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Sung Hanbin is going crazy. 

Which fine, is nothing new. She’s always going crazy about something. The little minions she calls her students not listening, for example. Formations not working for the new idol-group choreography her crew is currently working on, earlier today. And right now, it’s Matthew. Her long time friend dropping into the seat next to her with the biggest shit-eating grin Hanbin’s ever seen. 

But this isn’t just going crazy. This feels closer to insanity. The kind of insanity that starts in your chest, that feels like little needles prickling your skin. The kind that starts in your stomach, the kind that brings a strange, uncomfortable warmth to your face. The kind of insanity that won’t leave you alone even when you close your eyes.

Because Zhang Hao is coming to Seoul.

ฅ^>⩊<^ ฅ

“Unnie,” Matthew says as she hastily hands her a bottle of water, wiping her sweaty hands on her dark sweatpants. Her eyes glint with mischief—the kind that Hanbin hates, because it means she will be in trouble. “You are just not going to believe what I just saw on Insta.”

Hanbin is a curious soul, at the end of the day, so she can’t help but ask, “What did you see?” almost instantly. It can’t be good, judging by Matthew’s expression.

“See for yourself.”

Matthew shoves her phone right in Hanbin’s face.

 And there she is.

Zhang Hao. 

Zhang Hao. 

Zhang Hao.

The legendary Zhang Hao. The woman who moves like wind, who taught Hanbin—all sharp edges and strength in her dancing—how to move softly, silky. The woman Hanbin has been watching for years through a glowing screen, during late nights, with the sunrise shining on her window, with a smile splitting her face, with teary eyes.

And now she’s here. Here. In Hanbin’s city. Offering a masterclass.

Hanbin’s world tilts, literally tilts. She doesn’t even realize that her mouth is hanging open, that her breath has gone shallow, that her heart threatens to beat out of her chest, that her ears, her cheeks, have gone beet-reed.

“Breathe, unnie,” Matthew says, cackling as she strongly smacks Hanbin on the back. Ouch. This girl’s got strength. But that wakes Hanbin up from her stupor. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped breathing, and now her head feels all light and spinning.

On the screen, a minimalist poster gleams in soft pinks and baby blues. Zhang Hao—Contemporary choreography workshop. Limited enrollment. Auditions this tomorrow.

If Hanbin could tear her eyes away from the beautiful sight of her lovely, wonderful, otherworldly Zhang Hao on the poster—all long red hair and beautiful lines—she’d notice Matthew trying her hardest to contain her laughter. 

But all she sees is Zhang Hao.

“You’re kidding,” is the first thing Hanbin says. This has to be a dream. She’s dreaming. “Oh my god. Oh my god. What the fuck.”

“The universe likes you sometimes, unnie.” Matthew’s grin is shit-eating. “But… there’s a small problem.” 

Hanbin’s eyes immediately snap back to the poster. 

Ah. Right. The universe does not like her. 

“Intermediate level,” she mutters, shoulders sagging, heart skinking.  

The first time in years—in literal fucking years years—that the legend of contemporary dance Zhang Hao is offering a masterclass in Seoul, and Hanbin can’t go just because she’s too qualified. 

Jesus Christ, had she known this opportunity would come, she would’ve dropped out of university years ago, would’ve never gotten her degree in performing arts, would’ve never become a teacher at one of the most famous and prominent dance studios in South Korea.

“Which you are not,” Matthew adds helpfully, as if Hanbin didn’t already know she’s a professional dancer.

Hanbin groans loudly, drags a hand through her damp hair, some loose strands falling from her low pony. Zhang Hao. Zhang Hao. Just the mere thought of her makes Hanbin buzz with energy, so much energy that she has to stand, pace around the studio like a mad-lady. Thank god it’s just Matthew here. She doesn’t need her students to see her meltdown over the thought of meeting her long-life idol slash crush.

“I can’t go, Matthew. I’m not an intermediate. She’ll think I’m wasting her time.” Hanbin sounds hysterical, looks hysterical. In the mirror, she sees herself practically running in circles. “I need to be there. I need to meet her. Do you understand how important this is to me? What am I going to do—”

Matthew is suddenly in front of her, strong but small hands grabbing Hanbin’s shoulders, stopping her mindless pacing and looking at her like she’s the dumbest person alive. Which she might be. 

“Don’t tell her.”

Eh? 

“What?”

“Lie. Pretend,” Matthew repeats slowly, emphasizing every word for Hanbin’s slow brain to understand. “I don’t think it’d be that hard to pretend that you aren’t the most talented dancer in the entirety of South Korea, would it?” 

An overstatement in Hanbin’s opinion, but maybe… 

“Besides, we haven’t done contemporary since uni. I bet you’re a bit rusty.”

Hanbin isn’t. She has been watching and copying Zhang Hao’s routines for years. Literal years. The small living room in her apartment is the only witness of her strange… infatuation. 

“I can’t lie to Zhang Hao, Matthew,” Hanbin says, trying to be rational. Still, the idea takes root in her mind, won’t let go of her, won’t let her breathe. “You know I’m a terrible liar too. And—and what if she realizes? What if someone recognizes me? She’ll know. She’s so good at what she does, she probably looks at people and—and sees right through them.”

“Then let her,” Matthew shrugs, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “If she sees through you, at least she’ll see you.”

That shuts Hanbin up.

She stares back down at the screen, Matthew’s voice barely registering in her ears. She’s saying something along the lines of stop thinking, unnie, and you’ve been in love with Zhang Hao for years. 

Any other day Hanbin would be blushing profusely, saying that she’s not in love with Zhang Hao, it’s just a little crush born from admiration, nothing more than that, but this time all she sees in Zhang Hao. The beautiful pastel colors of the poster, Zhang Hao in the center of it, one bare arm lifted, the softest smile curving her lips.

Hanbin’s seen that expression before. She has dreamed about it, embarrassingly. But honestly, it’s not her fault. Zhang Hao just has that kind of face. 

The kind of face that makes you want to kneel before her and thank the universe that you exist in the same timeline as her, the kind of face that feels almost forbidden to look at.

So, this is her only chance.

She’s going crazy.

Hanbin would—god help her—she would do anything for a chance to meet her. She would do anything to stand in front of her. Anything.

“Mattheww, you know I can’t just walk in there and pretend I don’t know how to dance,” Hanbin tries one last time, weakly. She’s already lost the battle, and she knows as much. It’s clear in the way her voice trembles, in the way her hands shake. “What if she realizes? What if she just—just throws me out in front of everyone?”

Matthew snorts. “Oh, poor you. The tragedy of being too good for your dream woman.”

“Matthew.”

Her friend grins, all teeth and menace. “Unnie, you’ve been obsessed with her since you were seventeen.” And Hanbin has. There’s no denying that. “Come on, you’ve watched every performance she’s ever done. You know her routines by heart. Don’t miss your chance. You can pull this off, and you know it.”

Matthew’s eyes are so determined, Hanbin can’t help but believe her. She's that easy to convince. It’s Zhang Hao, after all. 

Her spine straightens, her stomach curls in nerves right before she squares her shoulders and declares, “You know what? I sure can.” 

Matthew’s already typing on her phone. “I’ll help you fill out the form, unnie. You’re gonna have so much fun!”

Hanbin catches sight of herself in the mirror—pale, dazed, red. There’s a slight crazed edge to her eyes that does not feel foreign, but she consciously hides most of the time.

Zhang Hao…

She will be there. She just has to make sure not to be as good at dancing as she usually is. And not to embarrass herself in front of the beautiful, otherworldly, ethereal Zhang Hao.

It should be easy, right?

Famous last words.

ฅ^>⩊<^ ฅ

The sun is just starting to shine when Hanbin slips into a small but polished dance studio in Gangnam. She couldn’t sleep last night, just tossing and turning and thinking and thinking, so her limbs feel heavy, her head drowsy.

Endless possibilities. She’s about to meet her idol, the woman who captivated her so many years ago. But she also has to lie, and Hanbin’s a shit liar. Yes, over time she’s learned a few tricks, she’s mastered the art of putting up a front, the art of hiding her feelings, those she used to wear written plainly on her face.

But what happens if this time her feelings are too big to hide?

What happens if this time, she doesn’t want to hide? What if she wants to be seen, recognized? What if she wants the round and shiny eyes of Zhang Hao fixed on her? What if she wants to see awe reflected on them, admiration, interest?

Hanbin’s going crazy.

She feels so relentless that she arrives early on purpose, trying to look as ordinary as possible. Bare-faced, baggy sweats, hair pulled back on a low ponytail, a few strands coming loose and framing her pale face.

It doesn’t really work.

One glance at the mirror while she stretches is enough for anyone to realize that she’s a big, fat liar. Her movements are too precise, her stretches too clean, her posture too straight. Her broad shoulders look trained, muscular, her arms strong. 

She curses her body under her breath—traitorous little thing—dropping into another stretch that turns far too pretty. Whatever. At least she’s alone.

Except, when he looks back, she finds Zhang Hao staring back at her. Not in the flesh, but in one of the posters lining the hallway behind her. Zhang Hao, her name printed in soft pink, Hanbin looking up at her from her place on the floor, soft early morning sunlight filtering through a small window, shining over her face.

Her feet move on their own, and Hanbin doesn’t realize she’s walked over, that her legs have taken her to Zhang Hao until her hand raises, touching one of the posters with the pads of her fingers, as lightly as possible. Almost scared. Scared to hurt her, to taint her with her longing.

Hanbin swallows thickly. She feels her chest tightening, and forces herself to look away. Too much for being normal.

Stop being so stupid. Don’t stare at her, Hanbin chants in her mind. Don’t get distracted. You need to be mediocre. Don’t let her notice you, don’t—

The wild heart beating on her chest answers with a single rebellious thump: 

No.

People start filtering in. The room isn’t packed, not at all, yet it buzzes with nerves, with anticipation. Hanbin isn’t the only one excited about this, isn’t the only one meeting her idol, it seems. The studio fills with murmur—excitement, nerves, disbelief. 

She has competition. Something flares in her chest at the thought—a possessive streak, perhaps. The desire to be better than everyone else. Hanbin just stretches harder, trying not to look, pretending not to listen.

Then the room shifts. It’s not audible, it’s not visible, yet Hanbin feels it nonetheless. Eyes burning in her back, a soft and sweet fragrance tickling her nose. Her head turns before she can stop herself.

No one has noticed, but Zhang Hao is there, watching. 

Watching Hanbin.

It’s funny, really. Hanbin has done so many scary things in life. She’s stood up against senior choreographers looking down on her just because she’s a woman, just because she’s young. She’s danced in front of hundreds, thousands of people, on big and small stages. She’s been criticized, praised, screamed at. She’s done everything.

But this is what renders her speechless, what makes the breath catch in her throat, what makes her palms clammy, what makes her heart beat wildly on her chest.

Zhang Hao.

She’s not what Hanbin expects. In a way, cameras don’t do her justice. 

Obviously, she’s pretty. Pretty in a really soft way, with round cheeks and round eyes, long red hair falling down her shoulders in soft waves. Her lips are plump and glossy, set in an almost smile, and her clothes make her look even softer, all pastel colors and a fitted top that hugs her curves beautifully.

But not just pretty. Commanding too.

More people start noticing her, and the murmur in the room slowly dies down. Hanbin is looking at her, so she sees. She sees how Zhang Hao’s posture straightens, how her eyes sharpen, leaving Hanbin’s to scan the room, to assess. It feels like everyone freezes—that’s her power. She’s the kind of person that commands attention from everyone without even trying.

“Good morning,” Zhang Hao greets as she steps inside. 

Hanbin notices instantly how smooth and soft her voice is, pleasing to the ear. Her cheeks reddens, so she bows her head, meeting Zhang Hao’s gaze for the second time today in the process. They both hold it for a second too long. 

Curiosity. That’s what Hanbin sees. 

She’s making it all up, most likely. Wistful thinking, fantasies. Maybe Zhang Hao isn’t even looking at her at all, but Hanbin feels it. She feels the weight of her stare deep in her core. Just for a moment, but it’s enough. Enough to make Hanbin’s stomach drop, because she’s been catalogued.

“And welcome,” Zhang Hao continues. “We all know why we’re here, so I won’t be bothering you with introductions. Warm up slowly. We’ll start with isolation drills.”

Warm-ups start. Hanbin tries to focus, but Zhang Hao is everywhere, reflected from every mirror, multiplied. Hanbin tries to focus, but her eyes keep drifting to Zhang Hao, to her long legs as she slowly paces around the room, to her sharp and calculating eyes.

Don’t look at her. Don’t look at her, Hanbin keeps chanting to herself. But it’s hard. So, so hard. The hardest thing she’s ever done. Of course she looks. And of course Zhang Hao looks back. Hard not to, when you have an overexcited girl practically waggling her tail at you. That’s how Hanbin feels. 

Just be mediocre, Sung Hanbin.

Hanbin is stupefied at seeing Zhang Hao in motion. The music is slow, airy strings, soft and calming. Zhang Hao demonstrates what they’re supposed to do, but it looks like she’s floating. Like her body and the music are one.

She watches and watches and watches, not blinking once, feeling the hunger gnawing at her insides, starved for more and more and more. In a way, it feels surreal seeing Zhang Hao in the flesh, dancing to this routine that Hanbin knows by heart. She’s memorized it before, alone in her apartment.

But seeing Zhang Hao performing it is just so different. Crazy. A dream come true. 

Hanbin practices, moves, pretends. Zhang Hao moves through the studio, studying, correcting, eyes sharp and intelligent. And when it’s time to perform, Hanbin fails. 

Be mediocre, she chants internally. Be average. Zhang Hao can’t know that—

Her body betrays her, because of course it does. When has Hanbin ever been good at controlling it? Never. Her cheeks, her ears, her neck always betray her embarrassment. Her fingers and lips always betray her nervousness.

And when she has to dance, of course she does it perfectly. Her body has been trained to do so.

Muscle memory is a bitch, because as soon as the music starts, something clicks into place. Her body remembers, every step echoing Zhang Hao’s without a single thought. 

Well, she fucked up.

Hanbin knows she did when she feels Zhang Hao’s burning gaze on her. She knows she fucked up when her eyes stray towards Zhang Hao mid-movement, just to find her with her arms crossed, with her head tilted to the side in thought. 

She knows she really fucked up when Zhang Hao waits until everyone’s practicing a new phrase, taking slow steps towards Hanbin at the far end of the room. And Hanbin tries, she really, really tries to decipher what the glint in her eyes means, but Zhang Hao’s expression is unreadable.

“What’s your name?” Zhang Hao asks once she reaches her. Hanbin can see some people turn to look in curiosity, but Hanbin barely registers them. All she sees is Zhang Hao—flushed cheeks, a delicate sheen of sweat running down her collarbones. 

Hanbin knows she must look like a mess, pathetic in comparison. Splotchy red skin, mouth half-open, lips swollen and bitten raw from nerves, staring like an idiot, not a single word leaving her lips.

She should say something. 

“Hanbin. Sung Hanbin,” she murmurs under her breath, cheeks heating up even more. She feels the blush traveling to her neck, her cleavage, and she feels Zhang Hao’s gaze too, following the red blooming down Hanbin’s throat, lingering for a beat too long on her chest before drifting back up. 

Hanbin knows this because she stares, unblinking, aware of Zhang Hao’s every movement. “Sung Hanbin,” Zhang Hao echoes in a way that sounds almost intrigued. 

It sounds delicious. Hanbin’s name coming from her pouty mouth. The way she pronounces it, slightly accented, warm and melodic. Enchanting.

And she steps closer and closer, until there’s nothing but a few centimeters between them, tilting her head to the side in curiosity again, blinking slow and syrupy. “Hanbin-ssi said she’s intermediate?”

It feels like her heart stops for a few seconds, and then picks back up, beating  violently and wildly. “Y—yes,” Hanbin stutters. 

Well, so much for trying to appear not-guilty. 

Zhang Hao doesn’t say anything. Just stares at her for a few more seconds, unblinking, before her lips curve into a small smirk. “Hmm. I see.”

Hanbin knows she’s been found out. There’s no way in hell a professional like Zhang Hao—the best of the best—can’t see right through her. 

But Hanbin… she wasn’t reprimanded. She wasn’t expelled, she wasn’t humiliated in front of everyone, not like her nightmares from last night.

She’s still here. Still here, watching as Zhang Hao walks away, moving through rows, watching as her hips sway slowly, temptingly, hypnotically. Watching as her head turns back one last time, as she stares at Hanbin from beneath her lashes.

That must mean something, right?

Hanbin’s about to find out.

Zhang Hao keeps watching her. She watches Hanbin the entire class, even when she’s busy correcting others, even when she’s giving advice, even when she’s demonstrating new things with her body.

Hanbin can feel it—can feel her. Zhang Hao's eyes trained on her, on the way her arms try to move clumsily, sloppily, on the way her body spins perfectly, on her face, on her legs, on her body, everywhere. Everywhere.

Zhang Hao moves down each row, helping with a firm hand and encouraging eyes. A professional, always straight to the point. She’s not afraid to correct you, to praise you. The perfect balance—the perfect teacher. 

Then she reaches Hanbin, and everything slows. Except Hanbin’s heartbeat, that is. 

Zhang Hao circles her frame, biting one of her short, manicured nails, deep in thought. There’s a soft flush dusting her cheeks—born from exertion, most likely—but Hanbin can’t look away. It makes her look soft, sweet. Hanbin has to blink a few times to make sure it’s all real, that she’s not hallucinating. 

A prey. That’s what she is—that’s how she feels under Zhang Ho’s undivided attention. She sees her reflection through the mirror, sees Zhang Hao behind her,  feels her breath ghosting at her nape, hears her low voice as she murmurs, “Relax your shoulders,” pressing two cold fingers against the hot skin of her neck. 

Obviously, Hanbin doesn’t relax. Quite the opposite. She inhales sharply, body tensing on reflex. 

Zhang Hao hums disapprovingly. Hanbin can feel more than see her stepping closer, aligning their stances, settling two delicate hands on her bare shoulders.

Hanbin will never shower again. Or maybe she shouldn't have worn a sleeveless shirt. Conflicting thoughts.

“Relax, I said,” Zhang Hao whispers, voice soft and commanding, the scent of jasmine and sweat filing Hanbin’s lungs. 

It does the trick. Might sound crazy, but Hanbin is completely sure that she would do anything, anything Zhang Hao asked. 

“There you go. Don’t hold so tightly,” Zhang Hao says, sliding her fingers down to adjust Hanbin’s arms into the correct line. “Softness isn’t weakness.”

It would be embarrassing. It is embarrassing, the way Hanbin loses balance when she feels Zhang Hao’s cold fingers leaving her. Her body chases her, instinctual, and Hanbin leans back and back, until she stumbles. But Zhang Hao catches her, her hand on the curve of Habin’s soft waist, steadying her.

“Be careful, Hanbin-ssi.”

Hanbin can’t breathe. 

Their reflections in the mirror—it’s too much. It doesn’t look much more than a teacher guiding her student, but Hanbin can see, even if she’s far away from the mirror, her half-lidded eyes, her parted lips, the way her chest heaves unevenly, Zhang Hao’s small hand splaying against the side of her stomach. 

To her overactive mind, it looks like something else entirely. An image burned behind her eyelids for eternity.

Class ends. The rest of the students leave quickly, bowing to Zhang Hao who wipes her sweat with slender fingers and bows back. Hanbin stays, pretends she’s having a hard time tying her shoelaces. She kind of is, though. Her hands tremble as she drags out each knot.

 What does she want? Well, Hanbin isn’t quite sure. What she’s certain of, is that she doesn’t want to leave this studio, lest today turns out to be a dream.

She doesn’t notice Zhang Hao approaching—too lost in her thoughts about well, her—until a shadow falls over her figure. 

And here they are. Hanbin, on her knees. Zhang Hao, above her, looming and impossibly close. To breathe normally becomes a nearly impossible challenge.

Zhang Hao looks magnificent from down here. Some late-morning light filters through the small windows, bathing her frame, making her hair look fiery-red. Her eyes look fiery too, sharp, but her smile is soft. Hanbin doesn’t know what to make of it. A contradiction; a dissonance.

“You move like someone who’s been dancing for a long time,” is what Zhang Hao says. Not beating around the bush, just straight to the point, going straight for Hanbin’s throat.

There’s a contradiction within Hanbin as well. Zhang Hao recognizes her talent. Any other time, and her chest would puff at the praise. After all, Hanbin has spent hours, days, months, years practicing to be as good as she is now. Blood sweat and tears.

The pride swells in her chest, but it’s mixed with anxiety. So today, she doesn’t boast. Today she only swallows loudly, staring up at Zhang Hao. “I—I study videos sometimes,” Hanbin stutters out almost shyly.

Zhang Hao smirks. “My videos?” she asks cheekily, much to Hanbin’s horror. A small puff of breath leaves Zhang Hao’s pouty lips, a full-on smile threatening to take over her features, but she hides it behind her perfectly manicured fingers before Hanbin can see. “Nevermind. I just wanted to say that you’re really good, Hanbin-ssi.”

Hanbin’s about to thank her, hell, about to bow at her feet, but Zhang Hao’s next words stop her in her tracks, knock the air clean out of her lungs. “Join me tomorrow for a private lesson. I’d like to see how good of a student you are. And this time, you wouldn’t have to see me through a screen. I’d be all yours.” 

Zhang Hao tries—and fails espectacularly—to wink at Hanbin. Any other time and she’d be cooing at how cute Zhang Hao looks closing both eyes instead of one, but right now, she’s frozen on her knees. 

Before she can even register the words, Zhang Hao is already walking away, leaving a trail of her sweet perfume and taking Hanbin’s sanity with her. At the door, she stops and turns back, eyes locking with Hanbin’s. 

“Tomorow. Come early, Hanbin-ssi. Don’t keep me waiting.”

”Y—yes,” Hanbin chokes instantly. Fuck. She’s such a fucking loser. “I won’t keep songsaenim waiting.” 

“Good.”

Hanbin collapses to the floor when the door clicks shut, hands over her face, breath stuttering. “Oh my god,” she whispers to the ceiling. “I’m fucked.”

But—

“Private lessons?” Hanbin asks aloud, sitting up rapidly and hastily, staring at her bewildered expression through the mirror. “Since when does she offer those?”

The only explanation her panicked brain can muster is that Zhang Hao wants to call her out. That Zhang Hao knows about her lie, that she wants to expel her for being a big, fat liar, but she’s kind enough not to do it in front of everyone.

Yeah, that must be it. Why else would she offer something like that?

Her reflection stares back—wide-eyed, flushed, ruined.

ฅ^>⩊<^ ฅ

Hanbin doesn’t remember how she gets home. She remembers standing up from the studio on shaky legs, grabbing her bag, and leaving. The world outside is too loud, the streetlights too bright, the subway too full. Full of strangers that don’t know that Zhang Hao, Sung Hanbin’s longtime crush, has just invited her to a private lesson.

By the time she collapses face first into bed, body aching and exhausted, limbs mushy after a much needed shower—her mind refuses to slow down. Every time Hanbin closes her eyes, she’s back in the studio.

She’s kneeling in front of Zhang Hao, she’s looking up at her frame, haloed by late morning light. She hears Zhang Hao’s praise as if she were here, right next to her, resting her long red hair on Hanbin’s fluffy pillow, whispering it into her sensitive ears. 

I’d be all yours, is all Hanbin can think about, murmured in that low and musical voice of hers. 

Hanbin groans into her pillow. She’s going crazy. “Who even says that,” she mutters, rolling onto her back. “Who says that and just—just walks away? Ugh. What the actual fuck.”

Chest tightening, a familiar pressure builds between Hanbin’s legs the more she thinks about Zhang Hao, even if she’s trying to will the memories away. Her hand lifts without permission, warm fingers pressing lightly against her neck, right where Zhang Hao touched earlier.

It’s not the same. Obviously, it’s not the same.

Hanbin’s fingers are rough and warm, Zhang Hao’s were soft and cold. But it’s the memory of her that gets Hanbin all hot and bothered, that makes her other hand drift beneath her shirt, finding that place on her soft waist that Zhang Hao touched earlier.

A moan escapes Hanbin’s lips without her permission as she pinches the skin, and even though she’s alone, even though the walls of her building are thick, she still covers her mouth, muffling the sound.

It’s a little embarrassing to be this worked out over nothing but memories, over nothing but fingers on skin, but today feels like it came out of Hanbin’s filthiest dreams.

Zhang Hao and her small but strong body. Zhang Hao and her round and shiny eyes, staring straight at Hanbin, seeing right through her. Zhang Hao and her jasmine perfume, sweet and heady and mixed with sweat. Zhang Hao and her gentle but commanding voice. 

Zhang Hao, Zhang Hao, Zhang Hao.

Hanbin feels dirty as her hand slips beneath her shorts, as it heads lower and lower, through trimmed hair, just to find herself warm and already wet, waiting.

Shit. 

She won’t be able to look at Zhang Hao tomorrow without remembering she touched herself to the thought of her. It wouldn’t be the first time. And Hanbin knows it won’t be the last, either. 

Strangely, it doesn’t feel shameful this time. Not as she reaches between her folds to rub her clit in small and slow circles, as her mind conjures images of Zhang Hao, as she moans her name. 

Before, it was. Shameful. Hanbin used to feel so pathetic when she touched herself to the thought of someone who didn’t even know she existed. But Zhang Hao knows her now.

That’s what takes her over the edge, what makes her come hard and fast, what leaves her flushed and panting and sweaty. 

Hanbin cleans her sticky fingers with some tissues before grabbing her phone. Even though she just came to the thought of Zhang Hao, even though she was the only thing Hanbin could think about while being high on pleasure, there’s still an itch beneath her skin that won’t go away, a need that makes her shiver. 

Only Zhang Hao can tame it down. 

Before, a screen was enough. Had to be enough. But Hanbin knows better now. 

Tomorrow.

Her thumbs move on autopilot, opening a playlist she knows by heart. Fifty-something videos of Zhang hao dancing. Performances, rehearsals, shaky fan-cams. Younger Zhang Hao, older Zhang Hao.

Hanbin plays one at random. It takes her breath away. Zhang Hao is everything, has been everything to Hanbin for the longest time. She’s seen this video easily a hundred times before. Tonight, it feels different. Personal, somehow.

She saw you today, something inside Hanbin whispers. Not as a face in the crowd. She looked at you. She spoke to you. She touched you.

Hanbin’s throat goes dry. 

Tomorrow.

She should be terrified. And she is, albeit not the way she thought she’d be. It’s thrilling, in a way, having nowhere to hide. If Zhang Hao didn’t know she was lying before, she’ll definitely know now. 

But does Hanbin even want to? Lie, hide. She knows the answer.

She wants to be seen. She wants Zhang Hao to look at her with interest, with curiosity. 

Hanbin’s past the point of no return. Has been, probably, since she was seventeen and watched her first performance of twenty-two year old Zhang Hao in the corner of her childhood room, hugging her knees to her chest, eyes awed, palms clammy, heart in disarray. 

Seven years later and Hanbin wants to be the one seen instead. If she sees through you, at least she’ll see you, it’s what Matthew said.

Hanbin closes her eyes. “I would do anything,” she hears herself say, barely audible. “Anything you asked, Zhang Hao.”

ฅ^>⩊<^ ฅ

She gets to the studio an hour early. It’s part nerves, part anticipation. Even the receptionist is half-asleep on her desk, muttering under her breath, “Room number seven,” when Hanbin timidly asks about her private lesson with Zhang Hao-seonsaengnim. 

She expects to be sent home, to be told that everything that happened yesterday was nothing more than a dream, a mistake, but she isn’t. 

It was real.

The sun is higher today, light spilling across the floor. Dust floats in the air, visible only when it passes through the brightness. No one else is here but Hanbin.

Hanbin slips off her sneakers, steps onto the floor in her socks. The familiar scent of cleaning spray and sweat should be calming. It usually is—all practice rooms smell the same. But today, it isn’t. Her heart races, worryingly so.

She could stretch. She could warm up and wait like a normal person. There was no plan when she woke up this morning way before her alarm and decided she couldn’t stand being home any longer.

But instead, she… cleans.

This room is not tidy enough for Zhang Hao’s liking. Hanbin knows this, knows what she likes and what she doesn’t. A stray towel in the corner—Hanbin folds it and puts it in a basket by the door. A few smudges in the mirror, the speaker cable slightly tangled, a water bottle someone left behind.

Hanbin moves through the studio in quick, determined legs, fixing, straightening, arranging. With a spare towel, she cleans the floor, leaves a bottle of cold water right in the center of the room, where Zhang Hao stood yesterday. Fixes her hair, her clothes.

When Hanbin’s done, she’s only in her fitted tank top, sweatshirt discarded, breath uneven. She stands in the center of her room, admiring her work. Everything looks perfect. Pristine. Right as it should be for Zhang Hao.

“Okay,” Hanbin tells her reflection. “You are normal. You are so normal. You are calm. You are—”

The door opens. Hanbin turns, heart leaping into her throat. Zhang Hao is here, earlier than she should. 

She’s dressed even more simply than yesterday: loose gray sweats, a cropped baby pink top that bares a silver of her small waist, red hair pulled messily atop her head—making her look way younger than she is. And also… softer. Soft and commanding and unreal.

And also surprised. She hadn’t expected Hanbin either, it seems.

Her eyes round, impossibly so, and her cheeks lift almost imperceptibly on a small smile she tries to hide. But Hanbin’s looking at her. “You came early,” Zhang Hao says, closing the door. Her eyes sweep the room once—floors, mirrors, speakers, water—and then settle back on Hanbin, still soft and vaguely amused. “Hanbin-ssi is very diligent. I like that about her.”

Hanbin’s mouth opens, but nothing really comes out. “I—I wanted to warm up,” she manages eventually, voice high and trembling. It seems like she can’t have a conversation with Zhang Hao without stuttering, which is so not like her. Hanbin is usually confident, but Zhang Hao manages to reduce her to nothing but a shy teenager. “I, uh… couldn’t sleep much, so…”

“So you came here,” Zhang Hao finishes for her, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I see.”

Her gaze flickers briefly to the neatly arranged towels, to the untangled cable, to the lined-up water bottles by the mirror, and Hanbin feels… seen. It’s not difficult to figure out that she did all this, that she arranged this room to perfection for Zhang Hao.

She seems bashful for a minute. “You didn’t have to do all this for me,” Zhang Hao says softly, stepping into the light of the room, walking past Hanbin, close enough that their arms nearly brush, the faint smell of jasmine leaving a trail behind her. 

Modesty doesn’t really suit her, Hanbin thinks. Not when she’s clearly pleased, fingers gliding over the neatly stack of towels, staring at Hanbin’s frozen frame through the mirror.

Hanbin’s ears burn uncomfortably. “It’s nothing,” she says quickly. “Really. I just like things tidy.”

Zhang Hao hums, mutters, “Good habit,” under her breath. 

Obviously, she doesn’t believe a single word that’s left Hanbin’s mouth, but that’s okay. Hanbin doesn’t mind being found out, not when it comes to this. Not when Zhang Hao deserves this and beyond, and especially not when Hanbin is more than willing to do it for her. 

Without realizing, Hanbin’s already drifted close to Zhang Hao. Strange, she thinks, the way her body just moves on its own, the way it feels like there’s a string pulling them closer and closer. 

Zhang Hao stands next to her, and Hanbin can really see how they look together. Yesterday, she was too far away from the mirror. Today, she isn’t.

They’re about the same height. Zhang Hao’s shoulders are slender and narrow, whereas Hanbin’s are wider, stronger, more muscular. Hanbin’s breasts are bigger too, constricted by a tight sports bra, while Zhang Hao’s are smaller. They’d fit perfectly around her hand, Hanbin thinks as her breath quickens almost instantly. 

Shit. Now it’s not the time, but Hanbin can’t stop looking. 

Down, to Zhang Hao’s narrow waist, to her soft stomach. Down, to her round hips, to the long and strong planes of her thighs. Up, and up and up. Her eyes. 

They’re looking at each other, and not through the mirror this time. Hanbin can count the moles adorning her smooth skin, can count each and every one of her short, straight eyelashes. Can smell her, jasmine and soap, her minty breath.

“Let’s start,” Zhang Hao says, her voice thick, hoarse. She swallows thickly, and Hanbin sees her throat bob up and down from how close they stand. “Face the mirror. Feet apart, soft knees.” 

Her voice is different today. Less formal than yesterday. Quieter, since it’s just the two of them. Intimate. She’s speaking just to Hanbin. Commanding, so Hanbin obeys immediately.

She stands where she’s told, staring at her own reflection, Zhang Hao right behind her, slightly to the side, peeking through Hanbin’s shoulder. “We’ll go through yesterday's passage once. Do you remember it?”

Hanbin nods. How could she not remember, when it’s all she can think about? Zhang Hao dancing, Zhang Hao moving.

The music starts, so she does what she knows best. She dances, performs, and this time, she’s clumsy, but it’s not on purpose. Nerves win, body tense under Zhang Hao’s unblinking eyes. 

“Raise your arms,” Zhang Hao murmurs once the music stops, Hanbin’s panting the only background noise. Hanbin does, but it feels wrong. It looks wrong too. “Not like that. Like this.”

Zhang Hao steps closer, and Hanbin’s entire body goes taut, rigid. Two small, cold hands glide along her triceps, guiding Hanbin’s arms into the correct position. She doesn’t linger, but Hanbin’s brain becomes mush nonetheless. It’s too much.

It feels too good, too right. Especially when Zhang Hao’s fingers touch her bare shoulders as she says, “Shoulders down,” when she traces the side of her neck, “Neck long.”

Her lips curve in a pleased smile. She likes what she sees, it seems. “There. See, Hanbin-ssi? That looks perfect.”

Hanbin looks. And she sees how perfect she looks, taller, softer, stronger, all with Zhang Hao’s guidance.

She also sees her wide eyes, almost black from how dilated her pupils are. She sees her skin, her arms, erupting in goosebumps, the way her chest and ribs expand with each labored breath she takes.  

“Hmm. You’re very tense, Hanbin-ssi,” Zhang Hao says, eyes glinting with amusement. “Why is that?”

Duh. Stupid question. Obvious answer too.

Hanbin doesn’t say what's on her mind, though. She doesn’t say because you’re standing so close to me. Because I’ve admired you for years. Because you said you’d be mine and I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know what I’m doing right now.

“Just… nervous,” is what Hanbin ends up saying, eyes dropping to her feet as the familiar warmth of shame climbs her neck, her cheeks.

“I see.” Zhang Hao hums, thinking. Hanbin doesn’t look at her, doesn’t dare to, but her next words make Hanbin’s head snap up in disbelief, make her eyes all round and awed. “Can I touch your stomach?”

Hanbin doesn’t even think, she just rapidly nods her head in agreement. Not enough for Zhang Hao, though. “Use your words, please,” she asks in a soft, almost slurred voice.

And Hanbin does. “Y—yeah, seonsaengnim,” Hanbin says, breathless even though she’s trying her hardest not to be. “You can… you can touch me.”

She might die. She might actually die.

Not in her wildest fantasies Hanbin ever thought she’d be uttering those words. They sound lewd, intimate, and not letting her thoughts wander it’s an almost impossible task. Because Zhang Hao’s going to touch her.

Zhang Hao is touching her.

Small hands over her ribs, thumbs resting just under her thick sports bra. So close, so, close to where Hanbin needs her, but so far. Most likely, she can feel Hanbin’s heartbeat against her palm, can feel the way Hanbin’s ribcage expands with every ragged breath.

“Breathe,” Zhang Hao instructs, like this is all so normal and not the most intimate anyone’s touched Hanbin ever. “Slowly.”

Hanbin tries. She tries so hard, because Zhang hao asked her to. She inhales, chest expanding under Zhang Hao’s cold hands, and exhales, shaky. Her pulse beats in her ears, and her own hands hang uselessly at her sides, itching to touch too.

“Good,” Zhang Hao murmurs against the shell of her ear, thumb moving in lazy circles over Hanbin’s ribs. “Again.”

For a moment, it’s just this. Just them. The world narrows to the weight of Zhang Hao’s palms, to the feeling of her fingers expanding with Hanbin’s breaths, to the faint warmth of her body pressed close to Hanbin’s back.

And Hanbin breathes. She breathes until she doesn’t feel as shaky as before, until her heart beats steady against her chest. She breathes until Zhang Hao gives her a warm and proud smile, grabbing Hanbin by the shoulders, turning her around so they’re looking at each other. 

Hanbin is… mesmerized. She’s never seen Zhang Hao smile like this. She always tries to look calm and collected, everything she does effortless. But now her cheeks rise high in her face, and her smile is infectious, almost square, showing small, endearing teeth. She looks younger like this. Younger than she did at twenty two, when Hanbin met her through a screen.

It doesn’t last. Zhang Hao catches herself almost instantly, taming down the unbridled joy that was there just a few seconds ago. But Hanbin saw it. Saw her. And… Zhang Hao smiled at her, at Hanbin, like that. Zhang Hao was happy because of her. Dear lord.

All of Zhang Hao’s hard work from the last five minutes goes straight out of the window, because Hanbin’s back to being a shaky, stuttering mess. All from a smile. 

Zhang Hao’s not done with her, though. Hanbin stops breathing as the next words leave her plump, moisturized lips. “Maybe we should be less formal with each other. Would that make you feel more comfortable, Hanbin-ssi?” she asks, but doesn’t wait for her answer.

It’s not like Hanbin would ever deny her anything, but the boldness of the proposition still knocks the air from her lungs. They’re student and teacher. Zhang Hao is her senior by a few years. Not even in Hanbin’s wildest, most deranged fantasies this was a possibility.

“How old are you, Hanbin?” Zhang Hao asks, dropping the honorific like it’s nothing. It freezes Hanbin’s blood, it makes it boil hot, and hot, and hotter at the same time. Her cheeks flush, her fingers fidget, her gaze skitters away from Zhang Hao’s.

“Twenty-four.”

Zhang Hao hums, sounding almost satisfied. “Ah, a baby then,” she says, much to Hanbin’s horror. A baby. That’s probably the worst thing that Zhang Hao could have ever called her, Hanbin thinks. It’s going to serve as fuel for so many or her dirtiest fantasies, Hanbin thinks. Nothing will ever top this moment, Hanbin thinks. But then—

“Call me jiejie.” 

Fingers cup her jaw, gently guiding her face up to meet Zhang Hao’s. Her eyes shine, all round and wide and innocent. But her smile isn’t. Zhang Hao knows exactly what she’s doing, exactly what she’s doing to Hanbin.

And Hanbin doesn’t really mind. If Zhang Hao wants to toy with her, so be it. 

Still, she has some pride left. And she’s a polite girl, above all. “I couldn’t possibly—” Hanbin tries, but Zhang Hao doesn’t let her finish. 

“Yes you can. Say it,” she presses, demands. Her fingers on Hanbin’s face tighten almost imperceptibly, but Hanbin notices, because she’s aware of everything Zhang Hao. “Call me jiejie, Hanbinnie. Sweet Hanbinnie.”

Hanbin’s thighs press together, unintentionally, instinctive, a simple reaction of her body trying to chase a little relief from that sweet pressure building at the sound of her own name in Zhang Hao’s mouth. She hopes Zhang Hao doesn’t notice, too busy watching Hanbin’s face going redder and redder. 

She tries, because she has to. Because she wants to. Even if the words burn her tongue, her throat. “Hao… Hao-jiejie,” Hanbin murmurs, breathes out, barely audible. 

It feels right, so, so right. So sweet, so delicious.

Her reward is Zhang Hao’s smile, the way she looks so smug. “Just like that,” she slurs, voice low and raspy as her thumb drags across Hanbin’s cheek. It's barely a touch, but Hanbin feels it nonetheless. “You listen so well.”

The praise goes straight to Hanbin’s lower stomach, down to the warmth coiling tighter and tighter. “I—I try,” Hanbin whispers. 

I try just for you, is what she would say if she were a little braver. Because it’s the truth. She’s usually the one pushing, the one in charge. She doesn’t like to be ordered around, she doesn’t like to mindlessly obey. But this is Zhang Hao.

“Then show me, yeah?”

Something shifts. Hanbin can feel it in the air, charged with something she doesn’t dare to name but feels strangely like desire. Zhang Hao steps away, and Hanbin feels the absence instantly. She didn’t realize how close they were until she misses the ghost of Zhang Hao’s breath against her lips.

Zhang Hao moves to the sound system and presses play. Soft music plays from the speakers—a piano, a slow beat, strings. She looks at Hanbin as if she’s saying pay attention, and Hanbin does. How could she not, when a beautiful angel flies on her wings right in front of her? A miracle, something she shouldn’t be able to look at.

It’s difficult, Hanbin can recognize as much. But a fire lights within her. If Zhang Hao thinks she’s capable of doing this, then…

“We’ll work on that, yeah?” Zhang Hao says as a bead of sweat runs down her temple. Hanbin’s tempted to wipe it away, to catch it with her own fingers, but maybe it’s too presumptuous to think that Zhang Hao would be okay with that. “I want you relaxed, Hanbin. That’s the most important thing to control your movements.”

Hanbin nods. Her throat is too tight for words. 

The first run-through is clumsy. Her head is too loud, her limbs are too heavy, too stiff, she’s too aware of Zhang Hao’s gaze, of the way her throat bobs up and down every time she takes a drink from the water Hanbin brought.

Zhang Hao is not pleased. Hanbin sees it in the slight frown twisting her lips. “Again,” she commands.

Hanbin does it again while Zhang Hao watches from the side, arms loosely folded, expression thoughtful. 

“Again.”

God, Hanbin could get drunk off that word alone. 

Three, four, five times. By the sixth, Hanbin’s hair is soaked with sweat, plastered to her neck, lungs burning. But her body quiets, remembers.She stops overthinking much and just dances.

“Better,” Zhang Hao says, crossing the floor in three slow steps, fingers finding the back of Hanbin’s shoulders, pushing gently to redirect her weight. “But still too tight here. So tight, Hanbinnie. Relax.”

So tight…

Hanbin focuses on the sound of her voice, on the slight press of her hand against her body every time something needs correcting. She focuses on each time Zhang Hao asks her to do it again, and again, and again. It’s either that or completely losing her mind, or losing herself to this feeling coursing through her body as Zhang Hao commands her however she pleases.

She doesn’t know how long they go on like that. Time dissolves until only Zhang Hao, only dancing exists. The rise and fall of her chest, the cling of her damp shirt, the tremble in her muscles.

At some point, Hanbin stumbles. Not because she missteps, but her legs simply… give a little. She catches herself on her hands, panting, cheeks aflame.

“Sorry,” she gasps, staring down at her flushed hands and how they contrast against the dark floor.

“Don’t apologize, Hanbin-ah.” Zhang Hao’s voice is close, very close. Close and soft and warm, the term of endearment catching Hanbin off guard. “You’re pushing yourself. You’re doing so well.”

Hanbin laughs once, breathless, shaky. “Jiejie. I just—I just want to do everything right.”

I want you to like me, Hanbin doesn’t say. Impress you so you don’t forget about me.

Still on the floor, Hanbin feels exhausted, unguarded. The floor is too cold against her palms, her hair falling to her forehead is too wet. The words slip out before she can do anything about it.

“I’ll do anything, jiejie.” Hanbin’s voice is rough, desperate, almost foreign. “Just tell me. Tell me what to do. I’ll listen.”

Zhang Hao doesn’t say anything for a while. All Hanbin hears is her heart, slamming hard against her chest, so hard it almost hurts.

Slowly, almost scared, she lifts her head. And just like yesterday, Zhang Hao stands over her, looking down. Sunlight catches on her long hair, on the long stands escaping her ponytail, turning it molten-red. Her eyes are sharp, alert, her mouth slightly curved. Hanbin can’t read her.

“Anything?” she repeats, and this time, that single word she’s been saying over and over sounds slightly different. Sweet, but dangerous. 

Hanbin swallows. She should backtrack, laugh it off. Clarify that she meant anything dance-related, obviously, nothing weird. But her mind goes blank, and all she can do is stare up at Zhang Hao, mouth slightly parted.

“Yes, jiejie,” she says instead, against her better judgement.

Eyes trail all over her face, pausing on her mouth for a few seconds, long enough to be undeniable, and then back to her own eyes. 

Zhang Hao. 

For a second, the air feels heavy, so heavy Hanbin struggles to take a full breath, tension thick and tangible between them.

Then Zhang Hao bends down. She doesn’t touch Hanbin at first, just crouches down in front of her, and looks at her with an intensity that makes Hanbin want to hide, but also lean in. Bridge the gap between them, kiss her senseless. Kiss every mole that adorns her flushed, sweaty skin, her plump, red lips.

Two fingers grab Hanbin’s chin, and Zhang Hao tilts her head just a bit more. Enough that it feels like their mouths are just a breath apart. So close, so, so close.

“That’s good,” Zhang Hao says, murmurs. “I knew you were holding back yesterday.” Hanbin stops breathing as Zhang Hao’s thumb brushes along the edge of her jaw, collecting a few beads of sweat, “That’s why I wanted to have you all to myself today. You’re not holding back anymore, Hanbinnie?”

Hanbin shakes her head immediately. Today, she’s not holding back. She wants to be seen. To be seen by Zhang Hao. This might be her only chance.

She’s pleased by Hanbin’s answer. Her smile looks sweet, but Hanbin can see the smug, knowing edge beneath. Zhang Hao knows she has her, has Hanbin eating from the palm of her hand. It should feel embarrassing, humiliating, but it’s thrilling. There’s nowhere else Hanbin would rather be.

“I love shiny things, Hanbin-ah. And there’s no one else that shines brighter than you.”

Good thing Hanbin’s already on the floor, because her knees would’ve absolutely folded. The praise lands somewhere deep in her stomach, low in a place it probably shoudn’t, and it’s pathetic how fast her body jumps to attention. Her mouth waters, her breath stutters, and she can feel it, that look in her eyes she can’t hide. The kind that says exactly how badly she wants her.

“Get up now,” Zhang Hao commands, pushing to her feet.

The rest of the lesson feels different. Zhang Hao doesn’t touch her, but watches her instead. Watches her like she knows something Hanbin doesn't.

Her corrections are still precise, but there’s a little something threading beneath her voice, through their every interaction. An awareness, maybe. A silent acknowledgment that something just… shifted.

Hanbin misses Zhang Hao’s touch already, greedy little thing that she is. She wants more. She wants everything.

Since she wants everything, she does everything Zhang Hao tells her to. Moves when she says move, stops when she says stop, and starts again every time that quiet, “Again,” leaves her mouth.

By the end, Hanbin’s legs feel like jelly, her shirt soaked and plastered to her skin, chest tight from the effort. “That’s enough for today,” Zhang Hao says at last, walking over with a small smile. “You did really well.” 

She looks… shy. Not able to meet Hanbin’s eyes, staring somewhere over her shoulder. And Hanbin stands there, swaying slightly, staring at the sweat collecting on Zhang Hao’s temples, at the flicker of her tongue over her bottom lip, at the rise and fall of her chest.

A stupid idea hits Hanbin. Before her brain can overthink it, she’s already crossing the room, grabbing a clean towel and a cold bottle of water. Once she’s back in front of Zhang Hao, she lifts the bottle, presses it gently against her lips. A question.

Zhang Hao opens her mouth without a word. Her plush lips close around the mouth, and she drinks while she keeps her eyes on Hanbin. They look at each other even as Zhang Hao tips her head back, as a stray droplet slides down the line of her creamy throat.

It’s erotic, Hanbin thinks, feeling heat pulsing between her legs.

She needs to get her mind out of the gutter. Immediately.

But she’s not done yet. Hanbin has a goal, something she wants to do, another excuse to touch her. “Hao-jiejie, can I… help you?” she asks, gesturing towards Zhang Hao’s damp forehead. She seems surprised, just blinking for a few seconds, but ultimately nods. 

Towel in hand, Hanbin pats Zhang Hao’s skin dry. Her hairline first, then the bridge of her nose, the corner of her mouth, behind her ear. She’s careful—too careful—and Zhang Hao just takes it, pliant under her care, letting Hanbin do as she likes. She just watches her.  

The excuse doesn't last long. When Hanbin’s done, embarrassment burns into her face, into her neck, her arms drop limply at her sides, and she feels so, so ridiculous.

Hanbin steals a look at Zhang Hao, expecting to see anything but shyness. But that’s exactly what she finds. There’s a beautiful, soft flush spreading over her cheeks, mirroring Hanbin’s. Her eyes are lowered, lashes touching the apples of her cheeks. 

“Thank you, Hanbin-ah,” she murmurs with a kind of softness Hanbin hasn’t heard today. Quiet, velvety, caressing Hanbin’s insides until she feels bubbly, giddy. “You’re very attentive.”

“You’ll come tomorrow?” Zhang Hao asks then, with a casualness that feels way too forced. Like she didn't just rearrange Hanbin’s entire universe in just a few hours.

Hanbin nods too quickly, too eager. Another opportunity to be with Zhang Hao. “Yes. Of—of course.”

“Good.” Zhang Hao slings her bag over her shoulder, and Hanbin has to fight the urge to take it from her, to walk her to her car, to walk her home—anywhere. But Zhang Hao still has another class to teach. “Go home and rest, yeah?”

Rest. What a foreign concept. 

Hanbin still has to go to work, still has to replay every second of this day until she goes crazy with it.

On her way out, Zhang Hao stops at the door. She glances back, their eyes meeting across the studio. Hanbin at the center, with her shaky hands, her quickened breath, and Zhang Hao, framed by the faint light coming form the hallway, beautiful, ethereal, unreal. 

“Hanbin-ah?”

“Yes, jiejie?” Hanbin chokes out. 

Hanbin-ah. Jiejie. 

It still feels surreal that she’s allowed to call Zhang Hao with such familiarity when twenty-fours hours ago she was just a concept, someone untouchable, unreachable.

Zhang Hao’s smile turns just a little more knowing.  “Don’t be late tomorrow,” she says, as if that was even possible. Hanbin would scoff if she weren’t too busy staring at the expanse of Zhang Hao’s pale skin, at the plump of her cheeks, the fullness of her lips. “Jiejie doesn’t like to wait.”

“I’d never keep jiejie waiting,” slips out of Hanbin’s mouth in pure reflex. Zhang Hao only smirks before the door closes softly behind her.

Hanbin can do nothing but drop to the floor with a loud thud, one arm flung over her face. “I’m so fucked,” she tells the ceiling for the second day in a row. 

And though she’s shown all her cards to Zhang Hao, even if she most likely knows she lied about her level, even if she’s realized that Hanbin’s feelings go beyond just admiration—she doesn’t really mind.

Not if it’s Zhang Hao she’s in trouble for. 

ฅ^>⩊<^ ฅ

Hanbin doesn’t really sleep that night. Again. 

Well, she does, but it’s a fitful kind of sleep. She dreams, and they’re so vivid, she wakes up sweaty and panting and with a throbbing ache between her legs that she simply cannot ignore.

It won’t be the last time she gets off to the thought of Zhang Hao. Hanbin only wishes she was here instead, her cold and soft fingers rubbing over her sensitive clit, her plump lips wrapped around her nipples, nose buried in the soft mound of breasts, tongue—

Enough.

On shaky legs, Hanbin can’t do anything but get out of bed and start her day.

She’s at the studio thirty minutes early, which by her standards, is already restraint. She could have easily been here an hour before, but there’s not much point when she won’t have Zhang Hao all to herself today.

After yesterday—after cleaning Zhang Hao’s practice room like a devoted follower would do at a shrine, after feeling her hands on her ribs, after kneeling and promising, I’ll do anything, jiejie—Hanbin’s still trying to cling to what remains of her dignity.

She fails, obviously. 

“Room three for Zhang Hao’s seonsaengnim’s workshop,” the receptionist mumbles automatically, eyes on her monitor. “You’re… oh, hey, Hanbin-ssi. You’re always so early.”

As she said, no dignity. And everyone knows about it.

“Oh, I just—traffic,” Hanbin lies weakly. The alternative is I’m obsessed with Zhang Hao. I want to spend every second I’m here seeing her, but Hanbin doesn’t think that’d go very well. “Better early than late, right?” she says with a little laugh.

The receptionist hums, unconvinced and uninterested. Hanbin’s safe. No restraining order will be put against her. “You can go in. She’s not here yet.”

Not here yet. Hanbin knew that, but the confirmation still stirs something warm and greedy low in her stomach. She’s the first again, and she’s sure Zhang Hao will know about it.

Hanbin nods, bows and heads down the hallway, palms going clammy as she sees Zhang Hao’s posters lining the way. The studio door is closed, empty, half-bright by the morning light seeping through the windows. 

Hanbin stretches, warms up, lines a few water bottles for Zhang Hao, bows to the other students coming in—some laughing, some checking their phones. This is a bigger group than during auditions, familiar faces mixed with strangers. 

A few people stiffen when they see Hanbin, bowing politely. No matter how often it happens, Hanbin’s always surprised at being recognized. Even some of her own students walk in. For a second, Hanbin feels the need to hide, but her craving to see Zhang Hao is stronger. She craves to let the world know they spent an hour together yesterday, alone. Breathing in jasmine and sweat while those hands were on her body. No one else in this room can say that. 

Today, her heart doesn’t flutter. It beats hard and steady against her chest in something akin to resolve.

A random guy walks up to the front, two bottles of water in hand. He stops when he sees everything already laid out, when he realizes that he’s not needed, that someone else got there first. Hanbin did. She smirks when she notices the pink blooming in the guy’s cheeks as he retreats dejectedly with his tail between his legs.

It bothers Hanbin, though. That someone else, anyone else might be trying to woo Zhang Hao. She’ll just have to keep proving that she's the best.

She stretches with the rest, rolls her shoulders, tilts her head side to side, but her mind is somewhere else. It’s in Zhang Hao’s hands over her shoulders, palms over her ribs. It’s in her sweet smile, in the flushed apples of her cheeks, in her round, cunning eyes. It’s in her soft but stern voice, in the way she worked Hanbin past her limits, and then some more.

Hanbin presses her lips together to hold back a giddy smile. 

She’s the first one to notice when Zhang Hao arrives, too. Her head turns automatically, barely hearing the quiet gasps people let out as they start slowly noticing, the flurry of quick bows and shy greetings. She’s busy.

Busy staring, busy closing the distance, taking Zhang Hao’s bag from her hold and slinging it over her own shoulder. “Good morning, seonsaengnim,” Hanbin says with a bow, and a cheeky grin, the one that shows her whisker dimples. “Let me help you.”

For half a second, Hanbin wonders if she's gone too far. Is she being weird? But Zhang Hao doesn’t seem bothered. If anything, she seems… pleased, humming quietly, so soft that only Hanbin can hear her. “Thank you, Hanbin-ssi.”

Zhang Hao steps into the studio like she’s walking onto a stage, one that she owns and commands. Her long legs cladded in black leggings, an oversized shirt slipping off her shoulder, baring it to the world. Her hair is messy, her skin plump and bright.

 Beautiful. Otherworldly so.

Hanbin is staring, but how could she not? She’s not blessed with a sight like this one every day. Dainty collarbones, narrow shoulders, strong legs, pouty lips.

“Good morning,” Zhang Hao greets as Hanbin quickly snaps out of her fantasy, walking the few steps between them and placing Zhang Hao’s bag against the wall. Her voice carries without effort, everyone’s attention on her. “Let’s try to start on time today, hm?”

Jiejie doesn’t like waiting. 

Hanbin retreats to her spot near the back as Zhang Hao gets ready, as she looks up. Her gaze travels across the room, sweeping from left to right, taking everyone in.

All the dancer she chose from the auditions. Intermediates—like Hanbin is supposed to be too.

Her eyes find Hanbin’s, and she stops. It’s no more than a second, maybe even a half, but it doesn’t matter. Hanbin feels it. Feels it like Zhang Hao’s hands pressed against her ribs, her shoulders. 

Zhang Hao’s gaze softens, just by a fraction—but enough for a starving woman to notice.

She moves on, continuing her survey. “We’ll start with a simple warm-up today,” she says, walking to the front. “Then review yesterday’s phrase for those who were here. For those who weren’t, don’t worry. You’ll catch up.”

“Spread out,” she continues. “Give yourselves room. I don’t want any injuries.” 

Everyone obeys. Hanbin ends up even farther away from Zhang Hao, tucked into the back corner. She can still see Zhang Hao perfectly, though—she makes sure of it. And she hopes Zhang Hao can see her too. 

Zhang Hao kneels to adjust the volume on the speakers, then turns to open a bottle of water as the music plays quietly. Hanbin moves as soon as she notices Zhang Hao’s having a hard time, moves before she can think about it, before she can stop herself.

Sung Hanbin, what are you even doing, she says to herself as she reaches out and takes the bottle from Zhang Hao. You’re so weird, she thinks as she twists the cap open and presses it back to Zhang Hao’s hands. Somehow, she doesn’t seem surprised. You need to stop.

She doesn’t stop. There’s suddenly a towel in her, and she folds it once, twice, placing it on the floor in a clean square. Then she’s back in her spot, chest tight, ears buzzing.

No one says anything. Some people glance with curiosity, but most are too nervous to notice. It isn’t strange, maybe. Maybe it doesn’t have to be. Students are supposed to help their teachers, to be attentive, right? That’s the polite thing to do. 

Hanbin’s just being… attentive.

Zhang Hao’s eyes flick to her hand, then to the towel, then to Hanbin’s hands fidgeting at her sides. The corner of her lips lifts the tiniest bit. Success.

“Neck rolls,” she says, as she dabs at the plump of her lower lip with the back of her fingers, catching any moisture left from her drink. Hanbin watches, entranced. “Slowly. Don’t rush.”

They move from isolations to larger motions. From Zhang Hao’s lips comes the word again, and Hanbin has a hard time not remembering yesterday. Not remembering the way Zhang Hao tattooed that word on her core, on her mind. Funny little thing, how she hears that word and her breath instantly quickens, her stomach flutters, her pussy throbs.

Zhang Hao moves, correcting, adjusting, advising. Hanbin tries to focus, she really, really does, but she can’t help the way her whole body tenses when Zhang Hao nears her. And she can feel it too—Zhang Hao’s attention, the weight of it burning on her skin. 

She steps past Hanbin’s left shoulder, close enough that Hanbin catches the familiar scent of jasmine and soap. “Hanbin-ah,” Zhang Hao murmurs, quiet enough that it gets lost in the sea of people. “You’re doing it again.”

Hanbin startles. “W-what?”

“In your head,” Zhang Hao says, resting one fingertip at the base of Hanbin’s skull. “You think too much. Breathe.” The lone finger trails down, ghosts the line of Hanbin’s spine, hidden from the world. Just for them. 

And Hanbin does. She breathes. Or at least, she tries. She inhales, chest expanding, and wills her thoughts to quiet. They don’t, for obvious reasons—Zhang Hao’s fingertip hovering near the waistband of her pants, touching across the small of her back before gliding up again. 

But Zhang Hao praises her nonetheless. “Better,” she says right next to Hanbin’s ear. And then, “Again.”

Hanbin almost moans. Her body shivers, breath hitching. All she can think of is being on her knees, Zhang Hao looking down. 

Again, again, and again.

Zhang Hao knows what she’s doing. She moves away, hips saying softly, the word hanging between them.

Hanbin watches everything Zhang Hao does with rapt attention. She doesn’t let a single second go to waist, drinks it all in the thirsty, needy woman she is. 

It’s not new, seeing Zhang Hao dance. That doesn’t mean it’s not as beautiful as it was the first time.

She’s seen this dozens of times—in person, in her living room, in her dreams. Last night as she closed her eyes, jolting awake with sweaty limbs and Zhang Hao whispering into her ears.

“First row, try it,” Zhang Hao says. “The rest, watch.”

Hanbin doesn’t. She doesn’t watch, doesn’t pay attention to anyone else, to anything else. They’re inconsequential, they don't hold a candle to Zhang Hao. She’s the only one worth looking at, at the end of the day.

How her lips twist in displeasure, how her eyes squint in concentration. How she crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her small and round breasts up. The curve of her hip, how the black legging accentuate the roundness of her ass. Hanbin feels a bit like a pervert, but she can’t help it.

Can’t help wanting her.

Eventually, it’s her turn. She steps forward with the others, heart hammering. Hanbin needs to find a balance—to be the best, but not to be outstanding. There’s still a role she has to play, even if she’s already shown most of her cards, even if some people here know her, even if Zhang Hao’s most likely pieced everything together. She still needs to keep some semblance of control over herself, the situation.

Don’t overdo it, she warns herself. Don’t show off. Make her look only at you. She only needs to have eyes for you. The rest aren’t—

“Good,” Zhang Hao says aloud when they finish, slicing through Hanbin’s spiraling thoughts. “Again. Use your breath properly this time. Focus on that.”

Breath. Hanbin does it again. She remembers Zhang Hao’s hands pressed on her ribs, remembers the sweet voice guiding each inhale, each exhale. So she breathes, she dances, forgets everything around her, anything that isn’t Zhang Hao’s body at the front of the room. It feels like dancing only for her. She is—she knows she is.

No one moves for a few seconds after they finish. “Better,” Zhang Hao says, slowly. “Front left.”

It takes Hanbin a second to realize that Zhang Hao’s looking right at her. “Me?” she croaks, pointing a finger to her chest in disbelief.

A few students chuckle, but Hanbin can tell it’s not mocking. She hears someone mutter Teacher’s pet, and that, oddly, fills her chest with more pride than the steady and awe-filled whispers of Hanbin-unnie is so talented.

Zhang Hao’s mouth twitches in amusement. “Yes, you,” she confirms. “Sung Hanbin-ssi, show them the phrase once. I want everyone to see the proper use of breath and upper body work. You’re the example of perfection.”

Heat rushes to Hanbin’s cheek quickly. She bows her head, takes a deep breath all while staring at her own feet, trying not to look as dizzy as she feels, and moves to the place Zhang Hao wants her.

Hanbin dances. It’s not new, not a foreign feeling to be watched, but this time every nerve in her body screams with the need to prove herself, with the need to be the best, with the need to prove that she is. Zhang Hao just called her the example of perfection. Sung Hanbin must live up to that.

It doesn’t help that Zhang Hao’s gaze burns into her skin. It doesn’t help how she can see the way her fingers fidget, the way she bites her lip.

When she finishes, Hanbin’s breathless. Zhang Hao still looks at her—only her. Her tongue wets her lips, and her nipples are hard, so hard Hanbin can see the outline of them through Zhang Hao's thin cotton shirt. Something possessive curls in Hanbin’s stomach. 

She needs… she needs to hide her, to wrap her in more layers, to not let anyone see her beauty, her talent. Only Hanbin is deserving.

Zhang Hao hums, small and pleased. “Very good,” she says, clearing her throat when her voice comes out a bit thick. “Everyone, pay attention to how Hanbin-ssi dances. It’s controlled, but it doesn’t feel like that, right? She’s tired, but she doesn’t show it. That’s what I want to see.”

The class claps. No one teases Hanbin anymore—they just stare at her with admiration. And yes, Hanbin might be the teacher’s pet—a nickname she wears proudly—but there’s a reason why she’s granted that privilege.

Because she’s good. Good enough to earn Zhang Hao’s undivided attention. Zhang Hao, who walks slowly towards her, who takes her bony elbow with soft fingers, who leans in and whispers, “You’re so good, Hanbin-ah,” right next to her ear. “Such a good girl. Making jiejie so proud.”

Hanbin feels her knees buckle, the air leaving her lungs, her cunt warm and drippy with desire. She almost feels guilty for wanting to take Zhang Hao right here, right now, but her lovely jiejie doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, the little smirk she gives Hanbin says that she enjoys it.

Zhang Hao is ruthless after that. She makes everyone dance again, again and again, until she’s satisfied. Hanbin feels like she’s dying, lungs burning, but every time she thinks I can’t do this anymore. I really can’t, she catches Zhang Hao’s eyes on her, waiting, expecting.

And suddenly, she can. 

“Again,” Zhang Hao says once, locking eyes with her in the glass. The words are for everyone, but the look isn’t.

“Five-minute break,” she calls as they near the ninety-minute mark. “Drink water. Don’t lie down or you will cramp.”

Half the class lies down anyway. The other half slump against the walls, trying to catch their breath. Hanbin doesn’t move toward them. She gravitates, unconsciously, to the corner where Zhang Hao’s things rest. She doesn’t touch anything, just stands there, chugs drop after drop of water messily, greedily. It runs down her neck, in between the valley of her breasts.

She doesn’t notice Zhang Hao is next to her until she sees her, her eyes following one of those little droplets disappearing under her low collared shirt. 

“You’re tired,” Zhang Hao murmurs.

Hanbin is tired. Bone-deep tired. So tired she feels like she might die. But before she can stop it, she’s already blurting, “I can keep going, jiejie.”

Zhang Hao’s hand brushes lightly against the small of her back as she reaches for one of the water bottles Hanbin prepared for her. Most likely a casual touch, even accidental, but the light pressure of her fingers, the slow, circling touch, doesn’t feel like it.

“I know,” Zhang Hao says, unscrewing the cap, her eyes warm and amused. “Hanbinnie will only stop when jiejie tells her, right?” She takes a sip, throat working, and Hanbin stares without shame, with hunger, biting the inside of her cheek until she tastes copper.

Zhang Hao notices. That’s enough for an answer for her, it seems.

Class ends with people crowding around Zhang Hao, asking questions, thanking her. With them hogging her, their little greedy and undeserving hands reaching for her, but Zhang Hao is already moving away .

Hanbin hangs back. She busies herself with rolling her shoulders, with packing her bags slowly, pretending she’s not coming up with ten and one ways to pry her away from the rest of the world. It’s safer this way, Hanbin thinks. She doesn’t want Zhang Hao to think she’s a weird obsessive freak. Even if she is. A little bit.

“Hanbin-ssi.” It slices through the noise just as Hanbin lifts her bag. 

She freezes, and then turns. Zhang Hao is looking at her over the heads of two chattering students, one eyebrow, raised. “Stay back for a moment,” she says. “If you’re not in a rush.”

She is in a rush. She has a class to teach all across Seoul in one hour. But she’d never deny Zhang Hao anything. “Yes. Of course,” Hanbin says quickly, much to Zhang Hao’s delight. “Anything songssaenim needs.”

Some students look back and forth between the two of them, like they’re putting pieces together, but nobody speaks up. They drift out after Zhang Hao dismisses them, chatter fading into the hall. Soon even that disappears, leaving only echoes of footsteps outside the room.

And Hanbin’s heartbeat. That, she can hear clearly too. 

Zhang Hao moves slowly, lazily, in no hurry. She takes a moment to stretch her neck as Hanbin’s gaze hungrily follows every centimeter of creamy skin, moles scattered all over. She rolls her shoulders back, breathes, all while Hanbin stands rooted in place, hands clasped in front of her.

“Relax, baby,” Zhang Hao says eventually, a small smile curling her lips as she steps closer. “I’m not going to scold you.”

Baby. Zhang Hao just called her baby. If Hanbin had a little less self-control, she’d be all over Zhang Hao, pressing her mouth to the damp and salty skin of her jaw, hands cupping her small breasts, tongue lapping at—

“I didn’t think jiejie was going to scold me,” Hanbin says too fast, tripping over her words. She’s suddenly too aware of herself: the warm, sweet smell of how turned on she is, the heavy pulse low in her belly, her nipples rubbing painfully against her sports bra.

Zhang Hao hums. It feels like she already knows about every single thought running through Hanbin’s head. Kind of hard not to, when she’s blushing like a schoolgirl at the moment. 

“You did well today, Hanbinnie,” Zhang Hao says, drying the sweat from Hanbin’s cheek with the back of her hand. “You always do. But I wanted to ask you something.

And Hanbin has already made the promise. “Anything,” leaves her lips immediately.

There it is again. That damned word. Zhang Hao’s lips twitch. “I want you on the front row next time.” Her tone leaves no room for argument. As if Hanbin would dare. “Here,” she says, tapping the floor with the tip of her foot, right in the center. “Not hiding back there like today.”

“Hiding?” Hanbin squeaks. She has totally been caught, hasn’t she? Of course she has. Zhang Hao’s eyes are everywhere, no one can escape. But Hanbin still chooses to cling to what remains of her dignity. “I wasn’t hiding. I was just—I didn’t want to get in the way, I—”

“Hanbin.” Zhang Hao’s voice is soft, but the command hidden underneath isn’t. “Jiejie wants to see you properly. Will you deny her that?”

It’s such a simple sentence—innocent, even. A request of not hiding anymore. But Zhang Hao says it in a way that makes it feel like something beyond teaching. The eyes lingering on Hanbin’s face, waiting for her reaction, are enough proof. This is about Zhang Hao wanting her close, wanting her where she can see her. Where everyone can see that she has chosen her.

Hanbin has to comply. “I would never deny jiejie anything,” she vows. Her voice doesn't stutter, doesn’t waver. Zhang Hao must understand.

She seems a bit surprised by Hanbin’s certainty. Up until now she’s been nothing but shy, timid. 

Recovering quickly, Zhang Hao gives a warm, tender smile. “Thank you, Hanbin-ah.” For the first time since they’ve known each other, her words feel honest. Her hand reaches over, and she cups Hanbin's warm, supple cheek. Hanbin leans into her cold palm, nuzzles her nose into it, almost plants a brief kiss, but she’s a coward.

Hanbin has to leave soon, but right now she feels content, comfortable. She would like to stay here forever, she thinks, close to Zhang Hao, where they can touch each other. This is somewhere she belongs.

And then it’s over. Zach Hao’s thumb glides over Hanbin’s cheek, she fixes a stray hair behind her ear, and then she’s already leaning down for her bag.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, voice all velvet and warmth, and Hanbin feels it all the way to her core. “Rest, will you? My star has to show everyone what she’s made of. And to do that, she can’t be tired.”

My star.

Hanbin could die. 

ฅ^>⩊<^ ฅ

My star.

Hanbin can’t, won’t stop thinking about it.

She thinks about it the entire day. It follows her everywhere. At work with her kids, at home while he showers. While cooking, while massaging her sore thighs. It follows Hanbin to bed, when her head touches her soft pillow, when she closes her eyes to rest.

Hanbin thinks about it when she touches herself. Hand over her round breasts, fingers pinching a sensitive nipple though her shirt, two fingers deep inside her as she muffles her moans against her shirt. She thinks about Zhang Hao’s words as she comes hard, harder than she ever has, as she catches her breath, as she closes her eyes and drifts into sleep.

My star.

Hanbin shows up the next day with her heart going way too fast, adrenaline sitting in her chest. She promised Zhang Hao something—that she’d stand in the front row, right under her eyes, right where she’d be seen. 

And still…

The second she steps into the studio, something in her flips. Fear, Hanbin realizes. Too many people, too many eyes, too much noise. It has never been a problem before, but it is today. The lights, the floor, her dry mouth, her stiff limbs. She’s too close to Zhang Hao.

Her feet betray her. They pull her straight to the back again, to the far right corner, half-hidden behind everyone else. Coward. That’s what she is. So much for doing anything for Zhang Hao, for the empty promises she made.

Zhang Hao arrives, and Hanbin doesn’t look at her. She tries to shrink as small as her body will allow her, tries not to do anything that might get the attention from the tall, and imposing woman. 

But Zhang Hao has never been someone easily fooled. As soon as she sets her bag down on the floor, she’s looking around the room with her big, inquisitive eyes, searching. She finds Hanbin in seconds.

“Hanbin-ssi,” Zhang Hao calls, voice low but cutting through the chatter. Everyone quiets, Hanbin freezes. She’s been caught so, so easily. “What did you promise me yesterday?” The question is asked loudly, for everyone to hear while Zhang Hao’s mouth curls in quiet displeasure.

Heat floods Hanbin’s face instantly. “I—I wasn’t—” she tries, weakly, but Zhang Hao doesn’t let her finish.

She just arches her brow and says, “Front row.” 

Hanbin obeys so quickly, nearly tripping over someone’s bag in her rush to get where Zhang Hao wants her. A few dancers chuckle softly, but Hanbin pays them no mind. She just looks at Zhang Hao, at the way she hums, pleased, when Hanbin stands just a few steps from her.

It’s different, learning from her, watching her from up close. Hanbin can smell her—jasmine and sweat. She can see the faint gold adorning her irises, can count her moles, the ones on her bare arms, on her bare chest, on her neck, her face. Hanbin can quickly make the way towards her, unscrew her water bottle, shamelessly wipe the sweat away from her cheeks, her temples.

People talk. Of course they do. Especially when Hanbin acts like a lovesick puppy around Zhang Hao, waggling her tail, tongue lolling. Figuratively, of course. Or so Hanbin hopes. 

But she is a lovesick puppy, there’s no denying that. That’s how she feels, like Zhang Hao has her on a tight leash, like Hanbin would follow her everywhere blindly. Around the studio, on the street, at home. She feels like she’d do anything, everything just to get a few belly rubs. 

And she does. She does everything Zhang Hao says, and even more. So obviously, people notice. Even more when Hanbin doesn’t even try to hide it.

She knows she can be a little bit… intense. She’s been told that before. She’s been told that, whenever she’s particularly interested in something—obsessed, honestly—her gaze acquires this glint, this darkness and depth, uncanny to some. Something she didn’t know she did until Matthew filmed her once while she was scrolling through Zhang Hao’s feed.

Maybe this stare has always been there. Born because of her.

By the end of class, Hanbin feels stripped bare. Not embarrassed—just exposed, like everyone can see straight through her, all the way into her bone marrow, all the way into the deeper confines of her heart. But if it’s Zhang Hao who’s looking, Hanbin realizes that she doesn’t mind.

Sadly, that’s not enough to stop her from escaping, leaving the studio as fast as she can. Hanbin knows that if she were alone in the studio with Zhang Hao again, she would do something that she might not regret—but might not be wise, either.

She doesn’t trust herself.

But she wants. God, she wants so badly. She wants more than she’s ever wanted anything. She wants until she feels crazy, delirious with it. She wants until all she knows is wanting.

ฅ^>⩊<^ ฅ

Hanbin’s dreams are vivid. They’ve been that way ever since she met Zhang Hao. In such a short span, she’s flipped Hanbin’s life completely upside down, which, for Sung Hanbin—someone who only feels comfortable when she controls—is an oddity. 

She should feel strange. She should be thinking of ways of getting her life back in order, but for once, Hanbin doesn’t care. It feels like freedom, in a way, wanting someone so much you’d let them do anything to you, let them take the reins of your life.

The realization has Hanbin getting up from her bed quickly, pulling on clothes, getting ready to leave. Hanbin needs to dance. She needs to dance the want out of her bones before she sees Zhang Hao. Or else, it’ll be written plainly on her face for everyone to see.

The studio is empty—just the receptionist dozing at her desk.

Hanbin thinks she’s alone. That’s her first mistake—but it’s what lets her dance freely, like she does at home, like she does when she teaches. Hanbin doesn’t notice Zhang Hao standing behind the half-open door, watching at the way her body moves seamlessly, mesmerized.

Hanbin doesn't hear anything. Doesn't hear Zhang Hao's little gasp, too lost in the music, in the way her body moves. She doesn't see the way Zhang Hao’s eyes go dark, her pupils dilating. She misses the way her mouth parts in awe, or how her fingers won’t stop picking at the hem of her hoodie, so unlike her. She doesn't see the way she keeps rubbing her thighs together, trying to relieve some of the warmth building between her legs.

But some things she does notice. Her tank top, wet, clinging to her ribs and her back. Her body moving with a kind of hunger that she hasn’t felt in a long time. Water trailing down her neck as she drinks messily, one droplet rolling down her chin, down her chest, disappearing her supple breasts. 

She doesn’t notice Zhang Hao’s eyes following it, trailing the movement of her throat—doesn’t notice the reflection behind her.

She only notices when she hears, “So you lied to me.”

Hanbin turns on her heels, chokes on the water she’s mid-swallow. Her whole body goes cold, dread blooming red in her stomach. Is Zhang Hao going to kick her out? Is she gonna ask her to leave, to never show her face again?

Zhang Hao stands there, beautiful as always. Hair loose around her shoulders, hoodie half-zipped, no make-up. Just her, bare, breathless and real, staring at Hanbin not with anger or disgust or betrayal, but with a fourth, mysterious thing. Admiration, maybe. Want, desire—if Hanbin lets herself hope.

“Ah—” Hanbin tries, but she’s too nervous, too jittery. Her throat won’t work—the words won’t come out. She’s been found out. Her dirty little secret, out in the open. “Jiejie… did you—did you see me?”

Zhang Hao steps forward. One step. Two, three, four steps, until their chests are almost touching, until Hanbin feels her—all of her—the heat coming from her body, her sweet scent, the moles scattering her face. 

Her voice drops low, sweet like poisoned honey. Hanbin doesn’t really mind. She’s always been a fan of danger. “Sung Hanbin…” A teasing smile curls her lips, but her eyes are sharp. Dangerous. “Aren’t you full of surprises?” 

Hanbin nearly collapses, her knees trembling. “Jiejie. I can explain. I wasn’t trying to—I didn’t mean to—” she stammers, desperate, but Zhang Hao doesn’t let her finish. Her finger rises, and she presses it over Hanbin’s bitten-raw lips, shushing her.

“Shhh…” The naughty finger draws down to Hanbin’s chin, guiding her head up, forcing Hanbin to look at her. “I knew Hanbinnie was good,” Zhang Hao purrs, voice low and sultry and seductive. “I knew there was no way Hanbinnie wasn’t a professional. But still, it seems like I underestimated you.”

Her other hand rises, tracing the sweat sliding down Hanbin’s collarbone, into the valley of her round breasts. It feels so, so good, Hanbin can’t help but let out a small, helpless little squeak. The arousal pools between her legs, her mouth waters. And Zhang Hao sees it all—smells her, even. Hanbin does. 

She breathes out, soft, delighted at Hanbin’s reaction. “Dance for me,” Zhang Hao commands. It’s the last thing Hanbin’s expecting to hear.

“What?”

“Didn’t Hanbinnie hear me?” Zhang Hao murmurs, leaning in so close that her lips brush Hanbin’s ear when she speaks again. “I said dance for me. Jiejie wants to see you.”

All Hanbin can do is obey. Really, what other choice does she have? Zhang Hao could be asking her to burn down the world, and she would do it. So Hanbin nods, agrees, even when she knows it might not be the wisest choice.

It’s silent this time, no music, just Zhang Hao’s eyes following her everywhere, something deep and dark making them shine. And Hanbin dances. She dances with technique, with desperation, with the frantic need to please, to obey. With everything inside her burning, begging to be seen, chosen, touched.

And Zhang Hao… she watches her close enough that Hanbin feels her gaze pressed into her skin. She doesn’t stay still, either. She circles Hanbin, silently, like a predator, fingers twitching at her sides, restraining herself from touching. 

But Hanbin doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want restraint. 

She dances, and every time Zhang Hao says “Again”, once, twice, three, four times, more times than Hanbin can count, she obeys. She dances. She keeps moving until she can’t anymore, until her thighs shake, until her breaths goes all uneven, until sweat runs down her face and soaks her shirt.

Zhang Hao doesn’t stop. “Again,” she commands as Hanbin’s vision blurs, as her throat constricts, as she swallows down a sob and keeps moving. She just comes closer. So close that Hanbin freezes as she feels her fingers ghosting the back of her arm—not touching, not yet. But it still makes Hanbin shiver violently.

“Youre such a good girl,” Zhang Hao murmurs, warm breath colliding against Hanbin’s ear. “The best”

The praise breaks something inside her, but it feels so, so right. Exactly what Hanbin wanted, what she deserves. Her body slumps back, boneless, pressing into Zhang Hoa’s front as warm hands settle around her middle. 

There are many things Hanbin should be doing. She should be taking deep breaths, she should try to calm down. But it’s impossible. Her chest heaves, and this time, it’s not from exhaustion. It’s from how close they are, from the tender press of their foreheads, from Zhang Hao’s lips ghosting the skin of Hanbin’s tear-straked cheek.

Hanbin turns then, embracing Zhang Hao, hiding her face in the crook of her neck while lone tears escape. It’s strange, so strange. If Hanbin were to ask herself why she cries, she wouldn’t have an answer. But she does, and it feels right to do so buried so deeply in Zhang Hao’s arms. It feels even better when she feels her arms tighten, almost impossibly so, when her fingers bury in the mess of her hair, when sweet nothings are whispered against her ear.

Cold palms cup her warm cheeks, guiding Hanbin’s face up, brushing away a few tears. “Hanbinnie, look at me,” Zhang Hao says, voice gentle, so, so gentle it almost hurts. “Look at jiejie.”

And Hanbin tries, she really, really tries. But she fails. She doesn’t know what she’ll find there, what she’ll find in her round, beautiful, shiny eyes. 

Zhang Hao is relentless, though—she always is. If there’s something Hanbin knows about her, it is that she tries, and tries until she succeeds. She leans close, closer, until their foreheads touch, her voice a warm caress against Hanbin’s lips. 

“Jiejie is not angry.” Hanbin melts in relief. She hadn’t even realized that that was one of her fears—anger, disappointment. “She just thinks you’re very cute,” Zhang Hao adds, thumb stroking her cheekbone.

Hanbin whimpers. That’s what makes look up, look into Zhang Hao’s eyes—hard task considering how woven close they are, but not impossible for a woman in love. And she smiles. Zhang Hao smiles—slow, soft, tender, enamored.

“I’m really happy Hanbinnie decided to hide, or she wouldn’t be here right now. And this is exactly where she belongs, right?”

In Zhang Hao’s arms, with her hands on her cheeks, with Hanbin’s arms wrapped around her waist, unconsciously caressing bare skin. With Zhang Hao’s tracing softly down her arm, fingertips pressing into the inside of her wrist—possesive, claiming. 

With their cheeks rubbing together, their lips grazing just barely.

“Yes,” Hanbin affirms, the most certain she’s ever sounded in front of Zhang Hao. Zhang Hao—her idol, her dream. “This is exactly where I belong.”

Zhang Hao smile shifts—sharper, something molten slipping beneath her expression. Want, desire. Hanbin knows as much, because that is what she feels too, burning through her veins, pulsating between her thighs. 

She guides Hanbin backward until her spine hits the mirrored wall, the cold surface stealing a gasp from her lips, and then, her hands are on her jaw, caressing the soft skin. “Hanbinnie dances so beautifully for jiejie… and cries beautifully too,” she whispers, voice hungry, starving. “Will she cry if I kiss her?”

Hanbin doesn’t get the chance to answer—her gasp is swallowed by Zhang Hao’s own lips. Plush, sweet, insistent. 

She kisses like she dances, soft, strong, and commanding. And Hanbin is her student, at the end of the day. She can’t do anything but follow her lead, but kiss her back just as fervently, opening her mouth when Zhang Hao wants her to, moaning as she grinds her throbbing pussy against Zhang Hao’s thigh.

Her knees wobble in pleasure, fingers bunching the fabric of Zhang Hao’s hoodie, pulling her as close as possible. She needs her with her, into her, melted into one. But Zhang Hao, always a little mean, just pulls back, with her mouth red and swollen, pressing one last, chaste kiss against Hanbin’s lips.

“My baby Hanbinnie is the most beautiful,” she whispers under her breath as her fingers slip beneath the hem of Hanbin’s tank top, teasing the damp, bare skin of her stomach.

All Hanbin can do is choke on a whimper as she feels Zhang Hao’s hand sliding higher. It’s slow but purposeful, and she drags it on and on and on, until finally, her fingers cup one of Hanbin’s supple breasts, thumb circling over her clothed, sensitive nipple. And even if there’s a barrier between them, Hanbin feels her entire body jolt, a strangled sob tearing from her throat as she drops her head back.

“There she is,” Zhang Hao murmurs, kissing along the edge of Hanbin’s jaw, licking her salty skin. “My good girl.”

Hanbin is shaking—actually shaking. And Zhang Hao is so achingly gentle with every new touch that it makes her want to cry, makes tears gather at the corners of her eyes, born exclusively from pleasure. 

Zhang Hao is everywhere. 

Her hands are on her breasts, kneading in a torturous pattern. Her mouth is on her jaw, on her neck, leaving love-bites on her collarbones. The tip of her nose is buried on Hanbin’s breasts, grazing, breathing her in, right before she leaves wet kisses over the soft, jiggly exterior.

“Jiejie. Jiejie, please,” Hanbin gasps, begs, even though she’s not really sure what she’s begging for. Anything. Everything.

“Oh?” Zhang Hao eyes gleam with mischief at the sight of Hanbin’s debauched state. “Already begging? But I haven’t even touched Hanbinnie yet,” she says with a pout and faux-innocent eyes.

Hanbin cries. She doesn’t sob, doesn’t weep, just sheds quiet , small tears. For the first time in her life, Hanbin feels desperate. Desperate and shameless, as she presses closer and closer to Zhang Hao, as moans leave her lips, as she presses her nose to Zhang Hao’s long throat, breathing her in. Jasmine and sweat. That’s what fills her senses as she grinds down on Zhang Hao’s thigh harder, hips moving in circles.

Zhang Hao kisses each and every one of Hanbin’s tears away. “Shhh baby… jiejie will take care of you,” she murmurs, voice warm and velvet and dangerous. 

All Hanbin can do is whimper and nod, pliant, ready to bend and be bent to Zhang Hao’s will. She wants to be touched, she wants to come undone under her hands, her mouth, her thigh, anything.

But then—

Zhang Hao surprises her—of course she does. Her hand takes Hanbin, and she guides it to her own body, pressing it firmly against the heat of her cunt. Hanbin can’t believe it, can’t believe this is her life, so she freezes, gasps, fingers just resting there, cupping Zhang Hao’s pussy over her leggings.

“Hanbinnie, touch me,” Zhang Hao whispers wetly against her lips, finally showing that she wants Hanbin just as desperately as Hanbin wants her back, as she presses down insistently against her hand. “Jiejie has waited long enough.”

Hanbin’s fingers caress on instinct, dragging a low hiss from Zhang Hao’s lips. “Jiejie,” she says in awe, in disbelief. She’s pretty sure it’s written all over her face, in her round eyes, in her parted mouth. “Can I?”

“You already are,” Zhang Hao says, leaning in until their foreheads touch. “Don’t make me beg, Hanbinnie.”    

Hanbin would never. She would never make Zhang Hao beg. She would give and give, she would let her take as much as she wants, until there’s nothing left. And since Zhang Hao wants, she’ll give it to her.

Her hand leaves the warmth of Zhang Hao’s cunt long enough to hook into the waistband of her leggings. She tugs them down quickly, desperately, but just enough to bare the heat she’s been aching to touch, to taste. Then Hanbin slips her hand beneath the fabric, sliding between Zhang Hao’s dripping folds. She parts them gently and feels—hot, wet, slick. It’s a barely there touch, but Zhang Hao shudders, her grip on Hanbin’s shoulders tightening. 

Hanbin’s fingers explore, rubbing slowly circles over her clit, teasing at her entrance without pushing in. She tries to get familiarized with her, with all of her, what makes her keen and what makes her whimper. 

“God, you’re so good,” Zhang Hao breathes out, voice trembling now as Hanbin starts to build a pace, a steady roll of pleasure against her sensitive clit. “Just like that… Ah—Hanbin…”

Hanbin could come just from that, from her name being uttered like that, so lewd so sensual. All she can do is lean in and kiss her throat, soft at first as she slips one lone finger inside her. Zhang Hao is so warm, so tight, clenching around her digit. 

Her mouth follows the frantic beat of  Zhang Hao’s pulse, down her neck, along her jaw, over her collarbone as her finger thrust in and out in a slow, torturous rhythm. She tastes sweat and salt and jasmine, kisses harder when Zhang Hao gasps as a second finger joins the first, when fingers curl tight in Hanbin’s hair.

“Hanbinnie,” Zhang Hao rasps. “Hanbin-ah, you’ll kill me.”

A high whine breaks from Zhang Hao’s when Hanbin crooks her fingers just right, finding that soft, spongy spot inside her. Zhang Hao hikes one leg over Hanbin’s waist, Hanbin’s free hand grabs a handful of her plump ass, kneading, tugging her closer. 

“Look at us,” Zhang Hao murmurs against Hanbin’s flushed cheek, taking her chin and turning her face toward the mirror.

And Hanbin sees it. God, she sees. Her own flushed face, her crazed, red-rimed eyes, Zhang Hao’s trembling knees, the way she clings to her. Hanbin’s hand buried between her bodies, thrusting into Zhang Hao’s tight heat. Zhang Hao’s head thrown back, lips parted in pleasure, the long, milky line of her neck. 

“Does Hanbinnie like what she sees?” Zhang Hao asks while Hanbin picks up the pace, the squelching sounds her fingers and Zhang Hao’s dripping pussy make growing louder, Zhang Hao’s moans coming sharper and quicker. “Does she like to be inside jiejie?”

Hanbin breaks. She knows the pace she sets is ruthless, but she also knows Zhang Hao can take it. She knows the way she crashes their mouths together is messy and  desperate, but Zhang Hao likes it. She likes it so much she’s screaming Hanbin’s name in no time, shaking in her arms, cunt clenching so hard Hanbin thinks her fingers might get stuck there forever. Not that she’d mind.

She doesn’t know how long they spend like that, with Zhang Hao in her arms, trying to catch her breath, clinging to Hanbin so she doesn’t collapse, with Hanbin brushing damp hair away from her face, rubbing soothing circles on the small of her back. 

The next thing she knows, Zhang Hao’s on her knees, looking up with mischief in her eyes, cheek rubbing against Hanbin’s thigh like a kitty would. 

“Hi, Hanbinnie,” she says from down there, takingHanbin’s trembling hands, placing them on the back of her neck. Then, words Hanbin she knows she’ll remember for the rest of her life. “Jiejie will eat you out now.” 

Zhang Hao doesn’t ask for permission. It’s not like Hanbin would ever deny her, though. Still, Zhang Hao waits until she nods, which Hanbin does, dumbly, mouth hanging open. And the little devil on her knees just giggles, fucking giggles as her fingers glide up Hanbin’s soft tummy, pressing a featherlight kiss just bellow her belly button.

And then, Hanbin’s bare. Zhang Hao pulls everything down in one smooth motion, making Hanbin hiss in pleasure as the cold air of the studio collides with the dripping warmth of her pussy.

“Mmm,” Zhang Hao hums in delight. Her eyes go round, lips curving into a pleased smile, apples of her cheeks high in her face. Hanbin doesn’t think she’s ever seen her this elated, this eager. 

She drops open-mouthed kisses to Hanbin’s strong thighs, nudges her nose where slick warmth meets skin. Hanbin tries not to squirm, not to pull Zhang Hao’s long, cherry hair, not to shove her into her pussy—but it gets harder when Zhang Hao starts nosing at her lips, slowly, almost lovingly, dropping gentle kisses against the swollen flesh.

“Mmm, you smell so good baby,” she purrs, using her fingers to part Hanbin’s labia, studying her lewdly. And Hanbin feels so, so exposed—but she doesn’t think for a second about closing her legs. No—if Zhang Hao wants to see her, then Hanbin wants to be seen. “Your pussy is to die for. So pink and pretty.” Her words are followed by her pink tongue darting out, licking a long, indulgent stripe from Hanbin’s entrance up to her swollen clit. 

This time, Hanbin can’t help the way her hands tighten on Zhang Hao’s silky strands, the way she moans loudly and brokenly. Zhang Hao goes back for seconds, tongue lapping at the wetness of her pussy with relentless curiosity. 

“Ah, don’t you taste delicious?” she asks devilishly, licking her own plush lips, savoring Hanbin on her tongue.

And Hanbin—stupid Hanbin, who suddenly remembers where they are, stupid Hanbin who glances at the clock and sees they only have twenty minutes until class starts, stupid Hanbin who panics at the thought of being caught with her teacher between her legs—can’t help but look down at Zhang Hao, at the way she traces every single dip and contour of her pussy, at the way she salivates in anticipation, and blurt out, “We—we can’t here, jiejie.”

Because what if they’re caught? What if someone walks in, sees Zhang Hao eating her out, sees her crying from pleasure?

Somehow, the thought doesn’t scare Hanbin as much as it should. Actually, it doesn’t scare her at all. If anything, something hot and shameless curls in her stomach at the idea that she, Sung Hanbin, is the only one who gets Zhang Hao like this—on her knees, dying to get a proper taste of her pussy.

Zhang Hao doesn’t care, either. She just laughs and asks sarcastically, “What, getting cold feet now? May I remind you that you just were knuckles deep inside me, baby? Have you forgotten already?” She follows her questioning with a loud kiss to Hanbin’s mount, teeth scraping lightly against the soft flesh.

“N-no,” Hanbin stutters out, shivering at the way Zhang Hao scrapes her short, blunt nails over the trimmed hair at her pubic bone.“I could never forget how jiejie felt around me.”

“Good,” Zhang Hao says, smug and satisfied. And Hanbin is really, really going crazy. She’s so turned on by this whole thing that her cunt keeps clenching around nothing, that she can feel the wetness dripping down her thighs. “Has Hanbinnie ever done this?”

“Sex? In—in the practice room?” Hanbin stammers again. Fuck. She can’t stop. And she knows she must look like an utter mess, like the biggest loser on earth in front of the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen in her life, and it’s so, so embarrassing. A lovesick virgin, someone who’s never been touched before. 

But Zhang Hao likes it, revels in it. 

“No,” Hanbin whispers. “Never.”

Zhang Hao freezes. “Never…?” she repeats, voice catching in her throat and breath faltering as her eyes widen. She looks up at Hanbin—slowly, disbelieving, almost as if she's been handed something, someone precious. “You’ve never had sex?” 

Hanbin shakes her head, cheeks burning in shame. “No, jiejie.”

Something interesting happens to Zhang Hao. Her lips part in what looks like awe, her pupils blow wide, making her eyes seem almost black. For once, she loses her practiced composure, much to Hanbin’s delight.

“Hanbinnie…” she whispers reverently, hungrily, pink tongue coming out to lick her lips. “Oh, baby.” 

Then she coos, voice shaking with delight and barely contained desire. “What a good girl,” Zhang Hao says, playfully nipping at the inside of her thigh. “You like following rules, don’t you? Is jiejie corrupting you?”

She is—but Hanbin isn’t complaining. If Zhang Hao wants her, then Hanbin will let her take her anywhere, everywhere. 

But—

“Has jiejie done this before? Here?” Hanbin blurts out before she can help herself, tightening her hold instinctively on Zhang Hao’s hair. There’s an edge to her voice—dark, jealous, unpretty—one she always tries to keep buried, but the mere thought of Zhang Hao, who’s hers, doing this with someone else—

Her spiralling thoughts are cut off by Zhang Hao’s sweet, grave voice. “No,” she says earnestly, caressing the back of Hanbin’s thighs, fingers sinking gently into the plump flesh of her ass. “Hanbinnie will be my first here.”

For a moment, Hanbin forgets how to breathe. Her first. 

Maybe Zhang Hao has slept with countless women, some she might not even remember. But not here. Not in this place, so sacred for both of them, the place they spend longer than their own beds, their own homes. 

Every time Zhang Hao steps into a practice room she will think of Hanbin, and that feels better than any praise, any touch, any plea. Zhang Hao feels the way Hanbin’s body shivers, because she squeezes her thighs just a bit harder, grounding her.

“Hanbinnie,” she murmurs against her skin, voice low and reverent, stripped of any teasing lilt. “Jiejie will take care of you now.”

Hanbin breaks, surrenders—not that she ever put much of a fight to begin with. Her knees fall open before she even realizes, Zhang Hao lifting one leg carefully over her shoulder. She breathes her in once more, delighting on the scent of Hanbin’s arousal, eyes dropping to her red, trembling cunt.

“Hao-jiejie—” Hanbin whispers, barely a sound, voice cracking under desire.

“I know, baby,” Zhang Hao answers softly, her mouth brushing against the skin of Hanbin’s lips. “I know,” she murmurs one last time before finally, finally leaning in, finally giving Hanbin what she’s been begging for.

Her mouth is warm and wet, her tongue slow, tasting, savoring. All Hanbin can do is gasp, again and again and again as Zhang Hao sucks relentlessly at her clit, ruthlessly even, while her index finger toys at her entrance, caressing it, but not pushing in. Her tongue does all the work.

Zhang Hao hums at Hanbin’s moans, pleased, the vibration shooting straight through Hanbin’s bones as the sound of slurping fills the room. 

“Jiejie. Hao, Zhang Hao,” Hanbin whimpers, her voice breaking every time she tries to speak. 

But there’s something she needs to say, something clogging her throat, building at the base of her tummy, something that’s been on her mind for days, an idea, a thought, a dream, a—

“My pretty girl,” Zhang Hao says, and she sounds breathless. The sight of her is downright sinful—lips plump and red, swollen, chin slick with spit, with Hanbin’s arousal. She licks her lips, then the finger she’d teased Hanbin with, humming at the remnants of her flavor. “So sweet for jiejie.”

She dives back in, eagerly fucking Hanbin with her tongue, thursting as deep as she can. Hanbin feels her everywhere, feels her all the way to her stomach, feels her all the way to her chest, to her throat, pushing the words out.

“Jiejie,” Hanbin pants, cupping the back of Zhang Hao’s head, looking at her straight into her round, shiny eyes. “Will you let me take you out on a date?”

Zhang Hao stills for a second. Hanbin’s about to apologize, take her words back, but then Zhang Hao smiles wide, wonder-struck. “Ah, I thought Hanbinnie would never ask.” 

Something in Hanbin freezes, stops altogether. Zhang Hao… likes her too? She wants Hanbin to take her out on a date? She wants—

“How long has Hanbinnie liked me for?”

Hanbin doesn’t even have to think about her answer. It’s pulled out of her instantly, not caring about the repercussions, about how much of a stupid, pining loser she’s about to look in the eyes of her years-long crush.

“Since I was seventeen.” That effectively renders Zhang Hao speechless. Zhang Hao, who always has an answer to everything. Zhang Hao, who’s made of Hanbin—always eloquent, always prepared—a stuttering mess countless times. 

Hanbin would pat herself on the back, but she’s too busy staring at Zhang Hao. At the way her beautiful eyes turn all round and wide and shiny, at the way she blinks slowly, almost like an owl. At how the apples of her cheeks go red, and red, and redder, at how she opens her lovely mouth in wonder.

Her response doesn’t come with words. Not at all—she simply back in, attaching her mouth to Hanbin’s cunt with renewed hunger, with renewed vigor, tongue relentless. Hanbin barely has time to breathe as pleasure crashes over her, hungry, wet hums escaping her lips.

Her head thumps against the mirror hard, almost bruising, but Hanbin barely notices. Everything is too much, too good, overwhelming. She fists Zhang Hao’s hair, pulling her even closer to her throbbing cunt, rutting helplessly against her mouth.

By accident, her eyes flick upwards. And then she sees them again. The mirrors.

She sees them. Hanbin—body flushed, trembling, thighs shaking uncontrollably. Zhang Hao—kneeling between her legs like she was made to be there, hair cascading over her shoulders, mouth buried in her pussy with reverence and hunger. 

Hanbin looks like she’s being worshipped. 

“Jiejie…” Hanbin chokes, a sob catching on the back of her throat. “I—I can’t—“

Zhang Hao lifts her gaze, realizes what Hanbin’s looking at, and she smiles, catching her eyes in the reflection—dark, blown wide, shining with want. “Look,” Zhang Hao whispers against Hanbin skin. “Look at how much jiejie likes you.”

Hanbin moans—cries. Silent tears slip down her cheeks as the pleasure swells, as Zhang Hao slides one finger inside her, as her walls spasm around her.

 “Jie—jiejie, I’m—”

She can’t finish. Not when Zhang Hao’s one finger becomes two, when she tries to fit her tongue inside, thrusting ruthlessly until Hanbin comes apart. And she watches it all. Watches herself come undone in the mirror—watery eyes, trembling mouth. 

And she watches Zhang Hao. She watches and watches until her unblinking eyes sting, watches as Zhang Hao holds her through her orgasm, how she doesn’t stop eating her out until Hanbin screams, tears up, trembles. Sees the way Zhang Hao looks up at her, as if Hanbin’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

Hanbin collapses against the wall, feeling boneless, feeling like her legs can’t hold her upright anymore. But Zhang Hao is there steadying her with her hands on her waist, breath hot against her thigh as she too tries to come down from her own high.

When Hanbin finally blinks her eyes open, Zhang Hao’s already on her feet, lips swollen and glistening with what’s left of Hanbin’s release. Their foreheads press together, and Hanbin places her hands on the small of Zhang Hao’s back.

Zhang Hao smiles, kisses her. Hanbin tastes herself in her mouth, sucks at Zhang Hao’s tongue eagerly, slowly, sensually, lovingly.

They’re both panting when their lips part, a string saliva still connecting them. Zhang Hao cups her face, caresses Hanbin’s jaw, her cheeks, drops a chaste kiss at the corner of her mouth. “Jiejie will go out on a date with you, Hanbinnie,” she whispers, so quietly Hanbin can only hear it since they’re so close. A secret.

And Hanbin blushes, which seems impossible, but she does. She blushes and feels embarrassment creep up her spine at how she asked, with Zhang Hao between her legs, with her tongue inside her. “Jiejie…” Hanbin murmurs, still breathless, voice small and cracked and overwhelmed.

“What is it, baby?” Zhang Hao asks as she kisses her temple, her cheek, her nose, reverent in a way that makes Hanbin’s eyes burn all over again. “You belong with me here. Exactly like this.”

Hanbin nods, forehead falling against Zhang Hao’s shoulder. “I do,” she breathes. “I really do.”

Zhang Hao giggles softly—warm, delighted—and pulls back just enough to cup Hanbin’s face again. “Then take me out on that date,” she says, whispers against Hanbin’s lips, “and tell me all about how you’ve loved me since you were seventeen.”

The groan that leaves Hanbin’s lips is loud, the pout on her lips mirroring the ones Zhang Hao always gives. “You’re so annoying,” Hanbin complains, hiding her blush against the crook of Zhang Hao’s neck. 

Jasmine and sweat and something else. Hanbin—she smells herself on Zhang Hao’s skin, delightfully, dreamily. Something heavy settles in her stomach, fluttering but not at all uncomfortable. Butterflies. 

“Am I dreaming?” Hanbin asks to herself, so small she thinks Zhang Hao won’t hear—but she does.

“You’re not dreaming,” Zhang Hao breathes out, hand caressing the back of Hanbin sweat-damp hair, lips brushing a kiss to the top of her head. “But class starts in ten minutes.”

A horrified noise escapes Hanbin. It’s so obvious what they’ve been up to. Zhang Hao looks like a mess, all flushed cheeks and wet lips. Her hoodie is damp with something Hanbin prefers not to think about, and her hair is messy and tangled. They need to ventilate the room, it most likely reeks of sex. They need to freshen up, shower, even, they need to—

“Jiejie, go wash your face. They shouldn’t see you like this!” Hanbin says in panic, grabbing Zhang Hao by the shoulder and guiding her to the nearest bathroom. It’s not just panic that has Hanbin acting like this, though. Is jealousy too. She’s the only one who gets to see Zhang Hao post fuck, thank you very much.

Zhang Hao just laughs, warm and wicked and musical, and turns around, embraces Hanbin one last time, her arms looping around Hanbin’s waist. Her hands settle on Zhang Hao’s round hips as she looks up with her round and mischievous eyes, as if she knows exactly what’s on Hanbin’s mind. Very likely.

And Hanbin can finally admit it to herself—she is in love. Head over heels, irrevocably, helplessly, fiercely, and— 

“Yeah,” Zhang Hao says sweetly, eyes flickering to Hanbin’s mouth. “I think I can still taste your pussy, baby.”

Hanbin makes a wounded noise. “You are insufferable.”

“And you,” Zhang Hao whispers, brushes her lips against Zhang Hao’s jaw, presses the words against her cheek, “are my star.”

Sung Hanbin is going to die. The words hit her so hard she feels like she can’t breathe, and it must show on her face as Zhang Hao giggles, throws a flying kiss at her before turning around and slipping into the bathroom. Hanbin just stays there, in the hallway, looking dumb and with her world titled off its axis.

But it’s okay. Hanbin doesn’t try to steady it. She doesn’t want to.

She lets herself fall. Because Zhang Hao will be falling with her.