Archive of Our Own ^beta

Then

It’s an idiotic thing to do the moment he dares to entertain the idea of it, but Ten is an idiot so he falls for it anyway.

“You’re so irresponsible,” Kun mutters, hand tight around his wrist, “do you even know anything about this place?”

No. But he won’t admit to it. “You won’t tell Ma and Pa right?”

Kun stops, abrupt. Ten bumps right into him, the loud music and bass threatening to rip down walls and eardrums now a faded thump in the air with each beat. A drunk girl pushes past them, and Ten stumbles, still not used to these type of heels. His stomach drops, waiting for the inevitable fall—

“Careful,” Kun’s voice is quiet, pressed against his ear, hands holding him up against him. His brows are pinched, looking over his shoulder and beyond him. Ten wonders what he’s thinking. The pool’s still brimming with people, there’s shouts and glasses of alcohol all around. His gaze drops back down to him, and even through the layers of drunken haze, he can see the judgment.

It makes him feel unexplainably small. “How old do they think you are?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, and that makes him sigh. He pushes back his hair, and then straightens him, before grabbing his wrist again. Kun’s just in a hoodie and sweatpants. It’s freezing, away from the resort, the roads empty this far, the only point of warmth the other’s hands.

He keeps his eyes trained on the asphalt, on the other’s slippers, hoping he doesn’t trip again. It doesn’t help he stole from him mom’s suitcase, the skirt and blouse not his size. The leggings do nothing against the temperature and—

“Wear this,” Kun says, and he’s dropping his hand. Ten keeps quiet, raising his hands as the other pulls down his hoodie on him. He’d been wearing that shirt over t-shirt combination underneath, and after a moment of contemplation, he steps nearer, “you could have at least made a better decision in your fashion.”

“It’s in fucking trend.”

“I don’t mean the skirt, I mean the fabric,” Kun snaps, “do you want to freeze to death? You couldn’t have paired it with a jacket or something woolen?” Ten shuts up, as the other shrugs off his shirt, reaching behind him before wrapping it around his waist, tight. There’s anger, and something else in Kun’s eyes when he meets his. “And this is an over twenty one party. How the fuck did you get the invitation? Gosh—they could have mixed stuff in your drink and you wouldn’t have even known where you woke up. Your Mandarin’s not that great either.”

Ten doesn’t say anything.

“Ten?” a hand under his chin, before his head’s tipped up. “Are you even listening?”

“I know I made a mistake, okay,” he bites, pulling away, looking away. “I shouldn’t have gone. He just—he was nice. During the party. So I thought—anyways I didn’t know this is what he meant. But it’s better than rotting in boredom in this stupid country.”

“He…do not tell me you’re talking about Chairman Yul’s son?” at his silence, he scoffs, “great job. What a guy to appoint as your tour guide. The son of a man known to fuck people over after using them.” Ten’s jaw tightens, and this time when the other reaches for his hand, he steps back. Without looking back, he stalks off to Kun’s car, chest tightening.

He knows. He made a dumb mistake. But he’s seventeen, and he wants to be dumb and do stupid shit. So what? It’s not like his parents care. They’re too busy kissing people’s feet in meeting rooms to check on how their son’s doing. Sending him away to whole another country only to shove him in an international school. Might as well have sent him to the US or Canada. But no, all that consideration is only ever reserved for Tern.

“Ten—“

“I’ll pay you back for the gas money, okay? Sorry for wasting your time. I’ll buy you dinner or something too. Now drive.” He pulls the sleeves of the stupid hoodie lower, until covers his hands. Gosh he just wants to go home. And away. “Are you—“

“I’m sorry.”

It just makes him feel worse. “Just shut up and drive, Kun.”

The car beeps and he wastes no time to open the door and takes a seat inside, eyes trained on his lap after he clasps his belt. Kun doesn’t say anything more once they hit the road, but he can feel him glance over occasionally. Ten’s body’s still buzzing, and he doesn’t like it very much. Is this what alcohol does? It’s not very nice. It’s all uncomfortably warm.

He’s just confused when he looks up, to find them not at Ten’s—no, correction, his parent’s place—but at Kun’s building (yes, he gets to have his own freaking apartment at seventeen, isn’t that nice?) instead. “Why are we here?”

“You’re drunk.” It’s a fact, not an observation. Ten sinks back against the seat, huffing.

“So?”

“So? You lied you’re staying at mine, remember? And you think your parents’ are going to bed this early? Mom said they were having people over.” Right. Shit. Something about Billi group. Gosh, that’s frustrating. “Freshen up—if you still want to head home I’ll just drop you.”

He wants to bite and say no. Just get a hotel room or something. Staying the night with Kun sounds like a nightmare, and it wouldn’t be if it were the other’s family home. But this is Kun’s apartment so of course—

“Do you never clean?” he asks, disappointed the moment he steps in. The shoes are all piled up on each other, with no regard of care. Poor Nike’s stuffed to the side and oh my gosh. Are those Armani? Being crushed by Timberlands? “Kun what the fuck, actually.”

“Just ignore it,” Kun complains, pushing him forward, “I’ll clear the space for your pristine heels.” And horrifyingly, he proceeds to stack more shoes!! On top of it! Ten is two seconds away from crying. For now he just toes them off, and feels relieved as his soles hit flat earth again.

At the bare minimum, the cleaning service mops and brooms regularly (it’s still a mess. The frames are not in order, there’s junk stacked at the side, his suits jackets from the constant line of event parties the past week are thrown on the loveseat and ready to emerge as a mutant organism). Oh just.

Terrible.

And somehow, their parents thought it was adequate to have them promised. Disgusting. “Take whatever you want,” Kun says, throwing his keys on the sofa, where they will inevitably be eaten up by cushions. Ten fishes it out before that happens. “Go shower. Did you eat?”

“No.”

“Okay.” And that’s that. He heads to his bedroom, fearing, but thankfully it’s not as much as a lost cause. Instead…

Ten takes his sweet time in the shower. Rubs his skin raw, and the gravity of his idiocy sinks in. He doesn’t even know why he dialed Kun. But the moment the other had started pushing for more, drink a little, eat a little, dance a little, his hands way too comfortable placing themselves on his body, he’d panicked and booked it to the bathroom.

He’s considerably more sober when he steps out, taking out Kun’s sweater and a warm pair of pants. He dries his hair, unable to tear his sights from it.

“You’re done?” he hears from the doorway and—

“You still have that?”

That, being a model of a plane, made of cardboard and a whole lot of other junk. It was a science project, he thinks. Kun’s, for school. To use recycled materials. Ten had offhandedly mentioned some stuff but…

He’d done it, huh? Ten takes a step closer, examining it. The engine, the smaller round things. “Careful,” he hears, and yet he doesn’t stop him from dragging a finger against the wing. It’s crafted with so much care. Ten wouldn’t have been able to make something as detailed himself; he just doesn’t know enough. But this? It’s got love written all over it. Every marker drawing of a bolt, of the windows, the head.

“You’re not taking it up?”

“No.”

It’s quiet. Ten drops the towel, turns to find the other watching him. Kun’s always been like this; very hard to read, when it comes to his expressions. Which is why it’s fun pissing him off. He gets all emotive, suddenly. So much expressed in a single second alone.

So he throws the towel on his plush leather chair, and preens at the deep breath in, eyes fluttering shut in effort to control his annoyance. “Then what? Business?”

“What else?”

“Wow,” Ten follows him out, where there’s a box of takeout. Steaming fresh soup. He takes a seat on the sofa, trying to ignore the pile of coats, struggling with peeling the plastic off. The container is just so freaking hot. “You’re really intent on staying single, huh?”

“Not as much as you,” Kun says, taking a seat next to him. He pries his fingers off, using his chopsticks to peel it off. He meets his gaze, eyes turning a tinge of brown with the light hitting them. Tired. That’s what he looks like, up close. Eyebags dark and stark. “Mr. I haven’t had my first kiss.”

Ten’s lips twist, and he shoves him, hard. Kun falls back against the cushions easily, laughing. He can feel his face burn. “You’re such a freaking pervert,” Ten seethes, “you were eavesdropping?!”

“I told you, that guy’s not good news. Dad’s always said to avoid him. You should thank me for saving your ass, actually,” Kun says, straightening himself. He rolls his sleeves up, marks left by pen, random notes because he forgets certain things otherwise. “And don’t worry, I know it’s a joke.”

Ten doesn’t correct him. It stretches, both of them slurping up noodles, knees knocking close, the air a pleasant scent of lavender. There’s a candle at the corner of the room, recently lit up. Good. Or else it would smell like a laundry den. “Thanks,” he mutters, and the other snorts.

“Whatever,” Kun stands up, ruffling his hair as if he’s a kid. Before Ten can retort, or maybe bite his hand off, he stacks up the containers, leaning down to look at him. Ten blinks, staring back, confused, until his free hand wipes against his chin, making him blush harder. “I thought you’re supposed to be the neat one?”

“I’m drunk.”

“Clearly.” He leaves, throwing it out. Ten glares at the back of his head, hair all tousled and soft, the t-shirt somehow enough to keep Kun warm, stretching across his back. Kun shifts, cleaning a few plates, rolling back his neck before he finishes up. Ten draws his knees up, chin tucked into them, staring at a spot on the table.

Truth be told…

He’s just kind of mad at himself now.

“I have a spare toothbrush,” Kun says, “Ten.” His fingers rest on his nape, warm and too gentle, squeezing. Ten wishes he could carve a hole in the ground and die. Instead he has to look up because the other crouches down in front of him. “I hope you’re not crying.”

“Why would I cry?” He snaps, and he raises his hands in defense. He looks stupid. Kun that is. Too comfortable in all this. With everything. Why has he so easily accepted all of this? He’s always so uptight. “Why do you seemingly have an extra to everything?”

“For when I have people over?” He explains, and Ten follows him to the bathroom. Have people over? But he only has one bedroom?

“So your friends sleep on the couch?” he voices, confused as he adds toothpaste, before Kun takes it from him. When he doesn’t answer, he looks up to find Kun staring strange. “What?”

“Friend?” he echoes, a mysterious edge to his lips, “what are you, twelve?”

What? “But you—oh,” Oh okay. Okay. Ten goes back to brushing, pretty sure he’s on fire now. So Qian Kun isn’t a helpless loser? What a miracle of nature. They spit and finish up, Ten taking his beloved right side. Kun groans that’s his side, and Ten doesn’t give a shit. He can do what he wants. He’s drunk.

“You are awfully mouthy for someone drunk,” Kun mutters darkly, but whatever. He switches the lights off, and it’s instantly dark. Ten bites his tongue, the strange coil in his chest ignored. It’s okay. And Kun’s there anyway. It’s not a gigantic bed; perfect for two, he supposes. Kun’s near, now, body heat seeping between the warmth of the blanket, the small sound of his breathing no more hidden by the air conditioners since it’s December.

It’s just.

Very quiet.

For when I have people over.

Like this bed? That’s weird. Why would he let Ten sleep in it then? Kun never makes sense to him. He’s orderly about everything. Gets the best marks to the point he’s skipped a grade, one above Ten now. Which is even crazier. All that for lame old business. Is it from someone in class? He likes? Or they like him? Or its one of those on and off things? Or—

A finger prods against his arm, and he nearly startles out his skin, breath hitching. “You okay?” is all he gets, and he murmurs he’s fine, but now his heart’s thundering. It’s all that stupid alcohol. Kun probably drinks, doesn’t he? All Ten’s seniors do. Why would he take a class above? He should have just enjoyed his sweet time. Like Ten. Honestly, Ten thinks he might just never finish college. He doesn’t like it. It’s so restricting. Stifling. Like this very blanket. It’s like he’s cold and yet he’s overheating, when Kun tugs him closer, and Ten follows anyway.

“Sorry,” he says. He can’t make him out. Kun’s apartment is not stark in the city, so it’s quiet outside. He lives too high for mere streetlamps to offer any light through the windows. The moon disappeared because she likes taking leaves when Ten needs her most. “I don’t—the nightlight’s at Mom and Dad’s.”

Gosh. “It’s fine,” he says, whispered, matching his volume. He hasn’t let go. And Ten can feel how near he is. His breath’s warm and minty. Face squished into the pillow. Ten wishes he could see what he looks like. It’s taking too much time for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He blinks, and it’s still dark. His heart’s still running fast.

“I won’t tell,” he says, a murmur. Sleepy. It sounds soft. His voice. Ten breathes, and it’s like all he can smell is him. He’s in Kun’s clothes, in his bed, near him, and his bodywash and shampoo all cling tight. He’s drowning in Kun. “Ten, you’re…” a yawn. He shifts. His breath curls against his skin, and Ten feels himself shiver, “you’re fine? You’re…quiet.”

“I’m tryna’ sleep,” but it’s weak.

“Hmm,” and now he’s reaching blindly in the dark. He doesn’t even know what Kun wants to achieve. He stops at his shoulder, sliding his hand down to his neck, up his jaw. Ten tenses, when he feels his fingers barely graze his cheek, his lip, up his face, and then finally his hair. “Stop—don’t think. Don’t think, okay? And sleep. No one needs to know.”

He cards through his hair, and horrifyingly, it’s relaxing. Ten loves it actually. He’ll never say it though. He merely melts into the pillows, the touch. The next time he wakes up, the sun is bright and shiny and the room is painted gold through the curtains. His nose is buried against Kun’s neck, the other’s arm around his waist, hand splayed against his back. Ten’s heart runs a marathon, but all he does in burrow deeper in the warmth and fall back asleep.

It’s only when the other wakes him, telling him he’s heading for class, does Ten wake up too. Kun’s standing against his vanity, sunlight leaking through the blinds still drawn to not disturb him, bathing him gold. He catches it perfectly; the slope of his nose, the strands of his hair.

Kun’s always been a favorite of the sky, after all.

Kun adjusts the rearview mirror, eyes turning hazel in the heat of the sun, plush lips pursed as he frowns, brows pinched, fighting with the hanging doll. He has strong features, Ten supposes. A nice jaw, cheekbones, dimples when he smiles. He meets his eyes, and Ten’s own widen.

“Thanks,” he says, and then takes his bag, “and uh, sorry.”

“It’s cool,” Kun reaches over, unclasping his belt, “and next time you want to explore this place, text me. Better than getting sold on the black market.”

“Haha,” Ten laughs, fake, and steps out.

He’d be nice to draw, is all he can think. He’d be nice to paint, too, is what he imagines, the night before so vivid in his mind. The warmth, the movement, the heat. Maybe even sculpt? But then his mind thinks to the muscles of his back shifting under the t-shirt, those of his arms as he adjusting the mirror. Maybe those ‘people’ he has over could be more help, mapping out—

He stops.

No, he tells himself, and then his face heats up. He buries it in his arms.

But then. Text me. So he does. They fight thrice in the span of an hour, but the view they end up at is too pretty to keep any of them going. Better than any skyline, city or bustling nightlife. Just the mountains, clear water, and the freezing air.

“Better than a club, right?” Kun jokes, cheeks dimpling, handing him a warm cup of tea, nose red and skin rosy, hood pulled over. Ten stares at him, the way he’s crouched against the view with it as his backdrop. He’s a picture waiting to be taken, if only Ten had half a mind to remember.

Ten wishes he’d realized what it meant a little sooner, so he could have stopped it from ever taking root in the first place.

Now

Ten takes a deep breath in, and lets one out.

“This is nothing,” he says to himself in the mirror. And then fixes his lipstick a bit. Maybe red was a bold choice. It’s just a café. He should have gone with a pink, and it would look nicer with his outfit too. It’s a white blouse, and while he’d stick to some pale blue jeans for something like this, more for the other than himself, Kun’s bought this for him a while back. And he hadn’t got the chance to wear it.

It’s very cute. Plaid, knee length. He’s very good at eyeballing Ten’s waist size too, because never once does he ask. Ten fixes it, and wipes off the fucking lipstick because it’s getting on his nerves. What the hell? It’s just a stupid coffee date. They’ve been married for three years. They’ve had sex. This is nothing.

So Ten nods to himself, takes his jacket, and hurries back to stuff in his perfume and kit just in case.

“…yes. I’ll have them rechecked by next week. No, no, it’s a pleasure working with you, sir.” Ten rolls his eyes. The amount of pleasantries business needs is exhausting. The click clack of his heeled shoes catch the attention of the other, Kun in his usual boring assembles. Just a white v-neck (that doesn’t even dip that low! Ugh!) and jeans. He brightens when he sees him though.

“You look good.”

“I always do,” he quips, and comes up to him. “You look like a basic bitch.”

“As I always do,” that tugs at his lips, and Kun’s hands come at his waist just as he reaches up to fix his hair a bit. His heart’s beating a little too fast and too hard, and Kun’s smile is way too gentle and soft as he drags them up and down his sides. Ten needs him to know that he hates it. It makes him all tingly on the inside. “Ready, love?”

Love. “Of course I am. Come on; we’ll be late.”

Okay so.

It had been Kun’s idea.

After the great Incident^TM  that was the whole debacle of confessing and heartache and pain and whatnot, life had been a strange normal for all of a week, before they’d settled on the couch for a movie.

Jason Marz, watched a million times, and yet different with a glass of wine in each their hands. For the first time in a long time, Ten felt like he could breathe. Whatever ache that tore him apart sated, leaned into him, warm and positively buzzed. They were having a fantastic time kissing, and Kun stared after pulling away, looking like a view; flushed face, hazy eyes and ruined hair, and whispered out: “I really want to take you out.”

And Ten, already drunk, hadn’t questioned it, more eager to get that warmth right back on his mouth, said ‘okay’ and it was strange.

“I feel like we got off all wrong,” Kun had said later, in his room under the covers, cuddled in each other’s arms. Ten was dozing off, really, but his voice was too nice to stop listening to. He’d kissed his head, and it was unfair, because he could hear his heart jump through his chest, Ten’s own the same. “I want to do this right.”

Do this right.

Then

The door falls shut, and Ten’s against it in an instant, the other letting go. Ten can’t read him, which gets on his nerves.

First of Kun’s wearing a suit. Like his father. He starts college a year earlier than Ten and thinks the world’s meant to be his or something. “Are you—“

“Serious? Yes, can we skip this topic?” Ten cuts, “what is this? I thought you said you’re going to enroll into the program? You know it’s never coming back once you lose this opportunity?”

“No we cannot skip this topic,” Kun says, frowning, “and stop bringing that back. I won’t join. I don’t want to.”

“Now that’s just a lie,” Ten presses. “It’s an honorable thing okay? A pilot? What’s not respectable about that? Is it the pay? The—‘

“Ten—“

“And at the very least you should have taken a minor in it! In music or something I can’t actually believe you let them talk you into this.”

“I can’t believe you’re talking yourself into being a fucking leech,” Kun snaps, and it’s jarring enough to quiet him. “Ten what the hell? You’re one of the top students in your batch. You could literally pick anything you wanted. You’re not taking the entrance tests, anything?”

“Why don’t you get that I don’t want to?” he asks, frustrated. “If I have the means to, I don’t want to live confined to one thing. I want to do what I want.”

“That just sounds selfish,” Kun says, and it makes him confused. What’s selfish? Ten wanting to live for himself? For not being pressured to going into something he doesn’t want? He could say a million things or more than would cut deeper the way Kun’s trying now.

Leech. It hurts a lot. Hearing it. It’s so obvious the way he is now. “You’re just being a bitch, now,” Ten says, and Kun looks ready to retort, but hangs his head instead, quiet. Ten crosses his arm. He’d worn the stupid outfit to put himself in a good mood. Jeans and a blouse he made himself. And now look. He feels pathetic. “Just because you choose to stay stuck in your misery, I don’t want to.”

“Ten—“

“And at least I’m fucking trying in something I want. All that fucking attitude to just become your parents’ lapdog.”

He grabs his arm, before he can leave, grip tight. “You’ll regret this,” he says, “even if I’ll be a lapdog, I’d be one with the skills to back it up. What do you have? Nothing. You’ll have to work twice as hard just to make people believe—“

“Do you believe in me?” he asks. Nothing. Kun blinks. His grip hurts, and Ten readies himself for a pain somewhere deeper, too. “Will I have to prove myself to you too?”

“Does it matter?” the anger simmers down to confusion. “It’s not me you’ll have to care about.”

Ten stares. Does it matter?

Technically, it shouldn’t.

But for some reason, it does. Matters the world and more. He tugs his hand, not understanding the complexity of so much in his chest. Kun lets go, as if suddenly realizing how hard he was gripping, a faint expression of guilt flitting across his features to see the skin turn red.

It won’t bruise. Or mark. But it will stay with Ten, for the rest of who knows how long.

It’s a few more events. Ten wears every single one of his own designs, and keeps posting it on his blog. Kibum is ruthless, and more often than not he’s tired of the constant beating down. Kun meshes with the crowd, and sometimes it’s like watching a mirror, seeing the way both their lives weigh down on them.

But there’s a difference.

“I fucking hate it,” Kun slurs, past drunk to straight up wasted. “I hate this more than—more than anything.”

“A shot to that!” Ten is drunk too. But he’s not wasted. Yet. Kun’s slumped on the table, two seconds away from crying. The hall is empty, their parents are with important people, and those important people’s children are also here but Kun and Ten have made it a thing over the years, to drift away from them and to each other. It’s not even intentional. Better someone you know then one you don’t.

“We should leave,” Kun says, and sits up. Ten whines. He wanted to bitch about his work too! “come on,” he tugs at him. It’s not fun. No one can stand straight. It’s terrible. One very nice guy offers to help. Ten thanks him, and can’t make out his face all that well without his contacts, feeling his arm slide around his waist—

“I can take him,” Kun??? But he’s drunk too! The guy tells him the same. But one moment he’s Ten, the second he’s a sack. He just gets. Pulled from one pair of arms to another, now in Kun’s. His arms much more familiar, so it’s nice. It’s just not stable. “Ten?”

“If you kill me I’ll rip your throat out.”

“I won’t kill you.” He promises. His breath reeks. Ten snuggles into his neck instead, and they wobble away. The heels don’t help. He wanted to show up that Kara bitch who kept saying he couldn’t rock the new Versace collection and now he’s in pain. “Can you try?”

“No,” this earns heavy sigh. They’re in the lobby, and Kun deposits him on a chair. He crouches down, and Ten shuts his legs, because what is he doing? Ten’s in a freaking dress! Does he know the amount of scandals that happen in Thailand? He’s so crazy!

“I’m just taking these off,” he says, annoyed, and pulls at his heels. They come off, and now Kun’s carrying him. It would make his heart crazy flutter but right now he’s just praying he doesn’t get dropped. They enter the suite after the hotel boy helps them, and instead of making it very far they drop down in the hallway.

It’s a mess.

“Switch majors,” Ten hisses, and Kun shakes his head. There all wrapped in each other. He can feel his strap slipping off shoulder. Gosh, he worked so hard on this stupid thing and it won’t even make the effort to stay on him. Kun reaches forward, hand pulling it back up, and then slipping down to his waist. Now they’re in a half hug. He pities him. So he pats his head.

“You smell so good,” he slurs, “what is this?”

“Vanilla.” Ten lets him burrow his nose in his neck. It’s warm. Nice. Pleasant buzz, this one. Makes him feel limitless, free. Ten buries his fingers in his hair, strands soft. “Kun?”

“Yeah?” His grip is so tight. Everything is so warm. Ten slips, butt on the cold tiles, making him hiss. What’s with this place’s heating system, huh? Kun pulls back, dark eyes hazy. They’re gorgeous, in the darkness. He half wishes there’s a cliché round of fireworks in the background to cast pretty shadows on him.

Alas, the man in question is none other than Qian Kun. Ten’s always been a little biased towards him, fireworks or no. “We’re shifting,” he says, and it’s like the world stops for a second, tilting this way and that. “To South Korea. For good.”

Wow. What a time to break it out to him. Ten laughs, because what the hell should he do? Now he’s going to be stuck in between this country and that and have not even his mortal enemy to lean on. Perfect. Fantastic. It’s like he’s been drenched miles under, the walls icy as they touch his skin.

Kun’s watching him.

Intent. To see his reaction? But what is there to see? “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Fuck him. Does he know how much he’s hurting him already? Ten drops his gaze, fiddling with his tie. Loosening the knot, and then because his brain’s incapable of being normal, starts studying the way the seams are stitched together.

“You have to promise,” he whispers, and Kun’s eyes turn hooded, weighed. He knocks his head against his, and Ten breathes in the air infested with both of them and only them. Fuck. Why does it hurt? He should be glad. All they do is fuck each other up anyway.

“I know.”

Don’t lose yourself.

“Ten,” he whispers, and he shivers underneath him. His arms are so warm, and his hands are so languid, up his back, one on his nape, burying in his hair. “Tell me to stop.”

This, or something else? Ten tugs at his tie. This is a mistake. But he wants to make this one. He wants the regret to hurt even more than never letting it happen. “Please,” he begs, and it’s more than just his lips trailing against his jaw, against his cheek, dragging over but not pressing. His heart’s beating so hard, and he can barely breathe.

“Keep going,” and the other presses hard against his lips, molding perfectly in place, hot and warm and so much he could brim and combust this very moment. It’s downright electrifying in every way possible.

Keep me here, he can hear it. Feel it. In every press, every second.

I can’t, is all Ten can give him back, because this is not his life. This is not his decision. It’s just a freaking mistake. Kun won’t remember shit, because he never fucking does when he’s this drunk.

Ten hinges on that, to make him fall and hurt and realizes and never repeat again. This is the only way to learn. This is the only way to move on. His life has always been that; mistake one after the other, and regrets only a teacher and nothing more.

What’s one more to add to the list?

*

It’s a shitshow from the moment he lands.

Listen, he’s not dumb. The rumours are enough to connect stuff, and whether he likes it or not, his parents mean he’s always part of that world no matter how much he tries to keep away. Ten’s merciful in that regard; other than his socials, his life is kept as private as possible. A million things about his achievements and career path, but barely would you be able to find a speck of anything else.

Which is why: “Of course we couldn’t!” Mrs. Qian hugs him, “oh that must have been a tiring flight, right? Kun picked you up?” Oh he did alright. An entire hour late. But Ten smiles. He’s nice like that. “You think we’d forget that easily?”

“I certainly did,” he murmurs, because while he is nice, he has limits, “where is your darling son, aunty? You really do keep him tied to the office.”

“He’s a workaholic by blood I’m afraid,” Mr. Qian says. They’ve come to visit the hotel he’s staying at, checking in on him. Nice of them, considering their son clearly doesn’t care. “Everything to your liking, Ten-ah?”

He nods. It’s a short conversation, but it’s better than being alone. Once they’re gone, he texts back and clears up Minnie’s doubts, before checking in with Tern about all his stuff that’s being sent over. Two months. That’s all they have.

Dong Sicheng, dude, he’d heard, I heard he’s totally got this CEO wrapped around his finger. Somewhere SK?

He stares at the message. It’s just. Confusing. He’d been so sure….

And ended up being right.

Well, maybe it’s not Sicheng. Anymore. Who knows. Kun’s always liked people over, after all. He lets the café door slam close behind him.

 He’s not surprised. It’s been what? Like six years? Since their last conversation? He wouldn’t expect anyone to stay in one place either. No one’s that loyal. Ten’s gotten around, only to find all he does is get hurt or break people’s hearts.

Not fun, no.

“Hey,” he says, picking up the call, “what are you, my assistant?”

“Someone should be,” Minnie says, “have you met Lee Taeyong yet? Can you get me his sign?” He rolls his eyes, starting down the road. “And aside from that; how’d it go?”

“Terrible,” he chirps. He should get a facial. The stress is terrible for his skin too. He’s already numbed over his heart long ago. Three years.

Why did he say that?

Why didn’t he say anything else? Ten could beg. He could beg his parents. They’re not the ones who need much of the help. It’s the Qians. Kun’s handsome. He’s smart, rich. He could bag someone richer, surely? Then they’d be out this stupid hell.

What is wrong with you? Ten doesn’t know. Minnie’s still talking, and he hangs up, driving and driving until the GPS speaks up and he hangs the call, head pressed to the steering wheel, rolling his windows down.

Salt. The breeze is always like that, here. Ten doesn’t know much, anymore, abut this place. Doesn’t remember all. But he does remember this stretch of sand, of infinite waves, and wind sometimes cutting, other times soothing. The water is not calm today, as if reflecting every bit of turmoil in the harsh lap of the waves against shore.

It could have made a gorgeous picture, really. Ten’s always loved the colour. The way its always a tad translucent, gives way for so much more to be dug up, underneath one colour alone.

No. He locks it up. Whatever ounce of feeling, and imagines submerging it somewhere so deep no light or sound could tug it back up.

The person you like—

Love.

The person Kun loves. At least one of them got somewhere, right? All those times, wishing and thinking and imagining, for it to end up in someone else’s name instead. He stays until the water tirs of him and returns to calm. He stays until the sun dips, and turns it dark enough to diminish any chance of ever seeing what lay beneath at all.

 Ten obsessively starts hanging out with other people because he’ll drink himself to an early grave. They fight every single place they go. It’s so fucking clear he wants nothing to do with it that Ten immediately tells him to stop coming anymore.

But gosh. “And your fiancé?”

“He has work,” he explains dismissively, “this one’s vanilla?” The baker nods. He tries them all, notes stuff down, then decides on it. He’s only getting married this grandly once; he’s pretty sure no one wants to celebrate a divorcee’s second marriage after all. Might as well make it nice.

“This one?” The flavour’s nice. But Kun likes a bit chocolate, so he ends up with one that’s half and half. Then it’s the fitting, the venue’s design, the table and other shit. Minnie ends up being more help than he’d imagined; he’s half tempted to tell her to get in event design. He could call one of his friends to see if they’d take her.

“That’s all then, Mr. Lee,” the man says, and he smiles, thanking him. Finally. “It’s been very pleasant to work with you—honestly it’s like you’re a manager rather than the groom!” It’s meant as a joke. Yet, Ten’s smile falters.

Yes. Well. You can’t have everything. He’s supposed to move in earlier with Kun, but he’s pretty sure the man wants nothing to do with him. Not a single call or message. He tries to ignore it. After all Ten hadn’t been the nicest to be around.  So whatever. Touché or something. He takes a deep breath in, and jokes something back.

And as the days pass, he’s dreading it.

Is this what it will be like? He should have accepted Kun’s plea. But then Ten had promised his parents this, in exchange for doing whatever he liked. And yet now. Now he hates him. He hates Ten, for taking him away from whoever it was, making them both miserable.

He barely feels anything at all, when Taeyong gifts him a designer suit for the wedding. It’s pretty. The jewelry is from Tern’s line. The makeup is done professionally, from an influencer he enjoys. The hall is beautiful, but Ten already knows what it looks like. Kun is…

He’s extremely handsome, in his suit. Standing there, waiting for him. And yet all he feels is a tightness in his chest, unrelated—or maybe completely related—to what’s happening. “Don’t be overwhelmed,” his mother soothes, tone kind.

But she’s mistaking it, really.

Ten had always wanted a nice wedding. Exactly like this one, planned to perfection, with pictures worth cherishing and talking about forever. Kun takes his hand, and barely meets his gaze. Ten can’t blame him; he’d probably envisioned this scene, with Sicheng. And now Teen’s stolen his place, repeating vows that sound hollow and feel even more so hearing them.

How long?

Three years is a long time, to expect anything at all.

Loyalty. Kun slips the ring on his finger, and unbeknownst to him, a tear slips through. There’s cheers, as he slips it on the others, and feels Kun wipe his cheek, before sealing with a kiss.

Ten’s never hated his life more, than in that second, having to pretend to an entire crowd of people for hours on end, his heart wasn’t breaking apart in his chest, married to a man whose heart’s always going to belong to another.

*

“Sir—“

“Sweetie just call me Ten, it’s really nothing,” he says, and she pinks nonetheless. Mia is a very, very important part of his days at this point. Fuck Kun and whatever bullshit he believes in. As if he’s got the right to say anything at this point after the humiliation he put him through the past months. “What is it?”

“I wanted to ask, if there’s a problem?” he looks back at her, from where he’d been organizing his books into the shelves, “with me being here? I don’t think Mr. Qian likes me very much.” Ten’s gaze softens.

“He’s just…unused to it,” he says gently. Poor girl; having too hear all that on their wedding night. But at least it’s one for the books! Enough pain for him to make like, at least three of his next commissions. “Don’t worry too much about it.”

“But he comes later, nowadays.” If could, he wouldn’t at all dear. “I will just finish up the chores and keep the food ready by then. He won’t have to feel too uncomfortable.”

“Just do your job, sweetheart,” Ten says, ruffling her hair, “and didn’t you say you wanted to learn sewing?” She perks at that, and he pulls out one of the boxes, getting the wooden frames, cloths and threads sorted. He shows her the basics, both of them sitting on the rug, passing the time in between jokes and laughter.

It’s the only time it feels nice around here. He knows he should go out more. Check places. But other than Taeyong’s or Jennie’s, he just. Can’t find it in himself to. South Korea is still new to him, and he barely knows anyone at all. Yangyang lives all the way in Busan, based and working there, too much of a hassle to call him all the time, really.

With Mia, they can go shopping, go to restaurants, check out the streets of her middle and high school. She’d taken the job up after her parents passed to support her brother, unable to fund her own college. Ten adores her, and her presence. Because it’s just so. Quiet, when Kun’s finally back. He barely speaks at all. They eat dinner, barely exchange words, and then head their separate rooms.

“Is there really no development at all?” Minnie asks, “gosh, Pi Ten, this is just depressing.”

“On a brighter side,” he says, rummaging through his tantalizing clothing choices, “I remind him to take his keys. How exciting. Now we have a party to attend.”

“Take care of yourself.” She says, uncharacteristically serious. “You get easily affected.”

I’ve learnt to keep it under. “You’re too young to be moming me.”

“Well someone has to,” she grumbles, “why don’t you just seduce him?”

That makes him laugh. Genuinely. “Darling he’s literally seen me in Givenchy. And I’m not even talking about the suits. If he could have been, he would be. Now go to sleep and stop annoying me.”

“As long as you don’t faint and die.” Kids literally have no respect these days, do they? He hangs up, before heading out, already disappointed with Kun’s sense of fashion.

“It’s fine.”

“At least switch it out for a black shirt,” Ten pleads, “Kun we don’t even match.” This is received with much sadness. Frankly he doesn’t care. He waits until the other’s out, much better in a red shirt and black blazer, paired with jeans because this is a semi-casual event at best.

Ten glances at his left hand. Then ignores the slight pang to find it empty.

It’s the same old; quiet as they head down the parking lot, even quieter when for some reason, he opens the car door, a hand over Ten’s head when he gets in as if he’s never driven a car himself before.

Kun’s strange in many ways, like that. He doesn’t even feel like the same person anymore. “It’s okay,” but he helps unjam the seatbelt anyway, when it doesn’t give with two tugs, clasping it. Ten watches him, the lights molding against his face, so unbearably gorgeous, he aches with the need to reach out.

Instead Ten keeps his hands clasped in his lap, breathing through whatever that pain is, and hoping one day it becomes complacent enough to ignore it even exists.

The problem with water is: it doesn’t keep.

Anything that does not belong, is not part of it, dredges back up and bobs to the surface. He tries and tries drowning it down, and like a leech, it wanders back up to gasp for air, glimpse the sky.

“You never pace yourself,” Kun mutters, a hand against his forehead, pushing his hair back. He’s always gentle too. Ten looks up, and swears there’s a possibility of two Kuns existing. “Do you feel sick?”

He shakes his head. He will admit; he drank too much. He’s all wobbly on his feet. Good thing he settled on a suit too, or else he’d break his legs. He doesn’t think this Kun will really want to help him much. “Ten?”

“Hmm?” he blinks up. They’re in the balcony, away from the party. It’s nice here. There’s no one. People exhaust him too much, really. Kun sighs, a hand around him to keep him steady. There’s something in his gaze, he doesn’t really understand. “What?” he pokes his cheeks, “no dimples?”

“Is that supposed to be a command?” he asks, amused, and it gives a small dip. Yay! He pokes, and Kun laughs. It’s a lovely sound. It’s so nice to hear. Ten smiles back too, and everything feels nice for a bit. It won’t last long, he knows, but he likes it for now.

“What do you want?” Kun suddenly asks, and that has him even more confused. Ten feels the railing dig into his back, steadying him enough that Kun lets go, keeping one hand curled near him still. He reaches up, cupping his face.

Ten really, really hopes, his flush is attributed to alcohol. “What?” he croaks, and he gets all that contemplative again. Kun sighs, stepping closer.

“What do you like, Ten? Do you—I want to get you something. Jungwoo said you’d like delicate things.” Delicate things. He supposes. He fixes Kun’s collar and brooch, and thinks. Then just leans his head against the other, and surprisingly Kun doesn’t push him off.

There’s a click. Distant. Akin to a camera Oh. His heart sinks. Of course. “You don’t have to pretend.” He says, as quiet as he can. “I know you don’t like me very much. Sorry.”

It’s quiet. For a really long time. Ten adores how Kun smells; he never changes it. Always has been that same perfume, from years back. It’s familiar, and it’s comforting. And so are the arms wrapping around him in a hug. That’s even nicer. Ten really does love a good hug.

Especially this one.

“I’m sorry,” Kun murmurs, confusing him, “I’ll try harder, from now on.” To do what? Three years, yes? That’s all. Then he will be free, and Ten will get to have that for the rest of his life. He feels a press of something against his head, immediately shaking thoughts away. Because it is too foolish to hope, for things like these.

He doesn’t remember when they get home. He does remember Mia and Kun’s soft voice, her reminding him to take his vitamins and all, before there’s hands, skin of them rough but touch gentle, and he’s out like a light, in his bed. He does remember, begging for all that water, to drown him down again.

*

Early.

“Everything okay?” he calls out. Did the company go bankrupt? Why is Kun already here? Indeed, when Ten glances out, the sun’s set only a while ago. Ten draws closer, tightening his robe around him. Well if he’d known, he might have changed into something nicer.

For what, exactly? He shoots that thought down, immediately. “You’re early,” he comments. Logically, he knows Kun’s job ends at five. That’s the timing. But he’s the CEO; there’s no schedule, and even if there was…

Well, Ten’s just convinced himself, he probably had other matters to attend to.

(Other people, more specifically. Maybe a certain musical actor, even.)

“Yeah,” he says, and glances about, before stepping in. Ten clicks his tongue, and Kun pauses, glancing down. He then pushes his shoes back into a proper line near the door, glancing back up to check if it’s okay. Well, it could be perfect, but this is a big development. “All our projects are umm. Going smoothly.”

“That’s nice to hear,” Ten says, and before he can tarnish his suit jacket, Ten steps closer, helping him out of it. He folds it carefully, before hanging it on the hook. He can feel the other watching him. Kun lowkey reeks of office, but he can bear through it. “Did you eat?”

“No,” he says. Ten hums. He loosens the tie too, and it’s like the other can finally breathe, shoulders slumping. He looks up, unsurprised to find the eyebags still there. It’s been about a week, since Mia’s gone. And the house has never felt more ready to claw him to shreds. And yet, his chest tightens uncomfortably, seeing how tired he is.

Curse whoever made the human heart. Like literally. “I was uh. Thinking maybe we could eat out?”

That has him raising his brows. “Why?” he asks, “already missing Mia’s cooking?” Kun laughs, and it bleeds the tension out of both of them. Ten doesn’t hesitant, reaching up to card his fingers through the hair, the feeling of barely there product and sweat making him internally cringe. “Go clean up, first.”

“So it’s a—“

“Only if you’re not tired after it,” Ten says, and that makes him pout. Does he know he does that? It’s cute. Stupidly so.

“I’ve already made reservations.”

“That is your fault, darling,” he singsongs, checking their fridge. It’s still stocked. “I don’t hear the water running.”

“Must you be so difficult.”

“You bring out the worst in me,” Ten drawls, and that has him finally leaving, dragging his feet. Dinner. Reservation. Did someone kidnap Kun? Or did Ten say something stupid? He gets too drunk at the end of parties nowadays. He doesn’t quite remember always.

It’s strange. Even more so when he’s checking in on him, hair still wet in just his t-shirt and boxers, telling him to get ready. Ten scolds him for not drying his hair and having to do it anyway because he sucks at it. Then he won’t let it go, and now Ten is clad in a black sweater and jeans, hair styled a bit and makeup light. There’s an odd jitter to his nerves.

Stop. He keeps telling all of it to stop. Yet Kun grins, proud of himself when Ten steps out and doesn’t nitpick his outfit. “Did you make this one?” Kun asks him, still grinning, too infectious. He scoffs, before telling him ‘who else will?’ He looks so good when he’s smiling. There’s almost a question at the tip of his tongue, to take a picture together. He wonders what his followers will say, Ten rarely does post anything about them.

(Mainly because there’s nothing to post.)

Don’t. But it’s such an incessant nudge at the hopeless part of him. This moment. All that keep following.

“You know I can do it myself, right?” he says, when Kun, as always, reaches to clasp his belt. The man just blinks, as if this is news to him, before tucking his hair back, fingers grazing against skin. They’re always rough, the pads of them. When did you stop? Sometimes he wants to ask. The piano. The guitar. All of it and more.

“I do,” he says, earnest, “I just like doing it instead. Don’t ask me why.”

Okay. The restaurant’s not imposingly high end, but it’s a great view. Ten’s attention is stolen so easily, by the nightlights, the fantastic music above, and not to mention—

“So you told him to fuck off?” Kun laughs, and it’s a sight so wonderful, he swears some of the servers take a moment to pause and look too. Candlelight dinners do that; they turn a moment into memory, a memory into feeling, beautiful ripples of gold and the doting of the outside world making Kun finally glow. A peek, at what could have been, of a man who loved just two things so much. “You’re never changing, are you?”

“My principles are never changing,” he corrects, going back to his own plat. Keep your gaze low. Because this is such a dangerous line. “Don’t tell you’d let someone like that walk all over you? A man with a bald spot and a divorce; could he get more aggravating?”

“You’re sure the bald spot wasn’t your doing?” Kun playfully throws back.  Ten scoffs.

“Contrary to your beliefs, I’m a delight to most people I meet.”

“And yet the first thing that tumbled out your mouth was a swear when we first met.”

“Oh please darling, you earned that,” Ten washes down the meal with wine, glancing out, “thank goodness for my sweetest Yangyang. I should call him up again.”

“Yes, when he’s finally done courting that friend of his,” Kun grimaces, “it’s truly a sight to watch. He looks ready to lick the ground Renjun walks on.” Ten approves of this. Renjun has impeccable style, manners and personality. If that would be his cousin’s choice as addition to the family, Ten is all here for it. “Eat more; you’re sure you don’t need a check up?”

Not this again. “It just happens,” he says. He’s always been like this; shift of moods, and then Ten’s body can barely handle anything anymore, shedding off extra weight as if the sadness will shed right with it. “Stop worrying; did you get in contact with Jennie?”

“Jungwoo set a meeting,” Kun says, “thanks, for that.” Ten shrugs. They’re still husbands. Whatever happens, he ends up affected too. It’s strangely…pleasant. Conversation over dinner. Kun doesn’t want to talk more about work anymore (honestly who would). Dessert is something he can’t pronounce, but explodes on his tongue with such silkiness he thumps his head on the table and groans.

“Please behave,” Kun mutters, “we are still in public.”

“Isn’t that better?” Ten says, taking another bite only to do the same thing again. To his delight, Kun sighs, two seconds away from disappearing, “now the reporters will assume you’ve teased me to a scandalous night in bed.”

“Oh my gosh,” now Kun’s face is flaming. Perfect. Ten happily gets up first, letting the other handle the bill. It’s only when they step out, does he wish he could bite back his words.

Cameras. Two across the street, one in a café just nearby. Ten keeps near, and curls a hand around the other’s arm. Could it be…? No. Or maybe it was. It would be strange, right? If this totally in love couple articles talked about barely went on dates. Of course, that’s why Kun had taken time off. Another extension of work, in the form of marriage.

“Ten?” Kun asks, and he hums, staring down at the ground, “I think there’s…people.” He hums again. He hates this part with a passion. Even the wine in his system isn’t enough to stop the utter pain erupting in his chest, when he presses a kiss against his head.

It feels so wrong.

He knows Kun likes to drop them when he’s putting him into bed. Maybe a habit, leftover from Sicheng. Or whoever it actually is. He doesn’t know. Either way, thinking of any of it makes him just feel so utterly small, that he declines going anywhere else for the night. Ten keeps quiet the entire way back, because that’s what his world’s come to; quietness, with Kun. Nothing more, nothing less, and nothing remarkable at all.

“Hey,” a hand pulling his wrist, just as he heads for his room. Ten looks up, and Kun’s eyes are a little heistant. It’s not a look that suits him. “It—did you like the food?”

Ten blinks. “Do we need to send in a review?”

“No, no,” the other runs a thumb, gentle against the inside of his wrist. Stop. He wishes he could rip the word out his throat. “Just. I wanted to do something nice for you. I—I’m sorry. For being all distant.”

It takes him a second, he’ll admit. And for a second, he lets himself be soothed over, with those words. “It was great,” Ten says, smiling back, and he visibly relaxes, “thank you.” It’s silent again. But it’s like there’s something they both need to stay, simmering in the air. A second, and another, before they’re pulling away, and Ten’s in his room, a hard, hard time falling asleep that night.

*

It’s a strange shift.

It starts from the dinner, and spills into the playing of the piano. Ten stares, and waits, all too long, hearing it, watching him. Gosh—maybe he should have taken science or some shit, this feelings things doesn’t work well for him.

“Do you want to listen?”

Of-fucking-course he wants to listen. There’s something just so utterly melancholic, about the whole thing. About Kun in his work clothes, in  this big empty apartment with barely a trace of ever having a lover, of ever having someone who truly cared. Three years? Or was it more? How long had they dated? Why didn’t they bring it all out of this man, instead letting him keep everything locked inside?

“You think so much,” Kun whispers, one night, in between songs.

(It’s somehow become a thing. Minnie keeps numbering them on calls because she has nothing better to do than gossip about her boss’s tragic love life. Ten lets her, because it’s all so confusing to him, hoping she could name it all, if he can’t. The coming back earlier from the office, the occasional dinners between them. Kun lets him paint his nails when he’s so tired from work he doesn’t want to move off the couch, and Ten lets him mess up the order of quite literally everything in the house as a small thank you.

There shouldn’t be even a paragraph worth to write about this, and yet they’re here.)

“Rich from someone like you,” Ten says. He keeps his chin tucked on his shoulder, eyes drooping already. He’s been guest lecturing a few art classes, and goddamn is it tiring. “Keep playing old man.”

“Call me that once more and I’ll play marina and the diamonds instead.” That has Ten sitting up, now wide awake, staring at Kun as if he’s some creature from the universe.

“Dearest husband—Qian Kun, knows something other than Jay Chou?” Ten fakes a gasp, and earns a narrowing of eyes, “that is just plain insanity!”

“If you’re going to be difficult I can stop playing altogether,” but Ten rolls his eyes, tugging him back down when he starts to get up.

“You can’t,” he says, and presses a few keys himself. The basic shit he knows. “This is payment, remember?” And that has him conceding, making Ten preen. Well, well, well, at least Minnie had a few good suggestions in a while. Cooking. It’s still horrid. He doesn’t understand it. But he does understand the quiet hums of appreciation, the satisfaction not faked after a nice meal.

It feels nice.

That part.

So what if the process is a little complicated. “Like this,” Kun guides, snorting, when he starts messing up. Truthfully he could care less. But he rests his hands upon the other’s, shadowing, heart tingling all the same. “Did Jungwoo message you?”

“About the suit?”

“Hmm,” Ten stares. Kun is entirely too focused on their hands, fingers tracing against the his ring, when they finally stop. He meets his eyes, and brushes back his hair, and it’s just so nice, that Ten wants to bathe in this delusion forever. That all that, so much warmth, so much softness, is really all for him. “Do you like it?”

“It’s pretty,” he shrugs, “I like auburn more. Autumn’s nearly here.” He wishes he’d just let him play. Ten falls asleep so deeply, whenever he does. And Kun is always so nice, in those moments. It just. It’s a bad thing to be addicted to. But he is. The windows are open, view laid in front. It gives them both a glow, and Ten chances a glance at him. “Keep playing.”

“I will,” he promises, before turning his face with a finger under his chin. Ten stares back, memories how he looks in the moment. A second. Memorisation complete. “You’re really okay?”

“Where’s this coming from?” he asks and the other stays quiet. Gosh. Why doesn’t he speak? Ten is not a psychic. He can only decipher so much, before his heart starts getting involved.

“Nowhere,” that makes no sense. But neither does this. His gaze so intent on him, as if he’s trying to memorise a particularly memorable piece of whatever it is business men like staring at. “You’ll tell me, right? If you need anything?”

Ten stares. Swallows, hard. “If someone says something, does something?” Kun shifts his hand, against his cheek, a thumb grazing the skin. Too much. It’s too much. But yet he can’t pull back. Or look away. “Do whatever you want, okay? I’ll deal with the rest.”

What is he, a mafia boss? Ten should make fun of him. Tease him. He’s so strange. But Kun pulls away, and instead of explaining he just plays. Ten falls asleep like clockwork, unbeknownst to what transpires after.

“He what?”

He wasn’t supposed to hear, he thinks. But the department head gives him a small smile, a little flustered to have him bang the door open. Listen, it’s kind of hard to ignore hearing no only his name but his husband’s as well.

“Nothing Ten-ssi,” but she has a stack of something she pushed back against her desk, scared he might see. Ten stares, hard, and she lowers her gaze. All he wants to do is give the best fucking lecture he can on how the anatomy of things played vital roles in conveying meaning through paint, and now he’s distracted. Great. “Well umm.”

“I won’t leave until you tell me.”

“It’s just—Mr. Qian said to keep track,” he furrows his brows. Kun? What the hell.

“Of?” Keep track? What is Ten, a child? He gets a little pissed, thinking of bringing it up now at their nightly dinners—

“The media outlets outside,” she says, “they’re a cause of disturbance to the campus and the students too, but of course, I can only imagine how uncomfortable it is for you to be followed every part of the way here and back. I’ve mentioned it in passing to his secretary, last time he was here.”

He was…here? “Oh,” and it’s like someone’s stolen his voice, confused. The water is all murky, and everything is unclear. This time not because he wants it to be, but because he does not understand. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”

“Not at all! Oh it’s an honour to just have—“ he tunes the rest out. You’ll tell me, right? I’ll deal with the rest.

He does not like this. Does not like it one bit at all.

*

“You know it’d be nice to have a heads up.”

Ten shrugs. It’s a cold night, breeze not too icy, and the night filled with moonlight. Ten stares ahead, digging his sneakers into the sand. “You came anyway.” And then, quieter; “you should have gone home.”

“And then who’d cook me a dish enough to regret being born?”

Ten glares, threatening to throw sand. He’s alone. No Jungwoo today, huh? He likes him. Him and his boyfriend both. They’re cute. And they care for Kun, more than work, more than greed, more than selfishness. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Not really,” he is. A bit. Kun sits next to him, and he internally cringes. Gosh. That poor, poor suit. How many Brauni ones is he going to ruin? Ten bites his tongue just this once, because it’s still nice to have company. “How was work?” A sigh. Heavy and exasperated. He glances at him with a smile, only to have Kun’s eyes locked with his, already staring back.

The world is too quiet, to ignore how hard his heart beats. “Exhausting,” but then he grins, “we got the deal, though.” Oh. Ten’s genuinely glad for him. He’d been looking more half dead in the morning after waking up than he did coming back home at night. It was truly a thing to witness. “Just need to pull through this quarter.”

“Don’t you get tired of it?” Ten asks, staring out. The water is so inky. And yet, the sky lets it borrow a bit of its shine, the moonlight rippling across. He should bring an easel here sometime. “The same routine, again and again.”

“Yeah well,” Kun follows his gaze, “you were right. I should have switched.”

Ten snorts, “is this my ‘I told you so’ moment?”

“If you want to be an asshole yes,” Ten shoves him as he laughs. He grabs his hand though, and they’re so incredibly warm. Familiar. Eyes meeting his, and he slips his fingers between the gaps of Ten. It’s a clunky fit, but that’s what makes it nicer. Kun’s hair’s all over the place now, and he itches with the need to fix, even when there’s nothing around.

(A tiny poke tells him it’s just an excuse to touch, and he threatens to snap it in half so it scurries away.)

“You can have it too,” he says, quiet in this space between them. Kun’s eyes soften, and.

There it is again. That thing. It confuses him. Confuses him when he stays in his bed, some nights, sleeps under the covers of Ten’s blue duvet. Confuses him when he ends up in the other’s, talking about this and that until Kun just tugs him to lay down, to ‘might as well sleep here’.

It makes him want to abandon it. The cozy oblivion at the bottom of the ocean floor. Try and stay afloat, for longer than necessary. “Your ‘I told you so’ moment,” he elaborates, “I regret a lot of things, Kun.”

A squeeze. Silence. Why is it, that after so many years, the fire welcomes that instead between them? No more sharp edges of personalities clashing. Just smoothed over, gliding against surfaces without making a single sound. Even in fights. Even in—

In what? “You have to regret to live, Ten,” Kun says, and the words are just so heavy. “How will you ever change or move forward without it? And besides, I’m pretty sure I have a lot more to regret than you.”

“Like?” why this strokes his competitiveness, is beyond him. Ten pouts, “you’re just stealing my moment.”

“You can still have it,” Kun says, and now he fixates his gaze on the sand instead, “it’s a promise I broke to you, after all.” For a moment, his brain blanks out. Sticks to the most ridiculous thing.

The vows. The wedding. To pledge loyalt—

But Kun’s not that type of man. Ten doesn’t want to believe he could be. No matter how long, or how short. Then—“I lost myself,” he admits, laughing, “it was the simplest thing to keep, and yet I managed to fuck it up.”

Oh. “You—remember that?” Ten’s face flames, the memory of that night. What else do you remember? What else do you regret? Are they the same as mine? Or are they the complete opposites?

“Kind of,” he lets go of Ten’s hand, and he stares in confusion, until Kun’s jacket comes to set along his shoulder, carrying the warmth of his body over, seeping into him for however little. There’s the whiff of his cologne, and there’s the sense of his touch separated through fabric, Kun not meeting his eyes, but cheeks a dusting of red. “I regret not saying, a lot of things too.”

Stop. Ten doesn’t like these things. At all. Hoping, and waiting. Watching, Kun so at home in the peace that is this place, away from the suffocating walls of corporate and bullshit. Ask. But he can’t get himself too, mum. “It’s late, Ten,” he says, and tugs him to stand, “come home with me.”

Okay. But he can’t even say that. I regret not saying a lot of things too. Ten fidgets, fingers digging harshly into his palms to distract the thoughs—

“You’lll hurt yourself,” he chides, reaching over, covering his hand. Ten’s heartbeat is so loud, and so unfair. It’s hard against his chest, against his ribcage. It’s insane, threatening to straight up explode when they’re with dinner and—

“I’ve always believed in you,” Kun tells him, when he won’t let him leave his room, won’t let him retreat and hide away in his own bed. It’s dark, and reminiscent of the first time he’d ever felt the grip of something that could carry so much pain and sweetness at once. “Now, and then. Always, Ten.”

He wishes it could have been a fitful sleep. But Ten never sleeps better, than with him so near, so warm, and for however little, his.

*

“Kun?”

It’s freezing. And here is his husband, floating on the water of the indoor swimming pool, reserved in his name for the night. He leans against the entryway, staring at the way water ripples and molds against his body.

How unfair. She gets to have a taste, all before him. No wonder she kept throwing out Ten’s attempts of drowning his feelings; Kun’s indulging in the water’s presence all behind his back. “Aren’t you tired?”

“If I’m being honest, work is less tiring than this stuff,” this stuff as in the onslaught of dinners, with the holiday season in full swing. Some with family, most for pretend. Ten likes them, since they’re small, everyone tries kissing his feet, and then they can leave as soon as the food’s done. Not a droning party for hours on end. He tugs his cardigan tighter over himself, shivering despite himself as he steps in. The air is frigid, and yet he takes a seat on the tiled floor, butt icy.

It’s nothing he’s not seen. The expanse of his back, broad shoulders flexing with the effort as he cuts through the water. Maybe Ten will join one day too. For now, he stares, Kun coming up to the edge, right in front of him, water cascading down every inch. “Did you bring a towel?” he asks, and expectedly, the other shakes his head. Ten fucking knew it. So he’s brought one with.

“I’ll stay a bit more,” he says, and meets his eyes. The dimness here turns them black and infinite, gaze pinning. “You were sleeping.”

He was. “You left,” and Ten’s getting too used to, his presence next to him. Warm, and solid. Kun doesn’t say much, but he can tell he’s studying him. All analytical, because that’s all how his brain works now.

It’s a promise I broke to you, after all. “Come to bed, Kun,” he says, gently, “you’re not burning away anything like that, I can promise you.” Whatever it maybe. Stress, thoughts…none works. Ten knows, form great experience. It’s a second, before he draws himself out, and Ten would complain he’s getting him wet, but he finds himself unbothered.

The ring’s there. Resting against his chest. He keeps his eyes averted, mostly, but he can’t help but be drawn. He just has to be so beautiful, doesn’t he? Maybe if he weren’t an artist, it would mean nothing at all. Ten dries his hair, rubbing in harder against his scalp or he’ll get sick and still want to work. When he takes it off, a smile tugs his lips.

“Do you have to do it before we go down?” Kun asks, a pout in his voice. He too knows, he looks like an electrified scientist now. Hair all puffy and standing. Ten just smooths it down, heart fluttering maddeningly when he leans into the touch, probably drowsy. It’s been a long, long day.

“Do you do this a lot?” he asks, when they’re heading downstairs. The flat is warm inside, because he’d turned up the heating. Kun shrugs on a night shirt and pants, Ten curled up already under his covers.

“Kind of?” Kun answers, distracted, “I like it. I’ve always been alone mostly, so it’s nice to hear something, feel something like that when I’m back.” Huh. He takes his vitamins, because no matter what he argues about, he’s old and working to an early grave. Imagine that many hours for days on a chair? Who is going to have a functioning back after that? “Don’t you like it? You paint that a lot.”

Ten blinks. “The water?”

He hums. Kun gets under, slumped back against the pillows, black hair a pretty halo all around. It’s some sort of magical effect, because he’s already feeling sleep tug at him, the other her now. “It’s fascinating,” he explains. “Don’t you think about it? What can the water not show you? Still enough, and it can be mistaken as the sky too.”

“Isn’t that the same with the sky?” Kun brushes his hair back, and Ten’s eyelids get considerably heavier, “an ‘ocean of clouds’ or something. They’re both reflections of each other, sometimes. The sky just goes beyond, and the sea under.’

Hmm. Maybe. That’s a nice idea. Maybe he could use that for his next pieces. “So much more to see, if you took a dive.”

“Or were a bird.”

“Always the poet, Qian Kun,” he gets a tug on the year for that, and Ten buries his face into his pillow, hiding his smile. A sigh, and a complaint, and then there’s the achingly familiar routine; lips pressed against his head, soft and never lingering too long.

Sometimes, Ten wonders, what would happen if he gave into this urge, like he’s been giving into so many others recently. When it’s quiet, and their breaths are barely audible, the space for something more left to be said.

You see, it’s just so easy, is the problem.

To fall in love, all over again.

*

When he wakes up, there’s a very lodged feeling of something off. Ten blinks through the darkness, trying to adjust to it, shifting only to realize there’s a heavy weight against his chest. It is a black blob, which after thinking gets renamed to Kun’s head and mop of hair.

He’s not completely on him. It’s not a heavy weight. His breaths are warm, face pressed into the fabric of Ten’s night shirt, and little by little the room materializes the longer he keeps himself from sleeping again. What is it? They don’t keep any sockets plugged in at night. They don’t have child to keep an eye on. Nor cats. That makes him frown. They should have one cat. Even a plant, actually.

“Hrmph.”

“Keep sleeping,” he pokes Kun, when he dares move or make noise. But then…He presses a hand against his cheek, finding it warmer than it should be. Is he…? But he drank the tea before sleeping! Ten forced him to. He cards his fingers through the other’s hair, and tries to fall back asleep, hoping it must be just a small thing from the heat of the blanket and the room.

It is not.

“Kun,” he says, staring in disappointing at his husband, who’s woken at ass crack of dawn after a frantic call from the office. He’s still warm. Not feverishly high, but that does nothing to tame the worry. Kun, on the other hand, in already in his pants and shirt, combing his hair, and having picked out an atrocious tie that Ten’s replaced because what the fuck.

“It’s nothing new,” Kun tells him, exasperated, and then knots his tie, adjusting it before walking up to him. His face softens, and that is just worse. “I’ll be fine,” he insists, holding his arms as if to drive the point home.

Still. “That doesn’t make anything better,” he presses a palm against his cheek, and instead of saying something he just leans into it. Great. Now he’s worried and his heart is going crazy too. Amazing. Not to mention he’s still very sleepy, and cold even through the sweater. “You shouldn’t be used to this.”

“Have to be,” he leans forward, pecking his head, “you just stay in today. There might be a snowstorm, and I’m not hearing anything more about your aging aching bones.”

Ten smacks him on the arm, glaring as Kun laughs. Gosh. “Die in a ditch,” he retorts, huffing and heading back to the bedroom. Might as well stay in Kun’s if he’s here. The bed’s probably still warm from them. “You’re so annoying—don’t come calling me when you’re half dead in your office and Jungwoo doesn’t want to take responsibility.”

“Really feeling the concern.”

“You’d stay home if you did,” he snuggles himself under the covers. They bicker more, but it’s infuriating because Kun is taking it all lightly and is more amused than he is fighting back, even as Ten insults him for multiple things. He keeps his eyes on him the entire time, and then even graciously sees him off at the door.

Please be wrong. There is nothing more he’d love than to be wrong in this situation, even if that will earn much unnecessary smugness from the other.

It’s nothing new.

What does he mean by that? He hugs a pillow to his chest, thinking over the words. It shouldn’t be. Does he always do that? But then…Ten’s a chronic ignorer of his own ails too, so they’re both kind of hopeless in that department. Still…

“Hello?”

“Hi hyung,” Jungwoo, “umm. I wouldn’t normally call and Kun hyung would kill me if he knew I did—

“Is he okay?” Ten’s already picking his jacket, knocking at Taeyong’s door. The other glances up from where he’d been talking to a few on his interns, and he gestures that he’s leaving. He looks like he wants to ask more, but Ten is too distracted to stay, “did he actually die in a ditch?”

“What?” Jungwoo sounds faint, “no? Should he have? Sorry I—anyways he’s alive. But then he’s been holed up in the office for an hour. All the important meetings are done, and I keep telling him to leave. Just giving you a heads up.”

Gosh. Of course. If he just listened to Ten! “Are you—are you outside?” Right. The snowstorm and all. But that’s like, later. Maybe Ten should also listen to Kun sometimes.

“I’ll be home in a bit. Or actually, should I just drop by?”

“No he’ll leave,” Jungwoo says ominously, “give me fifteen minutes.” Okay. Never mess with Jungwoo gets added on his mental list, and he drives back to the apartment, the snow already having started, rapidly falling on the streets. Ten tries to be cool, but honestly, he’s not.

“It’s nothing much.”

“Kun you have a fever,” Ten scolds, incredulous. He won’t go sleep in his bed, instead sat in the kitchen, watching him heat up the stupid soup he had to call his mom for because they’re not doing deliveries with the routes closing. His face is flushed, eyes glossy, and movements languid. It breaks his heart, and Ten hates him.

“It’s hot,” he warns, taking a seat next to him, and takes a sip himself, thankfully not tasting like a disaster. Ten stirs it. Then wonders if he should do that bowl to bowl technique—

“Calm down,” Kun’s hand clasps his, and he finally looks at him, properly. There’s something about his expression, he doesn’t quite get. But he smiles, small, and brushes his hair back. “Ten you’re doing enough. Thank you.”

“I just want you to be okay,” he admits, quiet. Kun blinks, not expecting it, and Ten feels like he ripped a piece of heart and showed it to him in the open. “Sorry—anyways. You’re not going to work tomorrow. I told Jungwoo to lock you out the system.”

This earns him a huff of confused laughter. “Okay,” he concedes, blowing on his spoon, before drinking it all, albeit slow. It’s not very entertaining, but Ten still can’t get himself to just leave. Can’t get himself to relax until it seems like a little life has crawled back to him after eating something.

“This is why you don’t go swimming in the dead of the night,” he murmurs, handing him the pills. Kun downs them, and looks a tad bit guilty. He cleans up the rest of the utensils, standing near him when he’s done. Ten considers him for a bit, going easily when he gestures for him to step closer, resting his head against his stomach, arms holding him close. It’s strange. He’d never considered Kun to ever calm from physical gestures.

But he does. Ten cards his fingers through his hair, playing with the hairs at his nape, feeling him lose to the exhaustion. “Come to me,” he says, feeling his face burn, and ignoring it, “instead of the stupid pool in winter.”

“And bother you? For what, even.”

“Don’t act coy,” he pinches his ear, “that whole ‘feel, hear something’,” he repeats, deepening his voice to reflect Kun’s a bit. He doesn’t do a great job, but Kun’s smiling, so it’s a win. Better than being miserable.

“And how will you entertain me then? Will you sing a little song?”

This guy. “Yes,” he says, and then tilts his face up, this angle always a bit dizzying for him to process. Even when he’s sick and pathetic, he is absolutely breathtaking. “In fact, I’ll sing right now, if you come to bed.”

“I didn’t actually mean—‘

“Oh you do not get to back out—‘

‘I didn’t even agree to anyth—“

“Blah, blah, blah,” he pulls him off the stool, and now they’re both giggling. Kun has given up, making his job easier, until they’re heading to his room. Ten in no way is bringing a blob if germs into his bed. Kun plops down on the mattress, not letting go of his hand and in the process making Ten stumble on to him too. His hands steadying him, Ten’s knees bracketing either side.

“You’ll not stay?”

Oh.

“Do you want me to?” A beat.

“I mean,” his voice loses the zeal it carried, “I can’t go to the pool.” He’s terribly endeared as much as he’s annoyed. Why can’t anyone speak directly here? But Ten makes well of his promise. Maybe too much so, considering the moment he’s done, his husband’s asleep, the ache in his chest growing a chasm wide.

*

Ten wishes he could hate him. The list is so fucking long. He snores, he’s messy, he forgets his keys despite remembering everything else. He’s in love with another man, he comes home some nights so tired and not a word of explanation. He’s lame. His jokes suck. He—he—

He’s so fucking good to him. Kun plays the piano nearly every single night, plays even when he’s tired and doesn’t complain at all when Ten falls asleep time and time again. He kisses his forehead and looks at him so gently sometimes it’s impossible not to feel. Kun is just. He’s a good man. He’s so easy to love. He tries and tries for everyone even when no one makes the effort back.

How can Ten not love him?

How can he not love a man who’s given all of himself up for the sake of responsibility alone? Fame, wealth, power; they mean nothing for someone so stuck on principle.

I still wear it.

It felt like the right thing to do.

I’ve always believed in you Ten. Then, and now.

And the ring. Always hanging off his neck, right over his heart, hidden where no one can see, and no one knows, except Ten. What does that mean?

Why did you tell him that?

Gosh. His phone is right there. And yet he can’t get himself to call a single other person, buried in his own knees as the tears just won’t stop. Ten hates crying like this. It makes him feel so utterly pathetic, for a reason that he had warned himself from, time and time again.

Why?

“Because I fucking love you,” he whispers, trying to breathe. The words are swallowed up in the deafening silence of the room, Kun having left just a while ago.

Ten shouldn’t have said anything. But he couldn’t help it, okay? He just. He let himself get fooled. By the care, by the kisses, the piano and his stupid eyes. So the moment he’d seen him, at the table at their own anniversary party, sitting pristine and quiet, he fucking knew.

Dong Sicheng.

It had to be him. Kun’s mystery boy. It had felt downright suffocating, every second, mapping it all out. Worst is he couldn’t even blame him. Sicheng was alluring, great at conversation, a gorgeous voice, a lithe body that shined in his finely crafted suit from a tasteful design house. Sicheng was bright, but calm.

And in that moment, with his shy smile and self-assured gait, he had everything Ten didn’t. So he spoke. He talked, pretending to be oblivious, but let it slip out.

Love.

Maybe sweet once, for the other. But Ten had taken his own sourness, and forced them both a taste too.

 It’s painful. Ten’s mother should have warned him about this, when he’d been growing up. Not the pros and cons of his career decisions. His dad should have taken him to the gardens and pressed his hands in the thorns of roses until they’d turn bloody, instead of taking him to meeting rooms and conventions to build him up.

They should have taught him, that there is no such thing as beauty, in this horrible, horrible feeling. It takes roots, and grows steady and quiet, vine like until every inch of you chokes in its hold, giving fruit to grapes as sour as poison. That’s what Ten did—he’d taken. He’d taken a piece, a taste too bold, too hasty. Of something that did not belong to him. Against Kun’s lips, of Kun at his most bare. Had given and let himself be taken from, and now all he can taste in his mouth is regret.

It’s everywhere.

It’s on his fucking skin, purple and bruised and all of Kun’s. It’s in his memory, seared to permanence how his voice could sound, if he’d loved Ten instead. If he’d wanted him instead.

Kun didn’t come back home.

He didn’t come back in the evening. He didn’t come now, either, so deep into the night. And it hurts, so much, to even entertain, where he could be. Maybe Ten is spoilt; because for the first time, he’s not someone’s first choice. Not a choice at all.

“Please,” he begs, to anyone who could listen, unable to stop the sob that escapes him, “make it stop.”

“I broke it off, for good.”

It’s like the words stop making sense. Ten’s in such utter denial of everything, he can’t. He just can’t understand. Why. He’d called Minnie early this morning. Told her to ask that lawyer cousin of hers how fast he could draft the papers. Cut these fucking vines and set them both free. Dredge out those feelings and bury them in the shore till they turned one with the sand.

He did not think of this.

“Ten,” he cuts off all of Ten’s rambling. This must be a cruel joke, right, of the universe? What is Kun doing. Why is he hurting everyone like this. “Ten stop. Stop and breathe.” But it’s so hard. And yet his hands are there, clutching tight on Ten’s arms. He’s so close, so awfully familiar that it just keeps shattering him more. Ten wants him so much. He’s so pathetic, isn’t he? How—

“I just fell in love.”

Oh my god.

This can’t be fucking real.

He’d convinced himself. He’d spent hours, breaking down everything the past year, past months. He didn’t feel anything, he’d reminded himself, again and again, it was always in your head.

But now?

“I just realized so late,” Kun looks wrecked. He’s still in his suit from yesterday, he doesn’t look like he’s slept a wink. “I’m so sorry. I’m so damn sorry. I didn’t think it would hurt this much to love.” It’s real. Ten can barely believe it. All he can do is hug him tight, all he can do is breathe in, and for once, feel it enter his lungs, let him enjoy it, without an ounce of binding pain.

“I’ve made you wait so long.”

No. No—he doesn’t get it, does he? A lifetime is only as long as you live. For cats it can be twenty, their forever so short to them. For whales it could go to hundred, for humans it can trip in luck and go beyond that. Ten has wanted for so long, and had given up hope for it to ever be rewarded back—

“Worth it,” he says, and fuck. The kiss is so utterly saccharine. It’s so much. It’s like last night exemplified to a million. It’s like every little thing Kun has done to make him fall deeper and all over again a thousand times more.  

Now

Ten still wishes he could hate him.

“Okay so I should have checked the weather.”

Ten glares. Now they’re both wet under a bus stand with no umbrella. It’s so cold. Kun offers him his jacket, but guess what, it’s drenched too! He sits with his arms crossed, pouting. Not to mention everything he wore was new.

“Just stop standing there,” he says, tempted to push him out so he gets further soaked in the rain. Alas if he gets sick the only one suffering will be Ten, so no thank you. “You’ll catch a cold.”

“I swear it was—“

“Kun,” Ten sighs, and the other comes back, slumping next to him, shoulders dropping. The sight is endearing, and despite his annoyance that the first date they go on gets interrupted by a fucking storm…

He doesn’t mind. “You can’t control the weather,” he says, and takes the other’s hand in his. Almost instinctively, he slips his fingers in the gaps, Kun’s hands pretty pink and pale. He gives it a squeeze, and Ten leans his head against his shoulder. “So what did the CEO of Q cooperation have in mind?”

“A lot and not that much,” interesting. He can feel him sulk. “I mean—you like cats. So there was this cat café—“

“A cat café?!” This changes many things. The rain isn’t that hard, and surely the café is still open?? Kun stares at him as if he’s lost his mind, but who cares! “Kun we have to go! We really do! It’s not far from here if you wanted to walk right?”

“I can get the car—“

“No!” Ten whines, “no, no let’s run in the rain? It’ll be fun and romantic.”

“Ten you’ll get sick.”

“It’s worth it! Pros: cats, serotonin, happiness and cure from depression! Cons: slim possibility of getting sick but then we’d both be sick and that’s still romantic!”

“What even is your idea of romance,” but he’s laughing, watching as Ten’s already standing up, picking his bag and Kun’s jacket. They check online just in case—they’re open!—and Ten takes off, the other right behind him. Admittedly, he’s not wearing the greatest running attire, but he doesn’t care. Kun does, and he keeps reminding him to slow down, ultimately keeping his hand in his in a death grip. It’s chill, and nice, and Kun probably thinks he’s insane, but it’s worth it when they reach under the shade of the café’s exterior, heaving.

“Take a second,” Kun says, stopping him. He’s about to protest, when the other holds him by the arms, both their visions filled with running droplets of water, slipping down strands of hair. Kun pushes it back with one hand, grinning before he runs both of them over Ten’s arms, warming him.

It’s still freezing. But there’s a different type of warmth instead. One that spreads to somewhere deeper, Kun’s eyes a map of affection. “Let’s shake this off a bit? The cats wouldn’t want to get wet either, would they?”

True. He glances longingly inside. “Can we get a cat?” he asks, voice small, “please. I’ll like, be the single parent.”

“Why would you be the single parent when I’m just there?” Kun wrinkles his nose, “I do prefer dogs though.” The glare he receives is enough to shut further mutterings of such ridiculous nature. He combs back Ten’s hair, fingers grazing against his scalp, all to distract him he’s sure. But then the nice lady inside beckons them inside, letting them sit in the café section until they dry off.

“All the themed cookies,” he says dismissively, when Kun asks what to get him. Listen, there’s a two year old kitten desperately pawing at the fence to meet them, Ten’s paternal instincts are being awakened. This is exactly why his dad never took him to the wildfare centres; he’d start crying by the time they needed to head home.

“They’re all strays?” he gasps, when the lady nods. Oh. Oh that is so sad.

“Hey, they didn’t have green tea so I just got the oreo sha—“

“Kun we need to get a cat like, yesterday,” he grabs his husband’s arm, who shakes and is very distressed considering he is holding a full tray. Ten does not care, and trusts him. Kun sets it down, exasperated. “Did you hear what she said? The cat—“

“I know,” he says gently, smiling. His cheeks dimple in the slightest, a hand on his knee squeezing. “That’s why I wanted to bring you here. I think we’re dry enough now, no?” Yes!!!! It’s amazing. All of them have cute little personalities, and one starts falling asleep in Kun’s arms, chunky and purring as they both coo over her. Her name is Milki. He will start crying.

“Don’t,” Kun laughs, when he jokes it to him. He leans forward, pecking his cheek, Ten shoving him.

“There are children here,” particularly the kitten—peanut—who is staring in confusion why her scratches have stopped. Kun grins, eyes gleaming as if he’s found something, when he’s just being shameless. Not to mention the employees. Ten goes back to peanut, and then three cats surrounds him, and now he will just live here.

“Eat,” Kun reminds, but he too has a lapful of Milki. At least all of Ten’s cat buddies are awake. With a sigh he pulls the plates closer, a bite to the other, and then to himself. Ten takes 2345678 pictures and two selfies with his husband. The rain lets off, considerably, but his heart is so full and he still doesn’t want to go.

“Say bye, Ten.” He doesn’t want to. He tries giving Kun his most pleading look, but the other just turns away. Horrible. His arm’s warm around his waist, when they step out, the sunlight peeping through the dark clouds. It smells divine; and he takes a deep breath in, cherishing it.

“Did you like it?” Kun asks. His voice is soft. Hesitant. Ten wants to tease him so bad, unable to tamp down his smile.

If he’s being honest, he dislikes PDA. It makes him so utterly queasy, and playing it up for the media the past years has…mellowed him considerably to any merit the idea of it may have. But you know? His husband’s in fucking love with him back (though he has his doubts) and this was a cute date.

“Come here,” he says, and instead of explaining, he turns Kun to face him. The other’s staring in confusion, both of them near the same fateful bus stop. Ten tugs him under, and presses a kiss to his lips, sweet and short, but enough to daze him from the surprise. It’s cute. Kun is terribly cute when he blushes. He’ll never tell him that of course. “Is that answer enough?”

A blink. The other steps closer, and he takes a step back inside, under the shade. “I don’t know,” he says, genuinely, so much so Ten believes him, but then he turns into a little shit, hands sliding to his waist, “there’s others ways too.”

“You are the pervert in this relationship,” Ten bites, “and people think I’m bad.”

“I think flirting with your husband and declaring bold statements in public are two very different things,” he rolls his eyes. Technicalities. And also. Kun won’t stop stepping forward. It’s really terrible, because he has nowhere else to go, corned in the side of the bus stop. What is he doing? “And you’re the one with a mind in the gutter.”

“Oh and like—“

“Ten,” Kun cuts, eyes turning hooded. He leans down, nosing against his cheek, making his breath hitch. “Can’t you go along?”

“You didn’t marry a pushover, darling,” he says, but it comes out way too airy. Kun’s hands are not well mannered at all, warm and slipping to the small of his back, up and up, languid. “Stop turning this on me.”

“I’m just asking for another kiss, though,” he can feel his smile against his skin, infuriatingly teasing. Ten tries to push back against his shoulders, but he can’t help but give in, when he kisses him anyway, not anywhere as sweet as Ten had. It’s much more intentional, deeper. What the fuck. Anyone could see them.

“You were way too cute,” Kun mutters between kisses, “I only have so much patience.”

Don’t. But he still indulges in the compliment. He threads his fingers through the other’s hair, sighing into it. At least he has the decency to not try anything funny. And—

“Kun,” he breaks off, barely able to resist the urge again because Kun looks so utterly dazed, pupils wide and cheeks flushed. Ten is going crazy. “Someone’s there.” And a look over his shoulder, there is. He doesn’t know if they’re just a normal pedestrian or not, either way, his gut twists. He think of what to say—

“Stay here? I’ll get the car,” the rain’s starting again. A faint drizzle. He watches him go, the white of his—

“Your jacket, you idiot!” he shouts, realizing Ten’s still been wearing it this entire time. But he doesn’t catch it, Ten watching in fond exasperation as he gets wet anyway before driving over, his car seat a mess. That could not be uncomfortable, but he still tells him to be careful as Ten gets in the car. “If we get sick it’s all your fault.”

“But—you!—“ Kun splutters, and Ten tunes him out by turning up the radio. It’s a perfect day for a nice song, and he sinks into the seat, glad the heater’s already turned up. Despite being sulky for the sudden blame, Kun reaches over, holding his hand over the console.

“…and then she’s considering launching the next line in Indonesia. Jungwoo said something about you guys having a subsidiary there, right? I told her I’d ask.” Ten pats the rest of the face mask goo into his skin, and deposits it in the dustbin. Kun’s already changed, cleaned up and in bed, noting things down in his nerdy journal.

When Ten heads over to fight him into keeping it away, he pauses.

“What—“

“Is that a doodle?” Kun tries stopping him but Ten is not letting it go. He nearly falls of the bed but little concerns. He starts cooing immediately. Qian Kun, big bad CEO doodles in his notes? Tiny angry clouds, all conversations—

“Stop,” he hisses. Ten couldn’t smile wider if he tried. “Sleep.”

“Won’t you sing me a little tune, cloud man?”

“Shut up.”

“That is not a very rhythmic tune, cloud man.”

“Ten,” he groans, pushing him down to his side of the bed. He slaps a hand against his mouth, and Ten licks it, earning a disgusted look. Kun instead presses his hands down, so he can’t see anymore. This is a very nice angle though, Kun’s hair black and pretty falling forward. “Can you never be nice?”

“What is not nice about cloud man?” he asks genuinely. All this does is make Kun kiss him so he shuts up, which means Ten’s won either way. It’s a very delightful development, even more so when his hands trail down, ghosting over his skin under the shirt.

Oh it is a very very delightful development indeed.

*

“What is this?”

“You are learning this or by god we are never attending another event again.”

Ten blinks. That’s…supposed to matter to him? Kun, sensing his train of thought, frowns, “or getting a cat.”

“Hey that’s unfair!” How could he use that against him?! “You’re depriving me of happiness that’s abuse!”

“You have complete freedom to join and learn,” Kun offers, arms crossed as he leans against the arm of the sofa. Ten pouts. Well, this is terrible. He doesn’t quite like the waltz. It’s always been too much proximity and too much quiet for him to indulge in it properly. “It’s just dancing,” Kun sighs.

“Just dancing?” he repeats, affronted. “You try dancing. Then we talk. Let me wear pants.” He ends up changing into his own pyjamas, joining Kun. The blue of it suits the other; Ten’s in his darker ones, cool on the skin. Apparently he has a video and song and everything.

“Why can’t we do this upstairs?” Ten asks, when they get into position. Standing like this, toes nearly touching, he has to tilt his head up, met directly with the other’s gaze. Kun huffs a small laugh, and instead of answering, he plays a little song on his phone, and takes his hand, the other on his waist.

“Nice,” he says, after a minute of swaying, “what next?”

Kun squeezes his side, “this isn’t EDM, you have to let it build up.” Good gracious. He’d much rather let his arms dangle over the other’s shoulder till they’re booting up, but the moment the thought passes through his head, Kun takes the lead.

“1-2, 1-2, 1-2,” Ten follows, staring intently at their feet. He smells so nice, when he’s home. Not all rusty and polluted. Like his cologne, bodywash. Soft. Homey. “Now to the right,” he follows, keeping note of the rhythm, coordinating their steps. Kun’s hands are warm, gentle even now, just a small push, to guide him here and there. The lady is speaking on the tablet, and he’s hearing nothing at all.

What song is this? It’s so lovely. “Left, Ten,” okay. He’s keeping up—of course, that is nothing new considering he’s Ten—and wonders why he’d ignored learning this at all. “Ouch,” Kun hisses, when Ten accidentally misses a beat, and he bites down his smile.

Right.

That’s kinda why. “When will I get twirled?”

“Tw-twirled?” Kun’s voice is amused, “I mean, we need to build up to that too, Ten.” That makes him pout. Twirling is fun, and the best part. He inches closer to the other, instinctively, the heat of him pleasant. He wonders if the song Kun composed for him would be nice to waltz too. He thinks it might be. “Now, we move,” oh. Thankfully, he’s chosen a slow song, which means every part of it he gets to properly absorb. Soon, they’re dancing over the smooth tiles, feet moving in tandem, the world filled with nothing but Kun’s voice, and the sound of the song. The lady’s video’s ended.

“Spin,” Kun says suddenly, and he laughs at how abrupt it is.

“I know I suck at this, but even I can tell the timing was off,” Kun’s eyes crinkle with his smile too.

“I have to keep my student entertained somehow,” and like a little shit, he spins him again, “lest he get bored.” Ten rolls his eyes, but the warmth is already exploding in his chest. It’s such a simple thing, but it’s nice. The song keeps going on, and they keep moving, Ten extending far, before coming back to his arms.

It makes his heart flutter, wildly, and Ten lets it, unabashed. “If you manage to pick it up,” Kun says, “I’ll get you a surprise.”

“What am I, five?” But he does love a surprise. He’s already wondering what it could be. Qian Kun has become confusing to figure out, ever since they’ve gotten married. The music comes to a stop, and so do they, and before he can say anything at all, Kun reaches forward to hug him.

It takes a second. And then Ten melts, face tucked into his shoulder, hands against the other’s back. “Kun?”

“Hmm?”

He sounds so…fine. What does Ten ask then? It doesn’t seem like anything’s wrong. Besides, Ten loves this, so might as well accept. Just in each other’s embrace, the apartment very quiet. He can feel Kun relax in his hold, as if he’d been holding so much in.

“I love you,” he says, so gently, pressing a kiss to his head.

Ten should have said no to this entire thing. What does he do with his heart now? “I love you too,” he whispers, staring up at him. “I also love cats, and my birthday is soon.”

He snorts, fond, and Ten’s glad the atmosphere’s gone back to light. He just. Needs a little while, okay? To properly indulge, in a moment like that.

After a lot of complaining, Kun relinquished his lesson for the night, both of them eating dinner and watching a movie only to fall asleep there. Of course, these are all added to the growing list of reasons they need a cat. It would pad them awake with their cute paws.

“When we’re a little more prepared, baby,” Kun appeases him, after he gets seven calls in the span of two minutes. If anything, it looks more like Kun needs to get his shit together. Whatever. Ten will start working on a powerpoint now. He hears businessmen really like that. “I’ll go, by—“

“Did you take your files?” Ten reminds, and he swears before heading to his cabinet, drawing them out. Ten watches him struggle as he finally leaves, getting started on his own day.

*

“Pi Ten, didn’t that secretary friend of his say it’d be fine?”

“Yeah but,” but this is different. “Oh Minnie when are you done with college! I need an assistant you know!”

“That is if I don’t get a better job,” the audacity. “Anyways I’m literally hiding in a broom closet now my class starts in two. Tell me how to go and take pictures!!” She hangs up, and now he’s alone and anxious.

Gosh, it’s nothing much. If anything, the time Ten had gifted Kun the canvas was a million times worse. Spelt so much of his feelings out in the clear. This? This should be fine. And yet he’s curled on the sofa, pouting at his phone screen, checking for the nth time if the weather’s fine.

“Baby?”

Oh no. Ten peeks back, to see Kun wandering down the hallway, practically waddling in his soft sweater. His eyes are barely open, still tired, a result from company’s joint New Year and Kun’s birthday party. The only redeeming thing about them is Jaehyun—Kun’s beloved secretary, Jungwoo’s, fiancé—comes, and he’s always fun to talk shit with.

“Why’re you up?”

“Why’re you up?” He sounds annoyed. He comes closer. He is annoyed. Pouting and everything. Ten wants to squeeze him, but makes space instead. He still comes to cuddle him, cold nose burying into Ten’s neck, hands warm and slipping under his shirt, ticklish against his abdomen. “It’s me birthday, stay with me.”

Ten snorts, but presses a kiss to his head regardless. Instead of answering, he cards his fingers through his hair, and soon enough, Kun’s falling back asleep. He chances a glance back at his screen.

Gosh, he really hopes it goes well.

“Must I wear a blindfold? Can’t I just close my eyes?”

“No, I don’t trust you,” Ten holds his hands, pulling him along. It’s very quiet here, the entire reason he’d chosen it. He doesn’t like so much pointed attention, when there should only be one on him, and one on the other. “Watch you—I mean be careful.”

It’s chilly. Both their cheeks are bitten cold. But that’s what Kun gets for being born in fucking January. He couldn’t be nice like Ten and select a pleasant season. Ten glances back, taking a deep breath in, the air crisp and still, before tugging at the fabric behind his head. It slips off, and—

“Oh wow,” Kun says, immediate. Ten smiles, hooking his chin over his shoulder.

It’s self-explanatory. The sunrise. Slow, but absolutely ethereal. Pulling up and filling the skies with gold and amber, the water so still it mirrors it all, hard to know where the sky ends, and where the sea begins. Kun’s hand is still clasped in one of Ten’s, and he squeezes, tight, eyes fixated ahead.

Ten’s seen the scene many times, over the past few years. But it’s wonderful, to see someone else absorb the beauty it has to offer. “Sit,” he says, when it’s well past the horizon. Ten’s been planning this for days; the moment they take a seat, he pulls the basket closer.

“A picnic?” Kun laughs, sweet, but there’s a dusting of red on his cheeks, unrelated to the cold. Ten’s own heart is thrumming hard against his chest, but he hopes it doesn’t show. They’re both being so ridiculous. “When did you do all this?”

“I didn’t sleep,” he answers simply. Well, he did. For an hour. The party was too long. He pours tea for both of them, handing it over. Kun takes it with a thanks. It’s so quiet; only the sounds of birds chirping, occasionally of the waves moving. The streets are mostly barren, this far out. Distantly, he can see a few other people on the farside of the shore, tiny little dots walking around.

“Noodles?” Kun’s smiles stretches, “what is this, you actually praying for my heath?”

“Praying is a stretch,” Ten mutters, shoving the bowl to him, “you’re so old. An entire year older than me now.”

“For two months.”

He is, as usual, ignored, “so I need to make sure you don’t back out on me. That bank account of yours is very important.” Kun rolls his eyes, but he eats it nonetheless, Ten watching happily, because heck yeah. It’s all going to plan. It’s only when he’s done, wiping his mouth, does he look up and meet his gaze, amused. “What?”

“Why didn’t you eat?” Oh? Ten flushes, realizing he’d just been staring. Great. Embarrassing. He digs in, the sound of the other’s laughter adding salt to the burn. Ugh. Once they finish up, he brings out the cake, a small little thing.

 “Is this some type of subliminal message?” Kun asks, after he gets a look.

“No,” Ten answers, flat, “what are you talking about? The cake is plain.” It is not. It has a cat drawn on it. “Maybe you’re just seeing what you want.”

“Ten,” he takes his wrist, while Ten is still holding the knife. He was about to hand it over. He hopes Kun doesn’t think he’s about to murder him. But when he looks up, his smile is just—

It’s too much, really. Face still a bit puffy from sleep, but eyes crinkling in amusement, turning gold in the unfiltered sunlight. Before Ten can ask, he leans forward, a hand against his jaw, kissing him. Oh. He slips his eyes shut, kissing back, until his chest is so full it might actually explode.

“The cake,” he tries weakly, when Kun pulls back.

“Yes,” he says, a thumb caressing his cheek, turning him goo on the inside. “The cake with a picture of you.”

“It’s a picture of a cat,” Ten corrects, frowning, and then realizes, eyes widening. “Oh—you!”

“I guess we all see what we want then.” Kun says before snatching the knife from his hand. Good decision or else it wouldn’t have been going through cake. He cuts it in perfect triangles because he’s unhinged and they both enjoy it. That’s about all he planned, really, but he takes the other’s hand when Kun says he’d like to just walk a bit.

Their shoes are kept away, instead bare feet crinkling in the sand. The silence is so nice, everything is really, even as the water starts doing its thing, moving and lapping forward.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?” Ten searches for the dotted people he saw earlier, only to find it all empty. Huh. They’d gone home, it seems. “Ask away.”

“Why me?”

Ten pauses. Why me. He should ask him to elaborate. Why him? Ten doesn’t know. There’s many things, Kun has been there for. Why him indeed? But they keep walking, the water keeps coming forward, sometimes a little cold over the soles of their feet, before rushing back in.

It’s such a simple thing to ask. Such a complicated thing to answer. It’s only when they stop, facing each other, can Ten find his voice at all, to say anything. Kun’s expectant, but he looks prepared. For? He can only guess. Ten decides to put him out his misery.

“You just felt right, for me,” and that has him staring, thrown off. Ten smiles, stepping closer, reaching up to cup his face. He’s still a bit cold, but there’s a warmth underneath all of this. So much deeper, and nicer. “I don’t know anything more.”

“All I did was hurt you.”

Now, now. “We all hurt each other,” he shrugs, “that’s what people are about. Like you said; life is nothing without a few regrets, here and there.” He holds his gaze, even if it’s getting a little harder too. To be so honest, it leaves him feeling more vulnerable than he likes. “It just didn’t feel like a losing battle, to love you.”

Something very strong flickers in Kun’s expression, and now Ten really drops it, clearing his throat as he looks away. Wow. That was something, huh? “Sorry,” he laughs, embarrassed, “I—“

“I don’t know how it was for me,” Kun cuts in, before he can brush it all off, “all I know it was the easiest thing to let myself fall. You make it easy to, Ten. You make love so easy.”

“We need to like, tone down this sappiness,” he says, because what the fuck. Kun laughs, pulling him close, Ten not needing any further encouragement to hug him. Gosh. He did not expect this turn of events. “Happy birthday, Kun.”

Instead of a verbal reply, the other merely presses a kiss to his head, Ten tightening his grip.

*

Four years.

But like, the only the first not filled with emotional chaos. Kun’s told him to not do anything, but he’s also been very hush-hush about this whole thing so he has no choice but to follow. It’s a normal morning, warm and filled with anxiety as they rush to their respective destinations, hurried goodbyes exchanged. When he’s back home, Kun is already there, but he’s so tired from teaching a bunch of newbies pottery that he passes out till late evening.

Kun lets him sleep in, only coming in a little before dinner.

“Wear it, okay?” Kun kisses his cheek, as Ten stares down at the bag. Huh. It’s the designer whose designs they saw last time when they’d gone shopping. Ten nods, absently recalling the collection as he leaves his room, door falling shut.

Kun’s been so silent, the entire previous week. All he’d said was to let him have this—their fourth anniversary—after the little thing he’d done at the beach for him. When he takes out the box, carefully unwrapping the paper, he has to resist the urge to gasp.

Oh wow. It’s such a pretty piece of fabric. Navy, fine and gorgeous velvet. He draws it out, even more surprised to see it’s a dress, eerily similar to the one Ten had pointed out, down to the small slit at the side. There’s the translucent gloves, and in the bag, another box. He’s feeling awfully spoilt, unable to bite down his smile. A delicate pendant, diamond, the cut so pretty he has to click a picture.

But…

Well, he still can’t get over the dress. They haven’t even made it down the runway, yet. The sizes all custom, no way accommodating for his body but somehow it’s—

Perfect. Down to every detail.  It’s an unexplainable feeling. Putting on the pendant, rummaging through his drawers for the perfect pair of earrings. Taking his time setting his hair this way and that, wondering how he should do his makeup, considering he has no idea where they’re going. He decides to keep it light, nothing too extraordinary, considering the outfit itself was a sight to behold.

Breathe.

But fuck. His heart’s racing. Crazy and unstoppable. It should stop doing that now. But Kun never lets it rest like the asshole he is. Ten fiddles with his ring, steadying his breaths, before he straightens. For some reason, he doesn’t even want to take a picture of himself. Ten knows he looks good, but even then. It’s strange.

He just wants to see Kun now.

So what does he do? Just go to his room? Call? Text? Ten texts, the anticipation killing him. And indeed, a few minutes later, there’s a knock at his door, making him smile. So dramatic, he opens the door—

“Oh,” he breathes. Kun smiles, stepping closer. Okay. Okay you know what? Ten’s heart has started drafting its resignation letter in this very moment. “You…” It’s a match. But this cut. On Kun. The suit jacket closed, but not a shirt underneath, a path of pale skin all for him to see and drink the sight of, and just resting on below the dip of his collarbone, their ring. Kun is a sight to drink; intoxicating, down to his slicked back hair, the faintest dusting of navy on his eyes. Kun licks his lips, nervous, and he follows the movement, entranced by the rich red of them.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” Ten breathes, faint, holding the doorframe, “yeah it—you look hot—I mean good. Really.” He nods, feeling his face flush, and Kun’s silent, before he takes a step closer, and Ten for some forsaken reason takes one back. A finger under his chin, tilting his head up, and his mouth go dries.

“No, Ten,” he says, eyes dark, as he looks him up and down, “I meant, did you like the gift?”

Oh. Oh that—that makes more sense. “Yeah,” he says, wondering what the hell happened to him. Ten is not one to be tongue tied, but something about the intensity of his gaze is—

Well, a man can get shy, okay!

“Then shall we get going?” He scoffs, taking his hand, heading through the living room and—

“We’re heading upstairs?” He asks, confused, and Ten takes a hold of the dress, pulling it up to walk the steps. Kun hums, not betraying anything at all. Is there some type of exit there? A prettier place to walk through? Or is it something else? He keeps quiet, the other’s hand warm in his, until they reach the doorway to the piano room.

“Close your eyes,” so he does, trusting him. Kun pulls him in, gently, and it’s so quiet, it’s driving him insane. The only sounds in the room, his and Kun’s shoes clacking against the tiles, until they stop, and he can feel the faintest gusts of cold wind, the traces of noise in the way it gets numbed thousands of feet above.

“Now.”

Ten forgets to breathe, for a moment.

“I made it myself, so be rest assured,” Kun says, gently, coming behind him for a hug, Ten warmed by the heat of his body, chest pressed to his back. He rests his chin on Ten’s shoulder, hands smoothing down his arms, and he can feel himself shiver.

A balcony. Well, barely. But it’s enough, the table set half in, half out. White cloth, and candles all around the room, bathing them both in shadows of gold and amber, the night sky outside spilling a little bit of the blue in. Seoul is a city that buzzes with life, and tonight it promises the same, thousands of tiny golden specks, moving or still.

It’s overwhelming. “Food’s getting cold, sweetheart.” He nods, following him to sit down. Ten can’t get himself to speak a word, still entranced by the view beside them, and then—

“When did you think of all of this?”

Kun just shrugs, a secretive smile on his face. Is it possible, for a man to inspire so many emotions in a single second. Awe, love, adoration, endearment, and a million more. The food is delicious, because Kun made it, and he’s amazing at everything he does. The wine is unbearably sweet, down to the tiny cake he brings in, chocolate with more spilling out.

“Who are you and what lab synthesized you?” Ten asks, and Kun laughs, and it’s such a lovely night, to be in love, to let the wind cherish every moment in between. After cleaning their hands, Kun pulls him closer, and heads near the piano, putting on a song instead of playing one. When Ten points it out, Kun sighs.

“Unfortunately, there is only one Qian Kun,” he takes Ten’s hand, and unexpectedly, presses a kiss to his knuckles, before tugging him in a way he stumbles against him. Ten glares, and Kun grins, “either dance together, or hear me play.”

“You can do both,” Ten concedes, but then the song’s picking up, and they’re late; no build up whatsoever, immediately diving into the tempo. Ten laughs, having fun as Kun desperately keeps them from falling. It takes a bit, until the music slows, and they can finally move together in peace.

“Eyes on me, tonight,” Kun asks, and Ten graces him with it, tearing them away from their feet. Gosh. Must he look at him like that? It’s too easy to lose himself in. Stepping back, stepping forward, gliding all over the floor. It’s such a lovely night, to fall into fairytale, because this is exactly what it feels like.

“Kun,” he says, and despite the music still going on and on, he can’t resist. His hand slides up, cupping his jaw. There’s protest that dies before it ever reaches his tongue in Kun’s eyes, as they slip shut anyway, Ten kissing him. It’s not aggressive by any means. Not much at all. But goodness, does the way his arms feel around him, make it so much more. Chest stuffed full, until he thinks there’s nowhere for this much love to go.

They break off, just as the music comes to an end. Kun stares at him, taking him in. “I wish I knew how to paint like you, Ten,” he says, hoarse and faint, “I wish I could show you, how beautiful I find you. How beautiful you are, right now.”

“Did Jungwoo draft these lines?” he teases, despite his chest threatening to break apart from the force of his racing heartbeat. You see, three dates in, he finds out Kun’s side of things were not a sole effort like Ten, but a whole freaking analysis report made by Jungwoo to help him research date ideas.

Kun’s cute like that sometimes.

Like now, when he blushes, and it’s so—

Ten is going to need some more adjectives. “No,” he noses against his cheek, “I just—I don’t want anyone to see you like this. In this, Ten. The moment you opened the door—I was so fucking glad we weren’t going out. I wanted you to be only mine, tonight.”

Ten laughs, but he can feel his cheeks heat. What the hell? “Possessive, are we?”

“Maybe,” he pulls back, to look at him, and Ten feels his own expression soften. “I’ve wasted a lot of time—I don’t think I’m ever letting go, now that I have you.”

Now that I have you. Shouldn’t Ten be saying that instead? “We have forever, in front of us.”

“It’s not going to be enough,” he just says it, with so much intent, desperate almost, he can feel his eyes sting. “It’ll never be,” and then he stops there, when it feels like there should be so much more elaboration there. There should be more explanation. Ten wants to hear it piece by piece, to convince himself. How can he conclude so much, in one sentence? Ten never can. Not like that, anyway.

“Did you compose another one?”

He turns sheepish, when Ten sits beside him. “Not this year, no.” But he braces his fingers against the keys, and then starts. It’s so much brighter, so much happier. Ten buries his head in the other’s shoulder, arms around his waist. It’s so much shorter too, but it is.

It is everything, really. It is what Ten feels, the entire past year, can be summed in. It is what Ten feels, the rest of them, can be too.

“Someone’s eager,” Kun whispers, a little breathy, a little wrecked. Exactly how Ten loves him best, when they stumble into his bedroom. Ten takes his time to mark every inch of his skin, takes his time to feel and memorise all over again, waiting for the day he won’t have to look twice, to know.

“You’re not the only possessive one, Qian Kun,” he pushes him down, not wasting a second away. Kun’s hands on him, gentle and yet firm. Every step of it filled with so much intent, from the way he kisses him, to way he pushes down at the dress, peels off the gloves, maps him whole. Ten barely needs to think, when he’s with him. Barely needs to worry, when he cares so well, murmurs praises and little nothings in between both their shallow breaths.

It’s exhilarating, every time. That way he can make him feel so utterly wanted, pleasured and sated all the same.

It’s not going to be enough.

“I love you,” Ten tells him, has told him, both in a heated daze and now, exhausted and warm. Kun just kisses his head, and—

He thinks he might just get, what Kun means.

They'll just have to make sure, however long, is made most of.

"I love you too," Kun's eyes droop, in the exhaustion of the night, "happy anniversary, baby."