Chapter Text
Zhang Hao had heaved the bag of clean laundry up a whole two flights of stairs and dumped the contents unceremoniously onto his bed before coming to the realization that these were not his clothes.
Curses flew from his mouth as he rifled through the small mountain of clothing, desperate for a familiar shirt or pair of pants.
Nothing. Although there was a red hoodie that looked like the one he’d lost ages ago and a pair of (highly) distressed jeans that bore a striking resemblance to a pair he owned in high school, those were long gone and this was definitely not the load he had put in the dryer earlier that day.
Zhang Hao sighed. With any luck the owner of the clothes he was shoveling back into his laundry bag would still be there.
“Oh, hell no.” Zhang Hao glared at the boy standing across from him.
Out of all the people’s laundry he could’ve mistakenly taken, it had to be an old flame (from high school no less).
Hanbin considered Zhang Hao from where he was perched on top of a laundry machine. “Zhang Hao. I thought the shit-colored sweater vests looked familiar.”
Thank god he wasn’t trying to be friendly. Fuck the highroad when it came to exes.
“Sung Hanbin,” Zhang Hao smiled with gritted teeth. “Mature as ever, I see.”
He held out his laundry bag. “Seems like there was a bit of mix up.”
Hanbin tossed Zhang Hao his own laundry bag. Zhang Hao eyed it with suspicion.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t dig through your panties.” Hanbin said lazily. “Though I’m sure you looked through mine.”
Zhang Hao opened his mouth to say something snide back, but the door of the laundromat was already swinging shut before he could get a word out. The bell attached to it tinkled irritably.
Phantom anger still burned like a hot brand on the back of Zhang Hao’s neck, even after all this time. And it lingered as he stomped back up the two flights of stairs to his apartment.
It was only when he emptied the new laundry bag onto his bed did he realize something was missing.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Zhang Hao dug through the tangle of clothing, in search of a particular jacket.
It was a jacket from their high school’s dance team. To be specific, it had been Hanbin’s jacket. It was gone.
Ugh! What if Hanbin got the wrong idea about Zhang Hao childishly holding onto this thing from their shared past?
It wasn’t like Zhang Hao missed him. No, he just sometimes got it mixed up with his own jacket. They were basically the same (the only difference being the subtly obnoxious monogrammed name on the front). That’s all. Nothing more.
Zhang Hao shivered as he waited for the next bus to arrive. The fall chill had snuck up on him, and Zhang Hao wished he brought a cardigan with him as he rubbed his arms up and down in a pathetic attempt to warm up.
“Hey.” Ugh, how lucky. “You cold?” Zhang Hao glared at Hanbin’s smirking face.
Zhang Hao was about to retort that no, he wasn’t, but a swath of fabric hitting him in the face cut him off.
Low and behold, it was the stupid jacket from the high school dance team.
Nice.
But beggars can’t be choosers, and Zhang Hao was freezing.
Last time he’d been preoccupied with hating Hanbin’s guts, but the sudden gesture of kindness made the boiling resentment fade to a dull buzz in the back of his skull. And Zhang Hao snuck a better look at Hanbin today.
Hanbin was still wily, but he’d gotten taller. His hair was now a tasteful shade of warm chestnut and it appeared he finally learned how to style it.
“I can’t believe you kept it, after all this time.”
The little shit. Hanbin had waited until Zhang Hao was pulling the jacket over his head to make the comment, when Zhang Hao couldn’t throw hands.
Zhang Hao rolled his eyes and flattened his hair.
“Hanbin, it’s been like two years. It’s not like I'm a widow still clinging onto my husband’s photos after he left for war many moons ago.”
Hanbin just grinned and shouldered his backpack as the bus pulled up to his stop, “Keep it. It always looked better on you anyways.”
To Zhang Hao’s horror, his own cheeks flushed traitorously.
Zhang Hao felt like he was cursed. Otherwise, why else would he be running into Hanbin every other day. But there he was, banging the door shut to a washer when Zhang Hao walked into the laundromat.
The corners of Hanbin’s mouth tilted up in a small smile when his eyes met Zhang Hao’s. His grin widened as his gaze traversed over Zhang Hao’s body and saw that he was wearing Hanbin’s jacket. Zhang Hao could’ve kicked himself for giving Hanbin the satisfaction.
Instead of acknowledging Hanbin’s presence, Zhang Hao focused instead on stuffing his laundry into the closest washer. It was only after he slammed the door close did he realize he’d forgotten his detergent in his apartment.
“Do you want some?” Shit, had Hanbin been watching him the whole time?
Zhang Hao was about to retort, no need, but Hanbin was already shoving the bottle of detergent into his hands.
“Thanks,” he said sullenly and accepted his fate that his clothes were going to smell like Hanbin, and that Zhang Hao would be thinking of him for the entire week.
“No fucking way.”
It was four in the morning for crying out loud.
And yet, here they were again. Both at the laundromat.
Hanbin was skating around the empty parking lot out front on his longboard while waiting for his load to finish.
Zhang Hao paused and watched as Hanbin did a small spin. He stared, hypnotized, as Hanbin hopped on and off his longboard, the sequence of steps were light and delicate like a butterfly.
The sharp buzz of a dryer reminded Zhang Hao that he was here to do laundry, not ogle at his ex-boyfriend. He quickly ducked into the laundromat before Sungbin could catch sight of him.
Evidently Zhang Hao wasn’t fast enough because when he stepped back outside, the other boy was waiting for him.
“Hey.”
Fuck.
When did Hanbin get glasses?
He looked so good, Zhang Hao couldn’t even breathe. Deadass, he thought he was going to pass out. Deceased. Dead at the ripe age of 22.
Hanbin awkwardly rocked back on his heels.
“Do you want to try?”
“Huh?” Zhang Hao’s brain was operating at a severe delay.
Hanbin gestured at his longboard.
“Oh.” Come on, stop acting a fool. “Um, no thank you.” Someone come kill him now.
Hanbin scoffed, “Are you just going to stand there and watch then?”
Zhang Hao was thinking of doing just that.
Hanbin smirked, “You stalker.”
“Whore,” Zhang Hao shot back, snapping out of his stupor.
Big mistake. Hanbin grinned devilishly, peering over the tops of his glasses. He was definitely doing that on purpose. And yeah, Zhang Hao wasn’t going to lie and say that didn’t make him feel some type of way.
“Come on, just try it out.” Hanbin reached out and tugged Zhang Hao over to the longboard.
Sure, why not? If Hanbin could do it, how hard could it be?
Zhang Hao teetered on the board like a newborn fawn, struggling to stand up.
He tentatively tried pushing off, the way Hanbin instructed him to. And the board shot out from under him.
“Hanbin!” Zhang Hao screeched, arms flailing wildly.
Hanbin reached out and steadied him. “Are you okay?” he asked.
With a start, Zhang Hao realized he had Hanbin’s hand in a deathgrip. He couldn’t remember the last time they held hands.
His palms started getting clammy and that freaked him out more than almost eating pavement. Zhang Hao shakily stepped away from Hanbin and let go of his hand.
“Yeah, I think that’s enough for today.”
Zhang Hao sat on the curb and Hanbin squatted down next to him. Together they watched the sun slowly peek over the horizon as they waited for their laundry. The two of them chatted idly about their week, what exams they were studying for, and what shows they had been watching recently. And Zhang Hao attempted to calm his racing heart.
The worst part about it all was that it felt nice. Talking about nothing and hanging out together.
When they broke up, Zhang Hao didn’t just lose his boyfriend, he also lost his best friend.
Would it be so bad to go back to being friends?