn't care — all he needs to know is that it would be impossible to reach the phone now.
He waits on one of the stools in the kitchen, hands clenched around his knees like a schoolboy awaiting punishment, staring unseeingly ahead. He hears Hanbin before he sees him. The turn of the key in the lock, the shuffle of footsteps on the carpet.
“Hi, baby,” Hanbin greets him from the doorway, an easy smile on his face. Still his husband. Still the man he's in love with. “Everything okay, jagi? You look a little shaky.”
He stands. “I broke my phone,” he blurts out.
Hanbin relaxes, infinitesimally so, only noticeable because Hao was specifically looking for it. “That's okay, honey. We'll just buy you a new one.”
Hao shakes his head wildly. He must look like some kind of terrified, trapped animal because Hanbin frowns and steps closer. “No, I don't want a new one. Just—I don't want any phones.”
“Sure.” Hanbin's frown hasn't abated. He steps closer until the tips of their toes are touching. He hasn't had a chance to take his shoes off yet. “That's okay too. Did something happen?”
He presses a hand to his churning stomach. Just for a second, but enough for Hanbin's eyes to flit towards it.
“No,” he says, sinking into the lie. His heartbeat slows. He reaches out to grasp a fistful of Hanbin's shirt. “No, hyung, I just watched an episode where the main character was being tracked through her phone. It freaked me out, that's all.”
Hanbin's face breaks out into an amused smile as he pulls Hao in for a hug, arms encircling his waist. “A drama made you paranoid, hm?” he teases, hand sneaking up underneath Hao's shirt to stroke his back. “Was it scary?” Hao squeezes his eyes shut and nods into his shoulder. “I bet. But don't be too scared, okay?” His arms tighten around him. “After all, with your husband here to protect you, what's the worst that can happen?”